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

The lone wolf off hunting his prey, she thought. Looking for a mate.

And that, she told herself forcibly, her mind flinching, was definitely a no-go area. How the Count Ramontella chose to amuse himself was his own affair. And at least she had ensured that she would not be providing his entertainment, however shamefully tempting that might be.

At that moment Alessio arrived, striding up the steps from the pool, damp hair gleaming and a towel flung over his bare shoulder. He was even wearing, she saw, the same ancient white shorts as on the day of her arrival.

‘Buon giorno.’ He took the seat opposite, the dark gaze scanning her mockingly. ‘You did not join me in the pool this morning.’

‘I hardly think you expected me to,’ Laura retorted coolly, refusing to think about how close a call it had been.

‘I expect very little,’ he said. ‘In that way I am sometimes pleasantly surprised.’ His eyes sharpened a little. ‘I hope you slept well, but it does not seem so. You have shadows under your eyes.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly, helping herself to orange juice. ‘But I think the heat’s beginning to get to me. I’ll be glad to go home.’

‘Yet for Paolo, this is home,’ he reminded her softly. ‘So maybe you should try to accustom yourself to our climate, hmm?’

She glanced back at the hills. ‘At the moment it seems a little unpredictable.’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We are undoubtedly going to have a storm.’ He poured himself some coffee. ‘Are you afraid of thunder, Laura mia?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looked down at her plate. ‘And sometimes a storm can—clear the air.’

‘Or breed more storms.’ He paused. ‘Did you say a fond goodbye to your innamorato this morning?’

‘He’s going for lunch with friends,’ she said. ‘Not trekking in the Himalayas.’

‘Both can be equally dangerous. I suspect that my aunt may have arranged for Beatrice Manzone to be present.’ He paused. ‘Does that disturb you?’

She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Paolo is old enough to make his own decisions. I—I simply have to trust him to do that.’

‘How admirable you are, mia cara.’ His tone was sardonic. He finished his coffee in a single swallow, and rose. ‘And now I too must leave you. But, unlike Paolo, you are in safe hands.’ He gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Guillermo and Emilia will look after you well.’

But when are you coming back? She thought it, but did not say it. Could not say it.

She watched him disappear into the house, and pushed her food away untouched as pain twisted inside her. There was so much, she thought, that she dared not let him see. So much that would still haunt her even when the width of Europe divided them—and when she herself was long forgotten.

It was going to be, she told herself unhappily, a very long day.

In fact, it seemed endless. She didn’t even have Caio’s company, as the Signora had chosen to reclaim him that morning, announcing imperiously that he would be accompanying them to Trasimeno. Laura had seen him struggling, his small face woebegone as he was carried inexorably to the car.

She spent some time by the pool, but soon gave it up as a bad job. The clouds had begun to gather in earnest, accompanied now by a strong, gusting wind, and even a few spots of rain, so she gathered up her things and returned to the villa.

She’d finished Mansfield Park so she went along to Alessio’s library and returned it, borrowing Pride and Prejudice instead. She knew the story so well, she thought, that she could easily read it before it was time for her to leave.

She lingered for a while looking round the room. It seemed to vibrate with his presence. Any moment now, she thought, he would stride in, flinging himself into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, and pulling the laptop computer towards him, the dark face absorbed.

The desk itself was immaculately tidy. Besides the laptop, it held only a tray containing a few sheets of the Arleschi Bank’s headed notepaper, and that leather-bound copy of Petrarch’s poetry that he’d been reading.

She opened the book at random, and tried to decipher some of the lines, but it was hopeless—rather like the love the poems described, she told herself wryly.

From the eyes to the heart, she thought, the words echoing sadly in her mind. How simple—and how fatal.

To Emilia’s obvious concern, she opted to lunch only on soup and a salad. The working girl’s diet, she reminded herself, her mouth twisting.

Elizabeth Bennett’s clashes with Mr Darcy kept her occupied during the afternoon, but as evening approached Laura began to get restive. The skies were dark now, the menacing clouds like slate, and Emilia came bustling in to light the lamps, and also, she saw, with faint alarm, to bring in some branched candlesticks, which were placed strategically round the room, while Guillermo arrived with a basket of logs and proceeded to kindle a fire in the grate.

Laura was grateful for that, because the temperature had dropped quite significantly, and the crackling flames made the room feel cheerful.

But as time passed her worries deepened. Paolo knew she was relying on him to organise their departure, she thought, so surely he must return soon, especially with the deterioration in the weather.

She could see lightning flashes, and hear thunder rumbling round the hills, coming closer all the time. She remembered nervously that, in spite of her brave words at breakfast, she really didn’t like storms at all. And this one looked as if it was going to be serious stuff.

It was raining heavily by now, the water drumming a ceaseless tattoo on the terrace outside. She dared not think what the road from Besavoro would be like, and her feeling of isolation began to prey on her.

Think about something else, she adjured herself as she went off to change for dinner, even though it seemed as if she’d be eating alone. Don’t contemplate Alessio driving back from Perugia in the Jeep, because he almost certainly won’t be. He has every excuse now, always supposing he needed one, to stay the night there.

She put on the silver dress and stood for a moment, regarding herself with disfavour. Her wardrobe had been woefully inadequate for the purpose from day one, she thought. And it was only thanks to Emilia’s efficient laundry service that she’d managed to survive.

As for this dress—well, she wouldn’t care if she never saw it again.

By the time she got back to the salotto, the storm was even closer, and the lamps, she saw, were flickering ominously with every lightning flash.

And then, above the noise of the storm, she heard the distant sound of a vehicle, and a moment later Guillermo’s voice raised in greeting.

Paolo, she thought with relief. At last. They’d made it.

She was halfway to the doors when they opened and she halted, her heart bumping, a shocked hand going to her throat.

She said hoarsely, ‘I—I thought you were in Perugia.’

‘I was,’ Alessio said. He advanced into the room, rain glistening on his hair, shrugging off the trench coat he was wearing and throwing it carelessly across the back of a chair. ‘But I did not think it was right for you to be alone here in these conditions, so I came back.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘You are allowed to be grateful.’

‘I’m used to weather,’ she returned, lifting her chin. ‘In England we have loads of it.’ She hesitated. ‘I thought—I hoped Paolo had come back.’

He said lightly, ‘I fear I have a disappointment for you. The servants took a call from my aunt two hours ago. In view of the weather, they have decided to remain at Trasimeno for the night. Or that is the story. So—you and I are alone, bella mia.’

And as he spoke all the lights went off. Laura cried out, and in a stride Alessio was beside her, taking her hands in his, drawing her towards him.

‘Scared of the dark, carissima?’ he asked softly.

‘Not usually,’ she said shakily. And far more scared of you, signore, she whispered under her breath. ‘It’s just—everything happening at once,’ she added on a little gasp, tinglingly conscious of his proximity.

Don’t let him know that it matters, she ordered herself sternly. For heaven’s sake, act normally. And say something with no personal connotations, if that’s possible.

She cleared her throat. ‘Does the power always go off when there’s a storm?’

‘More often than I could wish. We have a generator for backup at such times, but I prefer to keep it in reserve for real emergencies.’ He paused. ‘But Emilia does not like to cook with electricity, so at least dinner is safe.’

He let her go almost casually, and walked over to the fireplace, leaving Laura to breathe freely again. He took down a taper from the wide stone shelf above the hearth and lit it at the fire.