Sara Craven Tribute Collection

A germ of an idea came to Clare. Her lips were parting to speak when the door opened, and Fabio came in carrying the cord for her wrists.

‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked with distaste.

He grinned at her. ‘I think so. You are a valuable property, signorina, and you have the advantage that you are made of flesh and blood, not stone. I need to keep you here.’

‘Perhaps I’m not worth as much as you think.’ Clare lifted her chin. ‘The Marchese Bartaldi doesn’t respond to blackmail. And he certainly won’t be interested in buying me back. I mean nothing to him.’

Fabio’s smile widened unpleasantly. ‘Good try, signorina. Unfortunately, I know differently. Because I saw you together, near the Minerva shrine one afternoon when I had been meeting Paola. And it looked to me as if you meant a great deal.’

He looked her over, making her feel as if she was coated with slime. ‘You are very pretty under your clothes, signorina. Maybe I should get a camera, and persuade you to undress for me—just to remind the noble Bartaldi what he is missing.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Marco broke in, his voice alarmed. ‘Dio, do not make him angrier than he is already by shaming his woman. You do not know him. You do not know what he might do.’

Fabio shrugged. ‘Maybe. We will see how generous his first offer is.’ He looked back at Clare, who slowly released her painful, indrawn breath. ‘You will have to be patient, signorina. We have decided to let your lover stew for a day or two before we make contact. I think when I talk to him, he will be glad to meet my terms.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Clare said glacially, as he retied her wrists.

She kept her head high until they left the room, then she collapsed on to the edge of the bed, her legs shaking.

The thought that they’d been spied on as Guido brought her to the edge of surrender made her feel nauseous. Her skin crawled at the very idea. She would never convince Fabio that she wasn’t Guido’s mistress, she realised.

But Marco might be a different matter. He was clearly uneasy about the situation, and that was what she would work on.

She wondered how soon it would be before she was missed. In retrospect, leaving her clothes behind didn’t seem such a good idea after all.

Wearily, she swung her legs on to the bed, and made herself as comfortable as possible. Whatever happened, going without sleep would solve nothing.

Oh, Guido, she thought as she closed her eyes. Please come to me. Please find me. And, if you want, I’ll stay with you. I’ll do anything—be anything you ask.

And for a brief, sweet moment, she imagined she could feel the brush of his lips against her skin, her hair, and her eyelids. And was comforted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_d7c42e26-aa0f-5e88-b0cc-c9a9ed9bc63f)

WHEN Clare woke, her watch, that she’d removed the previous night, told her it was morning.

She slid awkwardly off the bed, and managed to make her way to the door, turning her back to knock at its panels.

As she’d hoped, Marco appeared, looking no happier than he had the night before.

‘Buongiorno.’ Clare smiled calmly at him. ‘I’d like the bathroom, and then some coffee.’

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Clare heard him go downstairs. Scooping her toilet things back into their bag, she opened the door and peeped out.

The passage was empty, and she was sorely tempted to make a dash for it. Except, she reminded herself, that she hadn’t a clue where ‘it’ might be.

A familiar sound was coming from a room across the passage, and she trod softly across and pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of grappa which assaulted her. Fabio was sprawled across the bed, an empty bottle on the floor beside him, snoring loudly.

Out for the count, she thought. And the perfect opportunity to work on Marco.

The shutters were open, and she tiptoed across and looked out of the window. As she’d feared, all she could see were fields and trees.

The house, which she was certain belonged to Marco’s mother, was in total isolation.

But directly below her was Fabio’s car, looking rustier than ever in the sunlight.

If I could just get the keys, she thought. We can’t be that far from a main road.

Fabio snorted, and turned on to his side. She crept back to the bathroom, closing the door quietly just as Marco came upstairs with her coffee. In addition, there was a plate, with a slice of ham, a piece of cheese, and a sad-looking peach.

‘Thank you.’ She sent him another smile. ‘How well you look after me. Your mother must be proud of you.’ She glanced round her. ‘How beautifully she keeps her house.’

‘Grazie, signorina.’ He looked faintly gratified.

‘And what a shame she won’t be able to stay here,’ Clare went on, watching him from under her lashes as she sipped her coffee.

His brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she won’t be able to look after her house when she’s in jail.’

‘Jail?’ He gave her a stony look. ‘My mother will not go to jail. And nor will I. There are many places I can hide—even from Bartaldi.’

‘But you’ve kept me in her house, which will make her an accomplice. At least that’s how the police will see it.’

‘But you know differently, signorina. You will speak for her. She is not young, and she has been sick.’

‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you let Fabio involve you in his get-rich schemes,’ Clare said contemptuously. She leaned forward, fixing his gaze with hers. She said urgently, ‘There is only one person who can speak for you—get you off the hook—and that’s the Marchese. And why should he? You betrayed his trust, and now you’ve stolen from him. You can run, Marco, but he’ll hunt you down. And your mother will suffer too.’

‘No, that cannot be. Fabio said nothing…’

‘Well, why should he? It won’t be his mother who’ll be arrested. And I’m sure he isn’t as caring a son as you, anyway.’ Clare shook her head. ‘There’s no help for it, I’m afraid. When the police trace you to this house, as they will, my fingerprints will be everywhere. And your mother will be involved, up to her neck.’

Marco looked as if he was going to burst into tears. ‘I cannot let this happen. What can I do, signorina?’

‘We-ell.’ Clare hesitated, then plunged recklessly. ‘You could always let me go.’

‘Let you go?’ He laughed hoarsely. ‘To bring the police down on me and put me in jail? I am not a fool.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be that way,’ Clare said intensely. ‘Listen to me, Marco. If you help me get away, I’ll tell the Marchese exactly what you did. How kind you’ve been. How you looked after me. What’s more, I’ll remind him how long your family have worked for him. I’ll even ask for your job back. And there might be a reward,’ she added, mentally crossing her fingers.

‘He’s a good man—a fair man,’ she went on quickly. ‘He’ll forgive you—take you back—if I ask him. If you help me now. And you’ll have saved yourself and your mother.’

There was a long silence. Then, ‘But how do I know he will do these things?’

Clare lifted her chin. ‘Because you have my promise,’ she said. ‘Because, as Fabio said, I am Bartaldi’s woman.’

There was another tense silence. She saw him swallow. Then, ‘What do I have to do?’