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

CHAPTER FIVE

LAURA finished applying sun lotion to her arms and legs, and lay back in the shade of the big striped umbrella with a little sigh of contentment. Contrary to her own expectations, she was enjoying her solitude. The pool area occupied an extended hollow at the foot of the gardens, offering a welcome haven of tranquillity, with its marble tiles surrounding a large rectangle of turquoise water, and overlooked by terraced banks of flowering shrubs.

It was sheltered and very private, and, apart from birdsong and the hum of insects, it was also wonderfully quiet.

She put on her sunglasses and applied herself to taking an intelligent interest in her book, but the heroine’s ill-starred attempts to pursue entirely the wrong man struggled to hold her attention, and at last she put the thing down, sighing impatiently.

In view of her current circumstances, it wasn’t the ideal plot to engage her, she thought ruefully. In fact, War and Peace might have been a more appropriate choice. Especially as she’d just been totally routed by the enemy.

She’d managed to waylay a harassed Emilia, asking politely if she’d find out when it would be convenient for her to visit Paolo. But the reply conveyed back from the Signora was unequivocal. Paolo had a high fever but was now sleeping, so could not be disturbed.

If I were genuinely in love with him, I’d be chewing my nails to the quick by now, Laura thought indignantly.

But it was clear she had to start practising patience, and hope that, when his temperature eventually went down, Paolo would demand to see her instead.

She sighed. God, what a situation to be in, and all her own stupid doing, too. Why hadn’t she remembered there was no such thing as a free lunch?

But the deep indolent heat was already soothing her, encouraging her to close her eyes and relax. Reminding her that it was pointless to fret, because, for the time being at least, she was no longer in control of her own destiny.

Che sera, sera, she thought drowsily, removing her sunglasses and nestling further into the soft cushions of the lounger. Whatever will be, will be. Isn’t that what they say? So I may as well go with the flow. Especially as I don’t seem to have much of a choice.

She closed her eyes. Oh, Paolo. She sent the silent plea winging passionately to the villa. For heaven’s sake get well quickly, and get me out of here.

Alessio parked the Jeep in front of the house, and swung himself out of the driving seat. He needed, he thought as he strode indoors, a long cold drink, and a swim.

What he did not require was the sudden appearance of his aunt, as if she’d been lying in wait for him.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, and he checked resignedly.

‘Down to the village. Luca Donini asked me to talk to his father—persuade him not to spend another winter in that hut of his.’

‘He asked you?’ Her brows lifted haughtily. ‘But how can this concern you? Sometimes, Alessio, I think you forget your position.’

He gave her a long, hard look. ‘Yes, Zia Lucrezia,’ he drawled. ‘Sometimes, I do, as the events of the past few weeks have unhappily proved. But Besavoro is my village, and the concerns of my friends there are mine too.’

She snorted impatiently. ‘You did not take the girl with you?’

He shrugged. ‘I invited her, but she refused me.’

She glared at him. ‘That is bad. You cannot be trying.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is better than I expected after such a short time.’ His smile was cold. ‘But do not ask me to explain.’

She changed tack. ‘You should have told me you were going to the village. You could have gone to the pharmacy for my poor boy. Last night he was delirious—talking nonsense in his sleep.’

‘It is probably a habit of his,’ Alessio commented curtly. ‘Why not ask his innamorata?’

She gave him a furious look, and swept back to her nursing duties.

Alessio proceeded moodily to his room. The jibe had been almost irresistible, but he regretted it. There’d been no need to remind himself that Laura and Paolo had been enjoying an intimate relationship prior to their arrival in Italy. Because he knew it only too well already.

But what he could not explain was why he found it so galling. After all, he thought, he had never felt jealous or possessive about any of his previous involvements. For him, sex was usually just another appetite to be enjoyably and mutually satisfied. And there was nothing to be gained by jealousy or speculation over other lovers.

He’d awaited Laura’s arrival at the villa with a sense of blazing resentment, even though he knew he had only himself to blame for his predicament, and, instead, found himself instantly intrigued by her. From that, it had only been a brief step to desire. And he strongly suspected this would have happened if he’d met her somewhere far from his aunt’s interference.

