Claimed by the Italian. Christina Hollis
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earlier. Then, remembering he had to tread softly around her, he advised more gently, ‘No one’s going to eat you, cara! Leave most of the talking to me. And remember I’ll be right beside you—holding your hand!’
That was meant to reassure her? Hollowly, Lily decided it didn’t. Being around him always made her uneasy. Vulnerable. Far too aware of his dynamic sexual appeal. And now, after what had happened, she was fearfully aware of how easily he could cut through her flimsy resistance. Panic skittered through each and every nerve-ending.
She wasn’t simple-minded. She knew he didn’t even like her. She irritated him. Normally he wouldn’t dream of coming on to her; she would be beneath his lofty notice. But, walking in on her nakedness, he had decided, Hey, she’d been bought and paid for, so why not enjoy the action for a couple of weeks? The trouble was, what had happened back in her room told her that she would probably do nothing to discourage him. She shuddered helplessly, hating what she’d discovered about herself.
Opening the door, Paolo dropped her hand and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her with him over the threshold into an elegant room, with white walls, white drapes, cream upholstery and crystal bowls of scented hothouse flowers on every available surface.
Seeing the frail white-haired lady seated at a circular table in the deep window embrasure, Lily felt her heart twist in her breast. She dragged in a deep breath and wished she could disappear in a puff of smoke. The situation was growing more scary with every moment that passed, and she felt truly dreadful over the part she was expected to play.
The radiance of Signora Venini’s welcoming smile made her feel even worse, but as if he sensed it Paolo gave her waist a reassuring squeeze and strode forward, bent to give his parent a gentle hug and drop a kiss on the fragile skin of her pale cheek. ‘Mamma, I’m so sorry you’ve been kept waiting. My fault entirely. When I’m with Lily I forget how time flies.’
He had dropped the more formal ‘Madre’, and Lily could scarcely believe the change in him. His voice so tender, his smile so gentle, his respect very obvious. Nothing like the man she had come to know: austerely impatient, critical, and often cold—a man who bowed to no one.
He obviously adored his mother and cared deeply for her. Against all her principles Lily could reluctantly understand where he was coming from. And sympathise. Or almost.
She still didn’t think lying was right, but Paolo truly believed it best to pretend that his future with the woman of his choice was settled, in order to put his fragile mother’s mind at ease.
Her heart was pattering against her ribs as the elderly lady extended a slim white hand. Her smile was warm but her voice was feeble as she said, ‘Lily—how lovely to meet you at last. Come, sit with me. Paolo has told me so much about you.’
Paolo smiled his encouragement but Lily could see the strain behind it, and, despite her distaste for deceiving the fragile woman, it gave her the necessary impetus to move forward, sit on one of the vacant chairs around the table, smile and lie her socks off. ‘And I’m happy to meet you, too,’ she greeted her, because Paolo, now stationed directly behind her, his hands on her shoulders, was clearly desperately anxious for his surviving parent, and up close Lily could see why.
Signora Venini looked as if the slightest breeze would disintegrate her frail body. More than the recent scar that ran beneath the line of her snowy white hair—that would heal and eventually disappear—it was the lines of utter weariness, of sadness, etched on her once beautiful features that told a story of a woman who had been tired of living for a long while.
Lily’s tender heart felt wrung out as she unconsciously covered the opulent family betrothal ring with the fingers of her other hand and blurted sincerely, the words tumbling out, ‘You’ve been through a major operation, signora. You need plenty of rest, peace and quiet—not visitors!’ And, despite the warning tightening of Paolo’s fingers on her shoulders, she ploughed on, verbalising as much of the truth as she dared because she needed to be out of here. Needed to put as much distance between her and the man she now knew could make her act like a sex-starved trollop as soon as possible.
‘I told Paolo that under the circumstances I didn’t think the timing of this visit was at all sensible. It could easily have waited until you were feeling stronger.’ She managed a smile which she hoped would come over as conspiratorial. ‘But you will know how stubborn Paolo can be! Even so, I think it would be best if I left tomorrow, or the day after at the latest, and didn’t intrude further on your recuperation period.’
Lily smiled softly, willing the older woman to agree, but her slim hopes were crushed when she got a decidedly firm, ‘Nonsense! Getting to know my son’s future wife will be the best tonic I could possibly have! The one bright spot in a year that has been so awful!’
Amazingly, the older woman’s tawny eyes sparked now with lively determination. ‘And for us to get to know each other time is needed, si? In fact I expect my son to persuade you to stay with us for much longer than the mere two weeks he promised me—we have a wedding to arrange!’
‘You’ve got to put a stop to this!’ Lily hissed frantically half an hour later when Carla, Paolo’s mother’s friendly but firm companion, appeared to chivvy the reluctant older woman away for a rest before dinner.
‘Silenzio!’ An inescapable hand shot out to take her wrist. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he ordered in the same driven undertone. ‘You will be heard. Come.’
Her legs feeling like jelly, her heart pounding fit to suffocate her, Lily was led by one very determined male out of the room, across the marble-slabbed hall, down two corridors and out of a side door to a massive paved terrace, with loungers set to catch the evening sunlight at one side and a long teak table and benches set beneath a vine-covered arbour at the other.
Ignoring the choice of seating, Paolo led her down a shallow flight of stone steps to the garden—a maze of box-bordered paths, sentinel cypress trees and an abundance of roses in leaf and promising bud.
Only when she tripped did he slow his pace, an arm going round her to steady her. ‘We sit. And we talk with sense.’
Registering from that slight slip in his usually impeccable English that he was almost as disturbed as she by the afternoon’s events, Lily sat—was glad to—as he brought her to a carved marble bench seat beside an antique stone fountain.
Confident that he would be as horrified as she by his mother’s excited wedding plans, she started, ‘There has to be a way to put her off! You got us into this mess— now get us out of it! I did my best—told her I had a charity to run and couldn’t commit to anything else for ages. But she didn’t listen!’
‘Total waste of breath,’ he incised without hesitation. ‘Mamma knows I’ve stepped in. When I become involved things happen and happen smoothly. That being so, she would know that because everything is in hand your absence would be of little or no consequence,’ he insulted blandly.
Fit to spit bricks, Lily glared at him. Arrogant brute! ‘Then put your so-superior brain in gear and think of something!’
Anger lit her big grey eyes. But something else sparked within those luminous depths. Fright?
Settling beside her, Paolo draped an arm along the back of the seat. Deliberately relaxing his body. Two of them indulging in hysterics would get them precisely nowhere.
‘I admit I didn’t expect her to launch straight into immediate wedding plans with such gusto,’ he confessed, his lips curving in appreciation of the stony glare she gave him—until her scathing response set a slow burn of discomfited heat running over his cheekbones.
‘No, you expected her to be gasping her last and whispering about how happy she was, going to her maker knowing that you were settling down to marriage!’
The moment the words were out Lily regretted them—hated herself for even thinking them, never mind flinging them at him.
Her soft heart ruling her head, she offered softly, ‘I’m sorry. That was a horrible thing