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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СКАЧАТЬ she said softly. ‘Since I was very young, my only wish has been to spend my life with someone I love. Do you believe that?’

      ‘I think you do care for Carlo, yes,’ he said, looking guarded.

      She beamed. It wasn’t quite what she’d meant, but nevertheless it was a milestone. ‘And you accept that he wasn’t starved of love?’

      Dante looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps my informant made a mistake.’

      ‘Call the nanny and find out,’ she urged. ‘I have her new number. She’ll complain that she wasn’t allowed enough time with Carlo!’

      ‘I have seen enough. I don’t need to. I apologise for doubting your maternal instincts,’ he said stiffly.

      ‘And for doubting my love for you?’ she asked, her heart beating hard.

      His head jerked away, his profile suddenly stern. ‘I can’t pretend that your infidelity never happened,’ he clipped and she realised she had a long way to go before she proved her innocence to him. ‘The next week or so will be difficult for both of us. But we’ll settle into some kind of working arrangement, providing you like it enough here.’

      ‘Like it?’ she cried, hope lifting the burden she’d carried from her shoulders. ‘How could I not? It’s a bonus that Bellagio is so beautiful. I love the lake and the mountains and the romantic little villages. I like the friendliness of the people who smile and nod at us even though they don’t know who we are. I like to see the affection youngsters and their parents show towards older relatives. I like your friends. In fact,’ she added, glancing around her fondly, ‘I like Italians very much.’

      ‘I’m glad,’ Dante said drily. ‘You’d find life hard if you didn’t.’

      ‘Mmm. They’re wonderfully…free with their emotions, aren’t they?’ she mused.

      She had been watching them for a while. Everywhere she looked, it seemed that people were gesticulating as they conducted lively exchanges. They stood close to one another as if they had no idea of personal space. And yet already she’d noticed that what initially seemed like fiery arguments often ended with laughter and hugs.

      She sighed wistfully because here and there she could see courting couples gazing in rapture at one another, content, it seemed, just to breathe the same air, to be on the same planet.

      ‘You envy their lack of inhibition?’ Dante asked quietly.

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I do.’

      And she vowed to allow the Italian love of free expression to seep into her. It was what he’d been used to. No wonder he’d thought her cold and unresponsive.

      ‘Me too.’ Dante’s brooding eyes studied his surroundings. ‘You know, I was so intent on handling the London end of the business, marrying you and setting up home there, that I didn’t realise how much I missed Italy until I came back here to live.’

      She absorbed this without comment. But she was stunned. He hadn’t been happy in England. She pursed her lips, contemplating the fact that he’d been in virtual exile from the country of his birth.

      Scanning the bustling promenade, she compared the greyness of the city of London and the vibrant colours all around them; the roar of the capital city’s traffic, the dirt and the smell of petrol fumes…and the partially traffic-free Bellagio, where stately ferries ploughed their way across a glittering lake. The hurried, preoccupied Londoners wrapped in their own concerns…and the lively Italians hell-bent on living life to the full and including any passing stranger who caught their attention.

      ‘I understand why you want Carlo to live here,’ she said soberly. ‘I think it’s perfect for him. You love your house and its setting and I’ve fallen in love with it too. Because of that, I’m sure we can all be happy together in time.’

      He looked disbelieving. ‘Happiness? Very unlikely,’ he said with a cynical drawl.

      ‘Wait and see.’ She felt shaky, as if she were poised on the edge of a precipice. She had to make him believe their marriage could be more than a façade. ‘We must both work to that end.’

      There was a long pause. ‘Too much has happened. Too much anger, too many scars that can never heal. But I’ll settle for a harmonious relationship. I’m relieved you’re falling in with my plans.’

      ‘I’ll do everything I can to let people believe we have a good marriage,’ she said earnestly.

      Imperceptibly she moved closer to him and they walked along almost hip to hip. She felt him give a little shudder and knew he felt a physical interest in her. First, she thought, they’d have sex. And then it would gradually turn to a trusting, loving relationship.

      She was in seventh heaven. Although she was dazzled by the breathtaking views, charmed by Bellagio and overwhelmed by the pleasure of being close to Dante, she was nevertheless alert enough to realise that the set of his body had changed quite dramatically.

      It was as though he had been holding himself back before, as if he, too, had imposed some kind of restraint on himself.

      When he pointed out the villages across the lake, he became more animated and flamboyantly Italian. Responding to an inner urge, she put her arm around his waist. When he stiffened, she thought he’d shrug it off. But his muscles relaxed again and he slid his arm around her slender waist, making her heart sing with joy.

      As they wandered along, she noticed that they were attracting admiring glances. People smiled at them fondly. One day, she promised herself, this would be for real.

      Feeling light-headed, she listened with pleasure to Dante’s enthusiastic descriptions of the sumptuous gardens in the villas open to the public.

      ‘You really love Bellagio, don’t you?’ she laughed, almost drunk with happiness, when he paused for breath.

      He scowled and cleared his throat. ‘Everything about it. There’s so much to show you. The day after tomorrow we’ll take a drive inland…’

      He had paused. Like her, he had seen that all eyes seemed to be elsewhere, a murmur of voices buzzing excitedly about something. She looked back over her shoulder and discovered the focus of everyone’s attention.

      ‘Oh, look, Dante! A bride and groom!’ she exclaimed softly. The bride looked very young, perhaps as old as she’d been when she’d married Dante. Her dress was the purest white and the white roses in her dark, glossy hair gave her a touching fragility. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Miranda breathed dreamily.

      ‘Beautiful,’ he agreed, his voice sombre.

      She frowned, puzzled. ‘Where’s everyone else? The bridesmaids, guests… There’s just the couple and a photographer!’

      ‘It’s the custom. They’re being photographed in romantic settings.’

      He sounded choked. Emotion had claimed her too. The bride looked as if she might burst with love. The fresh-faced groom couldn’t take his eyes off his adoring wife.

      That was how it had been for her, Miranda thought, a pain wrenching at her heart. But not for Dante.

      With everyone watching СКАЧАТЬ