Читать книгу Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage - Carol Marinelli, Anne Mather - Страница 10

SHE didn’t look as if she believed him and Rafe acknowledged that divorce was still not a common thing in his country. Indeed, hadn’t his own mother been horrified that he should consider such a thing? Catholics did not get divorced, she’d told him severely. Marriage vows were meant to last.

But Rafe couldn’t believe that anyone should be condemned to spend their lives with someone who flouted their vows so freely. Who, he suspected, had only married him to escape the rigorous dictates of her elderly father.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tess said now, cupping the back of her neck with her hands and drawing his eyes to the rounded breasts pressing against her sleeveless top. ‘It’s really none of my business.’

‘No.’ He conceded the point because he realised he was behaving totally out of character for him. Dio mio, he was too old to be—what?—flirting with a girl who was almost young enough to be his daughter. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, he conceded. But he was forty-three. More than old enough to have more sense.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, evidently taking his response at face value, ‘I mustn’t keep you.’ She forced a polite smile. ‘Will you let me know if—if your daughter does know where they are?’

And Rafe felt his resolve faltering. Dammit, what was wrong with inviting her to go to Viareggio with him? It wasn’t as if he had any ulterior motive for doing so. She was Ashley’s sister. She deserved to know what was going on.

Yeah, right.

‘I had thought you might like to question Maria yourself,’ he said, ignoring his conscience. ‘Can I not persuade you to change your mind?’

Her hands dropped to her sides then and the colour that had ebbed and flowed from her cheeks all the time she had been speaking to him deepened again. ‘Oh—really,’ she said, making a distracted gesture towards her outfit. ‘I couldn’t go out dressed like this.’

‘Why not?’ She looked perfectly fine to him, bare legs and all. And when had he noticed them ? ‘This is not a formal visit, cara. You must have considered that what you are wearing was good enough to come to work, no?’

Tess lifted her shoulders, once again attracting his attention, this time to the gap of creamy flesh that widened between her top and her shorts. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured uncertainly, but he could tell she was weakening. ‘How long would I be away from the gallery.’

‘Um—two hours.’ Or three! Rafe was not altogether truthful. ‘Does it matter? Which is more important, pleasing your sister’s employer or finding Ashley?’

‘Well—finding Ashley, of course.’

Rafe inclined his head. ‘Then shall we go?’ he said, knowing he was giving her no option, and with a nervous little shrug she obediently picked up her bag.

He’d parked the Ferrari in a no-waiting zone and he noticed how her eyes widened at his audacity. Or perhaps she was just impressed with the automobile, though he doubted it. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that possessions didn’t matter much to Tess Daniels. Which was a novelty.

‘I suppose it would be worth more than a parking attendant’s job to tow your car,’ she remarked as she folded her legs into the front passenger seat and Rafe felt a momentary spurt of indignation. He didn’t need her to remind him that the authorities often turned a blind eye to his indiscretions. But he doubted that any defence he made would enhance his reputation in her eyes, so he chose not to comment on it.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked instead, getting behind the wheel, and he was gratified to see that she looked embarrassed now.

‘How could I not be?’ she remarked at last as he started the powerful engine. ‘This is a Ferrari, isn’t it? I saw the horse on the bonnet.’

Rafe winced. ‘It’s a stallion,’ he said drily, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut when she said,

‘Oh, yes. An Italian stallion. I’d forgotten.’

Rafe glanced in his mirror and then took his chance to pull out into the stream of traffic. But her mocking words still rankled and, ignoring the safer path, he said, with a definite edge to his voice, ‘I hope that was not meant as a criticism.’

Her lips parted then, and she turned her head to look at him, wisps of white-blonde hair blowing about her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, lifting a hand to tuck several strands behind her ear. And, although he was fairly sure she knew exactly what he’d meant, he chose not to argue with her.

‘Non importa. It does not matter,’ he declared, but he was intensely aware of her beside him. Aware of her bare arms only inches from his sleeve, aware of the way her shorts rode up her thighs, exposing a smooth length of slim leg. He took a breath. ‘Do you know Viareggio, signorina?’

She hesitated and he wondered if she intended to pursue what he had said earlier. But eventually all she said was, ‘I’ve never been to Italy before so all I know is Porto San Michele, I’m afraid. And my name is Tess. I know you haven’t forgotten it. Or have I offended you and that’s why you’ve suddenly become so—so formal?’

