Читать книгу Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

THE lunch had been cold, but Juliet knew they couldn’t blame the housekeeper for that. They’d been expected at one; they’d actually arrived at a quarter-past two. However expert the cook, no one could have kept a mushroom risotto hot indefinitely.

Not that she’d been particularly hungry. The encounter between Cary and Rafe Marchese had robbed her of her appetite somewhat. The two men obviously disliked one another, but Cary had behaved like a boor and she’d been sucked into his game.

Perhaps some of the blame was hers. She’d initiated his anger when she’d introduced herself to his cousin. But, dammit, she’d been angry with Cary for ignoring her and she hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of her actions when she’d approached the other man.

The truth, however unpalatable, was that she’d wanted Rafe Marchese to notice her. Which was weird, considering that since David had walked out on their marriage over a year ago she’d had no interest in other men.

Not that she flattered herself that Marchese had felt the same way. He’d been polite, but distant, his first words succinctly delineating her reason for being there. ‘Ah, yes,’ he’d said. ‘Cary’s fiancée.’ He’d paused. ‘Lady Elinor was beginning to think you’d changed your minds.’

All the same, when he’d touched her hand she’d reacted as if she’d accidentally touched a hot wire. The heat that passed from his hand into hers shocked her to the core. Then she’d looked up into eyes that were as dark and brooding as the storm clouds massing over Tregellin and known that, whatever happened, she was already out of her depth.

Of course, she’d snatched her hand away, rather rudely, and Cary had come charging over, like some mad bull defending his mate. ‘What’s going on?’ he’d demanded, laying a possessive hand on Juliet’s shoulder. ‘What have you been saying to my fiancée? As you apparently knew we were coming, I thought you’d have had the decency to stay away.’

Rafe Marchese didn’t seem at all perturbed by Cary’s bluster. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Cary,’ he’d said, as faultlessly polite as before.

‘Well…’ Cary had been indignant. ‘Grandmama told me how you’re too busy for her these days. Spending time with your artsy-craftsy friends, was how she put it. But I might have known you’d be around when I was here.’

Rafe’s lips had tilted humorously. ‘I shouldn’t take what the old lady says too seriously,’ he’d remarked, his eyes lingering on Juliet’s now burning face. ‘You know she likes to play us off against each other. If you weren’t such an easy mark, she’d never get away with it.’

‘Oh, and you know her so well,’ Cary had sneered, but Rafe had only lifted his shoulders in a self-deprecatory shrug.

‘I’d say I see more of her,’ he’d declared mildly. ‘Whether that constitutes knowing her better remains to be seen.’

‘Well, don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,’ Cary had continued. ‘You think that, because I live in London and you live here, you’ve got the advantage.’ His hand had squeezed Juliet’s shoulder. ‘Once we’re married, I think you can kiss any chance of changing her mind goodbye.’

Dear God, Juliet had wanted to die, she thought now as she unpacked her suitcase. For heaven’s sake, it was bad enough pretending to be Cary’s fiancée without him talking about them getting married as if it were going to happen in the next few weeks. She had no idea what Rafe Marchese had thought. If his mocking smile was anything to go by, he was used to Cary’s bombastic behaviour and he didn’t take offence from it. But she wished she hadn’t been a part of it all the same.

The altercation had been thankfully brought to an end by the advent of a small dog. It was a little yapping Pekinese that had made straight for Cary and dug its teeth into his trouser leg. ‘Damn stupid mutt!’ Cary had exclaimed, kicking out angrily, sending the dog scuttling across the yard.

‘He’s actually quite intelligent,’ Rafe had remarked coolly, bending to rescue the little animal, massaging its ears with a long-fingered brown hand that was lightly covered with dark hair. Juliet had felt a momentary envy for the dog, which was ridiculous. But then Cary had hauled their bags out of the car and headed for the house and she’d been obliged to follow him.

She guessed now that he hadn’t wanted to argue with the animal. It was Lady Elinor’s dog and Juliet doubted she’d appreciate learning that her grandson had kicked the Pekinese. It was to be hoped Rafe Marchese wouldn’t tell her. Though after the way Cary had behaved, she wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Meeting Lady Elinor again had been a bit of an anticlimax after the confrontation outside. She was a lot older than Juliet remembered, naturally, but she was still an intimidating figure. If anything, Juliet would have said that Rafe resembled her far more than Cary. He had her height and that same air of cool breeding.

