At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command. Susan Stephens

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      Private. Public. Yes, she thought in sudden inspiration. She would get Dante into a private situation and see how he responded to her when nobody was around as a witness.

      Cheered, she considered his last remark. ‘I don’t have a car,’ she pointed out.

      ‘Not yet. As my wife and Carlo’s mother, you can have anything you want, remember? It’s one of the prices I am prepared to pay. I give, you take.’

      She only lacked one thing she desired. Dante’s love.

      ‘A small car would be great,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I don’t like being beholden to you for money. That’s why I wanted to work and be independent.’

      ‘Then I will give you an allowance and you can spend it as you wish.’ To her surprise he bent closer, his mouth nuzzling her ear. ‘Cars, jewellery, dresses, sexy underwear…’

      She quivered, rivulets of heat flowing through her at the husky suggestion in his voice. ‘You’d like me to buy—!’ she began with a breathless hope, and then he broke away.

      ‘Felipe! Maria!’ he exclaimed, warmly triple-kissing a dark-haired woman and hugging her companion with affection. ‘Allow me to present my wife, Miranda. Darling, these are my good friends Felipe and Maria, who looked after my uncle’s palazzo when he was away.’

      With a sinking heart, she summoned up a smile. Dante must have seen them coming. That was why he’d murmured something seductive to get a suitable reaction from her.

      His friends would have seen the blush that had crept up her face, the lift of her head as she’d gazed adoringly into Dante’s eyes… Oh, how could she have been so stupid?

      ‘How do you do—?’ she began politely, swallowing her disappointment.

      ‘Piacere, Contessa!’

      Felipe bowed low and air-kissed her hand. But his eyes twinkled back at her and she decided she liked him enough to make her own smile genuine.

      ‘Welcome,’ enthused Maria, kissing her several times. ‘You are as beautiful as Dante claimed. No wonder he was lost without you! He was a different person when he knew you were well enough to return.’

      ‘Was he?’

      Miranda’s heart stopped for a brief moment before resuming a louder, faster beat. She longed for that to be true.

      ‘To begin with, when we met, we thought he was naturally grumpy,’ confided Felipe with a grin. ‘But, ah, when he knew you were on your way here the sun came out and he began to sing in the garden—’

      ‘Don’t give all my secrets away!’ joked Dante. But he looked uncomfortable.

      Miranda was intrigued by what the couple had said. Surely Dante’s marked change of mood couldn’t be explained purely by a relief that Carlo would be more settled? Or was she trying to fool herself?

      ‘…meet for dinner,’ Maria was saying. ‘But we are late for the Rapido to Como. Excuse us. We will talk more later, yes?’

      After a welter of kisses and farewells, they hurried off.

      ‘Did you sing?’ she asked at once.

      He shrugged and seemed shifty. ‘I might have done. Often I’ll have the refrain of a tune in my head and I sing when I’m alone.’

      ‘You weren’t alone,’ she pointed out. ‘Felipe heard you.’

      ‘He might have done,’ he conceded. ‘You must understand, though, that in accordance with Italian custom, Felipe exaggerates,’ Dante added shortly. ‘He was being gallant. Telling you what you want to hear.’

      ‘Is that what you do, Dante? What you’ve done throughout our marriage?’ she asked tensely.

      ‘No. I have lived so long in England that I’ve lost the art of effusive flattery. I say what I mean, though perhaps not quite so bluntly as the English.’

      She thought about this. ‘Felipe genuinely seemed to think you were pleased because I was on my way here,’ she persisted, hoping to get to the truth.

      ‘I’m sure he and Maria were subjected to conversations with my mother, in which she enthused over my feelings for you,’ he drawled. ‘He would have assumed that was why I appeared to be happy—whereas we know different.’

      ‘Your mother certainly seems convinced of your adoration,’ Miranda mused, breathing hard and fast. Sonniva, she mused, was a perceptive woman, shrewd and honest…

      ‘Some people have rose-tinted vision,’ he dismissed. ‘They see what they want to see. Like Felipe and Maria. But…they have been good friends to me since I arrived,’ he added and she had the distinct impression that he was keen to avoid further discussion. ‘They live in the villa not far from us,’ he explained. ‘We’ll see a lot of them, as they have a boy of Carlo’s age.’

      ‘Good. I like them,’ Miranda said demurely. For the moment she’d let Dante off the hook. But all her instincts told her that he was hiding something from her. She hoped it was his true feelings. ‘I look forward to meeting them again. I’m sure we could all be good friends.’

      ‘You seem to be accepting the fact that you’ll live here in future. No regrets, I assume?’ he asked, his expression tense.

      ‘None. I’ll be with Carlo, won’t I?’ And you, she left unsaid.

      ‘You’ll enjoy the lifestyle, of course,’ he observed, a cynical tone to his voice.

      ‘You’re thinking I’m looking forward to being the wife of a wealthy man and sweeping from one grand palace to another. But that wouldn’t be enough for me,’ she said, determined to put him straight about her potential as a gold-digger.

      ‘You want more?’

      ‘Not in the way you think.’

      He shot her a look. ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘No. You thought I married you for material gain,’ she said with sadness. How could he ever have believed that? ‘Dante. Was I ever extravagant? Did you see any signs of greed in me?’

      He frowned, as well he might. ‘No,’ he admitted.

      ‘Did I know you were well off when I worked for you?’

      ‘You could see I had a good lifestyle,’ he grunted.

      ‘But not flamboyant. You went everywhere by taxi as many people do in London. Your apartment in the City was not in a fashionable area although it was spacious and expensively furnished. You dressed well, but…’ She smiled. ‘You’re Italian. It’s part of your culture. If I’d been hunting for a rich man, I’d have gone for Guido.’ She frowned, a bad taste in her mouth. Then dismissed it because her argument was so important. ‘He flung his money around as if he had bottomless pockets. He has a Maserati. Eats only in the best celebrity restaurants. Wears a lot of jewellery. Everyone in the office thought he was loaded. Why, then, if I’d been truly mercenary, would I have СКАЧАТЬ