Marco's Convenient Wife. PENNY JORDAN
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had already worked out for himself—that she had not been the one who’d been driving the car. Cynically he waited for her to say as much, and to implicate her friend whilst pleading her own innocence. It was obvious to him from the one assessing look with which he had taken in the whole of the scene in front of him that there was no way that this woman could have been the one driving his car; to anyone with even half a trained eye it was blindingly obvious that the other younger, over-made-up girl with her skimpy clothes and frightened, sullen face had been the driver. As he waited for the woman facing him to denounce her companion Marco fiercely reminded himself of all the reasons why he had been opposed to his cousin’s marriage to his English model girlfriend.
Cross-cultural marriages were always, by the very necessity of their nature, bound to be more of a risk than those between people who shared the same background and upbringing. For those marriages to work both parties had to be dedicated to their love and to one another, to believe in it, to be one hundred and fifty per cent committed to it and to be mature and strong enough to make it work. That was a very tall order indeed in today’s modern climate.
He himself had never been sexually promiscuous. He was too fastidious, too proud, too controlled to ever allow his appetites to control him, and it added to his already short temper to realise just how intense his physical reaction was to the woman standing in front of him.
‘Are you the one who stole my car?’ he demanded curtly, suddenly impatient to get the whole thing over and done with and the woman and her companion turned over to the police.
But, to his disbelief, instead of immediately denying that she was to blame and incriminating her friend, he heard her saying in a soft, shaky voice, ‘Yes…Yes, I’m afraid…that…that it was me.’
As she heard herself confessing to a crime she most certainly had not committed Alice felt her heart lurch joltingly against her ribs. She still felt sick and dizzy and her heart was thumping erratically in panic. Panic because of the trouble she was going to be in, she quickly insisted to herself, and not in any way because of the effect the man standing watching her with that masklike, uninterpretable, assessing look was having on her.
Heavens, but he was formidable…Formidable and sexy…The sexiest man she had ever seen. So sexy in fact that he was making her feel…
‘Yes?’
She could hear the fury in his voice as he repeated her admission. ‘Yes?’ he repeated as though he wanted to make sure he had heard her correctly. ‘Yes, it was you?’
It was almost as though he wanted her to deny the crime, Alice thought dizzily. But why? So that he could indulge in the pleasure of berating her, accusing her of being a liar as well as a thief? Well, she wasn’t going to give him that pleasure!
Bravely pushing to one side her own shock and fear, she told him firmly, ‘Yes. It was I. I stole your car.’
She could hear Louise making a soft, moaning, hiccupping sound and instinctively Alice looked anxiously towards her.
The younger girl’s tears had washed tracks of make-up from her face, giving her a clown-like appearance of vulnerable youthfulness, and as she saw the panic and fear in Louise’s eyes Alice found her heart aching with compassion for her.
It must have given her a dreadful shock when they had crashed. No wonder she was looking so afraid. Instinctively, Alice felt protective towards her, overcoming her own feelings of shock and hostility towards the man confronting her and the feelings he was engendering within her to tell him quietly, ‘I apologise for…what has happened and, of course, I will make good the damage to your car, but my…my…friend is very shocked. We are due to catch a flight home to England this afternoon, and we still have to collect our luggage from our hotel, so if there is some way in which we can expedite matters…I can give you all my details. My name is Alice Walsingham and…’ She stopped as she saw the frown darkening his face as he listened to her.
‘Your name is what?’ he challenged her softly.
‘Alice…Alice Walsingham,’ Alice repeated, her voice starting to tremble a little as a feeling of foreboding rushed over her like a cold incoming tide.
Marco could hardly believe his ears. So this was the woman he had waited in vain to interview, this small scrap of female humanity with her slender body, her provocative breasts, her pale blonde hair, her far-too-pretty face, and her certainly far-too-dangerously potent effect on his hormones!
That such a thing should happen to him and with this woman of all women! A woman who excited such interest in the street from his own sex that a member of it was unable to refrain from extolling the pleasure the sight of her body gave him. A woman who had been an accomplice to the theft of his car…a woman apparently so careless of human life that she could have been an accomplice to an accident of even more hideous and fatal proportions than the one he had already had to endure. A woman who had lied and implicated herself in a theft to protect the true thief, who Marco could now see when he looked at her properly was much younger than he had first thought. A teenager, in fact. Against the urgings of his own self-protective instincts, he found himself remembering certain incidents from his cousin Aldo’s youth, certain irresponsible actions from which he, as Aldo’s elder and family mentor, had been obliged to extricate the younger man.
After all, he reminded himself with reluctant fair-mindedness, he had seen the look of discomfort on Alice’s face when she had heard the ice-cream seller’s full-bodied compliment; and she had too looked shocked to the point of actual nausea after the accident. As for the effect she had on him!
The one thing about Alice that had caught his attention when he’d read through her application and the letters of recommendation that had accompanied it was the emotional input she put into caring for her charges. It was that degree of involvement that he wanted for Angelina! He had expected her to be an emotional woman, and one with a deeply protective instinct, but what he had not anticipated and what he most certainly did not want was her totally unexpected aura of sensuality! She wore it as lightly and easily as though she herself was totally unaware of it, which made it even more of a danger than if she had wantonly flaunted it, Marco recognised.
Grimly he turned to Louise. ‘And you,’ he questioned her. ‘You are?’
‘Louise is in my charge,’ Alice answered for her, assuming a firmness and authority she was far from feeling. She had bumped her head on the impact of the crash and it was aching horridly still and making her feel very poorly, but she had Louise to protect and that had to come before her own discomfort.
‘She is only young and, as you can see, very upset. Her parents are expecting her return on this afternoon’s flight and…it is my duty…my responsibility to see that she is on that flight.’
‘Your duty…and your responsibility,’ Marco emphasised. ‘Where were those undoubtedly admirable virtues, I wonder, when you stole my car, risking not only your own lives, but those of other people as well? Have you any idea what a car smash can do, what carnage, what…destruction it can cause?’ Marco demanded harshly as the nightmare images of the crash scene he had been called upon to witness when Aldo had driven away from the palazzo in the temper that had killed both him and his wife resurfaced.
With no way of knowing what he was thinking, Alice could feel her face starting to burn.
‘I…It…I couldn’t help myself,’ she started to fib desperately. ‘I have always loved…’ Helplessly she looked at the car for inspiration, unable to remember in her panic just what kind of car it actually was…
Against his will Marco found himself being both intrigued and impossibly almost even amused as he witnessed her confusion as she hunted wildly for a rational explanation to cover both her behaviour and her protective fib. Anyone with any remote pretence to being a car lover would not have had to look wildly at the bonnet to realise what make of car they’d been driving.
‘Maseratis,’ he supplied dryly for her, his voice drowning out Louise’s frantically whispered, ‘Ferrari!’
‘Yes. Maseratis,’ Alice agreed, gratefully seizing on the name he had