The Count's Blackmail Bargain

He was arrogant, she thought, and altogether too pleased with himself, and, although no one should be forced to marry someone they didn’t love, on balance her sympathies lay with his would-be fiancée.

‘I must insist on one thing,’ she said. ‘No mention of Harman Grace.’

‘As you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘But why? They are a good company. You have nothing to be ashamed of by working for them.’

‘I know that. But we’re now the bank’s official PR company in London. Your cousin must know that, and he’ll recognise the name if it’s mentioned. He may not appreciate the fact that you’re supposedly dating someone who’s almost an employee.’

‘Don’t disturb yourself, cara. I am nothing more than an employee myself. Besides, the chances of your meeting my cousin Alessio are slim. But Harman Grace shall remain a secret between us, if that’s what you want.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I really do. Thank you.’

She was astonished to find that they were flying first class, proving that poverty was only relative, she thought grimly, declining the champagne she was automatically offered.

A couple of glasses of wine had got her into this mess. So, from now on she intended to keep a cool head.

She was also faintly disconcerted by Paolo’s attempts to flirt with her. He kept bending towards her, his voice low and almost intimate as he spoke. And she didn’t like his persistent touching either—her hair, her shoulder, the sleeve of her linen jacket.

Oh, God, she thought uneasily. Don’t tell me Gaynor was right about him all along.

She was aware, with embarrassment, that the cabin staff were watching them, exchanging knowing looks.

‘What are you doing?’ she muttered, pulling her hand away as he tried to kiss each of her fingers.

He shrugged, not in the least discomposed. ‘For every performance, there must be a rehearsal, no?’

‘Definitely no,’ Laura said tartly.

She was also disappointed to hear there’d been a slight change of plan. That instead of hiring a car at the airport and driving straight to Tuscany, they were first to join the Signora Vicente at her Rome apartment.

‘But for how long?’ she queried.

Paolo was unconcerned. ‘Does it matter? It will give you a chance to see my city before we bury ourselves in the countryside,’ he told her. He gave a satisfied smile. ‘Also, my mother employs a driver and a car for her journeys, so we shall travel in comfort.’

Laura felt she had no option but to force a smile of agreement. It’s his trip, she thought resignedly. I’m just the hired help.

The Signora’s residence was in the Aventine district, which Paolo told her was one of the city’s more peaceful locations with many gardens and trees.

She occupied the first floor of a grand mansion, standing in its own grounds, and Laura took a deep, calming breath as they mounted the wide flight of marble stairs.

You’ve got your passport in your bag, she reminded herself silently. Also, your return ticket. All you have to do, if you really can’t hack this, is turn and run.

When they reached the imposing double doors, Paolo rang the bell, and Laura swallowed as he took her hand in his with a reassuring nod.

It’s only a couple of weeks, she thought. Not the rest of my life.

The door was opened by a plump elderly maid, who beamed at Paolo, ignoring Laura completely, then burst into a flood of incomprehensible Italian.

Laura found herself in a windowless hall, its only illumination coming from a central chandelier apparently equipped with low-wattage bulbs. The floor was tiled in dark marble, and a few pieces of heavy antique furniture and some oil paintings in ornate frames did little to lighten the atmosphere.

Then the maid flung open the door to the salotto, and sunlight struggled out, accompanied by a small hairy dog, yapping furiously and snarling round their ankles.

‘Quiet, Caio,’ Paolo ordered, and the dog backed off, although it continued its high-pitched barking, and growling. Laura liked dogs, and usually got on with them, but something told her that Caio was more likely to take a chunk out of her ankle than respond to any overtures she might make.

Paolo led her into the room. ‘Call off your hound, Mamma,’ he said. ‘Or my Laura will think she is not welcome.’

‘But I am always ready to receive your friends, figlio mio.’ The Signora rose from a brocaded sofa, and offered her hand.

She was a tall woman, Laura saw, and had been handsome once rather than a beauty. But time had thinned her face and narrowed her mouth, and this, together with her piercing dark eyes, made her formidable. She wore black, and there were pearls round her neck, and in her ears.

