The Medici Lover

‘Very well, Miss Hunt,’ he said finally, moving to prop himself against the side of his desk. He shifted both sticks into one hand and raked long fingers through the thick vitality of his hair. The action parted the collar of his shirt, revealing more of the savage scarring. ‘So now we know where we stand, do we not?’

Suzanne’s tangled emotions made it difficult for her to reply. She had the feeling that something was happening to her here, over which she had no control. It was as if she was seeing herself through a glass screen, aware of the dangers of becoming involved with this man, but unable to reach out and prevent the inevitable happening …

CHAPTER THREE (#u9a202efb-3b62-5954-aadd-72b753994b54)

THE SUDDEN OPENING of the door was both a relief and an intrusion.

Suzanne turned away from the man as his daughter came into the room, pale and foreign-looking in her neat silk dress, a wide-brimmed bonnet dangling by its ribbons from her hand.

‘Papà—’ she was beginning, only to halt uncertainly at the sight of Suzanne standing uncomfortably in the middle of the floor.

Mazzaro transferred the sticks to his hands, and straightened away from the desk, achieving his usual posture as Lucia followed the child into the room.

‘Elena!’ she scolded in Italian, ‘how many times have I told you not to enter your father’s study without first knocking? Signore—’

‘That is all right, Lucia.’ Mazzaro shook his head at the elderly servant. ‘You may leave us. I gather my aunt is home from church.’

‘Yes, signore.’ Lucia nodded, flicking a quick glance at Suzanne and away again. ‘You would like more coffee?’

‘Thank you, no, Lucia,’ Mazzaro declined, and with a reluctant bob, she left them.

Elena stood just inside the doorway, twisting the brim of her bonnet round and round in her hands, and Suzanne wished she could think of something to say to the child. It was obvious she was ill at ease, but whether that was wholly to do with Suzanne’s presence, or in part due to her father’s expected censure, she could not be sure.

‘Have you been introduced to Miss Hunt, Elena?’ Mazzaro spoke in English as the door closed, and the child stole a dark-eyed glance at Suzanne. But she did not reply.

‘Elena and I introduced ourselves yesterday evening.’ Suzanne felt obliged to speak. ‘Didn’t we, Elena?’

Still the child remained silent, swinging her hat against the full skirt of her dress, scuffing her toes against each other.

‘Elena!’