Dear Reader,

When two brothers love the same woman, the result is a mighty clash in the fierce heat of Tuscany, a place where the colors are darker, and the air crackles with danger.

Rinaldo and Gino share a powerful love of the land, and have the same emotional, virile intensity. But fate has turned Rinaldo into a gruff, hard-bitten cynic, while Gino, his younger brother, likes to laugh and still has traces of the boy in his carefree nature.

Their peace is wrecked by Alex, from England, who has unexpectedly inherited a claim to some of their farm. Then no amount of brotherly love can count against the passion for a woman both see as an interloper, yet whom neither can resist.

Elegant, determined, a success in her high-powered career, Alex is sure she can deal with the Farnese brothers. She doesn’t know that they have tossed a coin for her, nor would she care. She will choose the man she wants.

One will win the prize. The other will be cast out to find his destiny among strangers.

Best wishes,

Rinaldo’s Inherited Bride
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

‘HE HATES me. He really hates me!’

Alex had expected some resentment, but not this bleak hostility. All the way out from England to Italy she had wondered about Rinaldo and Gino Farnese, the two men she had partly dispossessed.

Now, meeting Rinaldo’s eyes across his father’s grave, she thought she had never seen so much concentrated bitterness in one human being.

She blinked, thinking it might be an illusion of the brilliant Italian sun. Here there were sharp edges like sword blades, and dark shadows that swallowed light; hot colours, red, orange, deep yellow, black. Vibrant. Intense. Dangerous.

Now I’m getting fanciful, she thought.

But the danger was there, in the fury-filled eyes of Rinaldo Farnese, still watching her.

Isidoro, her elderly Italian lawyer, had pointed out the two Farnese brothers, but even without that she would have known them. The family likeness was clear. Both men were tall, with lean, fine-featured faces and dark, brilliant eyes.

Gino, clearly the younger, looked as though he had a softer side. There was a touch of curl in his hair, and a curve to his mouth that suggested humour, flirtation, delight.

But there was nothing soft about Rinaldo. His face might have been carved from granite. He seemed to be in his late thirties, with a high forehead and a nose that only just escaped being hooked. It was the most powerful feature in a powerful face.

Even at this distance Alex could detect a tension so fierce that it threatened to tear him apart. He was holding it back with a supreme effort. His grim, taut mouth revealed that, and the set of his chin.

There would be no yielding from him, Alex thought. No relenting. No forgiveness.

But why should she think she needed forgiveness from Rinaldo Farnese? She’d done him no wrong.

But he had been wronged, not by her, but by the father who had mortgaged a third of the family property, and left his sons to find out, brutally, after his death.

‘Vincente Farnese was a delightful fellow,’ Isidoro had told her. ‘But he had this terrible habit of putting off awkward moments and hoping for a miracle. Rinaldo took charge as much as possible, but the old boy still left him a nasty surprise at the end. Can’t blame him for being a bit put out.’

But the man facing her over the grave wasn’t ‘a bit put out.’ He was ready to do murder.

‘I guess I shouldn’t have come to their father’s funeral,’ she murmured to Isidoro.

‘No, they probably think you’re gloating.’

‘I just wanted to meet them, reassure them that I’ll give them a fair chance to redeem the mortgage.’

‘Alex, haven’t you understood? As far as these men are concerned they owe you nothing, and you’re a usurper. Offering a “fair chance” to pay you is a recipe for bloodshed. Let’s get out of here fast.’

‘You go. I’m not running away from them.’

‘You may wish you had,’ he said gloomily.

‘Nonsense, what can they do to me?’

It had seemed so easy a week ago, sitting in the elegant London restaurant with David.

‘This inheritance will probably pay for your partnership,’ he’d observed.

‘And a lot of other things too,’ she said, smiling, and thinking of the dream home that they would share after their wedding.

David didn’t answer this directly, but he raised his champagne glass in salute.

David Edwards was part of Alex’s life plan. At forty, neatly handsome in a pin-striped kind of way, he was the head of a firm of very expensive, very prestigious London accountants.

Alex had started work for them eight years ago, after passing her accountancy exams with top honours. She had always known that one day she would be a partner, just as one day she would marry David.

Eight years had transformed her from a rather shy, awkward girl, more at home with figures than people, into a stunning, sophisticated woman.

It was David himself who had unknowingly started the transformation in her early days with the firm. Struck by his looks, she had longed to attract his attention.

After six months, without success, she had overheard him casually asking a colleague, ‘Who’s the pudding in the red dress?’

He had passed on, unaware that the ‘pudding’ had heard him and was choking back misery and anger.

