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

As he moved round the room each candle burst into light like a delicate golden blossom, and in spite of her misgivings Laura was charmed into an involuntary sigh of delight.

‘You see.’ He tossed the remains of the taper into the wide grate and smiled at her. ‘Firelight and candle glow. Better, I think, than electricity.’

Not, she thought, aware that she was trembling inside, in these particular circumstances.

She steadied her voice. ‘And certainly more in keeping with the age of the villa.’

Alessio inclined his head courteously. ‘As you say.’ He paused. ‘May I get you a drink?’

‘Just some mineral water, please.’ Keep sane—keep sober.

His brows rose slightly, but he said nothing, bringing her exactly what she’d asked for and pouring a whisky for himself.

Laura sat on the edge of the sofa, gripping the crystal tumbler in one hand and nervously rearranging the folds of her skirt with the other.

Alessio added some more wood to the fire and straightened, dusting his hands. He sent her a considering look under his lashes, noting the tension in every line of her, and realising that he needed to ease the situation a little.

He said quietly, ‘Laura, will you make me a promise?’

She looked up, startled, and instantly wary. ‘I don’t know. It—it would depend on what it was.’

‘Nothing too difficult. I wish you to swear that when you are back in London you will go swimming at least once a week. You lack only confidence.’

‘I suppose I could manage that,’ she said slowly. ‘There are some swimming baths quite near where I live.’

‘Then there is no problem.’ He added casually, ‘Get Paolo to go with you.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, her mouth curving in such unexpected mischief that his heart missed a beat. ‘If his health improves.’

He grinned back, shrugging. ‘You can always hope, caris-sima.’

It had worked to some extent, he thought. She was no longer clinging to her glass as if it were a lifeline. But that strange intangible barrier that she’d built between them was still there.

Her reticence frankly bewildered him. He had once been forced to listen to Paolo’s drunken boasting about his London conquests, and restraint had never featured as one of the qualities his cousin most favoured in a woman.

So what was he doing with this girl? His Laura, with her level smoky gaze and proud mouth? On her side, he supposed she might have been beguiled initially by Paolo’s surface charm, but that must have been seriously eroded by the spoilt-child act of the past week.

And there was another factor that had been gnawing at him too. When he’d gone to post her cards that morning in Besavoro, he’d quickly noted down the names and addresses of the recipients, deciding they might prove useful for future reference. So who was the man Carl that she’d written to at Harman Grace, and what was their connection?

Could this whole trip with Paolo be simply a ploy to make her real lover jealous—provoke him into commitment, maybe? Was this what she was hiding behind that veil of cool containment?

No, he thought. I don’t believe that—not in my heart. There’s something else. And I have the whole night to find out what it is. To bring down the barrier and possess her utterly.

But first, he thought, he would have to get her to relax—to respond to him—to enjoy being teased a little. Perhaps tease him in return…

After all, he told himself with sudden cynicism, she would not be the first girl in the world to be coaxed into bed with laughter.

For one strange moment, he wished it were all over, and that she were joyously and passionately his, sitting beside him in the Jeep as they set off to some destination where his aunt’s malice could not follow. Somewhere they could relax in the enjoyment of some mutual pleasure, he thought restlessly.

He longed, he realised, to fall asleep each night with her in his arms, and wake next to her each morning.

He wanted her as unequivocally and completely as he needed food and clothing. And he was going to wipe from his mind every vestige of the sordid bargain he’d been originally forced into by his aunt. From the moment he’d seen Laura, it had counted for nothing anyway.

But it could have been very different, he reminded himself grimly, so his amazing fortune was hardly deserved. And for a moment the thought made him disturbed and uneasy. And, he realised, almost fearful.

Pulling himself together, he picked up the nearest branch of candles and walked over to her, holding out his hand. ‘Let us go into dinner,’ he invited quietly.

Laura had made up her mind to plead a headache and go to her room directly after she’d eaten. But it was clearly ridiculous to express a wish for peace and quiet while the storm was still raging overhead, and might prompt Alessio to draw his own conclusions about her sudden need for seclusion. And that could be dangerous.

It was a strange meal. Conversation was necessarily sporadic. The flicker of the candles sent shadows dancing in the corners of the room, until they were eclipsed by the lightning flashes that illumined everything with a weird bluish glow. It seemed to Laura as if each crash of thunder was rolling without pause into the next, and it was difficult to concentrate on Emilia’s delicious food when she was constantly jumping out of her skin. It was much easier, in fact, to drink the red wine that Alessio was pouring into her glass, and which made her feel marginally less nervous.

One particular thunderclap, however, seemed to go on for ever, with a long, rumbling roar that made the whole house shake.

Laura put down her spoon. ‘Is—is that what an earthquake feels like?’ she asked uneasily.

‘Almost.’ Alessio was frowning, but his gaze softened as he studied her small, pale face. ‘My poor Laura,’ he said. ‘You came here expecting long, hot days and moonlit romantic nights, and instead—the storm of the century. But this house has withstood many storms, if that is any consolation. And it will survive this one too.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ She bit her lip. ‘But—I—I’m quite glad you decided not to stay in Perugia, signore.’

‘Why, mia bella,’ he said mockingly. ‘What a confession. And I am also—pleased.’

She hesitated. ‘Do you think it’s this bad at Lake Trasimeno? They will be able to get back tomorrow? Paolo and I have all our travel arrangements to work out.’

He shrugged. ‘As to that, I think we must—wait and see.’

‘Maybe you could phone—and find out.’ She tried not to sound as if she was pleading.

‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘If the telephone was still working. Guillermo tells me it went off not long after my aunt’s call.’

‘Oh, God.’ She stared at him, unable to hide her shock and dismay. ‘But you must have a cell phone, surely.’

‘I have more than one, but there is no signal here. I regard that as one of the many pleasures of this house,’ Alessio said, pouring more wine.

Lightning filled the room, and he smiled at her, his face a stranger’s in the eerie light. ‘So, for the time being, we are quite cut off, mia cara.’ He paused. ‘And there is nothing we can do about it,’ he added softly.

CHAPTER NINE

THE fierce riot of the storm seemed suddenly to fade to some strange distance, leaving behind a silence that was almost tangible, and twice as scary.

Laura swallowed. ‘Cut off?’ she echoed. ‘But we can’t be.’

He shrugged again, almost laconically. ‘It happens.’

‘But how long are we going to be—stuck here like this?’ she demanded defensively.

‘Until the storm passes, and we can reassess the situation.’

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Don’t you even care?’