Lorenzo's Reward

“A little,” she muttered, still hot with embarrassment over the fuss made by the assistant manager, who’d been in the foyer when they went back into the hotel. In short order she’d been presented with plasters and antiseptic, offered brandy, and Roberto had been sent for to explain his brother’s proposed absence. Roberto’s prompt offer to drive Jess to Stavely himself had been summarily dismissed by his brother, and Jess hustled off with only a brief goodnight.

“Perhaps you should have rung Leonie to explain the delay,” said Roberto, as he followed her directions to Stavely.

“No need.” She said stiffly. “Leo won’t be expecting me just yet.”

Jess fixed her eyes on the road, cursing the fate which had actually allowed her a meeting with the charismatic stranger, only to find he believed her capable of lusting after her sister’s bridegroom. Jess seethed in silence while Lorenzo Forli drove smoothly along the winding road which hugged the river. The scene was very peaceful in the fading light. Later the traffic would increase as Saturday night revellers made for home, but at this hour the journey would have been restful in almost any other circumstances. With Lorenzo Forli at the wheel, however, expert driver though he was, Jess felt anything but restful, consumed with a volcanic mixture of resentment and excitement which made it hard for her to sit still in her seat.

“Why did you run away from me that day?” Lorenzo asked abruptly, startling her. “I think you knew very well I wished to meet you. Was the prospect so intolerable?”

She raised her chin disdainfully.

“It was nothing to do with you, Signor Forli. It was Roberto I was running away from. Because of Jeremy Lonsdale.”

“Roberto’s friend, the avvocato?” He frowned, baffled. “I do not understand.”

With resignation Jess once again explained her dilemma as a juror. Lorenzo heard her out, then gave a long smouldering look before returning his attention to the road.

“This does not explain why you refused to speak to me when I rang that night.”

Jess shot him another startled look. “That was you?”

“Did your friend not tell you?” His expressive mouth tightened. “She said you had the migraine. Was that true?”

“No,” said Jess faintly, shaken by the discovery that Lorenzo had rung her on the strength of one fleeting, chance encounter. She cleared her throat. “Emily said it was Signor Forli, so naturally I assumed it was Roberto.” She eyed his aloof profile in appeal. “There was another day to go in court so I still couldn’t speak to him.”

“And if you had known it was I who wished to speak to you? What then?” he demanded, throwing a challenging glance at her.

Jess thought about it for a while. “I’m not sure,” she said at last.

Lorenzo’s jaw set. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do. I mean,” added Jess in desperation, “that if I had known who you were I would have—have liked to speak to you, but I’m still not sure whether I would have been breaking any rules if I had.”

He turned to her with a smile of such blatant triumph it took her breath away. “Ah! That is better. Much better.”

Jess turned away sharply, so floored by her body’s response to the smile she spent the next mile or two in pulling herself together, uncertain whether she was sorry or glad when they reached the turning which led past the church and on up to Friars Wood. In command of herself at last, she gave concise instructions as Lorenzo negotiated the steep bends of the drive, telling him to park in front of the Stables, well away from the main house.

“This is my brother’s private retreat,” Jess told him, wincing as she tried to undo the seat belt.

“Permesso,” said Lorenzo, and leaned across her to release the catch, giving her a close-up of thick black lashes and the type of profile seen on Renaissance sculptures. He turned away to get out of the car, and came round to help her out, taking her elbow very carefully. “I must not hurt your hands. Are they giving you pain?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, which was a lie. In actual fact, she felt so weirdly different from usual she was relieved when her brother emerged from the stable block to inject a note of normality.

“Hi, Jess,” said Adam, eyeing the stranger with curiosity. “Where’s your car?”

“I left it at the Chesterton,” she explained, and introduced Lorenzo.

“Nice to meet you,” said Adam as he shook hands.

“Piacere,” said Lorenzo Forli, smiling. “Your sister fell and hurt her hands, so I drove her home.”

“How the devil did you manage that, Jess?” demanded Adam. “Don’t tell me,” he added, resigned, noticing her feet. “Life-threatening heels, as usual.”

“I tripped on some gravel,” said Jess tersely. “So you’ll have to drive me back to Pennington after the wedding, to collect my car.”

“No problem,” said Adam cheerfully. “Right then, Jess, bring Lorenzo in to meet the family. I was just going to ask Mother to make me a snack.”

“You are most kind,” said Lorenzo, after a questioning look at Jess’s face. “But I will not intrude on this special night.”

When it became clear that Lorenzo had no immediate intention of getting back in the car, Adam threw his sister a bright, knowing look, said goodnight, and loped off in search of food.

“Thank you for driving me home,” said Jess at last, desperate to break the silence once Adam had gone.

“It was my pleasure.” Lorenzo reached out a hand to touch hers. “Jessamy, I can tell that you are angry.”

“How perceptive,” she snapped, backing away.

“Why?” he asked, advancing on her.

Her head went up. “I would have thought it was obvious. I object to wild accusations about my morals, especially from strangers,” she added coldly.

“Ah!” His eyes held hers relentlessly. “We return to the subject of your sister’s fidanzato. You insist you do not love him?”

“On the contrary, I do,” she assured him airily, gratified when his dark eyes blazed with anger.

“You admit this?” he said incredulously.

“Only to you,” she said sweetly. “They say it’s easier to confide in strangers. So I can share my little secret, Signor Forli.”

“Then Roberto was right,” said Lorenzo grimly. “He suspected this when he first met you. No matter. You will be made to change your mind.” His smile was so arrogant it raised every hackle Jess possessed. “I swore this the first moment I saw you.”

“But you didn’t know who I was.”

He moved closer. “Ah, but I did.”

Jess stared at him wildly. “I don’t understand.”

“You lie, Jessamy.” He held her wrists loosely, one finger on her tell-tale pulse.

“I’m not lying,” she retorted, and pulled her hands away. “So explain. Had you seen me somewhere before?”

“Only in my dreams,” he said, routing her completely. He smiled into her eyes. “But now I’ve met you in the alluring flesh, Jessamy Dysart, you will forget all other men in your life from this day on, including your sister’s husband. I forbid you to gaze at him with longing tomorrow.”

“What? You can’t forbid me to do anything,” she said, incensed, desperate to hide the tumult of delight beneath her outrage. “We’re complete strangers. I don’t know what you think gives you the right to talk to me like this—”

“Why did you cut off your beautiful hair?” he interrupted, changing the subject with an abruptness which knocked her off balance again.

Jess blinked. “Not—not quite all of it.”