Two days later David announced his engagement to the daughter of the senior partner.

Alex had plunged into her work. For the next five years she allowed herself only the most passing relationships. At the end of that time her long hours and excellent results had made her a power in the firm.

By then the senior partner had retired and David had taken over the position. Now he no longer needed his father-in-law’s influence, although it was only ill-natured people who openly made a connection between that and his divorce.

Alex had worked as hard on transforming herself as she had on her job. Her body represented the triumph of the workout. Her legs were long and slender enough to risk the shortest skirts. The tightest of dresses found no extra pounds on her.

Her fair hair was short, expertly cut and shaped, nestling close to her neat head on top of a long, elegant neck. She was a highly finished work of art, her mind as perfectly ordered as her appearance.

She and David became an item, and everyone knew that soon the firm’s two stars would link up and run the place together.

Now it seemed that nothing could be better structured. Her inheritance would be followed by her partnership, and then by her marriage.

‘Of course it might take a little time to arrange,’ David mused now. ‘You haven’t actually inherited part of the property, have you?’

‘No, just the money that was loaned against it. Enrico assigned the debt to me in his will. So the Farnese brothers owe me a large sum of money, and if they can’t repay in a reasonable time, that’s when I can claim some of the actual farm.’

‘Either that or sell your interest to someone else, which would make more sense. What would you want with one third of a farm?’

‘Nothing, but I’d feel uneasy about doing that. I have to give the Farneses every chance to pay me first.’

‘Sure, and, as I said, it may take time. So don’t rush back. Take as long as you need and do it properly.’

Alex smiled, thinking fondly how understanding he was. It would make everything easier.

‘You haven’t seen much of your Italian relatives, have you?’ David asked now.

‘My mother was Enrico Mori’s niece. He came to visit us a couple of times. He was an excitable man, very intense and emotional. Just like her.’

‘But not like you?’

She laughed. ‘Well, I couldn’t afford to be intense and emotional. Mum filled the house with her melodrama. I adored her, but I suppose I developed my common sense as a reaction. One of us had to be cool, calm and collected.

‘I remember Enrico frowning and saying, “You must be like your English Poppa,” and it wasn’t a compliment. Poppa died when I was twelve, but I remember he never shouted or lost his temper.’

‘And you don’t either.’

‘What’s the point? It’s better to talk things out sensibly. Mum used to say that one day we’d visit Italy together, and I’d “see the light”. She even raised me to speak Italian and some Tuscan dialect, so that I wouldn’t be all at sea when we visited “my other country”.’

‘But you never went?’

‘She became ill. When she died three years ago Enrico came over and I met him again.’

‘Are you his only heir?’

‘No, there are some distant cousins who inherit his house and land. He was a rich man, with no wife or children. He lived alone in Florence, having a great old time, drinking and chasing women.’

‘So where did Vincente Farnese come into this?’

‘They were old friends. A few years ago he borrowed some money from Enrico, and charged it against Belluna, that’s the farm. Last week, apparently, they went out on a binge, drove the car home, and had the accident that killed them both.’

‘And his sons had no idea that there was a hefty mortgage against the land?’

‘Not until Enrico’s will was read, apparently.’

‘So you’re going right into the lion’s den? Be careful.’

‘You surely don’t think I’ll be assassinated down a dark lane? I shall go to Florence, make an arrangement with the Farnese brothers, and then come home.’

‘And if they can’t raise the money, and you sell your interest to an outsider? Will they sit quiet for that?’

‘Don’t be melodramatic, David,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m sure they’re reasonable people, just as I am. We’ll sort it all out, somehow.’

‘Reasonable?’ Rinaldo snapped. ‘Our father charged a huge loan against this property without telling us, and the lawyers want us to be reasonable?’

Gino sighed. ‘I still can’t take it in,’ he said. ‘How could Poppa have kept such a secret for so long, especially from you?’

The light was fading, for the evening was well advanced. Standing by the window of his home, looking out over the hills and fields that stretched into the distance, earth that he had cultivated with his own hands, sometimes at terrible cost, Rinaldo knew that he must cling onto this, or go mad.

‘You and I are Poppa’s heirs and the legal owners of Belluna,’ Gino pointed out. ‘This woman can’t change that.’

‘She can if we can’t pay up. If she doesn’t get her cash she can claim one third of Belluna. Poppa never made any repayments, so now we owe the whole amount, plus interest.’

‘Well, I suppose we gained from having all that money,’ Gino mused.

‘That’s true,’ Rinaldo admitted reluctantly. ‘It paid for the new machinery, the hire of extra labourers, the best fertiliser, which has greatly improved our crops. All that cost a fortune. Poppa just said he’d won the lottery.’