He remembered, with distaste, icily promising to send her home with a beautiful memory. Now he wasn’t sure he’d send her back at all. Certainly not immediately, he thought, frowning as he stripped and found a pair of brief black swimming trunks.

Maybe he’d whisk her away somewhere—the Seychelles or the Maldives, perhaps, or the Bahamas—for a few weeks of exotic pampering, with a quick trip to Milan first, of course, to reinvent her wardrobe. Buy her the kind of clothes he would enjoy removing.

And on that enticing thought he collected a towel and his sunglasses, and went down to the pool to find her.

He found her peacefully asleep, the long lashes curling on her cheek, her head turned slightly to one side. The sun had moved round, leaving one ankle and foot out in the open, vulnerable to its direct rays, and he reached up to make a slight adjustment to the parasol.

Having done so, he did not move away immediately, but stood for a moment, looking down at her. In the simple dark green one-piece swimsuit, her slender body looked like the stem of a flower, her hair crowning it like an exotic corolla of russet petals.

A single strand lay across her cheek, and he was tempted to smooth it back, but knew he could not risk so intimate a gesture.

Because he wanted her so fiercely, so unequivocally, it was like a blow in the guts. However, now was not yet the moment, so he would have to practise unaccustomed restraint, he reminded himself grimly.

Swallowing, he turned away, tossing his towel and sunglasses onto an adjoining lounger, then walked to the edge of the pool and dived in, his body cutting the water as cleanly as a knife.

Dimly, Laura heard the splash and came awake, lifting herself onto one elbow as she looked around her, faintly disorientated.

Then her eyes went to the pool, and the tanned body sliding with powerful grace through the water, and her mind cleared, with an instantaneous nervous lurch of the stomach.

Stealthily, she watched him complete another two lengths of the pool, then turn towards the side. She retrieved her sunglasses and slid them on, then grabbed her book, holding it in front of her like a barrier as Alessio lifted himself lithely out of the water and walked towards her, his body gleaming, sleek as a seal, in the sunlight.

‘Ciao.’ His smile was casual as he began to blot the moisture from his skin with his towel.

‘Hello,’ she responded hesitantly, not looking at him directly. Those trunks, she thought, her mouth drying, were even briefer than his shorts had been. She hurried into speech. ‘You—you’re back early. Did you settle all your business?’

‘Not as I wished.’ He grimaced. ‘I had a battle of wills with a stubborn old man and lost.’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘That can’t happen too often.’

‘It does with Fredo.’ His face relaxed into a grin. ‘He cannot forget that his son and I grew up together, and that he was almost a second father to me when my parents were away. He even took his belt to Luca and myself with complete impartiality when we behaved badly, and likes to remind me of it when he can.’

He shrugged. ‘But he also showed us every track and trail in the forest, and taught us to use them safely. He even took me on my first wild boar hunt.’

‘So why are you disagreeing now? Not that it’s any of my business,’ she added hastily.

‘It’s no secret. Even when his wife was alive, he did not like life in town, so when she died he moved up to a hut on the mountain to look after his goats there. He has been there ever since, and Luca worries that he is getting too old for such a life. He wants his father to live with him, but Fredo says his daughter-in-law is a bad cook, and has a tongue as sharp as a viper’s bite, and I could not argue with that.’

‘Absolutely not,’ she agreed solemnly. ‘A double whammy, no less.’

He laughed. ‘As you say, bella mia. But the campaign is not over yet.’

‘You don’t give up easily.’

‘I do not give up at all.’

He spread his towel on the lounger and stretched out, nodding at the book she was still clutching. ‘Is it good?’

‘The jacket says it’s a best-seller.’

‘Ah,’ he said, softly. ‘But what does Laura say?’

‘That the jury’s still out, but the verdict will probably be guilty. Murder by cliché.’ She sighed. ‘However, it’s all I brought with me, so I have to make it last.’

‘There are English books in my library up at the villa,’ he said. ‘Some classics, and some modern. You are welcome to borrow them. Ask Emilia to show you where they are.’

‘Thank you, that’s—very kind.’ Her brows lifted in surprise. ‘Is that why your English is so incredibly good—because you read a lot?’

‘I learned English as a second language at school,’ he said. ‘And attended university in Britain and America.’ His grin teased her. ‘And it is fortunate that I did, as your Italian is so minimal.’