During lunch, Juliet had had to fend off quite a number of questions about her failed marriage to David. The fact that it was only nine months since her divorce was finalised had elicited the opinion that in her position Lady Elinor wouldn’t have been in any hurry to rush into marriage again.

Of course, Cary had come to her rescue, assuring the old lady that the reason Juliet’s marriage hadn’t worked was that she’d married the wrong man in the first place. ‘Hammond was only after her money,’ he’d said contemptuously, and Juliet had been glad Rafe Marchese hadn’t been there to see the faintly amused expression that had crossed Lady Elinor’s face at his words.

But at least it had given her a breathing space and, when the meal was over, she’d been relieved to hear her hostess bid Josie show their guest to her room. Evidently the old lady had wanted to spend some time alone with her grandson and Juliet prayed he wouldn’t make any more promises he couldn’t keep.

With her unpacking completed, Juliet contemplated the apartment she’d been given. It was much bigger than the rooms she was used to. Even the rooms at her father’s house couldn’t have competed with this. But the whole place was incredibly shabby, the high ceilings badly needed attention and the thick paper that must have once decorated the walls was now scuffed and peeling from neglect.

It was no wonder, really, if Josie was the only help Lady Elinor had. She was almost as old as her mistress, and Juliet doubted she had time to dust all the rooms, let alone attend to any repairs. Everything here was on a grand scale, including the furniture, and the bathroom next door sported a claw-footed tub and a lavatory that was elevated on a small dais.

Still, from the brief bounce she’d permitted herself on the bed, the mattress was comfortable. And the sheets were clean and smelled sweetly of a lavender-scented rinse. It was only for three nights, she assured herself. And Lady Elinor was unlikely to have anything more to say to her. Perhaps she could borrow Cary’s car and drive into the nearest town. She had little money to do any shopping, but at least it would keep her out of the way.

The room was at the front of the house and she had a magnificent view over the river estuary. At present the tide was out and there were dozens of birds strutting over the mudflats, looking for food. She saw gulls and waders; she even recognised a pair of sandpipers. She was no expert, but she guessed you could get really interested in stuff like this if you lived here.

It was still only about half-past four and, deciding she couldn’t stay in her room until suppertime, Juliet thought she’d go in search of the housekeeper. Perhaps Josie would tell her a little more about the history of the house—or the history of its occupants, she conceded, aware that she was more interested in Rafe Marchese than she was in anything or anyone else.

She rinsed her face at the crackled marble basin in the adjoining bathroom and then regarded her reflection in the spotted mirror. She still looked flushed, but that was probably just the cold water she’d washed with. Clearly Lady Elinor didn’t believe in heating the water during the day.

In her bedroom again, after assuring herself that the cream silk jersey top and matching linen skirt she’d worn to travel in would do for her explorations, she reapplied eyeliner and mascara, brushing a bronze gloss over her generous mouth. She wasn’t beautiful, she thought, but her heart-shaped features did have a certain appeal. Thankfully her hair, which was naturally curly, didn’t require much more than a brush running through it. It bobbed just below the level of her shoulders and, although it was some time since she’d been able to afford highlights, there were still golden streaks in its honey-brown mass. Or were they grey? she fretted, leaning closer to the mirror. After what she’d been through, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

She made her way to the head of the stairs and started down, keeping a wary eye open for either Cary or her hostess. She would prefer not to run into either of them just yet and, as the gloomy hall appeared to be deserted, she headed swiftly towards what she hoped was the kitchen. And found Rafe Marchese lounging on a corner of the pine table, sharing a pot of tea with the housekeeper.

Juliet didn’t know who was the most surprised, herself or Josie. ‘Why—Miss Lawrence,’ she said awkwardly, getting up from her place at the table to face her. ‘I was just about to bring up your tea.’

‘My tea?’

