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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      Her eyes lifted in sullen query. ‘Well? I’m looking.’

      ‘You can’t sulk. Lovers gaze into one another’s eyes,’ he said huskily.

      She winced. ‘We’re married,’ she retorted, trying to hide her anguish.

      Dante reached across the table and caught her hand in his. While she rejoiced in the warmth of his grip, she had to steel herself against the urge to leap up and run away from the cruel charade they were playing.

      ‘It was part of our agreement that you would keep up appearances,’ he reminded her with soft menace. ‘You agreed to this. And confirmed it only moments ago.’ His voice grew husky. ‘You will look at me as if you love me. As if I am the only man in the world for you.’

      His fingers began to stroke her palm and she could bear it no longer.

      ‘Please, Dante! I want to leave!’ she whispered in desperation.

      A moment’s pause. Then, ‘Yes. Why not?’

      And to her surprise, he flung some notes on the table and drew her to her feet, calling back something to the waiter, who had come running to see what was the matter.

      Dante held her hard against him as they walked away. They turned into a narrow side-street and suddenly the noise and bustle became a distant murmur. She was lost in her own misery and had never felt more alone. Pretending they were happily married was harder than she’d ever imagined. And they had months and years of it to come! She ground her teeth.

      ‘I’m surprised you didn’t refuse my request,’ she muttered tetchily.

      Dante’s breath sounded harsh. ‘It wouldn’t surprise anyone to imagine that we’re hurrying off to spend the rest of the day in bed.’

      Miranda stiffened and froze. ‘What?’ she choked in horror. ‘You told a waiter—?’

      ‘No!’ he said impatiently. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing anything so crass. But he is a man and knows of the whirlwind of passion that can strike at any time and he will put two and two together—’

      ‘And it matters what a waiter thinks?’ she snapped, stalking on again.

      She felt suffocated. Her life wasn’t her own. It was composed of lies and deception.

      ‘Yes. Because he’ll gossip,’ Dante answered tersely. ‘My arrival in the town has been noted with interest. Yours has been eagerly awaited. Haven’t you noticed everyone staring?’

      She was used to that. People always stared when she walked about with Dante—though he’d always asserted they’d been looking at her.

      ‘I suppose you’re delighted with your morning’s work,’ she grouched, barely able to hold back her temper. ‘The whole of Bellagio will soon know how perfect our marriage is! It’s hateful, having to pretend! I feel I’m deceiving everyone. Your mother, your friends…’

      She clenched her teeth to stop a sob from escaping. Oh, Carlo, she thought, if only you knew what I have to do to be with you!

      Dante turned her to face him, his eyes glittering with a frightening intensity.

      ‘What makes you think you have the monopoly on feelings?’ he said tautly. ‘Why do you imagine you’re the only one who is finding this an utter nightmare? That I don’t loathe the deception too? This situation is a million miles from what I really want. But it’s all I’m going to get so I have to put up with it.’

      Her mouth clammed shut. His misery affected her strangely. She wanted to make him happy, to see him content. But that would never be, not while they were trapped in this farcical marriage.

      ‘Oh, hell!’ he groaned. ‘That’s all I need, right at this minute!’

      He was glowering darkly at a villa decorated with blue and white streamers and matching rosettes. Bows had been tied in blue and white ribbons on every railing spike of the surrounding fence and banners had been strung across the lane.

      She frowned. ‘What is it?’

      ‘This is where the groom lives,’ he muttered, storming ahead. Only to be confronted with another villa similarly decorated, this time in pink and white. Dante stopped and glared at the offending gaiety. ‘I could do without having weddings thrust down my throat!’ he growled.

      In a flash of intuition she jerked out, ‘You wish you had true love, too.’

      He winced at the joyful ribbons fluttering in the breeze and looked away.

      ‘Don’t we all?’

      It was her turn to wince. As they walked back to the palazzo in total silence, she felt sadness creep through her, filling every part of her yearning body. He felt trapped. He was young and virile and facing the daunting prospect of marriage to a woman he didn’t love—for the foreseeable future.

      She shrank at the thought. Maybe they had both made a mistake in thinking that they must stay together for Carlo’s sake. For Dante, a civilised divorce and shared custody might be a better solution.

      Though she would need assurances about her future role if she was ever to agree to such a drastic step. And she didn’t know how she would cope when he remarried—as he surely would.

      Miranda stomped along miserably, trying to sort out the mess they’d made of their lives. She knew one thing. Whatever they decided, she must clear the air. She couldn’t let him think she was a bad mother and an unfaithful wife. He had to know that she hadn’t treated her marriage vows lightly, even if he had.

      And that, she mused optimistically, might change his attitude towards her. She brightened up a little.

      ‘I think we need some time apart now. This has been tougher than I imagined,’ Dante muttered as he unlocked a small gate into the garden and deactivated the alarm. He glared at her. ‘When we collect Carlo later, I expect you to make an effort to be friendly towards me.’

      ‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll give it my all. And tonight,’ she added with steely determination, ‘we will talk this situation through. There’s some things we must get straight. And we need some ground rules.’

      ‘We’ll need more than rules to keep us in check,’ he growled, and before she could ask him to explain the cryptic statement he strode away rapidly through an archway of lemon trees.

      She filled the time wandering in the garden, trying to come to terms with Dante’s feelings about her. Tonight she would make him reveal who’d told him all those lies about her. And they’d confront this person together, she vowed grimly, demanding evidence.

      And somehow they’d discover what had happened that night she was taken ill. Maybe a friend had come round before the flu had hit her—though she didn’t know anyone who’d be able to knock back so much champagne.

      Her eyes darkened as she gazed out over the untroubled lake. The overwhelming temptation was to retreat into her shell and pretend that nothing hurt her. But now she realised that hiding her feelings had led Dante to believe she didn’t love him. Or Carlo.

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