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

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you are not always as shy as you are with me.’

‘But then,’ she returned, ‘I wasn’t expecting to meet you, si-gnore.’

‘You have forgotten,’ he said. ‘We agreed it would be Alessio.’

No, she thought. I haven’t forgotten a thing. I’m not ready to be on first-name terms—or any terms at all—with someone like you.

There was a loud sneeze from inside the salotto, and Paolo emerged, flourishing a large handkerchief. ‘Maledizione, I am getting a cold,’ he said peevishly. ‘Some germ on the plane, indubbiamente.’

Laura decided this was her cue. ‘Darling.’ She got up and went to his side, sliding her arm through his. ‘How horrid for you. Summer colds are always the worst.’

For a second, he looked at her as if he’d forgotten who she was, then he pulled himself together, kissing her rather awkwardly on the cheek. ‘Well, I must take care not to pass it on to you, carissima. Che peccato, eh? What a pity.’ He slid an arm round her, his fingers deliberately brushing the underside of her breast.

Laura, nailing on a smile, longed to pull away and kick him where it hurt. Alessio drank some more whisky, his face expressionless.

If she’d hoped that the arrival of his mother a short while later would impose some constraint upon Paolo, Laura was doomed to disappointment. He’d drawn his chair close beside hers at the table, and appeared glued to her side, his hand stroking her arm and shoulder possessively, his lips never far from her ear, her hair, or her cheek, nibbling little caresses that she found positively repellent.

She knew, of course, that the Signora was watching, her mouth drawn into a tight line, because that was the purpose of the exercise. And there was nothing she could do about it. But she was also sharply aware that the Count was sending them the odd meditative glance, and this, for some reason, she found even more disturbing than the older woman’s furious scrutiny.

She found she was silently repeating, ‘Think of the money. Think of the money,’ over and over again like a mantra, but it was not producing the desired calming effect, and she was thankful to her heart when dinner was finally announced, and Paolo reluctantly had to relinquish his hold.

The dining room was a long, low-ceilinged room, with a wonderful painted ceiling depicting some Bacchanalian revel, with people wearing bunches of grapes instead of clothes.

The scene below was much more decorous, the polished table gleaming with silver and crystal in the light of several elaborate candelabra. Alessio sat at the head of the table, with his aunt facing him at its foot, and Laura was seated halfway down, opposite Paolo, the width of the table putting her beyond the reach of any more amorous overtures.

Not that he seemed in the mood any longer. Instead he kept sighing, blowing his nose, and occasionally putting a hand to his forehead, as if checking his own temperature.

In spite of her concerns, Laura found she was really hungry, and tucked into the wild mushroom risotto, the veal in a rich wine sauce, and the creamy almond-flavoured dessert that she was offered with a good appetite. But she was far more sparing with the wine that Guillermo tried to pour into her glass, recognising that she needed to keep her wits about her.

Conversation was kept to general topics, and conducted in English. The Signora tried a few times to switch to Italian, but was forestalled by the Count, who silkily reminded her that she was overlooking the presence of their guest, so that she was forced to subside, glaring.

The meal was almost over when Paolo dropped his bombshell. ‘Mamma—the ring that my grandmother left me, which you keep in the safe at the appartamento. You will give it to me when we return to Rome, if you please?’

The ensuing silence was electric. Laura kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Oh, God, she wailed inwardly. What possessed him to say that—and why didn’t he warn me?

Whatever she herself might think of the Signora, and no matter what disagreement over the future Paolo might be engaged in with her, the older woman was still his mother—and he was deliberately taunting her. Pushing his supposed relationship to new limits.

She thought, biting her lip, This is so wrong…

‘It is a valuable piece of jewellery,’ the Signora said at last, her voice shaking a little. ‘It needs to be kept in security. But of course, figlio mio, it is for you to decide.’

‘And I have done so.’ Paolo sent her a bland smile. ‘It is time it was in my keeping.’

Laura put down her spoon, unable to eat another mouthful. Across the candle flames, she sent Paolo a condemnatory look.

After that the conversation flagged, and she was thankful when the Count suggested that they have coffee in the salotto.

It was served black and very strong in small cups.

‘Grappa for the signorina.’ Guillermo proffered a tiny glass of colourless liquid, and she glanced across at Paolo, whose expression was so smug she could have slapped him.

‘What is grappa?’ she asked.

‘A kind of brandy,’ he said. ‘Good for the digestion.’

For medicinal purposes only, Laura thought, raising the glass to her lips. She took one cautious sip, and nearly choked, eyes streaming.

‘My God,’ she said when she could speak, accepting the glass of mineral water that Alessio handed her. ‘How strong is that?’

‘About ninety-per-cent proof,’ he told her, amused. ‘You have never drunk it before?’

‘No,’ she said with feeling. ‘I would definitely have remembered.’

The Count looked at his cousin. ‘Paolo, you have neglected Laura’s education.’

Paolo stopped mopping his face long enough to leer. ‘Al contrario, my dear Alessio, I’ve been concentrating on the things that matter.’

Alessio gave him a thoughtful look, but made no comment, while Laura sat, her face burning, wishing the floor would open.

The Signora, who had been sitting like a stone statue in a corner of the sofa, abruptly announced her intention of watching television, which, Laura discovered, was housed in a large carved cabinet in the corner of the room. It was some kind of current affairs programme, which she was unable to follow, so her interest soon waned.

Instead, she watched the chess game now in progress between the two men. She was no expert, but it was soon obvious that Paolo had got himself into an impossible position.

‘I feel too ill to play,’ he said peevishly as he resigned. ‘I shall tell Emilia to make a tisana and bring it to my bedroom.’

He pushed back his chair and got up, kissing Laura on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, carissima. If I sleep now, I shall be well tomorrow, so that we can spend some time alone together, and I can show you my beautiful country. Starting maybe with Assisi, hmm?’

Laura forced a smile, and murmured that it would be wonderful.

He kissed his mother’s hand, ignored the basilisk glance she sent him, and disappeared.

Alessio moved the pieces back to the starting point and looked up at Laura. ‘Would you like to challenge the winner?’ he asked.

‘After the way you dealt with Paolo, I don’t think so.’ Her tone was rueful. ‘You need my young brother. He was school chess champion when he was six.’

‘Your brother?’ the Signora suddenly interrupted. ‘I thought you were an only child, signorina.’

Laura realised too late that was what she’d agreed with Paolo. Not just an only child, but an orphan too. It would save them many problems if she was without family, he’d decreed. And she’d just blown it.

Which meant she would have to warn him first thing tomorrow about her unguarded words.

In the meantime: ‘Is that the impression I gave, signora?’ She made herself speak lightly. ‘It was probably wishful thinking.’ She paused. ‘And now, perhaps you’ll excuse me, too. It’s been a long day, and I still have to negotiate the maze back to my room.’

Alessio rose. ‘Permit me,’ he said. He walked to the fireplace and tugged at the bell-pull that hung there. A moment later, Guillermo appeared, his face enquiring. ‘The signorina is ready to retire. Please escort her,’ he directed quietly.

Laura was still suddenly, aware of an odd disappointment. Then: ‘Thank you,’ she said stiltedly. ‘And—goodnight.’

Alessio watched in silence as she followed Guillermo from the room.