Juliet now saw the tray that had been prepared and left on one of the cabinets. There was a cup and saucer, milk and sugar, and a plate containing wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches and tiny butterfly cakes. Only the teapot was missing and she guessed Josie had been interrupted by her visitor.

If Rafe was disconcerted by her sudden appearance, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even get up, she noticed, merely raised the mug he was drinking from to his mouth and regarded her enigmatically across the rim.

‘Yes, your tea.’ Josie was anxious to assure her guest that it was all ready for her. ‘But as you’re down, would you like me to serve it in the drawing room instead?’

‘Oh—um—’ after the fiasco of lunch, Juliet had no desire to repeat the experience ‘—couldn’t I just have it here? With you and—Mr Marchese.’

‘Rafe,’ he said flatly, putting his mug down on the table. He had no desire to get to know this young woman any better than he did already, but he couldn’t ignore her. ‘I think Josie would prefer it if you allowed her to serve you in the drawing room.’

Juliet’s lips pursed. ‘And I’d prefer to have it here,’ she insisted smoothly. ‘Is there a problem with that?’

‘Of course not, Miss Lawrence.’ Josie was clearly disturbed by the sudden hostility between them. ‘If you’ll just give me a minute to boil the kettle and make some fresh tea—’

‘What you’re having is fine.’ Juliet sent Rafe a challenging look. Then, with what he thought was a reflection of his cousin’s arrogance, ‘I thought you’d left, Mr Marchese.’

‘I came back,’ said Rafe calmly. Then, mimicking her defiance, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

Her cheeks darkened with becoming colour, proving she wasn’t as confident as she’d like to appear. ‘It’s not my place to comment,’ she retorted tartly, but he couldn’t let her get away with that.

‘But you have,’ he pointed out, picking up his mug again, and Josie clasped her hands together in dismay.

‘Rafe, please,’ she said, her eyes wide and appealing. ‘I’m sure Miss Lawrence was only making conversation.’ She hurriedly took the cup and saucer from the tray and lifted the teapot she’d been using. ‘How do you like your tea, Miss Lawrence? With milk and sugar or a slice of lemon?’

Juliet felt embarrassed. There’d been no tension in the room when she’d arrived, but there was now. And it was all her fault.

Well, maybe not entirely her fault, she defended herself, as Josie added to her cup the milk that she’d requested. She was beginning to wonder if Cary might have some justification for his resentment after all. There was no doubt that Rafe was being deliberately awkward with her.

‘Is your room comfortable?’ Josie asked, offering Juliet a seat—and a way out—and, although she would have preferred to remain standing, she realised the old woman wouldn’t sit down again unless she did.

‘Um—very comfortable,’ she said, casting another glance at Rafe as she pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It has a marvellous view of the estuary.’

Rafe watched her through narrowed eyes, wishing the old lady hadn’t put her in his mother’s old room. Wondering, too, what a girl like her would see in a loser like Cary. What had Lady Elinor told him? That she’d already been married and divorced? She didn’t look old enough to have had so much experience of life.

Juliet was aware of him watching her, lids lowered, lashes to die for shading those disturbing dark eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he assume that like Cary she was only interested in the old lady’s money? For, despite what he’d said to his cousin, she’d seen the expression on Cary’s face when he’d thought Lady Elinor wasn’t looking, and it hadn’t been pleasant.

The silence had gone on too long and Josie, who had evidently been trying again to think of something non-contentious to say, turned appealing eyes to Rafe. ‘Your grandmother’s having a small dinner party on Saturday night. Did she tell you?’

Rafe’s mouth compressed. ‘Now why would she tell me a thing like that?’ he queried drily. ‘I’m not invited, am I?’

‘N—o.’ Josie had to be honest. ‘But the Holdernesses are coming.’

‘Are they?’ He pulled a wry face. ‘The old girl must be pulling out all the stops.’

‘Well, that’s the thing…’

But Josie belatedly seemed to realise she’d gone too far in a guest’s presence and, meeting her troubled eyes, Rafe took his cue and said, ‘Well, don’t worry. I’ll be around if you need me.’

‘Oh, Rafe!’

The words were said with such heartfelt emotion that Juliet realised that, whatever she thought of him, the housekeeper didn’t share her view. In fact, there seemed to be a genuine affection between them and Juliet permitted herself another look in his direction.

