In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby. Catherine Spencer

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СКАЧАТЬ memory. And she could relax, lower her guard, and get on with her own life.

      Perhaps, in time, she might even convince herself that none of this had ever happened.

      She sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. She was obviously not going to sleep, so she might take the Count’s advice, and exploit the fine weather while it persisted.

      She changed swiftly into her swimsuit, slipped on the filmy voile shirt she used as a cover-up, and went down to the pool.

      As she reached the bottom of the steps she was disconcerted to see that she would not be alone that afternoon either. That Alessio was there before her, stretched out on a lounger, reading.

      He seemed deeply absorbed, and Laura hesitated, wondering if she should turn quietly and make a strategic withdrawal before she was noticed. But it was already too late for that, because he was putting down his book and getting to his feet in one lithe movement, the sculpted mouth smiling faintly as he looked at her.

      ‘So you came after all,’ he said softly. ‘I had begun to wonder.’

      ‘I—I decided to take your friend at his word.’ She paused. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

      He said lightly, ‘Not in any way that you think, mia cara.’ He moved a lounger into the shade of a parasol for her, and arranged the cushions.

      ‘Thank you.’ She felt self-conscious enough to have stood on one leg and sucked her thumb. And he’d placed her sunbed far too close to his own, she thought with misgiving. However, it seemed unwise to make any kind of fuss, so she walked across and sat down, forcing a smile as she looked up at him. ‘Heavens, it’s hotter than ever.’

      ‘Yes.’ Alessio glanced up at the mountains with a slight frown. ‘I begin to think Fredo may be right.’

      Laura reached down and retrieved his book, which had slipped off his lounger onto the marble tiles between them. ‘Francesco Petrarca’ was emblazoned in faded gilt letters across its leather cover.

      ‘Reading more poetry about veiled ladies, signore?’ She handed it to him. Literature, she thought. Now there’s a safe topic for conversation.

      ‘There is much to read,’ he said drily. ‘The great Francesco made his Laura’s name a song for twenty years.’

      ‘How did they meet?’

      ‘He saw her,’ Alessio said, after a pause. ‘Saw her one day, and fell in love for ever.’

      ‘And did they live happily ever after?’ ‘They lived their own lives, but not together. She—belonged to another man.’

      She made a thing of adjusting her sunglasses. She said lightly, ‘Then maybe he shouldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love.’

      ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But perhaps, Laura mia, he could not help himself. Listen.’ He found a page, and read aloud. ‘”I was left defenceless against love’s attack, with no barrier between my eyes and my heart.’’’

      He put the book down. ‘Is there a defence against love, I wonder?’ The dark gaze seemed to bore into hers. ‘What do you think, bella mia? Did Paolo travel straight from your eyes to your heart when you saw him first?’

      No, she thought, pain twisting inside her. But you did—and now I’m lost for ever…

      She made herself look back at him. ‘Naturally there was—a connection. Why else would I be here?’

      ‘Why indeed?’ he said softly. He stretched slowly, effortlessly, making her numbly aware of every smooth ripple of muscle in his lean body. ‘I am going to swim, Laura. Will you join me?’

      ‘No,’ she managed somehow. ‘No, thank you.’

      He smiled at her. ‘You do not feel the necessity to cool off a little?’

      ‘I’m a very poor swimmer,’ she said. ‘I don’t like being out of my depth, and your pool has no shallow end.’

      ‘Ah,’ he said meditatively. ‘Then why do you not allow me to teach you?’

      There was a loaded silence, and Laura found she was biting her lip. ‘That’s—very kind,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘But I couldn’t—possibly—impose on you like that.’

      ‘No imposition, cara mia.’ His voice was a drawl. ‘It would be my privilege, and my pleasure. Besides,’ he added with faint reproof, ‘everyone should be able to swim safely. Don’t you agree?’

      ‘I—I suppose so.’ Except that we’re not really talking about swimming, she thought wildly, and we both know it. So why—why are you doing this?

      He said softly, ‘But you are not convinced.’ He walked to the far end of the pool, and dived in, swimming the whole length under water. He surfaced, shaking the water from his hair, and swam slowly to the edge, resting his arms on the tiled surround.

      He beckoned. ‘Laura, come to me.’ He spoke quietly, but the imperative came over loud and clear. She realised, not for the first time, why he was a force to be reckoned with within the Arleschi Bank.

      Reluctantly, she shed the voile shirt and walked over to the edge of the pool, reed-slender in her green swimsuit.

      She said coolly, ‘Do you always expect to be obeyed, si-gnore?’

      ‘Always.’ The sun glistened on the dark hair as he looked up at her. He added softly, ‘But I prefer compliance to submission, signorina.’ He paused, allowing her to assimilate that, then smiled. ‘Now sit on the edge,’ he directed. ‘Put your hands on my arms, and lower yourself into the water. I promise I will keep you safe.’

      Her heart juddered. Oh, but it’s too late, she thought. Much too late for that.

      But she did as she was told, gasping as the coolness of the water made contact with her overheated skin, aware of Alessio’s hands, firm as rocks, under her elbows.

      ‘You can stand,’ she accused breathlessly. ‘But I can’t reach. I’m treading water.’

      ‘Then do so,’ he said. ‘You will come to no harm.’ He added with faint amusement, ‘And I can do nothing about the disparity in our heights, bella mia.’

      He paused. ‘You say you can swim a little?’ And, when she nodded without much conviction, ‘The width of the pool, perhaps?’

      ‘Possibly,’ Laura said with dignity. She hesitated. ‘But not without touching the bottom with my toe,’ she conceded unwillingly.

      He sighed. ‘Then the true answer is no,’ he commented austerely. ‘So, we shall begin.’

      It was one of the strangest hours of her life. If she’d imagined Alessio had lured her into the pool for his own dubious purposes, then she had to think again and quickly, because his whole attitude was brisk, almost impersonal. He really intended to teach her to swim, she realised in astonishment as she struggled to coordinate her arm and leg movements and her breathing, while his hand cupped her chin.

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