Lorenzo's Reward. Catherine George
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obviously about to protest, received a quelling look from his brother, and reluctantly acquiesced. He nodded coldly to Jess. “Please give my—my regards to Leonie. Arrivederci!” And before she could embark on her apology he strode off.
“There’s something I must explain to Roberto,” began Jess in a rush, and would have gone after him, but Lorenzo Forli took her arm.
“Leave him.”
“But he’s obviously put out with me—I need to apologise for running away that day in London,” she said, ignoring the fact that Lorenzo Forli’s touch seemed to be scorching through her sleeve.
“Roberto is ‘put out’ as you say, not only because you ran away at the sight of him, but because he believes that you are in love with Leonie’s fidanzato,” he informed her, as he escorted her outside to the car park.
“What?” Jess stared up at him in disbelief.
Lorenzo shrugged. “He is sure that you came here tonight for a few stolen moments before your sister’s lover lost you tomorrow.”
Jess stopped dead, and wrenched her arm away, her eyes blazing as she glared up into the dark, imperious face. “That’s nonsense,” she snapped.
“Is it?” he demanded.
“Of course it is!” Jess looked him in the eye. “Look, Signor Forli, I came here tonight purely to please my sister, and to explain to Roberto why it was impossible to speak to him on Thursday—”
“All of which may be true. But I think Roberto can be forgiven for his mistake.” Lorenzo Forli’s eyes locked with hers. “I also saw you embrace your sister’s lover,” he informed her.
“So did several other people,” she retorted, incensed. “There was nothing furtive about it. I find Roberto’s insinuations deeply offensive. Yours, too, Goodnight, Signor Forli.” Jess stormed off blindly towards the car, in such a tearing hurry she caught one tall, slender heel in a patch of loose gravel and fell heavily on her hands and knees.
Lorenzo raced to pull her to her feet. “Dio—are you hurt?”
“Only my dignity,” she snapped, scarlet to the roots of her hair as she pulled away.
“Take care,” he said sternly, and bent to retrieve the impractical sandal. “You could have broken your ankle. Put your hand on my shoulder and give me your foot, Cenerentola.”
Jess complied unwillingly to let him slide on the offending shoe, then bit her lip when Lorenzo took her by the wrists.
He said something brief in his own tongue as he examined the grazed, bleeding palms. “I will take you inside to cleanse your wounds.”
“No, please,” she protested, in an agony of embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
Lorenzo shook his head firmly. “You cannot drive with hands which bleed. How far is it to your home?”
“Twenty miles or so—”
“Then I shall drive you. Leave your car here.”
“Certainly not,” she snapped, then spread her hands wide suddenly as blood threatened to drip on her jacket.
Lorenzi handed her an immaculate handkerchief. “You cannot control a car in this condition. And if you have an accident it will spoil the day for your sister tomorrow.”
Unexpectedly hurt by his thought for Leonie rather than herself, Jess mopped blood and dirt from her grazed palms without looking at him.
“Come,” he said imperiously. “I will ask the receptionist for dressings.”
Twenty minutes later Lorenzo Forli was driving his mutinous passenger towards Stavely in the car he’d hired for his stay in Britain. “Your hands are still hurting?”
“A little,” she muttered, still hot with embarrassment over the fuss made by the assistant manager, who’d been in the foyer when they went back into the hotel. In short order she’d been presented with plasters and antiseptic, offered brandy, and Roberto had been sent for to explain his brother’s proposed absence. Roberto’s prompt offer to drive Jess to Stavely himself had been summarily dismissed by his brother, and Jess hustled off with only a brief goodnight.
“Perhaps you should have rung Leonie to explain the delay,” said Roberto, as he followed her directions to Stavely.
“No need.” She said stiffly. “Leo won’t be expecting me just yet.”
Jess fixed her eyes on the road, cursing the fate which had actually allowed her a meeting with the charismatic stranger, only to find he believed her capable of lusting after her sister’s bridegroom. Jess seethed in silence while Lorenzo Forli drove smoothly along the winding road which hugged the river. The scene was very peaceful in the fading light. Later the traffic would increase as Saturday night revellers made for home, but at this hour the journey would have been restful in almost any other circumstances. With Lorenzo Forli at the wheel, however, expert driver though he was, Jess felt anything but restful, consumed with a volcanic mixture of resentment and excitement which made it hard for her to sit still in her seat.
“Why did you run away from me that day?” Lorenzo asked abruptly, startling her. “I think you knew very well I wished to meet you. Was the prospect so intolerable?”
She raised her chin disdainfully.
“It was nothing to do with you, Signor Forli. It was Roberto I was running away from. Because of Jeremy Lonsdale.”
“Roberto’s friend, the avvocato?” He frowned, baffled. “I do not understand.”
With resignation Jess once again explained her dilemma as a juror. Lorenzo heard her out, then gave a long smouldering look before returning his attention to the road.
“This does not explain why you refused to speak to me when I rang that night.”
Jess shot him another startled look. “That was you?”
“Did your friend not tell you?” His expressive mouth tightened. “She said you had the migraine. Was that true?”
“No,” said Jess faintly, shaken by the discovery that Lorenzo had rung her on the strength of one fleeting, chance encounter. She cleared her throat. “Emily said it was Signor Forli, so naturally I assumed it was Roberto.” She eyed his aloof profile in appeal. “There was another day to go in court so I still couldn’t speak to him.”
“And if you had known it was I who wished to speak to you? What then?” he demanded, throwing a challenging glance at her.
Jess thought about it for a while. “I’m not sure,” she said at last.
Lorenzo’s jaw set. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do. I mean,” added Jess in desperation, “that if I had known who you were I would have—have liked to speak to you, but I’m still not sure whether I would have been breaking any rules if I had.”
He turned to her with a smile of such blatant triumph it took her breath away. “Ah! That is better. Much better.”
Jess turned away sharply, so floored by her body’s response to the smile she spent the next mile or two in pulling herself together, uncertain whether she was sorry or glad when they reached the turning which led past the church and on up to Friars Wood. In command of herself at last, she gave concise instructions as Lorenzo negotiated the steep bends of the drive, telling him to park in front of the Stables, well away from the main house.
“This is my brother’s private retreat,” Jess told him, wincing as she tried to undo the seat belt.
“Permesso,” said Lorenzo, and leaned across her to release the catch, giving her a close-up of thick black lashes and the type of profile seen on Renaissance sculptures. He turned away to get out of the car, and came round to help her out, taking her elbow very carefully. “I must not hurt your hands. Are they giving