‘But my French isn’t bad,’ she defended herself. ‘If I’d gone on the holiday I originally planned, I’d have shone.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And what holiday was that?’

She was suddenly still, cursing herself under her breath. She’d let her tongue run away with her again. ‘I thought of the Riviera,’ she said. ‘But then I met Paolo—and changed my mind, of course.’

‘Of course.’ She thought she detected a note of irony in his voice.

‘Perhaps you should have stuck to plan A,’ he went on. ‘Then you would have avoided a meeting with Zia Lucrezia.’

‘Indeed,’ she said lightly. ‘And Paolo might not have caught a cold.’

‘Not with you to keep him warm, I am sure,’ he said softly, and watched with satisfaction as the inevitable blush rose in her face. ‘Have you been to see him?’

‘I tried,’ she admitted. ‘But his mother wouldn’t allow it. Apparently he’s running a temperature.’

‘Which you might raise to lethal limits.’ He paused. ‘And she may have a point,’ he added silkily. ‘But would you like me to speak to her for you—persuade her to see reason?’

‘Would you?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘But why?’

‘Who am I to stand in the way of love?’ He shrugged a negligent shoulder, and Laura tried to ignore the resultant ripple of muscle.

Abruptly, she said, ‘Do you know Beatrice Manzone?’

‘I have met her,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was wondering what she was like.’

The dark gaze narrowed. ‘What does Paolo say?’

She bit her lip. ‘That she’s rich.’

‘A little harsh,’ he said. ‘She is also pretty and docile.’ He grinned faintly. ‘And cloying, like an overdose of honey. Quite unlike you, mia cara.’

She bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t looking for comparisons.’

‘Then what do you want? Reassurance?’ There was a sudden crispness in his tone. ‘You should look to Paolo for that. And according to him, the Manzone girl is history.’

‘His mother doesn’t seem to think so.’

There was an odd silence, then he said, ‘Mia bella, if you and Paolo want each other, then what else matters?’ He swung himself off the lounger, as if suddenly impatient. ‘And now it is time we went up to the house for some lunch.’

Once again only two places had been set for the meal, which, this time, was being served in the coolness of the dining room. And her seat, Laura observed uneasily, had been moved up the table to within touching distance of his. It made serving the food more convenient, but at the same time it seemed as if she was constantly being thrust into close proximity with him—suddenly an honoured guest rather than an unwanted visitor—and she found this disturbing for all kinds of reasons.

But in spite of her mental reservations, her morning in the fresh air had certainly sharpened her appetite, and she ate her way through a bowl of vegetable soup, and a substantial helping of pasta. But her eyes widened in genuine shock when Guillermo carried the next course—a dish of cod baked with potatoes and parmesan—to the table.

‘More food?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Alessio looked amused. ‘And there is still cheese and dessert to follow. You are going to be an Italian’s wife, Laura. You must learn to eat well in the middle of the day.’

‘But how can anyone do any work after all this?’

‘No one does.’ Alessio handed her a plate of food. ‘Has Paolo not introduced you to the charms of the siesta?’ He kept his voice light with an effort, knowing fiercely that he wanted to be the one to share with her those quiet, shuttered afternoon hours. To sleep with her wrapped in his arms, then wake to make slow, lazy love.

‘We rest and work later when it is cooler,’ he added, refilling her glass with wine.

‘I think Paolo is used to London hours now,’ she said, looking down at her plate.

‘But he will not always work there, you understand.’ He gave her a meditative look. ‘How would you like living in Turin—or Milan?’

‘I haven’t thought about it.’

‘Or,’ he said slowly, ‘it might even be Rome.’

She said, ‘Oh, I expect I’d adjust—somehow.’

Except, she thought, that it will never happen, and began to make herself eat.

She wished with sudden desperation that she could confide in him. Tell him exactly why she was here, and how Paolo had persuaded her into this charade.

But there was no guarantee that he would understand, and he might not appreciate being made a fool of, and having his hospitality abused in such a way.

And although he and his aunt were plainly not on the best of terms, he might disapprove of the older woman being deliberately deceived.

Besides, and more importantly, thought Laura, it would render her even more vulnerable where he was concerned, and she could not afford that.

She’d come this far, she told herself rather wanly. She might as well go on to the bitter end—whenever that might be.