Читать книгу Untouched Until Marriage - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 7

‘WE SHOULD arrive at the Villa Giulietta in a few minutes,’ Raul announced abruptly.

Libby had been staring out of the car window, watching the Italian countryside flash past, but at the sound of his rich-as-clotted-cream voice she turned her head and felt a peculiar tightening sensation in the pit of her stomach when she glanced at his handsome face. He possessed a simmering sexual magnetism that fascinated her, and she could not prevent herself from staring at his mouth, imagining the feel of it on hers. Raul’s kiss would be no gentle seduction. The thought slid into her head, and she was shocked to feel a hot, melting sensation between her legs.

Her face burned with embarrassment and she prayed he could not read her mind. How could she feel such a fierce attraction to a man she disliked intensely? But it was no good reminding herself that Raul was the most arrogant man she had ever met. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, and his closeness, the subtle tang of his cologne, made each of her nerve-endings thrum with urgent life.

Her reaction was probably caused by shock that he had finally deigned to speak to her after he had ignored her throughout the flight to Italy, she decided irritably. Back in her flat in Pennmar she had hastily packed Gino’s clothes and her own few belongings. When she had walked back into the living room Raul had compressed his lips at the sight of her bright orange coat, and his disdainful comment, ‘You seem to be wearing just about every colour of the rainbow,’ had made her wish that she owned elegant, sophisticated clothes rather than oddments she’d picked up from charity shops.

He was so stuffy, she thought rebelliously. He couldn’t be more than in his mid-thirties, but he had a way of looking down his nose at her, just as Mr Mills—the headmaster of the secondary school she had attended intermittently—had done when he had told her that she would never amount to much.

Maybe all upper-class men acted like stuffed shirts? Miles certainly had, she brooded, recalling her brief relationship with Miles Sefton, which had come to an abrupt end when she had overheard him assuring his father, Earl Sefton, that of course his relationship with a waitress from the golf club wasn’t serious; she was just a bit of totty.

The memory of that humiliating episode made Libby squirm. Why on earth had she agreed to come to Italy with Raul? she wondered, casting a furtive glance at his chiselled features. He made Earl Sefton seem like Father Christmas. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered how Miles’s father had stated that she was little Miss Nobody from Nowhere. Now Miss Nobody was going to live in a grand villa with a man who despised her, and, although she would rather die than show it, she was scared stiff at the prospect.

Lost in her thoughts, Libby had not noticed that the car had slowed, but now it turned and purred up a sweeping driveway lined with tall cypress trees. Through the dark green foliage she glimpsed tantalising flashes of pink and cream stone, while in the distance she caught the sparkle of sunshine on blue water. She remembered Raul had said the villa was near a lake, and suddenly the line of trees stopped, the driveway opened out onto a wide courtyard—and her jaw dropped in astonishment as she stared at the most beautiful house she had ever seen.

‘Wow…’ she said faintly. The Villa Giulietta looked like a fairytale castle, with its four rounded turrets and myriad arched windows glinting gold in the evening sunlight. The pink and cream striped brickwork reminded Libby of a candy-stick, while the ornate stonework at the top of the turrets was exquisitely detailed.

The courtyard ran round to the front of the house, which overlooked an enormous sapphire-blue lake. A series of stone steps led up to the front door, and cream and pink roses grew in profusion over the elegant stone pillars of the porch.

‘It’s…incredible,’ she murmured, utterly overwhelmed by the house’s splendour.

‘I agree.’ For a moment Raul forgot the anger and frustration that had simmered inside him since he had read Pietro’s will, forgot that the woman at his side had been his father’s mistress who now had the right to live at the villa. This was his home and he loved it.

His ex-wife had accused him of caring more about the house than he had about her—particularly when he had refused to move permanently to New York. By then his marriage to Dana had been in its death throes and he hadn’t denied it. When they had separated he’d offered her the Manhattan apartment, believing that she would not make a claim on the villa.

How wrong he had been, Raul thought bitterly. Dana had proved to be an avaricious gold-digger. Their divorce had made legal history when she had won a record alimony settlement after only a year of marriage. But although it had cost him a fortune he had at least forced her to relinquish her claim on the Villa Giulietta, and the experience had taught him that marriage was a fool’s game which he had no intention of ever repeating.