‘And we believed it until the wills were read,’ Gino said heavily. ‘That’s what hurts, that he left us to find out like that.’ But then he gave a heavy sigh. ‘Still, I suppose we shouldn’t blame him. He didn’t know he was going to die suddenly. Do we know anything about this woman, apart from the fact that she’s English?’

‘According to the lawyer her name is Alexandra Dacre. She’s in her late twenties, an accountant, and lives in London.’

‘I don’t like the sound of her,’ Gino sighed.

‘Neither do I. This is a cold-blooded Anglo-Saxon. She works with money, and that’s all she’ll care about.’

He raised his head suddenly, and there was a fierce intensity in his eyes.

‘We have no choice,’ he said. ‘We have to get rid of her.’

Gino jumped. ‘How? Rinaldo, for pity’s sake—!’

At that moment he could have believed his brother capable of any cruel act.

Rinaldo gave a brief smile, which had the strange effect of making his face even more grim than before.

‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘I’m not planning murder. I don’t say the idea isn’t appealing, but it’s not what I meant. I want to dispose of her legally.’

‘So we have to pay her.’

‘How? All the money we have is ploughed into the land until harvest. We’re already overdrawn at the bank, and a loan would be at a ruinous rate of interest.’

‘Can’t our lawyer suggest something?’

‘He’s going soft in the head. Since she’s single he had the brilliant idea that one of us marry her.’

‘That’s it!’ Gino cried. ‘The perfect answer. All problems solved.’

He spread his hands in a triumphant gesture and gave his attractive, easy laugh. He was twenty-seven and there was still a touch of the boy about him.

‘So now we have to meet her,’ he said. ‘I wonder if she’ll come to Poppa’s funeral?’

‘She won’t dare!’ Rinaldo snapped. ‘Now, come and have supper. Teresa’s been getting it ready.’

In the kitchen they found Teresa, the elderly housekeeper, laying the table. As she worked she wept. It had been like that every day since Vincente had died.

Rinaldo wasn’t hungry, but he knew that to say so would be to upset the old woman even more. Instead he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, silently comforting her until she stopped weeping.

‘That’s better now,’ he said kindly. ‘You know how Poppa hated long faces.’

She nodded. ‘Always laughing,’ she said huskily. ‘Even if the crops failed, he would find something to laugh at. He was a rare one.’

‘Yes, he was,’ Rinaldo agreed. ‘And we must remember him like that.’

She looked at the chair by the great kitchen range, where Vincente had often sat.

‘He should be there,’ she said. ‘Telling funny stories, making silly jokes. Do you remember how terrible his jokes were?’

Rinaldo nodded. ‘And the worst puns I ever heard.’

Gino came in and gave Teresa a big, generous hug. He was a young man who hugged people easily, and it made him loved wherever he went. Now it was enough to start her crying again, and he held her patiently in his strong arms until she was ready to stop.

Rinaldo left them and went outside. When he’d gone Teresa muttered, ‘He’s lost so many of those he loved, and each time I’ve seen his face grow a little darker, a little more bleak.’

Gino nodded. He knew Teresa was talking about Rinaldo’s wife Maria, and their baby son, both dead in the second year of their marriage.

‘If they’d lived, the little boy would have been nearly ten by now,’ he reflected. ‘And they’d probably have had several more children. This house would have been full of kids. I’d have had nephews and nieces to teach mischief to, instead of—’

He looked up at the building that was much too large for the three people who shared it.

‘Now he only has you,’ Teresa agreed.

‘And you. And that daft mutt. Sometimes I think Brutus means more to him than any other creature, because he was Maria’s dog. Apart from that he loves the farm, and he’s possessive about it because he has so little else. I hope Signorina Dacre has a lot of nerve, because she’s going to need it.’

Rinaldo returned with the large indeterminate animal Gino had stigmatised as ‘that daft mutt’. Brutus had an air of amiability mixed with anarchy, plus huge feet. Ignoring Teresa’s look of disapproval he parked himself under the table, close to his master.

Over pasta and mushrooms Gino said, lightly, ‘So I suppose one of us has to marry the English woman.’

‘When you say “one of us” you mean me, I suppose,’ Rinaldo growled. ‘You wouldn’t like settling down with a wife, not if it meant having to stop your nonsense. Besides, she evidently has an orderly mind, which means she’d be driven nuts by you in five minutes.’

‘Then you should be the one,’ Gino said.

‘No, thank you.’ Rinaldo’s tone was a warning.

‘But you’re the head of the family now. I think it’s your duty. Hey—what are you doing with that wine?’