Only to encounter his reflective gaze.

She looked away immediately, but not before she’d gained the impression that his opinion of her was no less critical than hers of him. He evidently did think she was some empty-headed bimbo who’d only latched on to Cary because of his expectations.

As if!

Deciding it was up to her to try and change that impression, she forced herself to meet his gaze again and say politely, ‘Cary said something about you being an artist, Mr Marchese. Should I have heard of you?’

‘I believe what he actually said was that I had artsy-craftsy friends,’ murmured Rafe rather maliciously, and heard Josie’s sudden intake of breath.

‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed again, barely audibly, but Juliet wasn’t listening to her.

‘And do you?’ she countered. ‘Have artsy-craftsy friends, I mean?’

Rafe sighed, putting down his empty mug and regarding her tolerantly for once. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘That’s just Cary’s way of denigrating anything he doesn’t understand.’

‘Please, Rafe…’

Josie was getting desperate and this time Juliet did hear her. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mrs Morgan,’ she said, giving the housekeeper a quick smile of reassurance. ‘Mr Marchese doesn’t like me. That’s obvious. Well, that’s OK. I’m not especially fond of him either.’ She finished her tea and set down her cup. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a look outside, if that’s permitted?’

When she emerged into the hall again, Cary was just coming down the stairs. Oh, great! she thought. That was all she needed. And the situation wasn’t improved when the door behind her opened again. For some reason, Rafe had chosen to follow her.

Someone—Cary, she assumed—had turned on some lights and the hall didn’t look half as gloomy as it had done when she’d come downstairs. In fact, with what appeared to be a Waterford crystal chandelier picking out the reddish grain in the panelling, a little of its former grandeur had been restored.

The angle of the stairs meant that Cary didn’t immediately notice his cousin. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet?’ he demanded peevishly. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. I went to your room, but you weren’t there. Obviously.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’

If Juliet had hoped that Cary’s words might deter Rafe from interfering, she was mistaken. ‘She’s been having tea in the kitchen, with me and Josie,’ he drawled lazily, stepping into the light. ‘I assume you have no objections?’

‘Like hell!’ Cary had reached the bottom of the stairs and now he looked suspiciously from Juliet to the other man. Then, scowling at his supposed fiancée, ‘How did that come about?’

Juliet sighed. ‘By accident,’ she said tersely, flashing Rafe an exasperated look. ‘I was looking for—for someone to talk to. I thought Josie might be able to tell me a bit more about the house.’

‘So what was he doing?’ Cary cocked his head towards Rafe.

‘I was having tea with Josie, if it’s any business of yours,’ replied Rafe before Juliet could answer. ‘This isn’t your house yet, Cary. I come and go as I please.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ Cary sounded aggrieved. ‘So where’s the old girl? In the conservatory, as usual.’

‘I imagine she’s resting.’ Rafe spoke with evident reluctance. ‘She usually rests in the afternoon, as you’d know if you spent more time at Tregellin.’

Cary didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he placed an arm about Juliet’s shoulders, causing a rather unpleasant shiver to ripple up her spine. He bent his head towards her. ‘How about you and me taking a walk in the grounds?’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to show you around.’

‘Oh—no.’ With some discretion, Juliet managed to ease herself out of Cary’s reach. ‘I—er—I was just thinking of taking a bath.’

She heard Rafe’s disbelieving exhalation of breath and determinedly avoided his gaze. It wasn’t anything to do with him if she chose to change her mind.

‘A bath, eh?’ Was Cary being deliberately provocative? she wondered. ‘Oh, yeah, that sounds like a plan. We could take a bath together, baby. Have you noticed how big the tubs are here? It makes you wonder what the people of Great-Grandmama’s generation used to get up to when Great-Great-Grandpapa used to throw those wild house parties between the wars.’

‘Not what you’re imagining, Cary,’ declared a cool, aristocratic voice from the direction of the morning room. Lady Elinor was standing in the open doorway, the little dog, Hitchins, tucked under her arm. ‘Rafe.’ She nodded towards her other grandson. ‘A minute before you leave, if you please.’