Читать книгу Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian - Liz Fielding, Helen Brooks - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

‘GOOD MORNING.’

Cheerful, well-modulated tones rang clearly across the room. The tones of someone who embraced each morning, someone raised on kippers, kidneys and anaemic toast. Someone raised on hearty pre-breakfast tramps across fields and woodland trails, a well-trained spaniel at their heel.

‘I hope you slept well?’ the cheerful inquisition continued.

‘Buongiorno.’ Forcing a polite smile on his face, Luca turned to face her. He might prefer silence, a brisk walk, black coffee and a newspaper to help him wake up properly but Minty was a member of that despised breed: breakfast chatterer.

And, annoyingly, using his newspaper as a barrier wasn’t working. She just chatted on regardless. He lowered it reluctantly. He should have gone in earlier, had his coffee and read his paper in the peaceful privacy of his office.

She was dressed and ready to go, a file by her side and the ubiquitous iPad in her hand. Sure, the effect looked industrious but Luca would bet good money that she was checking her social media accounts, not actually working. His mouth twisted wryly as he observed her. At least Minty was taking her new job seriously, sartorially at least, he noted. She definitely looked the part of a young marketing executive in a pretty grey dress that fell to just above the knee, teamed with a lemon cardigan and yet another flimsy pair of flip-flops, these the same colour as her cardigan. She had twisted her hair up into a knot with just a few tendrils hanging down. She looked as fresh as a lemon sorbet.

And just as desirable.

No, he reminded himself. Don’t go there. But he felt that increasingly familiar pull towards her, the heating of his blood as it flowed through his veins. Minty by comparison looked as cool as the sorbet she resembled, sitting on the tiled counter as she swiped the tablet’s screen, swinging those long, bare legs; slim, muscular, formed on the hockey fields of England’s best schools.

He forced himself to look away, to concentrate on the coffee and paper before him, but his gaze was inexorably drawn to the lithe figure. Did she know how much it annoyed him when she did that? Counters were for chopping things on, for cooking, preparing, not for sitting. Not for swinging ridiculously long legs. Why didn’t she sit in a chair like every other human being?

‘I need to leave; do you want a lift?’

Okay, that was a little abrupt, but she didn’t look surprised. She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and drew his unwilling attention to the curve of her mouth and the full bottom lip that he knew was put to good use, charming its owner’s way through life.

‘A lift? Careful, Luca, a girl might think you enjoyed having her around.’

‘It seems silly to be using two cars, that’s all. Wasteful.’

Truth was, it was nice to have someone else around. The farmhouse was too big for one. It was crying out for conversation; music; laughter; love; noisy family suppers around the table.

And so was he.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘A lift would be nice.’ She sighed. ‘I do appreciate you putting up with me. I’m sure you can’t wait for me to be gone. I’ll look for a room soon, but I’m not sure I can afford a house round here; I’ll have to share.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m sure Daddy will say it’s good for me, but I don’t see how rows about who ate the last yoghurt and whose turn it is to do the washing up are character-forming.’

‘Don’t rush. Take your time, save up a bit.’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and elaborated, ‘This was your home too, once. Rose would be glad that you are here.’

‘Actually, it was always your home,’ she corrected him gently. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, having your aunt and uncle move into your parents’ house. And then for me to turn up as well; talk about salt in wounds.’

For one moment it was as if all the breath had been sucked out of his body and all Luca could do was stare at Minty. In all the years he had known her, she had never once acknowledged that he had a right to resent her presence. Maybe she was growing up after all, developing empathy. Becoming the woman he had always thought she could be.

He hoped not. That could complicate everything.

‘I was grateful that Gio and Rose gave up their lives to move here so that I could have some continuity,’ he said after the silence had stretched thin between them. ‘The thought of moving to London after everything—leaving Italy, the countryside, my home, the factory, all my memories... I don’t know if I would have coped. But I didn’t have to. They moved here, took over the house and the business, raised me and allowed me to carry on. Your presence for a couple of months a year was a small price to pay.’

Minty laughed. ‘You and I both know that isn’t true; I was a royal pain in the butt. I resented you, you know. Rose was my aunt, the only person I really trusted, and suddenly she was miles away in a different country looking after you full time. I was so jealous.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ Luca suddenly knew two things with utter certainty: that he would have no peace whilst Minty was still in the house; and that he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. ‘Honestly, Minty. Stay. I’d like you to.’

Her eyes were filled with uncertainty as she stared at him, visibly considering her options, her face unusually open, a mixture of hope and fear. Finally her troubled expression cleared and she nodded, relaxed. ‘Thank you, Luca. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ A weight slipped off his shoulders at her agreement, a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying. He had been alone too long. And, although Minty might not be the most restful of housemates, she was at least familiar. She had watched him grow from a sad, taciturn boy through to conscientious adolescence.

