Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure. Anne Mather
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raised the mug he was drinking from to his mouth and regarded her enigmatically across the rim.
‘Yes, your tea.’ Josie was anxious to assure her guest that it was all ready for her. ‘But as you’re down, would you like me to serve it in the drawing room instead?’
‘Oh—um—’ after the fiasco of lunch, Juliet had no desire to repeat the experience ‘—couldn’t I just have it here? With you and—Mr Marchese.’
‘Rafe,’ he said flatly, putting his mug down on the table. He had no desire to get to know this young woman any better than he did already, but he couldn’t ignore her. ‘I think Josie would prefer it if you allowed her to serve you in the drawing room.’
Juliet’s lips pursed. ‘And I’d prefer to have it here,’ she insisted smoothly. ‘Is there a problem with that?’
‘Of course not, Miss Lawrence.’ Josie was clearly disturbed by the sudden hostility between them. ‘If you’ll just give me a minute to boil the kettle and make some fresh tea—’
‘What you’re having is fine.’ Juliet sent Rafe a challenging look. Then, with what he thought was a reflection of his cousin’s arrogance, ‘I thought you’d left, Mr Marchese.’
‘I came back,’ said Rafe calmly. Then, mimicking her defiance, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
Her cheeks darkened with becoming colour, proving she wasn’t as confident as she’d like to appear. ‘It’s not my place to comment,’ she retorted tartly, but he couldn’t let her get away with that.
‘But you have,’ he pointed out, picking up his mug again, and Josie clasped her hands together in dismay.
‘Rafe, please,’ she said, her eyes wide and appealing. ‘I’m sure Miss Lawrence was only making conversation.’ She hurriedly took the cup and saucer from the tray and lifted the teapot she’d been using. ‘How do you like your tea, Miss Lawrence? With milk and sugar or a slice of lemon?’
Juliet felt embarrassed. There’d been no tension in the room when she’d arrived, but there was now. And it was all her fault.
Well, maybe not entirely her fault, she defended herself, as Josie added to her cup the milk that she’d requested. She was beginning to wonder if Cary might have some justification for his resentment after all. There was no doubt that Rafe was being deliberately awkward with her.
‘Is your room comfortable?’ Josie asked, offering Juliet a seat—and a way out—and, although she would have preferred to remain standing, she realised the old woman wouldn’t sit down again unless she did.
‘Um—very comfortable,’ she said, casting another glance at Rafe as she pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It has a marvellous view of the estuary.’
Rafe watched her through narrowed eyes, wishing the old lady hadn’t put her in his mother’s old room. Wondering, too, what a girl like her would see in a loser like Cary. What had Lady Elinor told him? That she’d already been married and divorced? She didn’t look old enough to have had so much experience of life.
Juliet was aware of him watching her, lids lowered, lashes to die for shading those disturbing dark eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he assume that like Cary she was only interested in the old lady’s money? For, despite what he’d said to his cousin, she’d seen the expression on Cary’s face when he’d thought Lady Elinor wasn’t looking, and it hadn’t been pleasant.
The silence had gone on too long and Josie, who had evidently been trying again to think of something non-contentious to say, turned appealing eyes to Rafe. ‘Your grandmother’s having a small dinner party on Saturday night. Did she tell you?’
Rafe’s mouth compressed. ‘Now why would she tell me a thing like that?’ he queried drily. ‘I’m not invited, am I?’
‘N—o.’ Josie had to be honest. ‘But the Holdernesses are coming.’
‘Are they?’ He pulled a wry face. ‘The old girl must be pulling out all the stops.’
‘Well, that’s the thing…’
But Josie belatedly seemed to realise she’d gone too far in a guest’s presence and, meeting her troubled eyes, Rafe took his cue and said, ‘Well, don’t worry. I’ll be around if you need me.’
‘Oh, Rafe!’
The words were said with such heartfelt emotion that Juliet realised that, whatever she thought of him, the housekeeper didn’t share her view. In fact, there seemed to be a genuine affection between them and Juliet permitted herself another look in his direction.
Only to encounter his reflective gaze.
She looked away immediately, but not before she’d gained the impression that his opinion of her was no less critical than hers of him. He evidently did think she was some empty-headed bimbo who’d only latched on to Cary because of his expectations.
As if!
Deciding it was up to her to try and change that impression, she forced herself to meet his gaze again and say politely, ‘Cary said something about you being an artist, Mr Marchese. Should I have heard of you?’
‘I believe what he actually said was that I had artsy-craftsy friends,’ murmured Rafe rather maliciously, and heard Josie’s sudden intake of breath.
‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed again, barely audibly, but Juliet wasn’t listening to her.
‘And do you?’ she countered. ‘Have artsy-craftsy friends, I mean?’
Rafe sighed, putting down his empty mug and regarding her tolerantly for once. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘That’s just Cary’s way of denigrating anything he doesn’t understand.’
‘Please, Rafe…’
Josie was getting desperate and this time Juliet did hear her. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mrs Morgan,’ she said, giving the housekeeper a quick smile of reassurance. ‘Mr Marchese doesn’t like me. That’s obvious. Well, that’s OK. I’m not especially fond of him either.’ She finished her tea and set down her cup. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a look outside, if that’s permitted?’
When she emerged into the hall again, Cary was just coming down the stairs. Oh, great! she thought. That was all she needed. And the situation wasn’t improved when the door behind her opened again. For some reason, Rafe had chosen to follow her.
Someone—Cary, she assumed—had turned on some lights and the hall didn’t look half as gloomy as it had done when she’d come downstairs. In fact, with what appeared to be a Waterford crystal chandelier picking out the reddish grain in the panelling, a little of its former grandeur had been restored.
The angle of the stairs meant that Cary didn’t immediately notice his cousin. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet?’ he demanded peevishly. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. I went to your room, but you weren’t there. Obviously.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’
If Juliet had hoped that Cary’s words might deter Rafe from interfering, she was mistaken. ‘She’s been having tea in the kitchen, with me and Josie,’ he drawled lazily, stepping into the light. ‘I assume you have no objections?’
‘Like hell!’ Cary had reached the bottom of the stairs and now he looked suspiciously from Juliet to the other man. Then, scowling at his supposed fiancée, ‘How did that come about?’
Juliet sighed. ‘By accident,’ she said tersely, flashing Rafe an exasperated look. ‘I was looking for—for someone to talk to. I thought Josie might be able to tell me a bit more about the house.’
‘So what was he doing?’ Cary cocked his head towards Rafe.
‘I was having tea with Josie, if it’s any business of yours,’ replied Rafe before Juliet could answer. ‘This isn’t your house yet,