‘Preparing to pour it over your head if you don’t shut up.’

‘But we have to do something. We need a master plan.’

His brother replaced the wine on the table, annoyance giving way to faint amusement. Gino’s flippancy might often be annoying, but it was served up with a generous helping of charm.

Rinaldo would have declared himself immune to that charm. Even so, he regarded his brother with a wry look that was almost a grin.

‘Then get to work,’ he said. ‘Make her head spin.’

‘I’ve got a better idea. Let’s toss for her.’

‘For pity’s sake grow up!’

‘Seriously, let Fate make the decision.’

‘If I go through with this charade, I don’t want to hear it mentioned again. Hurry up and get it over with!’

Gino took a coin from his pocket and flipped it high in the air. ‘Call!’

‘Tails.’

Gino caught the coin and slapped it down on the back of his hand.

‘Tails!’ he said. ‘She’s all yours.’

Rinaldo groaned. ‘I thought you were using your two-headed coin or I wouldn’t have played.’

‘As if I’d do a thing like that!’ Gino sounded aggrieved.

‘I’ve known times when—well, never mind. I’m not interested. You can have her.’

He rose and drained his glass before Gino could answer. He didn’t feel that he could stand much more of this conversation.

Gino went to bed first. He was young. Even in his grief for a beloved father he slept easily.

Rinaldo could barely remember what it was to sleep peacefully. When the house was quiet he slipped out. The moon was up, casting a livid white glow over the earth. The light was neither soft nor alluring, but harsh, showing him outlines of trees and hills in brutal relief.

That was the land to which he’d given his whole life. Here, in this soft earth, he’d lain one night with a girl who smelled of flowers and joy, whispering words of love.

‘Soon it will be our wedding day, love of my life—come to me—be mine always.’

And she had come to him in passion and tenderness, generous and giving, nothing held back, her body young and pliable in his arms.

But for such a little time.

One year and six months from the date of their wedding to the day he’d buried his wife and child together.

And his heart with them.

He walked on. He could have trodden this journey with his eyes closed. Every inch of this land was part of his being. He knew its moods, how it could be harsh, brutal, sometimes generous with its bounty but more often demanding a cruel price.

Until today he had paid the price, not always willingly, sometimes in anguish and bitterness, but he had paid it.

And now this.

He lost track of time, seeing nothing with his outer eye. What he could see, inwardly, was Vincente, roaring with laughter as he tossed his baby son, Gino, up into the air, then turned to smile lovingly on the child Rinaldo.

‘Remember when I used to do that with you, my son? Now we are men together.’

And his own eager response. ‘Yes, Poppa!’

He had been eight years old, and his father had known by instinct what to say to drive out jealousy of the new baby, and make him happy.

Poppa, who had believed that the world was a good place because there was always warmth and love and generosity, and who had tried to make him believe it too.

Poppa, his ally in a hundred childhood pranks. ‘We won’t tell Mamma, it would only worry her.’

But these images were succeeded by another, one he hadn’t seen, but which he now realised had been there all along: the old man, round faced and white whiskered, laughing up his sleeve at the little joke he’d played on his sons, and particularly on his forceful elder son.

Vincente hadn’t seen the danger. So there had been no warning, no chance to be prepared. Rinaldo had always loved his father, but at this moment it was hard not to hate him.

The darkness was turning to the first grey of dawn. He had walked for miles, and now it was time to walk back and make ready for the biggest fight of his life.

CHAPTER TWO

RINALDO FARNESE finally dragged his eyes away from the woman who was his enemy. He had noted dispassionately that she was beautiful in a glossy, city-bred kind of way that would have increased his hostility if it hadn’t been at fever pitch already. Everything about her confirmed his suspicions, from her fair hair to her elegant clothes.

It was time for the mourners to speak over the grave. There were many, for Vincente had been popular. Some were elderly men, ‘partners in crime’ who had spent days in the sun with him, drinking wine and remembering the old times.

There were several middle-aged and elderly women, hinting wistfully at sweet memories, under the jealous eyes of their menfolk.

Finally there were his sons. Gino spoke movingly, recalling his father’s gentleness and sweet temper, his ready laughter.

‘He’d had a hard life,’ he recalled, ‘working very long hours, every day for years, so that his family might prosper. But it never soured him, and to the end of his life, nothing delighted him as much as a practical joke.’

Then he fell silent, and a soft ripple ran around the crowd. By now all of them knew about Vincente’s last practical joke.

A heaviness seemed to come over Gino as he realised what he had said. The light went out of his attractive young face, and his eyes sought his brother with a touch of desperation.

Rinaldo’s face revealed nothing. With a brief nod at Gino he stepped up to take his place.