They were leaving the small town behind them now, the hilly environs above the harbour giving way to a coast road that wound its way south. But it wasn’t of the elegant little seaport of Viareggio that Rafe was thinking. He was wontering how to answer her without compromising his fear that he was getting in too deep.

‘You have not offended me,’ he told her neutrally. ‘I do not offend that easily. But perhaps you are right. We do not know one another very well.’

The look she cast his way now was wary. ‘So why did you invite me to come with you?’ she asked, and Rafe’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

Good question, he thought drily. But…

‘You know why I invited you to come with me,’ he said firmly. ‘So you could talk to Maria yourself.’

‘Mmm.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘You think my presence will encourage her to talk? If she knows anything, that is?’

‘I do not know.’ He didn’t like the feeling of being on the spot. ‘But as this is your first visit to Italy, perhaps you will enjoy seeing a little more of my country.’

Tess gave him an undisguisedly disbelieving stare. ‘But you didn’t know it was my first visit to Italy until I said so,’ she pointed out mildly, and Rafe expelled an impatient breath.

‘No,’ he conceded flatly. ‘You win. I wanted your company.’ His lips twisted. ‘So sue me.’

Tess’s jaw dropped. ‘You wanted my company?’ she echoed. ‘Why?’

Were it anyone else, he might have been tempted to wonder if she was fishing for compliments. But not with Tess. There was such a look of perplexity on her face that he couldn’t hide the humour that was surely evident in his eyes.

‘I don’t know any more about Ashley’s whereabouts than I’ve already told you,’ she continued, misinterpreting his expression. ‘I want to find her just as much as you do. And if you think—’

‘I believe you, cara,’ he interrupted her gently. ‘I know you have not been lying to me.’ And then, because he wanted to wipe the suspicious look off her face, he added, ‘Why should I not enjoy being with a younger woman? Just because I am over forty does not mean I am—what is it you say?—over the hill, no?’

Her eyes widened for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘I think you’re teasing me, signore. It’s kind of you, but I wish you wouldn’t. I know my own limitations better than anyone.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And they are?’

Her colour deepened. With her face free of any obvious make-up and her hair blowing wildly about her head, she looked little more than a teenager, and he marvelled anew that she was older than her sister. From Verdicci’s description, he knew Ashley Daniels was far more sophisticated—and comparably more worldly. She knew what she wanted and went after it, no matter who got hurt in the process. Including her own sister, he acknowledged as Tess moved a little uneasily in her seat.

‘They’re too many to mention,’ she said at last, shifting her attention to the view. ‘Oh, is that a monastery over there?’

Rafe decided to let her divert him, taking his eyes briefly from the twisting road ahead of them. A green rolling landscape, dotted with pine and olive groves, rose steadily inland. There were isolated farms, some of them with their own vineyards, and small villages visible among the trees. Some farmers grew vines between the olive trees, providing a much-needed boost to their economy in years when the grape harvest was poor.

Each village sported its own spire or campanile, and, hearing the distant sound of bells, Rafe guessed that was what Tess had heard, too. ‘I think it is a church,’ he said, returning his attention to the road. ‘There are few monasteries surviving in this area. There are ruins, naturalmente, if you are interested. But I fear the thought of the noble priests does not inspire any enthusiasm in me.’

Tess frowned. ‘Because you are divorced?’ she asked innocently, and he smiled.

‘No.’ He cast a fleeting glance her way, once again amused by her refreshing candour. ‘I do not think I can blame them for that.’

‘Then why—?’

‘I was taught by the Jesuits,’ he said. ‘Who as you may know are not known for their misericordia—their mercy, no?’ He paused reminiscently. ‘It is a long time ago, but I have not forgotten.’

Tess seemed interested. ‘You went to school here, in Tuscany?’

‘No.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘I went to school in Rome.’ He grimaced. ‘My mother’s greatest wish was that I should enter the priesthood.’

Her lips parted. ‘The priesthood?’

‘Unlikely, is it not? Is that what you are thinking? That this man who has been married and divorced should have been considered worthy of such an office?’

‘No.’ She spread her hands. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. I’ve never met a would-be priest before.’

‘And I was never a would-be priest,’ he assured her drily. ‘That was my mother’s dream, not mine. Fortunately my father was of a more practical persuasion. While he indulged her to the extent of allowing her to choose my source of education, I was his only son. It was necessary that I should inherit the vineyard, that I was able to take over from him when his health began to fail’

‘Is your father still alive?’