‘Signorina Mason, is it not so?’ Her smile was vinegary as she absorbed Laura’s shy response. ‘You would like some tea, I think. Is that not the English habit?’

Laura lifted her chin. ‘Now that I’m here, signora, perhaps I should learn a few Italian customs instead.’

The elegantly plucked brows lifted. ‘You will hardly be here long enough to make it worthwhile, signorina—but as you wish.’ She rang a bell for the maid, ordered coffee and cakes, then beckoned Paolo to join her on the sofa.

This, thought Laura, taking the seat opposite that she’d been waved towards, is going to be uphill all the way. And she was still inwardly flinching from ‘my Laura’.

It was a beautiful room, high-ceilinged and well proportioned, but massively over-furnished for her taste. There were too many groups of hard-looking chairs, she thought, taking a covert glance around. And far too many spindly-legged tables crowded with knick-knacks. The windows were huge, and she longed to drag open the tall shutters that half-masked them and let in some proper light. But she supposed that would fade the draperies, and the expensive rugs on the parquet floor.

‘I have some news for you, mio caro,’ the Signora announced, after the maid had served coffee and some tiny, but frantically rich chocolate cakes. ‘And also for the signorina, your companion. I regret that I cannot after all entertain you at my country home. It is occupied by workmen—so tedious, but unavoidable.’

Laura froze, her cup halfway to her lips. Were they going to spend the whole two weeks in this apartment? Oh, God, she thought, surely not. It might seem spacious enough, but she suspected that even a few days with the Signora would make it seem totally claustrophobic.

Paolo was looking less than pleased. ‘But you knew we were coming, Mamma. And I promised Laura that she should see Tuscany.’

‘Another time, perhaps,’ the Signora said smoothly. ‘This time she will have to be content with a corner of Umbria.’ Her expression was bland. ‘Your cousin Alessio has offered us the use of the Villa Diana at Besavoro.’

There was an astonished pause, then Paolo said slowly, ‘Why should he do that?’

‘Mio caro.’ The Signora’s voice held a hint of reproof. ‘We are members of his family. His only living relatives.’

Paolo shrugged. ‘Even so, it is not like him to be so obliging,’ he countered. ‘And, anyway, Besavoro is at the end of the world.’ He spread his hands. ‘Also, the Villa Diana is halfway up a mountain on the way to nowhere. It is hardly an adequate substitute.’

‘I think Signorina Mason will find it charming.’ Again the smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘And not overrun by her own countrymen.’ She turned to Laura. ‘I understand that Tuscany has come to be known as Chiantishire. So amusing.’

‘Has it?’ Laura enquired with wooden untruthfulness. ‘I didn’t know.’ Dear God, she thought. I’m going to be staying at a house owned by the chairman of the Arleschi Bank. This can’t be happening.

‘And Umbria is very beautiful,’ the Signora continued. ‘They call it the green heart of Italy, and there are many places to visit—Assisi—Perugia—San Sepulcro, the birthplace of the great Rafael. You will be spoiled for choice, signorina.’

Paolo cast a glance at the decorated ceiling. ‘You call it a choice, Mamma?’ he demanded. ‘To risk our lives up and down that deathtrap of a road every time we want to go anywhere?’

He shook his head. ‘If anything happens to my cousin Alessio, and I inherit, then the Villa Diana will be for sale the next day.’

There was another lengthier pause. Then: ‘You must forgive my son, signorina,’ the Signora said silkily. ‘In the heat of the moment, he does not always speak with wisdom. And, even if it is a little remote, the house is charming.’

‘And Alessio?’ Paolo demanded petulantly, clearly resenting the rebuke. ‘At least he can’t mean to use the house himself, if we are there. Or he never has in the past.’ He snorted. ‘Probably off chasing some skirt.’

‘Dear boy, the offer was made, and I was glad to accept. I did not enquire into his own plans.’