The Italian Match. Kay Thorpe
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I will come with you,’ he said.
He got to his feet, lean and lithe as a panther in the black trousers and shirt. Gina steeled herself as he moved to where she stood, but he made no attempt to touch her, falling into step at her side as she turned back the way she had come. Catching the faint scent of aftershave, she was supremely conscious of the fact that she had yet to shower, yet to put a brush to her hair.
‘Are you always up this early of a morning?’ she asked.
‘I rise when I awaken,’ he said easily. ‘No later than six, sometimes as much as an hour before that.’
‘Even when you don’t get to bed until the early hours?’
‘A matter of custom. If I tire in the day I may take siesta. It depends on my commitments.’
‘I imagine those are extensive.’
‘Not too much so.’
Doing her best to keep the conversational ball rolling, she said, ‘You speak excellent English.’
‘But somewhat structured compared with the way you speak, yes?’
Gina cast a glance at the chiselled profile, responding to the curve of his lips. ‘My old English teacher would approve every word. It’s usually tourists who introduce bad habits.’
‘Few tourists find Vernici,’ he said. ‘It is off the regular routes.’
‘I know. I had some difficulty finding it myself.’
It was Lucius’s turn to slant a glance, expression curious. ‘Why were you looking for Vernici at all if your father came from Naples.’
Do it now! an inner voice urged her, even as she mentally cursed the slip-up. ‘Latterly,’ she heard herself saying regardless. ‘But he was apparently born in Vernici, so I thought it worth taking a look there too.’
‘I see.’ From his tone, it was obvious that he was wondering why she hadn’t mentioned that fact last night. ‘The name is unfamiliar to me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘but the older townsfolk will surely recall the family. I will have enquiries made.’
She was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, thought Gina unhappily. What the devil was wrong with her that she kept on fabricating things?
They had reached the front of the house. Lucius preceded her up the steps to open a door for her to pass through, too close by far for comfort as he followed her in. Soles wet from their passage across the grass, her sandals had no purchase on the terrazzo. Lucius shot out an arm as she skidded, hauling her up against him, his hand warm at her waist.
‘You must take more care,’ he said, making no immediate attempt to let her go again.
‘I will,’ Gina assured him. ‘I’m fine now, thanks.’
His laugh was low, the brief pressure of his lips at her nape where the curtain of hair had parted stirring her blood in a manner she deplored.
‘I’d prefer you didn’t do that,’ she got out.
He laughed again, but this time released her. Gina made herself meet the dark eyes. ‘I realise you probably won’t be used to it, but I’m telling you again that I’m not…available.’
‘Do you not think that you might be the one now taking too much for granted?’ Lucius returned with mock gravity.
‘Am I?’ she challenged, and saw the glint return.
‘No. I would be only half a man if I could look at you and not want you in the instant, cara.’ He gave her no time to reply—if she could have come up with a reply at all. ‘I will begin enquiries about the Barsini family this very morning. I would hope to have news of them before the day is over.’
A forlorn hope, Gina reflected ruefully. The longer this charade of hers continued, the harder it became to revoke.
‘There’s something I—’ she began, breaking off as Guido heaved into view.
‘Something you…?’ Lucius prompted.
She shook her head, courage lost. ‘Forget it.’
Leaving him standing there, she ran lightly up the stairs to head for her room. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult. If it weren’t for her lack of transport, she would be tempted to abandon the whole idea and return home. She was vitally attracted to a man who might just be a close blood relation, a man who was making no effort to conceal his objective. Even if there should prove to be no connection, she wasn’t into the kind of casual, ships that pass in the night, relationship that was all Lucius would have in mind.
Despite last night’s refusal, breakfast was brought to her at eight o’clock. Gina ate it out on the balcony, enjoying both the view and the warmth. The sky was so blue, the quality of light a joy in itself. It was possible that her father had viewed the same scene—perhaps even from this very room. Could she really bear, Gina asked herself, not to know for certain?
She went downstairs again with no notion of how she was going to spend the day. Wandering out to the terrace, she found Ottavia stretched out on a lounger beneath an opened umbrella. She was wearing a gold-lamé bikini that barely covered her voluptuous curves, her eyes shielded by designer sunglasses. Her toenails, Gina noted, were painted the same shade of scarlet as her fingernails and lips, the whole effect more reminiscent of the film world, she thought, than Italian aristocracy.
‘Buon giorno,’ she proffered tentatively.
Ottavia pulled down the sunglasses a fraction to run a disparaging eye over the cotton dress Gina had elected to wear. ‘You are quite recovered from your weariness, I trust?’ she enquired, without bothering to respond to the greeting.
‘Quite, thank you,’ Gina confirmed. She felt it necessary to add, ‘The breakfast was very good, but I really don’t expect to be waited on while I’m here.’
‘As you are here at my brother’s invitation, you are entitled to be treated as any other guest,’ came the smooth reply. ‘You realise, of course, how fortunate you are to have gained his support in this affair.’ She didn’t wait for any answer. ‘A word of warning, however. Lucius may pay you some attentions because he is a man and you are attractive to look at, but it means nothing.’
‘In other words, don’t run away with the idea that he might be about to offer marriage,’ Gina returned. ‘I’ll certainly bear it in mind.’
The irony left no visible impression. ‘Good,’ was the only comment.
Her presence wasn’t exactly welcome, Gina gathered, as the glasses were replaced and the head returned to the supporting cushion. She was tempted to stay anyway, just for the hell of it, but there was little to be gained from keeping company with someone who so obviously didn’t want her there.
She had only covered a small part of the immediate grounds earlier. Now would be the right time to take a turn round the other side of the house before the heat became too great for comfort. With several days to fill, and nowhere else to go, she was probably going to be spending a lot of time out of doors. Which in this climate would be no great hardship, she had to admit.
She was crossing the drive when a low-slung sports car came roaring round the bend. Gina leapt instinctively for safety, missed her footing and went down on one knee in the gravel, steeling herself for the impact she was sure was to come. The car screeched to a halt with its front bumper bare inches from her. Spouting Italian at a rate of knots, the driver leapt out without bothering to turn off the engine, a look of concern on his handsome face as he came to lift her to her feet.
‘Inglese,’ Gina said for what seemed like the millionth time in response to what she took to be a spate of solicitous enquiry. ‘Non capisco.’
‘English!’ he exclaimed on a note of surprise.
‘That’s right.’ Gina gave a wry grimace as she eased