In a way, she was family.

He shrugged off that troubling thought. ‘I just need to change, so I’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes; is that okay with you?’

‘No problem, I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll grab another coffee and a brioche and read my emails. Just yell when you’re ready.’

Luca nodded and turned to go upstairs. He needed to change into his suit from his usual morning attire of comfy jeans and an old T-shirt. Whenever he had time he liked to get up early and go for a walk over some of the estate before coffee and the paper. One day he would have a dog to take with him—when he had a wife and a family—something big enough to take on long, country walks but not too overwhelming for small children. A spaniel, maybe, or an Italian greyhound.

One day...

‘Oh!’ Minty made a small muffled sound of pain. Luca turned quickly, expecting to see a spilt cup of coffee. Instead Minty was bolt upright, staring at her iPad screen, a haunted, betrayed look in her huge eyes, her mouth twisted as she swallowed back tears.

‘What is it?’ Luca was by her side in a flash, pulling the tablet from her unresisting fingers. Two pictures filled the screen. One was of Minty, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing, eyes glittering, wearing something that even in the photo looked expensive and short. His eyes skirted quickly over the close-up of generous cleavage and acres of thigh. The other was a photo of a young man, suited, hair neatly parted, holding hands with an equally sober-looking woman, her hair neatly pinned back. Minty’s Curse Strikes Again! screamed the headline.

Three-times-unlucky socialite Lady Araminta Davenport is reeling from the news that ex-fiancé number three has announced his engagement to fellow politician Clara Church—less than three months since the dramatic collapse of his engagement to Minty.

The blonde beauty, daughter of the Earl of Holgate and actress Coco Waters, has managed to bag a rock for her finger on three occasions—but has yet to make it down the aisle. Instead, each of her fiancés has married another within six months of breaking up with the former wild child.

‘Minty’s devastated,’ said a close friend. ‘She wonders if it will ever be her turn.’

Who next for Lady Min? We’ve compiled a list of the hottest possibilities. The lucky lady has already bagged a viscount, a rock star and a rising politician! Who will she choose next time—and will this one stick around?

Underneath the article were headshots of several young men the newspaper had thoughtfully collated for her, ranging from minor European royalty to an Eton-educated Shakespearian actor.

Minty glanced at the pictures over Luca’s shoulder. ‘That’s the best they can do? At least two of these men are gay and one is married. Their researchers are terrible. It’s a good thing they don’t know I’m here; a successful businessman under thirty and the grandson of a conte, you’d be at the top of the list.’

She’d wiped the shock off her face; all she showed was mild amusement. If Luca hadn’t heard the muffled cry of anguish, he wouldn’t have thought she was affected at all.

‘Is it true?’

She shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ She shook her head. ‘Probably. Clara was always around, although Joe swore they were just friends. Obviously. They were at Cambridge together, and her father was party royalty; together they’ll be unbeatable.’

She reached over and grabbed the iPad from him. ‘I told you, I’m a starter fiancée; they all meet their perfect match after we split up.’ She scrolled down the article then tilted the screen towards him to show photos of two very different men, each with a female companion. The younger of the two men was posed with his arm stiffly round a woman in her early twenties. She had a haughty, well-bred air, her long, straight hair held back from her high forehead with a thick Alice band.

‘She really dresses like that,’ Minty said. ‘I think she was born in tweed and wellies.’ She looked wistfully at the photo. ‘They look good together, don’t they?’

Luca murmured noncommittally. So this was Barty, the boy she had become engaged to so soon after fleeing from his bed? He looked...nice, affable: floppy hair, nice smile, laid-back. Unthreatening. He was just a boy.

But she had been just a girl.

‘I never really fit in,’ Minty continued. ‘I tried, but I just don’t have the whole pony club, hunt balls thing going for me. Taffy is a natural. They have three children already; can you imagine?’ She slanted a glance at him. ‘Shame you didn’t meet her first.’

‘She looks a little stern for me,’ Luca said, studying the picture.

‘Oh, yes, she rules poor Barty with a rod of iron. Not that he seems to mind.’

Luca moved the screen to enlarge the photo of the second man. A good twenty years older than Luca, he had a mass of long, greying hair, his skinny body squeezed into tight, black leather trousers. He was gazing adoringly at the much younger, taller, glossy, high-cheekboned woman on his arm with a look that suggested all his Christmases had come at once. ‘This must be Spike?’

Minty nodded. ‘Yes, bachelor number two. Actually, I think Spike has split up with his supermodel wife already. He’s turning into a parody of an aging rock star. But Barty’s still happily married. I must send Joe a card, and maybe flowers. Remind me, will you?’

She was magnificent. All signs of pain had been wiped away; anyone walking in would think she really only felt mild interest in her ex-fiancé’s very public new relationship. But Luca knew differently. And that knowledge changed everything. It was time to armour up, to grab his sword and shield. Luca Di Tore was going to play the knight yet again.

