The Italians: Angelo, Rocco & Stefano: Wife in the Shadows / A Dangerous Infatuation / The Italian's Blushing Gardener. Sara Craven
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and resignedly gave full rein to her uneasy thoughts.
She would be having severe words with Silvia, once the opportunity presented itself, she promised herself grimly. Her cousin had no right—no right at all—to implicate her even marginally in whatever was going on between herself and that diabolically good-looking bastard who’d just swanned in.
Not that there were any real doubts in her mind about the situation—how could there be?—which suggested that, if Silvia wasn’t careful, other people including Madrina, would be drawing the same conclusions.
And Silvia must be mad if she thought her godmother, or, more particularly, the austere Prince Damiano would tolerate any possibility of open scandal under their roof.
And while she could admit that maybe Ernesto was not the most exciting man in the world, she remembered how Silvia had insisted she wanted to marry him and no-one else. Or was it more the status of being a rich man’s wife she’d actually hankered for?
Whatever—there was a limit to Ernesto’s placidity, and if he even suspected that Silvia had been unfaithful to him, there’d be trouble bordering on catastrophe.
How could her cousin take such a risk—especially when it did not seem to be making her happy? Ellie asked herself in bewilderment. But remembering her original assessment of Count Manzini, she doubted whether bestowing happiness would be a priority in his relationships anyway.
Here today, she thought, biting her lip, and gone tomorrow. Not that she was any real judge of such matters, of course, but instinct warned her he was the kind of man anyone with sense should cross a busy street to avoid.
But there were no busy streets at the Villa Rosa, as Ellie discovered several hours later when, to her horror, she found she’d been placed next to Count Manzini at dinner.
It was punishment, she thought, for fibbing to her godmother that she’d stayed in her room with a slight headache instead of rejoining the party.
Nor was it any consolation that the Count seemed no more pleased at having her as a neighbour than she was.
Because Madrina had emphasised an informal evening,
Ellie had kept back the long dress she’d brought in deference to the Prince’s known wishes, choosing instead a pretty georgette skirt in white, patterned with sunflowers, which floated around her when she moved, and a scooped-neck silk top, also in white. Neither of them were from the Galantana line, as she was sure one quick glance had told him.
She had no idea who’d made his expensive suit either, but decided it was probably Armani.
At the other end of the table, Silvia was resplendent in a royal blue cocktail dress, made high to the throat in front, but plunging deeply at the back. She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium—in fact she looked almost glowingly triumphant—and was chatting with animation to her neighbours as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Leaving me free to do the worrying for her, Ellie thought, serving herself from the dishes of antipasti which began the meal.
She’d not yet had the chance for a private word with her cousin who’d been missing from her room at the other end of the villa when she went in search of her, leaving Ellie to wonder where she was and decide that she’d probably prefer not to know.
‘May I offer you some tomato salad?’ Count Manzini enquired with cool politeness, and she looked up from her plate with a start.
‘No,’ she said, stiltedly. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I seem to alarm you, signorina,’ he went on, after a pause. ‘Or do you simply prefer to eat in silence?’
‘I think—neither.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’
He smiled at her for the first time, and she felt her throat tighten nervously as she reluctantly experienced the full impact of his attraction. The government, she thought shakily, should issue a warning, and felt something like a grudging sympathy for Silvia.
‘I believe we have encountered each other before, but were not formally presented to each other,’ he continued. ‘One evening at the home of Ernesto Alberoni, I think.’
‘Perhaps.’ Ellie stared rigidly down at her food. ‘I—I don’t remember.’
‘Che peccato,’ he said lightly. ‘Also, I was not aware that our hostess had more than one god child. Do you visit her a great deal?’
‘As often as I can, yes.’ Her tone was faintly defensive. ‘And this weekend—it is an engagement of long standing?’
She wanted to say ‘Hasn’t Silvia told you how she dragged me down here at the last minute as a cover story?’ but decided against it. On the other hand, she didn’t see why she should answer any more of his questions.
She shrugged. ‘I can’t really remember when it was arranged,’ she returned, deliberately casual. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I am just a little curious about your presence at a party where the other guests are so much older.’
‘But I’m not the only one.’ She was careful not to glance in Silvia’s direction. ‘The same could be said of you, Count Manzini.’
‘I am here because I have business with Prince Damiano,’ he said softly. ‘And when it is concluded, I shall be gone.’
Let it be soon, thought Ellie, helping herself to more anchovies and wondering at the same time if her cousin was aware of his plans.
When he resumed the conversation, he turned to rather more neutral topics, asking if she played tennis—she didn’t—and if she liked to swim, at which point she claimed mendaciously that she hadn’t brought her bathing costume.
He was being perfectly civil, yet Ellie was thankful when his attention was claimed by Signora Barzado, seated on his other side, and she was therefore able to relax a little and enjoy the gnocchi in its rich sauce, and the exquisite veal dish that followed.
It occurred to her that even if she’d been unaware of his involvement with Silvia, she would still not have felt comfortable with him. There was arrogance beneath the charm, she thought, suggesting that he regarded women as just another facet of his success.
Besides, he was in orbit round some sun while she remained completely earthbound.
Not that it mattered, she told herself, as she ate her panna cotta with its accompanying wild strawberries. Tomorrow he would leave and, with luck, she would never have to set eyes on him again. All the same she wished that Prince Damiano had not been detained in Geneva.
It was a long meal with strega and grappa to accompany the coffee which ended it, but when it was over and they drifted back to the salotto, Ellie’s need to talk to Silvia was thwarted again by her cousin immediately opting to play bridge with Signora Barzado and the Cipriantos.
Count Manzini, to her relief, took himself off to the billiard room with Carlo Barzado, while his grandmother and the Principessa occupying a sofa by the fireplace had their heads together in low-voiced and plainly confidential conversation.
Ellie found a magazine in a rack beneath one of the side tables, and took it to a chair on the other side of the room. It was mainly concerned with the fashion industry, and, inevitably, had a feature on Galantana praising its success and detailing its anticipated expansion. This was naturally accompanied by a photograph of Angelo Manzini seated at his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled back over tanned forearms and his tie loose. He looked tough, business-like, and, as even Ellie could appreciate, sexy as hell.
The camera, she thought, drawing a breath, was no doubt being operated by a woman.
At the bridge table, one rubber followed another and Ellie was forced to accept that Silvia was avoiding any kind of tête à tête between them, and she might as well go to bed.
‘So soon,