‘My father was a man who could win love,’ he said, speaking almost curtly. ‘That much is proved by the presence of so many of his friends today. It is no more than he deserved. I thank each of you for coming to do him honour.’

That was all. The words were jerked from him as if by force. His face might have been made of stone.

The mourners began to drift away from the grave. Rinaldo gave Alex a last look and turned, touching Gino’s arm to indicate for him to come too.

‘Wait,’ Gino said.

‘No,’ Rinaldo was following his gaze.

‘We’ve got to meet her some time. Besides—’ he gave a soft whistle. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘Remember where you are and show respect,’ Rinaldo said quietly.

‘Poppa wouldn’t mind. He’d have been the first to whistle. Rinaldo, have you ever seen such a beauty?’

‘I’m happy for you,’ his brother said without looking at him. ‘Your job should be easier.’

Gino had caught the lawyer’s eye and raised his eyebrows, inclining his head slightly in Alex’s direction. Isidoro nodded and Gino began to make his way across to them.

Alex caught the look they exchanged, then she focused on Gino. An engaging young man, she thought. Even dressed in black, he had a kind of brightness about him. His handsome face was fresh, eager, open.

It had little to do with his youth. It was more a natural joyousness in his nature that would be with him all his life, unless something happened to sour it.

‘Gino, this is Signorina Alexandra Dacre,’ Isidoro hastened to make the introductions. ‘Enrico was her great-uncle.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of Signorina Dacre.’ Gino’s smile had an almost conspiratorial quality, as if to suggest that they were all in this mess together.

‘I’m beginning to feel as if the whole of Florence has heard of me,’ she said, smiling back and beginning to like him.

‘The whole of Tuscany,’ he said. ‘Sensations like this don’t happen every day.’

‘I gather you knew nothing about it,’ Alex said.

‘Nothing at all, until the lawyers were going through the paperwork.’

‘What a nasty shock. I’m surprised you want to shake my hand.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ Gino said at once.

His grasp, like everything about him, was warm, enclosing her hand in both of his.

‘We must meet properly and talk,’ he said.

‘Yes, there’s a lot to talk about,’ she agreed. Suddenly she burst out, ‘Did I do wrong to come to your father’s funeral? Perhaps it was tasteless of me, but I only—look, I meant well.’

‘Yes, it was tasteless of you,’ said a dry, ironic voice. ‘You have no place here. Why did you come?’

‘Rinaldo, please,’ Gino said in a swift, soft voice.

‘No, he’s right,’ Alex said hastily. ‘I made a mistake. I’ll go now.’

‘But we’re having a reception in the Hotel Favello,’ Gino said. ‘Enrico was Poppa’s dearest friend, and you’re part of Enrico’s family, so naturally you’re invited.’

He glanced at his brother, waiting for his confirmation. For a moment Rinaldo’s manners warred with his hostility. At last he shrugged and said briefly, ‘Of course.’

He turned away without waiting for her answer.

‘The hotel isn’t far,’ Gino said. ‘I’ll show you.’

‘No need, I’m staying there,’ Alex told him. ‘I arrived last night.’

‘Then shall we go?’ He offered her his arm.

‘Thank you, but I’ll make my own way. You have guests who’ll want your attention.’

She hurried away before he could argue, and rejoined Isidoro, who fell into step beside her.

‘If you’re going into the lion’s den I’m coming with you,’ he said.

‘That might be a good idea after all,’ she agreed.

As they walked the short distance to the hotel Alex said, ‘He really did have a lot of friends, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he was a much-loved man. But the people at the wake won’t just be his friends and lovers. They’ll be the vultures hovering over that mortgage, and you’ll be very interesting to them.

‘Watch out for a man called Montelli. He’s greedy and unscrupulous, and if Rinaldo sees you talking to him it’ll make him mad.’

‘Well,’ Alex said, apparently considering this, ‘since everything I do is going to make that man angry, I think I’ll just go right ahead and do what suits me.’

The Hotel Favello was a Renaissance building that had once belonged to the Favello family, wealthy and influential for centuries, now fallen on hard times.

It had been turned into a luxury hotel in such a way that every modern comfort was provided, but so discreetly that nothing seemed to have changed for centuries.

Alex went up to her room first, so as not to arrive too soon, wishing she had time for a shower. It was June and Florence was hotter than anything she had experienced in England. Standing in the sun, she had felt the heat spreading over her skin beneath her clothes, making her intensely aware of every inch of her body.

But there was no time for a shower if she were to join the reception. She mopped her brow and checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked, as always, immaculate.

