In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby. Catherine Spencer
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She said rather forlornly, ‘Just as I have been—haven’t I?’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But, believe me, signorina, now that we have met, I expect nothing but pleasure from your visit.’ Before she could prevent him, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it lightly and swiftly.
The dark gaze glinted at her as he released her. ‘Would it help you relax if we were a little less formal with each other? My name is Alessio, and I know that yours is Laura.’
She was aware that the colour had stormed back into her face. She said a little breathlessly, ‘I think your aunt might object.’
His tone was silky. ‘Then let us agree to leave her to her own devices, si?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If you’re quite sure.’
‘I am certain.’ He paused. ‘Shall we take our drinks onto the terrace? It is pleasant there in the evenings.’
Laura followed reluctantly. She hadn’t bargained for this, she thought uneasily. She’d expected Paolo to be hovering constantly, acting as a barrier between her and his family.
There was a table on the terrace, and comfortable cushioned chairs. Alessio held one for her courteously, then took the adjoining seat. There was a silence, and Laura took a nervous sip of her drink.
‘You and Paolo aren’t very alike—for cousins,’ she ventured at last.
‘No,’ Alessio said, contemplating his whisky. ‘There is very little resemblance between us. Physically, I believe he favours his late father.’
‘I see.’ She hesitated, then said in a small wooden voice, ‘His mother, the Signora, is a very—striking woman.’
‘She has a forceful personality, certainly,’ he said drily. ‘I understand that, when she was young, she was also considered a great beauty.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me, Laura, how did you meet my cousin?’
‘I work in a wine bar,’ she said. ‘He was one of the customers.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you are not always as shy as you are with me.’
‘But then,’ she returned, ‘I wasn’t expecting to meet you, si-gnore.’
‘You have forgotten,’ he said. ‘We agreed it would be Alessio.’
No, she thought. I haven’t forgotten a thing. I’m not ready to be on first-name terms—or any terms at all—with someone like you.
There was a loud sneeze from inside the salotto, and Paolo emerged, flourishing a large handkerchief. ‘Maledizione, I am getting a cold,’ he said peevishly. ‘Some germ on the plane, indubbiamente.’
Laura decided this was her cue. ‘Darling.’ She got up and went to his side, sliding her arm through his. ‘How horrid for you. Summer colds are always the worst.’
For a second, he looked at her as if he’d forgotten who she was, then he pulled himself together, kissing her rather awkwardly on the cheek. ‘Well, I must take care not to pass it on to you, carissima. Che peccato, eh? What a pity.’ He slid an arm round her, his fingers deliberately brushing the underside of her breast.
Laura, nailing on a smile, longed to pull away and kick him where it hurt. Alessio drank some more whisky, his face expressionless.
If she’d hoped that the arrival of his mother a short while later would impose some constraint upon Paolo, Laura was doomed to disappointment. He’d drawn his chair close beside hers at the table, and appeared glued to her side, his hand stroking her arm and shoulder possessively, his lips never far from her ear, her hair, or her cheek, nibbling little caresses that she found positively repellent.
She knew, of course, that the Signora was watching, her mouth drawn into a tight line, because that was the purpose of the exercise. And there was nothing she could do about it. But she was also sharply aware that the Count was sending them the odd meditative glance, and this, for some reason, she found even more disturbing than the older woman’s furious scrutiny.
She found she was silently repeating, ‘Think of the money. Think of the money,’ over and over again like a mantra, but it was not producing the desired calming effect, and she was thankful to her heart when dinner was finally announced, and Paolo reluctantly had to relinquish his hold.
The dining room was a long, low-ceilinged room, with a wonderful painted ceiling depicting some Bacchanalian revel, with people wearing bunches of grapes instead of clothes.
The scene below was much more decorous, the polished table gleaming with silver and crystal in the light of several elaborate candelabra. Alessio sat at the head of the table, with his aunt facing him at its foot, and Laura was seated halfway down, opposite Paolo, the width of the table putting her beyond the reach of any more amorous overtures.
Not that he seemed in the mood any longer. Instead he kept sighing, blowing his nose, and occasionally putting a hand to his forehead, as if checking his own temperature.
In spite of her concerns, Laura found she was really hungry, and tucked into the wild mushroom risotto, the veal in a rich wine sauce, and the creamy almond-flavoured dessert that she was offered with a good appetite. But she was far more sparing with the wine that Guillermo tried to pour into her glass, recognising that she needed to keep her wits about her.
Conversation was kept to general topics, and conducted in English. The Signora tried a few times to switch to Italian, but was forestalled by the Count, who silkily reminded her that she was overlooking the presence of their guest, so that she was forced to subside, glaring.
The meal was almost over when Paolo dropped his bombshell. ‘Mamma—the ring that my grandmother left me, which you keep in the safe at the appartamento. You will give it to me when we return to Rome, if you please?’
The ensuing silence was electric. Laura kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Oh, God, she wailed inwardly. What possessed him to say that—and why didn’t he warn me?
Whatever she herself might think of the Signora, and no matter what disagreement over the future Paolo might be engaged in with her, the older woman was still his mother—and he was deliberately taunting her. Pushing his supposed relationship to new limits.
She thought, biting her lip, This is so wrong…
‘It is a valuable piece of jewellery,’ the Signora said at last, her voice shaking a little. ‘It needs to be kept in security. But of course, figlio mio, it is for you to decide.’
‘And I have done so.’ Paolo sent her a bland smile. ‘It is time it was in my keeping.’
Laura put down her spoon, unable to eat another mouthful. Across the candle flames, she sent Paolo a condemnatory look.
After that the conversation flagged, and she was thankful when the Count suggested that they have coffee in the salotto.
It was served black and very strong in small cups.
‘Grappa for the signorina.’ Guillermo proffered a tiny glass of colourless liquid, and she glanced across at Paolo, whose expression was so smug she could have slapped him.
‘What is grappa?’ she asked.
‘A kind of brandy,’ he said. ‘Good for the digestion.’
For medicinal purposes only, Laura thought, raising the glass to her lips. She took one cautious sip, and nearly choked, eyes streaming.
‘My God,’ she said when she could speak, accepting the glass of mineral water that Alessio handed her. ‘How strong is that?’
‘About ninety-per-cent proof,’ he told her, amused. ‘You have never drunk it before?’
‘No,’ she said with feeling. ‘I would definitely have remembered.’
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