At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command. Susan Stephens
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he began, and his eyes flicked down to her fingers, which had clenched into white-boned fists.
‘Get on with it!’ she jerked out, before she could stop herself.
‘My apologies. Your time is valuable. I forgot. Carlo,’ he said in a gravelly voice, ‘is not here.’
Life drained from her body. Suppressing a sob, she lifted her chin and met his simmering gaze full on, her entire body quivering with rage.
‘You rat! Is this your revenge on me?’ she choked, hating him, her eyes bleak and splintered with ice.
‘No. I am not that vindictive,’ he replied quietly.
When he sipped his tea, she saw to her surprise that his hand was shaking. Fear ripped through her, destroying the carefully erected mask of composure.
‘Dear heaven! What’s happened to him?’ she breathed, her lips parted in fear.
‘Afraid of losing your bargaining tool?’ he taunted.
‘Is—he—all—right?’ she ground out, her face bleached of colour.
‘Fine. I just wanted us to have time to discuss this.’
There was a strange light in his eyes which was almost sexual as he stared at her mouth when it parted in a relieved gasp, and she cringed back in her chair, not trusting him an inch. Her head began to pound with the crackling tension.
‘I didn’t know, you see,’ he explained, ‘how long our negotiations would take.’
Negotiations. She felt on firmer ground. Naturally he’d want to ask her for access time.
‘They’ll take a week,’ she said tartly, ‘if you continue stalling.’
‘So English,’ he murmured with a curled lip of distaste. ‘So direct.’
‘Come to the point,’ she insisted, refusing to play his game any longer.
He nodded. ‘Allora. This is the situation.’ He leaned back in his chair, watching her steadily with his melted-chocolate eyes, and she felt dizzy as the hysteria rose within her. He must have sensed her desperation because he firmed his lips and continued, ‘I need to explain why I have asked you here.’
Her entire body seemed to be turned to ice. This didn’t sound good.
‘Do,’ she managed to snap out.
He scowled and took his time while her heart rate reached alarming levels and the fear made her head spin.
‘At first,’ he said in unusually rasping tones, ‘Carlo was excited by the journey on the plane and the fun we had in my uncle’s Milan apartment where we stayed initially. I gave him my full attention and he loved that.’
‘Yes.’ Just in time, Miranda restrained herself from saying that it must have been a novelty to have his father’s undivided attention. She suspected that sarcasm wouldn’t get her anywhere.
‘Then when the palazzo was ready, we drove here.’ Dante gave a faint smile, evidently reliving happy memories. ‘He loved his playroom and new toys, the trips on the ferries across the lake…’
He paused, his voice tailing away. She realised that this was distressing him. The oh-so-perfect Dante had discovered that he wasn’t enough for his three-year-old son.
She jumped in before she felt sorry for him. ‘And then?’
His jaw worked. Pain tore at his mouth. To her surprise, a pang ripped at her chest, though why she should feel any sympathy she couldn’t imagine for the life of her.
Very softly he said, ‘I regret to say that all my entertaining and affection could not replace the love that he has for you.’
He took a deep breath. Miranda stifled a sudden rush of joyful relief. ‘I’m not surprised.’
‘I am. But remarkably, despite your poor mothering skills, Carlo is clearly missing you.’
She bit back a wrenching sob so that Dante wouldn’t notice how deeply she’d been affected by that last remark. Poor baby, she thought in an agony of despair. They’d never been parted before. Most of his waking hours had been spent with her. He’d been miserable. Had probably cried pitifully…
And suddenly her control snapped. She couldn’t hold back her misery, her mind tortured by flashes of cinematic images of Carlo in tears, his small face screwed up in bewilderment and despair.
‘Of course he’s missing me!’ she stormed. ‘How could you hurt him like this? You must have known this would happen!’
‘But I didn’t!’ he protested. ‘I thought he’d miss his nanny more, since you’d largely abandoned him to her care!’
‘Not true—!’ she gasped.
‘I heard different!’ he hurled.
Her eyes blazed and she clenched her fists. ‘From whom?’
‘Someone close to you.’
‘The nanny—Susan?’
He shook his head, his black eyes never leaving her tense face. ‘Someone else. I know that Carlo rarely saw you—’
‘That’s a lie!’ she spat in outrage.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said tightly. ‘I was the only one who gave him any time and affection—’
‘Ridiculous! You were never home during those last few months!’ she accused.
‘An exaggeration!’ he retorted. ‘Certainly I visited my uncle frequently, because he was ill—’
‘And rich!’ she goaded.
‘However, when I was home,’ Dante went on, grimly ignoring her, ‘Carlo had my devoted attention. It was obvious that he lacked affection. He clung to me. Wouldn’t let me go—’
‘Because he felt insecure about you! He never knew when you’d go and when you’d come back—’
‘He loves me!’ Dante hurled. ‘You know he does!’
‘Yes,’ she agreed coldly. ‘But he’s precious to me—’
‘Because you can use him?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she cried in astonishment.
The black eyes were like stones. ‘He’s good currency,’ he said coldly. ‘You know I want him—’
‘Oh, the Severini heir!’ she scathed, fear clutching at her heart. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘He is my son! That’s why I want him!’ Dante flung in passion and she knew she had a battle on her hands. ‘I know you see him as a meal ticket—perhaps, as I said, something to bargain with. Or perhaps as a revenge because your days of sucking me dry are over—’
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said, trying to keep the lid on her temper. ‘I don’t see Carlo as a means of getting revenge or money. He is my child and I love him. I am here to take him home because he needs me. Whatever this…lying person says, I am devoted to Carlo. You’ve seen that for yourself, Dante! Are you blind?’
‘You’re not particularly demonstrative,’ he snapped.
‘Are you comparing me with Italian mothers?’ she demanded. ‘You know how I am. I’m not effusive—never have been. I try not to spoil him. But I do hug and kiss him and think of his welfare all the time. I won’t have you saying I don’t love my own son when it’s written in my eyes for anyone to see! I absolutely adore him! I am his mother!’
‘To my eternal regret.’ Dante scowled. ‘And I find it inexplicable that he’s been asking for you every single day.’