‘No.’ He spoke regretfully. ‘He died almost twenty years ago.’

‘He must have been very young.’

‘He was fifty,’ acknowledged Rafe ruefully. ‘But he had always been a heavy smoker, cara. He knew the risks he was taking, but he could not shake the habit.’

Tess nodded. ‘My father’s dead, too,’ she said, confirming something he had already suspected. ‘He died of a heart attack last year.’

‘Ah.’ Rafe was silent for a moment and then he said, ‘Do you miss him?’

‘Not as much as I would have done if we’d lived together,’ she admitted honestly. ‘As I believe I told you before, I was brought up by my aunt when my mother died. Then, after college when I started teaching, I moved to another part of the country. Dad and I used to see each other from time to time, but it was never the same.’

‘I get the feeling that your stepmother has a lot to answer for,’ said Rafe drily. ‘I suspect she is more like her daughter than you thought.’

‘Oh, Andrea’s all right.’ Tess was instantly defensive of her family and he had to admire her for it. ‘She only ever wanted one child. She hadn’t bargained for two.’

‘But she must have known your father was a single parent before she married him,’ Rafe pointed out reasonably as Tess made a play of examining an insect that had landed on her bare leg.

‘Is this a mosquito?’ she asked, deliberately creating a diversion, and Rafe had stretched across and flicked it away before he gave himself time to think.

It wasn’t until his hand was safely back on the steering wheel and his fingertips were registering the soft brush of her flesh that he realised what he had done. This wasn’t his daughter, he reminded himself. She wasn’t even his cousin. Tess was a virtual stranger and he was treating her like a friend. Or more than a friend, he conceded, his skin burning where he had touched her. And he wanted to touch her again, he thought, in places that were hot and wet and definitely forbidden.

As if she sensed his guilty attraction, Tess turned away from him now, pressing against the door beside her, keeping her eyes on the view. But only after they’d exchanged one searing look of raw intimacy that left Rafe at least stunned by the strength of his own response.

They were silent then, each of them occupied with their own thoughts, pretending an interest in their surroundings that Rafe was sure neither of them really felt. Or perhaps he was only imagining it, he thought irritably. Whatever, he was much too old to play these childish games.

Only there was nothing childish about the way he was feeling and, realising he had to normalise the situation, he was relieved when a cluster of villas strung out along the coastline came into view. ‘This is Viali,’ he said, trying to recover his earlier optimism. ‘It is really just an extension of Viareggio these days. The port has expanded so much. But Viali is pretty. It has its own personality. And, although it cannot boast the art nouveau architecture for which Viareggio is famous, many people prefer it to the larger resort.’

‘Is this where your daughter lives?’ asked Tess, apparently prepared to meet him halfway, and he agreed that it was.

‘Their albergo is situated just outside Viali on the way to Viareggio. They will not have too many guests at this time of the year. Maria should have plenty of time to speak with us.’

The Villa Puccini looked chic and elegant dreaming in the noonday sun. Lush vegetation provided a colourful backdrop to the warm cream walls of the villa, and the blue waters of a kidney-shaped swimming pool vied with the vast expanse of the Gulf of Genoa that lapped at the sandy shore below the gardens. Glancing at Tess’s face, Rafe suspected it was far more attractive than she had expected, and he felt his own spirits lifting at more than the prospect of seeing his daughter again.

‘Is this it?’ Tess asked as he drove between the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the drive, and Rafe blew out a breath. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, slowing to avoid a group of holiday-makers who were heading into town. ‘Carlo’s family is heavily involved in the leisure industry. This is one of their smaller properties and the first one Carlo has managed alone.’

‘One of the smaller properties,’ echoed Tess disbelievingly. ‘It’s much larger than I expected. I thought an albergo was something like a bed-and-breakfast back home.’

Rafe gave her a brief smile. ‘I think you are thinking of a French auberge, Tess,’ he said, his use of her name coming far too easily. ‘An albergo is a hotel. Sometimes large, sometimes small. The Villa Puccini falls some way between the two.’

Tess shook her head as they rounded a flowering trellis and a cluster of orange-tiled buildings came into view. It was obvious that the villa had been added to over the years. Some extensions were taller than others. But the overall effect was charming, set as it was beside the breathtaking beauty of the bay.