As the car drew to a halt, a woman appeared at the top of the steps and watched them alight. Libby guessed her to be in her mid-sixties; whippet-thin and elegantly dressed, she did not move forward to greet them but waited imperiously for Raul to come to her.

‘My aunt Carmina,’ Raul murmured to Libby, before he strode up the steps.

‘Zia Carmina.’ He stifled his impatience as he took his aunt’s hand and lifted it briefly to his lips. She was his mother’s sister, he reminded himself. His father had been fond of her and had often invited her to stay at the villa. Raul knew that Carmina had had been deeply upset by Pietro’s death, but she seemed determined to ignore his gentle hints that she might like to return to her house in Rome, and his sympathy was wearing thin.

Gino had woken when the car had stopped moving, and he gave Libby a gummy grin when she lifted him out of his seat. Feeling overawed by the magnificent house, she hovered uncertainly at the bottom of the steps, her heart sinking when Raul’s aunt subjected her to a haughty stare that grew gradually more incredulous.

‘Who is this woman?’ Carmina demanded in Italian.

Raul gestured for Libby to join him. ‘This is Elizabeth Maynard,’ he replied in English. ‘She was my father’s…’ He hesitated, conscious of the scandalised expression on Zia Carmina’s face as she raked her eyes over Libby’s wild red curls and garishly coloured clothes. For some reason he was reluctant to refer to Libby as Pietro’s mistress, but his aunt had transferred her gaze to Gino and she threw up her hands in a gesture of disgust.

‘This girl was my brother-in-law’s mistress?’ Again she spoke in voluble Italian. ‘She looks so common. What was Pietro thinking? He must have been out of his mind to have invited his puttana to live at the Villa Giulietta.’

Raul had felt exactly the same sentiments, but now he felt a shaft of annoyance with his aunt for her rudeness, and was glad that Libby could not understand what she had said. ‘My father was entitled to do as he wished, and he made it clear that he wished for his…companion and his infant son to live here,’ he reminded the older woman coolly.

‘Pah!’ Carmina made no attempt to greet Libby, and after giving her another disdainful glance swung round and swept back into the house.

Libby watched her go and hugged Gino to her, startled to find that her hands were shaking. She hadn’t followed any of the lightning-fast exchange between Raul and his aunt, but the older woman’s sentiments had been plain. Puttana probably meant something vile, she brooded as she recalled how Carina had practically spat the word at her.

Once again she questioned her sanity in pretending to be Gino’s mother. Perhaps the Carducci family would be more prepared to accept her if she explained that Pietro had not been her sugar-daddy? But if Raul learned that she had no right to remain at the villa he might order his chauffeur to drive her straight back to the airport.

He could not physically snatch Gino from her, she assured herself, automatically tightening her hold on the baby. But this was a man who travelled by private jet and lived in a villa that looked like a palace. His wealth and the power he commanded were undeniable, and she was sure that if he decided to fight for custody of Gino he would win.

The baby was heavy, and she transferred him to her other hip. ‘Here—let me take him,’ Raul offered, holding out his hands.

‘No!’ She gripped Gino convulsively, blushing when Raul frowned. ‘Thanks, but he doesn’t really know you, and I don’t want to unsettle him while he’s getting used to a strange house,’ she muttered.

Raul stared at her speculatively. ‘I’m sure he’ll soon get used to me—and the house.’

He wondered why Libby seemed so nervous. Most women he knew would be unable to conceal their delight at the prospect of living at the villa with all expenses paid, but she looked as though she had been sentenced to a term in jail. She made an incongruous sight in her purple boots and skirt, green tights and orange coat, but nothing could detract from the loveliness of her face. His eyes focused on her soft mouth, and he could not banish the image of covering her lips with his own in a long, leisurely tasting.

Dio, she was a witch, he thought furiously as he moved abruptly away from her. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you to your rooms,’ he ordered curtly.