It would have been over-the-top to wear black for a man she hadn’t known, but she was formally dressed in a navy blue linen dress, with a matching coat, adorned only by one silver brooch. Now she tossed aside the coat before going downstairs.

She was relieved to see that the reception room was already crowded, so that she attracted little attention.

Isidoro scuttled to greet her and pointed out some of the others.

‘The ones glowering at you in the corner are the other members of Enrico’s family,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me they’re annoyed with me too?’ she exclaimed.

‘Of course. They were expecting to inherit more.’

‘So I’m in the firing line from both sides,’ she said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Oh, heavens!’

‘This is Italy,’ Isidoro said wryly. ‘The home of the blood feud. Here they come.’

Two men and two women appeared solidly before Alex. Greetings were exchanged, not overtly hostile, but cautious. The older man, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group, muttered something about having ‘necessary discussions’ later.

Alex nodded agreement, and the group moved off. But behind them was a middle-aged man of large proportions and an oily manner. He introduced himself as Leo Montelli, and said that the sooner they talked the better.

After him came another local landowner, and after him came the representative of a bank. Alex began to feel dizzy. One thing was clear. The message about who she was and why she was here had gone out loud and clear to everyone in the room.

It had certainly reached Rinaldo Farnese, who was watching her steadily. His face was inscrutable, but Alex had the feeling that he was mentally taking notes.

‘Isidoro, I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘This shouldn’t be happening here. It isn’t seemly.’

‘Shall I fix appointments with them for you?’

‘Not yet,’ she said quickly. ‘I must talk to the Farneses first. For now I’ll just slip away.’

‘Look,’ Isidoro said.

Rinaldo was cutting his way through the crowd until he reached her and said very softly, ‘I want you to leave, right now. Your behaviour is unseemly.’

‘Hey, now look—’

‘How dare you dance on my father’s grave! Leave right this moment or I’ll put you out myself.’

‘Signore—’ Isidoro was vainly trying to claim his attention.

‘I was about to leave anyway,’ Alex said.

‘To be sure, signorina, I believe you.’

‘You’d better,’ she said losing her temper. ‘Signor Farnese, I dislike you at least as much as you dislike me, and I won’t stand for being called a liar. If this wasn’t a solemn occasion I would take the greatest pleasure in losing my temper in a way you wouldn’t forget.’

She stormed out without giving him the chance to answer. If she could have sold the entire farm out from under him she would have done so at that moment.

The Hotel Favello was in the Piazza della Republica, in the medieval heart of Florence. Here Alex was close to the great buildings, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Duomo, whose huge bulk dominated the Florence skyline, the fascinating Ponte Vecchio over the River Arno, and many other places she had promised herself that she would visit before she left.

On the evening of the funeral she decided to eat out, preferably in a restaurant where she could gain a floodlit view of the buildings.

She’d had a shower as soon as she left the reception, but before getting dressed she had another one under cold water. Thankfully the onset of evening was making temperatures fall, and the room had good air-conditioning, but she felt as though the heat had penetrated down to the core of her.

She started to put on a pair of tights, but discarded them almost at once, disliking the suffocating sensation of anything clinging to her flesh. She rejected a bra for the same reason.

When she finally slipped on a white silk dress she wore only a slip and brief panties beneath, because that was the only way she felt her body could breathe.

Just as she was about to leave there was a knock on her door.

She opened it to find Rinaldo Farnese standing there.

He had removed the jacket of his smart black suit, and was holding it hooked over the shoulder of his white shirt, which had been pulled open at the throat. His hair was untidy, his face weary, and he looked as though he had discarded the strait-laced persona of the funeral with as much relief as she had discarded her coat.

‘This won’t take long,’ he said, pushing the door further open and walking into the room.

‘Hey, I didn’t invite you in,’ she protested.

‘I didn’t invite you either, but here you are,’ he responded.

‘And I’m just going out to dinner,’ she said.

At this point a gentleman would have at least offered her a drink. Rinaldo’s only response was a shrug.

‘Then I’ll be brief,’ he said.

‘Please do,’ she replied crisply.

‘First, I suppose I owe you an apology for my behaviour this afternoon.’

She gaped at him, totally taken aback. The last thing she had expected from this man was an apology.

‘After you left I spoke to Isidoro who confirmed that you’d been about to depart of your own accord, and that you too had used the word unseemly.’ He took a deep breath and spoke as though the words were jerked from him. ‘I apologise for doubting your truthfulness.’

‘I appreciate that,’ she said, ‘all the more because it half killed you to say it.’

‘I’m not known for my social skills,’ he agreed wryly.

‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘You think to disconcert me with irony? Don’t bother.’