‘It looks very impressive to me,’ she said doubtfully, and he saw her give another anxious glance towards her bare legs.

‘It is a holiday hotel,’ he assured her gently. ‘And you look exactly like one of the visitors.’ He switched off the engine of the Ferrari and unfastened his seat belt. ‘I intend to get rid of this jacket as soon as I am out of the car.’

She didn’t look entirely convinced and, now they were here, Rafe had to admit to feeling a little apprehensive himself. It was the first time he had brought a young woman to his daughter’s home, and, no matter how often he assured himself that his motives were innocent, the fact remained there had been no need for him to bring Tess along.

She unfastened her own seat belt now, and before he could forestall her she had pushed open her door and got out of the car. With the sunlight blazing down on her bare head and the flush of heat in her cheeks, she looked absurdly young and beautiful. As he shed his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder, he had to accept that Maria would be suspicious. It was not that she hadn’t been urging him to find someone else for the past six years. It was just that this gamine slip of an English girl was unlikely to have been what she meant.

But, before he could marshal any arguments in his own defence, he heard his daughter calling to him. She was coming from the direction of the gardens, a flat basket containing long stems of white and yellow blossoms draped across her arm. Maria’s hair, which was as dark as his own but much longer, was confined in a single braid, and her chemise dress of simple white organza complemented the warm tan of her bare arms.

She looked as elegant as her surroundings, he thought, with a rueful sigh. A product of his mother’s policy that a woman should always look her best, whatever the circumstances. Even if she’d been gardening, which was highly unlikely in Maria’s case. His daughter might enjoy arranging flowers, but she left the planting and the picking of them to someone else.

The contrast between her and Tess was marked. And it was obvious that neither of them appreciated the comparison. As she drew nearer he saw Maria’s dark brows arch in polite inquiry, but Rafe could tell from her expression that, however pleased she might be to see him, she didn’t care for him bringing a strange woman here without forewarning.

‘Papa,’ she greeted him warmly as he stepped forward to meet her, reaching up and bestowing light air kisses beside each of his cheeks in turn. But then, with a lightening turn of mood, she began reprovingly, ‘Avresti dovuto dirmelo che—’

‘Inglese, Maria, per favore,’ he interrupted her smoothly, turning to beckon Tess to join them. His eyes met hers briefly, and then he turned back to his daughter. ‘Tess, this is my daughter, Maria. Maria, this is Tess Daniels. You may recall, her sister is at present looking after the Galleria Medici in San Michele.’

There was a moment when he thought Maria looked almost guilty. She obviously recognised the name, though she tried to hide her reaction from him. ‘Buongiorno, signorina,’ she said, forgetting in her confusion that he had asked her to speak English. And then, rescuing herself, ‘Scusi, Papa. Non ricordo. How do you do, Miss Daniels? Are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Tess is not on holiday,’ Rafe asserted, before Tess could explain herself. After Maria’s telling little response to his question, the last thing he wanted was for Tess to warn her of why they were here. ‘She is standing in at the gallery while her sister is away,’ he continued smoothly. He put a cautioning hand on Tess’s shoulder, trying to ignore how aware of her he was. ‘I hope you don’t mind, cara. I invited her to come see a little more of the area.’

Maria’s lips definitely tightened. ‘You should have told us you were coming, Papa,’ she declared, offering Tess a limp hand. She regarded the other woman warily now as she added, ‘Is this your first visit to Italy, Miss Daniels?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Tess was not without perception and Rafe knew she must be blaming him for bringing her here. ‘And, please, call me Tess.’ She glanced about her, her gaze flicking over Rafe’s as she did so. And over his hand on her shoulder. ‘This is a beautiful spot. Your father didn’t tell me how delightful it would be.’

Maria softened, but she was watching them closely and Rafe was reluctantly obliged to remove his hand. ‘SI, it is beautiful,’ she agreed, with a momentary air of satisfaction. Then she looked at her father again. ‘Are you staying for lunch, Papa, or is this just a brief visit?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘We are not in any hurry, cara,’ he said. ‘But we are both hot and thirsty and a cool soda would be welcome. We can decide about lunch later, no?’

Maria looked as if she would have preferred some kind of explanation as to why they were here before she offered them any refreshment. He doubted she had bought his story about giving Tess a guided tour of the area. But courtesy demanded that she play the generous hostess and a thin smile appeared as she said, ‘Ma certo, Papa. Please, come with me. We can have drinks on the patio.’