The Italian Match. Kay Thorpe
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a glare in return. There would be no softening of attitude there for certain. She was well and truly in the doghouse!
Dinner proved less of a banquet than anticipated, with no more than four courses. Gina drank sparingly of the free-flowing wines. She loved the reds, but they didn’t always love her. The last thing she needed was to waken with a hangover in the morning.
Lucius insisted that all conversation was conducted in English for her sake, which made her feel even more of an outsider. Marcello, she learned, was the estate comptroller, Ottavia a lady of leisure. The latter confined her questions this time to Gina’s present background, expressing astonishment on hearing she was a qualified accountant.
‘Such an unusual job for a woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you not think so, Lucius?’
‘An admirable achievement for anyone,’ he returned, directing a smile that set every nerve in Gina’s body tingling. ‘Especially at so young an age.’
‘I’m twenty-five,’ she felt moved to respond. ‘Not that much younger than yourself, I imagine.’
The smile came again, accompanied by an unmistakable glint in the dark eyes. ‘Eight years is no obstacle, I agree.’
Obstacle to what, Gina didn’t need to ask. Neither, she was sure, did anyone else. That his interest in her was purely physical she didn’t need telling either. It could hardly be anything more.
Her cool regard served only to increase the glint. Opposition, it appeared, was an enticement in itself. More than ever she regretted the situation she had landed herself with. If she wanted to know the truth, not only was she faced with the prospect of explaining a lie she had no logical reason to have told in the first place, but the possibility of mortifying Lucius with the news that he had been making advances to a relative.
‘And what does your stepfather do for a living?’ Ottavia persisted, claiming her attention once more.
‘He’s in textiles,’ she acknowledged.
‘On his own account?’
‘His own business, yes.’ A highly successful one, Gina could have added, but saw no reason to go into greater detail—especially when said success was dependent on factors she found rather worrying at times.
Ottavia seemed content to leave it at that for the moment, but Gina sensed that the digging was by no means done. Plain nosiness, she assured herself. There was no way the woman could suspect the truth.
Midnight brought no sign of an end to the evening. Hardly able to keep her eyes open, Gina finally gave in.
‘I hope it won’t be taken amiss if I go to bed,’ she said. ‘I was on the road at seven this morning, and didn’t have all that good a night’s sleep before it.’
‘But of course!’ Signora Carandente responded. ‘You must feel free to do whatever you wish while you are our guest. Perhaps you would prefer to have breakfast served in your room?’
‘Not at all,’ Gina assured her. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She added impulsively, ‘Your hospitality is second to none, signora.’
‘Contessa,’ corrected Ottavia with some sharpness of tone.
‘You may call me Cornelia,’ her mother told Gina graciously.
Still grappling with the implications, Gina inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’
She took her leave with a general ‘Goodnight,’ avoiding any clash of glances with Lucius himself. If his mother was a Contessa, his father obviously had to have been a Count, which meant the title must have been handed down. It made the likelihood of her father having any connection seem even more remote. What would a son of such a family have been doing attending an English university as an ordinary student?
On the other hand, it was surely unlikely that either now or in the past another, entirely unconnected, Carandente family resided in Vernici.
She was going around in circles, Gina acknowledged. The only way to be sure was to do what she should have done several hours ago and tell the whole story. Concealing the name had been an idiotic gesture all round. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come clean. It was hardly as if she was after feathering her nest in any fashion. All she wanted was to know who her father had really been.
CHAPTER TWO
DESPITE her tiredness, Gina was wide awake at six. The early morning sunlight beckoned her out onto the balcony to view the beautifully landscaped gardens stretching to all sides. The vistas beyond were shrouded in early morning haze.
There was no one about that she could see from here. On impulse, she returned to the bedroom to don a pair of light cotton trousers and a shirt. Half an hour or so’s exploration would still leave her plenty of time to get ready for the day proper.
She could hear the muted sound of voices coming from somewhere towards the rear of the premises as she descended to the lower floor, but no one appeared to question her purpose. Not that any member of staff would do that in any case, Gina supposed. As a guest of the house she was, as Cornelia had assured her, entitled to do as she wished.
All the same she reduced the chances of running into anyone by using the front entrance. The Fiat was gone, the driveway clear of vehicles of any kind. There would be garages around the back somewhere, she assumed.
She headed left, away from the house, dropping down stone steps between white marble pillars to terraces over-hung with luxuriant plant life and strewn with classical statues. Gina revelled in the beauty of it all against the clean, clear blue of the sky.
On one level lay a pond laced with water lilies of every hue, the carved stone bench at its edge positioned to take full advantage of the harmonious view across the valley. She slowed her steps on sight of the man already seated there.
‘I didn’t realise anyone else was up and about yet,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘I thought I’d take a look around before breakfast.’
‘I saw you from my window,’ Lucius admitted. ‘It seemed probable that you would eventually reach this spot.’ His regard this morning was fathomless. ‘So, how do you find our home?’
‘It’s truly beautiful,’ she acknowledged. ‘A dream of a place! Why didn’t you tell me you were a Count?’ she tagged on.
He gave a brief shrug. ‘I have no use for status symbols.’
‘Ottavia doesn’t appear to share the aversion.’
‘My sister clings to an order long gone.’ He patted the seat at his side. ‘Come sit with me.’
‘I have to get back,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It must be getting on for breakfast time.’
‘Food will be served whenever and wherever required,’ he advised. A hint of amusement in his eyes now, he added, ‘You are afraid of me, perhaps?’
‘Of course not!’ she denied.
‘Then, of what I make you feel?’ he continued imperturbably.
Pretending not to know what he was talking about would be a waste of time and breath, Gina knew. ‘You take a great deal too much for granted,’ she retorted.
The amusement grew. ‘That is your English half speaking. Your Barsini blood responds to mine.’
The time to tell him the truth was now, but the words wouldn’t form themselves.
‘Grateful as I am to you for what you’re doing with my car, I’m not about to become your playmate for the week,’ she said coolly instead.
‘Playmates are for children,’ he returned, not in the least rebuffed. ‘We are neither of us that.’
‘But we are strangers,’ she replied with deliberation. ‘You don’t really know anything about me.’
‘Then, tell me,’ he invited.