She nodded.

‘You’re right. You don’t care enough about other people’s opinions to mind whether you have social skills or not,’ she said gravely. ‘I’m sure rudeness has its advantages, besides being less trouble.’

This time there was no doubt that she got to him. He eyed her narrowly. Alex looked straight back at him.

‘May I remind you that I only came to that reception on your brother’s invitation?’ she said. ‘It wasn’t my idea, and I certainly wouldn’t have come if I’d known what would happen. Perhaps it’s I who owe you an apology for my clumsiness.’

They regarded each other warily, neither of them in the least mollified by the other’s conciliatory words.

Despite her exasperation Alex was curious about him. After the sleek, smooth men she knew in London, meeting Rinaldo was like encountering a wild animal. The feelings that drove him were so powerful that she could almost feel them radiating from him. He was controlling them, but only just.

She thought of David, who never did anything that hadn’t been planned beforehand. She couldn’t imagine him losing control, but with Rinaldo Farnese she could imagine it only too easily.

Strangely the thought did not alarm her, but only increased her curiosity.

He began to stride impatiently about the room in a way that told her he was happier outdoors, and rooms suffocated him. Now she appreciated how tall he was, over six foot, broad-shouldered but lean. He was lithe, not graceful like his brother, but athletic, like a tightly coiled spring.

‘So now you’ve seen them all,’ he said. ‘All the vultures who are lining up to swoop. They’ve calculated that your only interest is money. Are they wrong?’

‘I—well, you’re certainly direct.’

‘I came here to know what your plans are. Is that direct enough for you?’

‘My plans are fluid at the moment. I’m waiting to see what develops.’

‘Do you fancy yourself as a farmer?’

‘No, I’m not a farmer, nor do I have any ambitions to be one.’

‘That is a wise decision. You would find us two to one against you.’

She surveyed him with her head a little on one side. ‘You don’t believe in sugar coating it, do you?’

‘No,’ he said simply, ‘there’s no point. What are your plans?’

‘To discuss the situation with you. The vultures can think what they like. You get the first chance to redeem the loan. Look, I’m not a monster. I know money can be difficult. In my own country I’m an accountant—’

‘I know,’ he said impatiently. ‘Somebody who works with money. And that’s all you care about—money.’

‘Enough!’ she said in a sudden hard voice. ‘I won’t let you speak to me like that, I’m not responsible for this situation.’

‘But you don’t mind benefiting from it?’

‘I don’t mind benefiting under Enrico’s will because that’s what he wanted. I dare say he would have left me money, but his cash was tied up in you. You’re acting as though I have no right to recover it. I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock to you, but it isn’t my fault that your father didn’t tell you.’

‘Be silent!’ The words were swift and hostile and the look he turned on her was like a dagger. ‘Do not speak of my father.’

‘All right, but don’t blame me for a situation I didn’t create.’

He was silent for a moment and she could see that she had taken him aback. After a while he said, ‘Nobody doubts your right to accept your inheritance, but I suggest that you be careful how you go about it.’

‘What you mean is that you demand that I go about it in the way that suits you,’ she replied at once.

Something that might almost have been a smile passed over his bleak face and was gone.

‘Let us say that you should consider the whole complex situation before you rush to a decision,’ he said at last. ‘Every penny the farm has is tied up until the harvest. You’ll get your money, but in instalments.’

‘That’s no use to me. I have my own plans.’

He regarded her. ‘If your plans conflict with mine, let me advise you to drop them. In the meantime, you should leave Italy.’

‘No,’ she said bluntly.

‘I strongly advise you—’

‘The answer is no.’

‘Signorina,’ Rinaldo said softly, ‘you do not know this country.’

‘All the more reason for remaining. I’m part Italian and this is my country too.’

‘You misunderstand. When I said “this country” I didn’t mean Italy. I meant Tuscany. You’re not in cool, civilised England now. This is a dangerous place for intruders. Those dark hills look inviting, but too often they’ve hidden brigands who recognised no law but their own.’

‘And I’ll bet they were led by someone just like you,’ she challenged him back. ‘Someone who thought he had only to speak and the world trembled. Do you see me trembling?’

‘Perhaps you would be wiser if you did.’

‘Stop trying to scare me. It won’t work. I’ll do what suits me, when it suits me. If you don’t like it—tough. After all, that’s the code you live by yourself.’

This was a shot in the dark. She barely knew him, but instinct would have told her the sort of man he was, even if his own words and attitude hadn’t made it pretty plain. He was overbearing, and he wouldn’t be too scrupulous about how he got his own way. That was her estimation of him.

The sooner he realised that, in her, he’d met his match, the better.