Maybe this time it would all be different

‘Let’s do something wild and crazy—go in a couple of hours late. Do you want to take a walk?’

Minty stared at Luca in astonishment. ‘Go in late?’ she repeated. ‘Won’t there be a national panic if you’re not there on the dot of nine? They’ll send the air force and the army here to make sure you’re okay. Special Branch will abseil through the windows; there will be camera crews stampeding the house. But sure, I’d love to.’

Luca didn’t respond to her nonsense. Instead he was staring at her shoes with undisguised disapproval. ‘Do you need to change those?’ Minty swallowed back a smile. She’d only brought ballet flats and flip-flops with her. Luca seemed fixated on the unsuitability of her footwear; it was as if she was wobbling along on six-inch bondage heels.

She was tempted to buy some, just to see his face.

‘As long as you don’t expect me to wade through fords or climb mountains, I think these will survive.’ Minty strode over to the door, then turned back to say with perfect, limpid innocence, ‘I am beginning to think you have some kind of anti-shoe fetish. You disapprove of every pair I own.’

‘I took Francesca to Roma once,’ Luca said. ‘She brought two large bags for a three-night stay and only the most ridiculously high heels. She then complained bitterly the whole time about her feet, about blisters, and when I offered to buy her some walking shoes she cried.’

Minty bit back a smile. ‘I’m beginning to sympathise with poor Francesca. Was that the last straw?’

‘Scuzi?’

‘Your break-up. Was it over shoes or over your lack of sympathy?’

His mouth quirked. ‘Maybe it was both. It should have been a romantic weekend. We had a five-star hotel right by the Spanish steps, the weather was perfect, but we fought the whole time. I had a much better time when I took you.’

His expression was unreadable and Minty swallowed, unsure what the floating feeling in her stomach meant. ‘That was one of the best days of my life,’ she said.

It had been. Sometimes she thought that that was the day her crush on Luca had turned from something inconvenient but entertaining into something real, all-encompassing. Or maybe the day he took pity on a small, sobbing girl and entertained her patiently, playing board games in a language he’d barely spoken. Minty had cheated dreadfully, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind. Most days she could write him off as serious, stuffy, dull. And then he would do something kind, something spontaneous.

Would get under her skin.

Luca was still looking at her intently and all Minty wanted to do was to take a step towards him. Forget Joe, forget everything. For a moment she stood wavering, memories flooding through her. Memories of Rome, of laughter and teasing, of being treated like an adult, treated with respect. Other memories pushed insistently: memories of firelight and red wine, tears kissed away, comforting arms becoming stronger, more dangerous. Heat.

And then the utter chill of rejection.

Minty turned resolutely away. ‘Come on, then,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Or you might not make it in till lunch, and even Special Ops wouldn’t cope with that!’

* * *

He might be just a little bit biased but Luca knew that his farm was the most beautiful place on earth. The meadows were already strewn with a rainbow assortment of spring flowers; herds of cows were dotted about the distant fields, all chewing contentedly.

Minty sighed, a great, satisfied gust. ‘When I’m in London I think it’s the nicest place on earth and can’t imagine living anywhere else,’ she said. ‘And when I’m at the ancestral pile I feel exactly the same way—I yearn for London. But this kind of countryside is different. It’s peaceful and yet alive somehow. You know?’

Luca grunted in acknowledgement and kept on walking, faster than before. Minty had to break into a stride in order to keep up. He gave the velvet flip-flops a meaningful glance but manfully resisted saying anything.

He didn’t know what to say. Things suddenly seemed different, almost comfortable. The moment he had said she could stay had felt like the start of something new between them. Or was it the moment she had let her facade crack a little, had let him in enough to see the hurt? Was that why he felt catapulted into deeper intimacy with her?

He had promised himself it wouldn’t happen. Not again. And yet in some ways it was as inevitable as the dew-soaked dawn.

Besides, she was older now, and different under that flippant exterior. Maybe the depths he had always hoped for did exist after all.

Or maybe he was a fool who never learned.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, searching for a neutral topic of conversation. ‘I am going to a charity event in Florence this weekend—at least, my grandfather has summoned me there.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘You know the conte; he doesn’t like the word no.’

‘I love Florence,’ Misty said wistfully. ‘I haven’t been there for years.’

He grimaced. ‘I hate it: tourists, crammed streets, noise, expectations.’ The hideous formality, the eternal disappointment of his grandfather. The only times Florence had been bearable were when Minty had tagged along. Her irreverence had always taken the sting out of his grandfather’s disapproval.

She had almost made it fun.

‘You’re still not close to your grandfather?’

That was an understatement.

‘He was always nice to me,’ she continued, looking up at him, concern in her eyes— concern for him. That was unexpected.