Wordlessly Libby trailed after him, her misgivings increasing as she stepped into the hall and stared around at the marble floors and pillars and the exquisite murals which adorned the walls and ceiling. Rays of early evening sunlight slanted through the windows and danced across the stunning crystal chandelier suspended from the centre of the room. She would have liked to linger and study the beautiful bronze sculptures dotted around the hallway, but Raul was striding ahead and she had to race to keep up with him.

He led the way along endless corridors, past elegant, airy rooms filled with antique furniture. She could easily spend the rest of her life lost in these corridors, Libby fretted as she followed him up yet another flight of stairs. Raul suddenly stopped and pushed open a door, before standing back to usher her into a suite of rooms that comprised a sitting room, small dining area and an adjoining bedroom.

‘I have arranged for this room to be the nursery,’ he told Libby, opening another door into a smaller room which had been decorated in soft yellow. The stripped-pine cot and nursery furniture were attractive, and the pale blue striped curtains and matching rug on the floor added to the ambience of the room.

Libby set Gino down on the floor and he immediately crawled over to the box of brightly coloured toys in the corner. Raul watched him for a few moments before commenting, ‘He doesn’t seem too unsettled, does he? The nanny has the room next door to this one, by the way,’ he added casually.

Libby stared at him. ‘What nanny?’

‘The one I have hired to help take care of Gino. She comes from the best agency in Italy and is highly recommended.’

‘I don’t care if she’s Mother Teresa.’ Fear sharpened Libby’s voice. She did not want anyone to take her place in Gino’s life. ‘You can just un-hire her,’ she snapped. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after him myself.’

Raul’s brows rose in an expression of haughty disdain. ‘From what I saw of your flat in Pennmar, I disagree. It was a filthy hovel.’

Outraged by his description of her former home, Libby felt her temper explode. ‘It was not filthy. I was always cleaning, and scrubbing the mildew off the walls. It’s not my fault the flat was so damp.’

‘The living room looked like a pigsty,’ Raul insisted coldly.

‘That was only because I’d had to move all my things out of my bedroom when it flooded—’ Libby broke off at the sound of a knock on the door and stared suspiciously at the dark-haired woman who entered the room.

‘Ah, Silvana.’ Raul stepped forward to greet the woman. ‘I’d like to introduce you to your new charge.’ He scooped Gino into his arms, and to Libby’s annoyance the baby chuckled happily and explored Raul’s face with his hand. ‘This is Gino.’ Raul paused, and then as an obvious afterthought added, ‘Oh—and his mother, Ms Maynard.’

Silvana gave Libby a cheerful smile and immediately turned her attention to Gino. ‘What a gorgeous little boy,’ she said in perfect English, and then in Italian, ‘Sei un bel bambino, Gino.’

‘He doesn’t understand Italian,’ Libby said tightly, wishing that Gino had yelled when the nanny had spoken to him. But he seemed quite content in Raul’s arms, and was giving Silvana his most winsome smile—the smile he usually only gave her, Libby thought dismally.

‘Silvana is fluent in English and Italian, and she will talk to Gino in both languages so that he will grow up bilingual,’ Raul informed Libby coolly. ‘Italy is his home now, and obviously he will need to be fluent in his native tongue—don’t you agree?’

‘I suppose so,’ Libby muttered. Of course Gino would need to be able to speak Italian, she just hadn’t thought of it, and she was irritated that Raul was one step ahead. ‘I’ll have to learn too. I picked up Spanish fairly easily, so I guess Italian won’t be too hard.’

‘Did you learn Spanish at school?’ Raul asked curiously.

‘No…’ Libby did not want to admit that she’d received no formal schooling until she and her mum had left Ibiza and returned to live in London, or that her attendance at the local comprehensive had been sketchy and she had learned very little. ‘I spent part of my childhood in Ibiza and learned to speak Spanish there.’

She frowned when Raul gave Gino to the nanny, surprised that the baby did not remonstrate at being handed to a stranger. He was obviously growing out of his clingy stage, and it was selfish to wish that he only wanted her, she told herself firmly.

‘Would you like me to give Gino his tea and a bath?’ Silvana asked.

Libby opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it when she noticed Raul’s steely expression. When he opened the door and ushered her into the adjoining room she stalked past him, and as soon as they were out of earshot of Silvana she rounded on him.