The Marriage Arrangement. HELEN BIANCHIN
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wondered who Graziella had invited to partner her charming father-in-law. A widow? Perhaps a divorcee?
‘Is there any earth-shattering news I should be aware of?’ Hannah queried as the car cleared another intersection.
‘In the need to conduct scintillating conversation?’
Hannah bit back a wry retort. ‘It negates any nasty little surprises.’
‘Such as?’
‘The fall of a prominent businessman due to tax avoidance. His wife cranked up her credit card in several élite boutiques.’
Miguel spared her a sharp look. ‘Yours was one of them?’
‘You got it in one.’ It wasn’t a fortune, she could write off the loss, but it left a nasty taste in her mouth that someone she trusted had deliberately ripped her off.
‘Leave it with me.’
Resentment flared. ‘I can handle it.’
‘You don’t need to,’ he responded smoothly.
Hannah wanted to hit him. ‘My business,’ she said firmly. ‘My problem.’
It could wait, Miguel decided, aware that pursuing it now would only exacerbate the situation.
Kew was an old, well-established suburb with large stately mansions, and Miguel turned the car into a leafy avenue, then halted outside an impressive set of gates leading to Graziella and Enrico del Santo’s imposing residence.
‘We’ll discuss this later.’ The window slid down and he pressed the intercom, gave his name, then waited as the gates swung open.
‘The responsibility is mine, the action my decision,’ she insisted as he parked the car on a wide pebbled apron adjacent the main entrance.
‘Independence in a woman is an admirable quality,’ Miguel intoned silkily. ‘But there are times when you take it too far.’
He slid from behind the wheel, and she stepped out, then closed the door.
‘And a man’s indomitable will is a pain in the butt.’
‘Pax,’ Miguel slanted coolly, and she offered him a brilliant smile.
‘Of course, amante,’ Hannah offered in a deliberately facetious response. ‘I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing our image.’
‘Behave,’ he admonished as they mounted the few steps to the massive double entrance doors.
They swung open as they reached them, and a tall well-built man in his fifties offered an affectionate greeting.
‘Hannah.’ Enrico leant forward and pressed his lips lightly to one cheek, then the other, and pumped Miguel’s extended hand. ‘Come through to the lounge.’
As they drew close it was possible to hear the light hum of conversation, and Enrico led them into a large spacious room filled with heavy antique chairs and sofas grouped into comfortable facing sets.
Men stood, resplendent in formal dinner suits, and each of the women resembled a model out of Vogue, the epitome in elegance and cosmetic perfection.
Hannah let her gaze skim a few familiar faces, her smile genuinely warm as she moved forward. She was one of them, born into established old money, educated and groomed to become part of an élite social clique. Hell, she’d even married into it.
Graziella enveloped them warmly, then she placed an arm through one each of theirs and drew them towards the centre of the room.
‘You know most everyone. Except some dear people I very much want you to meet. They are visiting from Europe this summer.’
Graziella and Enrico had friends in almost every city in the world, and frequently entertained guests in their home.
‘Aimee Dalfour, and her niece, Camille,’ Graziella indicated in introduction. ‘Hannah and Miguel Santanas.’
Camille was tall, slender, and startlingly beautiful, with hair that cascaded way down past her shoulders in a fall of lustrous sable. Exquisitely applied make-up, flawless textured skin, and a body to die for. Add a designer gown and shoes, expensive jewellery, and the result was drop-dead gorgeous.
‘Miguel,’ Camille purred in a sultry accented drawl. ‘C’est opportune.’ She extended her hand and silently dared him to take it, her dark eyes simmering with blatant challenge.
This woman was trouble, Hannah decided with a sinking heart. Camille’s fascination with Miguel was glaringly obvious. Also apparent was her intention to charm.
Hannah unconsciously held her breath as instinct caused all her fine body hairs to rise in protective self-defence, watching as Miguel brushed his lips to the manicured fingers, then released them.
‘Hannah,’ Camille acknowledged with pseudo politeness, and returned her attention to Miguel.
‘Enrico will get you a drink,’ Graziella informed them, ever the benevolent hostess. ‘What would you like?’
Hannah was tempted to request something exotic, but she hadn’t eaten since midday and then only a yoghurt followed an hour later by an apple. Alcohol on an empty stomach was not conducive to a clear head.
‘Thank you. Orange juice,’ she requested, and glimpsed Camille’s faint moue at her choice.
‘You don’t drink?’ she queried in a tone that indicated not to imbibe was a social faux pax.
Hannah inclined her head. ‘In this instance I’d prefer to wait and have wine with dinner.’
‘You do not have the head for it?’
Hannah chose not to rise to the bait, and merely smiled.
Minutes later she sipped the cool liquid from a stemmed goblet, aware Camille excelled in her role as temptress.
Keep it up, Hannah warned silently, and I’ll scratch your eyes out!
At that moment Miguel placed an arm along the back of her waist. A gesture that didn’t seem to have any effect at all.
The brush of beautifully lacquered nails as the Frenchwoman touched Miguel’s sleeve. The deliberately seductive smile. The promise lurking beneath those impossibly long curled eyelashes.
Why, she was practically eating him alive!
Hannah decided enough was enough. She didn’t have to stand here and watch Camille’s blatant seduction.
‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She offered Camille a stunning smile, let it drift to settle on her inimitable husband for a few seconds before she moved away a few paces to join her father-in-law.
‘May I say you look beautiful tonight?’ Esteban complimented lightly as he leaned forward and brushed his lips to her cheek.
‘Thank you,’ Hannah responded gently. ‘It’s a few weeks since you’ve been to the house. You must have dinner with us soon. We don’t see enough of you.’
His smile was affectionately warm. ‘Gracias. But you know how it is?’ He gave a light shrug, and she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
‘A full social calendar,’ she said gravely. ‘And several women vying for your attention?’
‘Ah, you flatter me.’
‘No,’ she assured him kindly. ‘You’re a very nice man, of whom I’m very fond.’ And one any woman in her right mind would snap up in a minute. Except his late wife Isabella held a special place in his heart, and he had no desire to find a substitute.
A mutual acquaintance joined them, and after a few minutes she moved away.
‘I think,’ a light feminine voice suggested, ‘you might need to sharpen your claws.’
Hannah turned towards Suzanne Trenton. ‘Really? And use them