‘Are you suggesting that I’m a brigand, signorina?’

‘I think you could be if you felt it necessary.’

‘And will it be necessary?’

‘You tell me. I imagine we judge the matter differently. I don’t want instalments. I need a lump sum, fairly soon. I have a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and to seize it I need money. But we can work it out. Perhaps someone else can take over the mortgage—a bank or something.’

Suddenly his face was dark, distorted.

‘Don’t try to involve strangers in this,’ he said fiercely. ‘Do you think I’d allow them to come interfering—dictating—Maria vergine!’

He slammed one hand into the other.

‘I’ve had enough of the way you talk to me,’ Alex said firmly. ‘Once and for all, try to understand that I will not be bullied. If you thought I would just collapse, you picked the wrong person.’

‘I’m only trying—’

‘I know what you’re “only trying” and I’ve heard enough. Now I’m going out. If you wish to talk to me you can make an appointment with my lawyer.’

‘The hell I will!’

‘The hell you won’t!’

Alex snatched up her purse and made for the door. Grim-faced, he moved fast, and she thought he was going to bar her way. Instead he opened the door for her and followed her out.

In the street she walked on without looking where she was going.

‘Which of them are you going to meet now?’ he demanded, walking beside her.

‘Well, of all the—’

‘Tell me.’

‘It’s none of your business.’

He got in front of her, forcing her to stop. ‘If you’re meeting Montelli it is my business.’

‘If and when I meet Signor Montelli it will be in my lawyer’s office, which is also where I will meet you—always supposing that I want to meet you. Now please get out of my way. I’d like to find somewhere to eat.’

Slightly to her surprise he moved aside. ‘I can recommend a good place in the next street—’

‘You mean it’s run by a friend of yours who’ll keep an eye on me?’ she said lightly.

‘You’re full of suspicion.’

‘Shouldn’t I be?’

Wryly, he nodded. ‘You’re also a very wise woman.’

‘Wise enough to pick a restaurant for myself. Your choice might have arsenic in the wine.’

‘Only if you have put me in your will.’

The last thing she’d expected from him was a joke, and a choke of laughter burst from her. She controlled it quickly, not wishing to yield a point to him.

Then she turned a corner and stopped in sudden delight at what she saw.

Before her was a huge loggia filled with stalls, selling pictures, ornaments, lace, leather goods, fancy materials. Everywhere was brightly coloured and bustling with life.

Most fascinating of all was a large bronze boar perched on a pedestal which contained a fountain, its tusks gleaming, its mouth open in a grin that mixed ferocity and welcome. Unlike the rest of the body, the nose was gleaming brightly in the late evening sun.

Even as Alex looked, two young women went up to the boar and rubbed its nose.

‘That’s why it shines,’ Rinaldo said. ‘You rub the nose and make a wish that one day you’ll return to Florence.’

Smiling, Alex put out her hand, but withdrew it without touching the bronze animal.

‘I’m not sure what I’ll do,’ she said, as though considering seriously. ‘Wishing to return to Florence would mean that I was leaving, wouldn’t it? And that’s so much what you’re trying to make me do that I think I should do the opposite.’

He eyed her with exasperation. But he did not, as she had been half hoping, show signs of real annoyance.

‘Of course, if I just decide to stay here, I wouldn’t need to return,’ she mused.

‘I suppose this entertains you,’ he growled. ‘To me it’s a waste of time.’

‘I’m sure you’re right. I’ll defer a decision until I’ve worked out what would annoy you the most.’

She began to turn away, but he grasped her upper arm with a hand that could almost encompass it. His grip was light, but she could sense the steel in his fingers, and knew that she had no chance of escape until he released her.

‘And then you’ll annoy me, for fun,’ he said. ‘But beware, signorina, to me this is not fun. My life’s blood is in Belluna. You will remember that, and you will respect it, because if you do not—’ his eyes, fixed on hers, were hard as flint ‘—if you do not—you will wish that you had. I have warned you.’

He removed his hand.

‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said curtly, and vanished into the crowd.

It was over. He was gone. All the things she ought to have said came crowding into her head now that it was too late to say them. All that was left was the imprint of his hand on the bare skin of her arm. He hadn’t held her all that tightly, but she could still feel him.

She turned away from the market and walked on through the streets. She found a restaurant and entered, barely noticing her surroundings.

The food was superb, duck terrine flavoured with black truffle, chick-pea soup with giant prawn tails. She had eaten in the finest restaurants in London and New York, but this was a whole new experience. More art than food.

‘Definitely, I am not going home before I have to,’ she murmured. ‘He can say what he likes.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.