And surprisingly nice.

‘He approved of you: title, lots of well-connected relatives, the right manners—when you chose to show them. Me, however; I was a disappointment. No social aspirations. All I wanted to do was grub about on the farm or work in the factory.’

‘Glad that someone approves of me. Maybe I should ask him to adopt me.’

‘He’d accept like a shot,’ Luca said. He stopped and turned, looked down at her, a sudden wild idea springing fully formed into his head. Minty was right, his grandfather had always liked her. ‘Come with me.’

A faint colour crept over her cheeks. ‘To please your grandfather?’

Was it? ‘Maybe. Partly.’ His eyes met hers, gold on blue.

Or was it because he liked having her around, liked the way she made him feel? Because with her he felt something other than responsibility, something a lot lighter.

Because when he looked into those improbably blue eyes he felt like he could do anything, be anyone. Since his parents’ crash he had worked so hard to be responsible, sensible, to live up to their legacy. His eyes had been so fixed on his chosen path he’d never noticed the small, winding diversions tempting him away.

Except just occasionally, in the company of the willowy girl standing next to him. Then he occasionally allowed himself to explore other routes, just for a little while, until his feet found his chosen straight-and-narrow path again.

He missed those diversions.

* * *

For a moment the world fell away. She could have been anywhere: desert, city street, her father’s estate. All that existed was the heat of those extraordinary eyes, suddenly alight again with fire, passion. With life.

Minty swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into a suddenly dry mouth. His gaze scorched her and she felt the heat of it right down to her toes, pooling at the pit of her stomach, molten lava burning her up inside.

She took a tentative step towards him, despite the warning bell clanging in her head. This man was different. She had survived the others; she might not survive this one. Not again. But now she had made the move she didn’t know if she could, if she wanted to, pull back.

Only she didn’t have to. He did, stepping back, moving away, pulling his eyes abruptly away from hers, breaking the connection. The shutters were back down and he was once again her childhood adversary, the disapproving golden boy.

It was a good thing he’d stopped, otherwise she most definitely would have, she told herself, but the ache of frustrated desire was hot and insistent.

He started walking again, further down into the valley. Minty stood for a second, watching him: the tall, broad frame; the dark hair, dishevelled as if he had washed it this morning and just left it to dry. He probably had.

Awareness prickled up and down her spine. Dear God, she wanted to find out if he really was all that she remembered. She wanted to pull that T-shirt up over his shoulders; undo his belt with trembling, suddenly clumsy fingers; try to unbutton his jeans before impatiently yanking them down. She wanted to see him, taste him, feel his skin against hers. She leant helplessly against the fence, her legs suddenly incapable of movement.

This impulsive nature of hers. She needed to contain it, channel it elsewhere into work and projects. No more throwing herself at unsuitable men, trying to be what they wanted. No more failing.

She was attracted to Luca. Okay, people were attracted to other people all the time. That didn’t mean you had to act on it, throw yourself all in. That kind of behaviour led to multiple marriages, multiple engagements, broken hearts and ruined expectations. She could be better than that. She didn’t have to take up the mantle of her inheritance.

And yet...it could be so easy. She knew what he wanted; he’d made it so clear. And she could be that hard-working, country-loving, family-orientated girl. For a short while. After all, she’d already played the hunt ball, point-to-point country girl; the wild and crazy rock chick; the hard-working and politically passionate small business owner.

The ironic thing was that she was all of the above, a bit of her, at least. Just as she was also a shopaholic, a traveller, a reader, a lover of trash TV, a baker, a party girl, a veg-out queen; just as she loved takeaway food and posh restaurants. She was lots of things. But nobody was interested in the contrasts and the contradictions; they wanted her pigeonholed and pinned down.

Luca stopped and looked back. ‘Are you coming?’ he called.

What would he do if she sauntered down the hill, walked right up to him and put that swing in her hips she could do so well? If she pressed herself close, raised herself up on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth against his? Would he push her away, lose himself in her for a few moments, hours, then regret it? Would he allow her to morph into his perfect woman until he finally saw through her or she couldn’t pretend any more?

She wasn’t prepared to find out.

‘Just admiring the view,’ she called back, allowing a flirtatious edge to creep into her voice, a smile to curve on her lips. Just because she had decided not to go and get him didn’t mean she didn’t want him to admire her. She was only human, after all.

She took her time walking along the path towards him. The stone path had turned first to gravel and now to grass, lightly lined with woodchips to protect against the mud. It took them in a straight line through the fields, larger, more rolling fields than the patchwork style she was used to at home, all seamlessly making up the same landscape, broken only by small trees or hedgerows.

And Luca, an integral part of this pastoral landscape, linked by blood, work and love. Minty was just an onlooker, a walk-on part in somebody else’s life. Again.