Читать книгу The Italian Millionaire's Marriage - Lucy Gordon, Lucy Gordon - Страница 8

SEVEN o’clock found Harriet peering out of her shop window into a storm. She’d been home, dressed for an evening out and returned in a hurry, not wishing to keep him waiting.

But it seemed he had no such qualms about her. Five past seven came and went, then ten, and there was no sign of him. At seven-fifteen she muttered something unladylike and prepared to leave in a huff.

She’d just locked the door and was staring crossly at the downpour when a cab came to a sharp halt at the kerb, a door opened and a hand reached out from the gloom within. She took it, and was seized in a powerful grip, then drawn swiftly inside.

‘My apologies for being late,’ Marco said. ‘I took a cab because of the rain and found myself trapped. Luckily the show doesn’t start until eight, so even at this crawl we should make it in time.’

‘You don’t mean to say that you managed it?’ Harriet asked incredulously.

‘Certainly I managed it. Why should you doubt me?’

‘Who did you blackmail?’

Marco grinned. ‘It was a little more subtle than that. Not much, but a little.’

‘I’m impressed.’

She grew even more impressed when she discovered that he’d secured the best box in the house. No doubt about it. This was a man with good contacts.

Marco offered her the chair nearer the stage so that he was a little to the rear and could glance at her as well as the show. She wasn’t beautiful, he decided. Her slenderness went, perhaps, a little too far: not thin he assured himself hastily, but as lean as a model. Elegant. Or, at least, she would be if she worked on her appearance, which she clearly didn’t.

Her chiffon evening gown was all right, no more. It descended almost to her shapely ankles, and clung slightly, revealing the grace of her movements. The deep red was a magnificent shade, but it was exactly wrong with her auburn hair, which she wore loose and flowing. She should have put it up, he thought, revealing her face and emphasising her long neck. Was there nobody to tell her these things?

Her few pieces of jewellery were poorly chosen and didn’t really go well together. She should wear gold, he decided. Not delicate pieces, but powerful, to go with her aura of quiet strength. He would enjoy draping her with gold.

The thought reminded him of the necklace, but he was in a good humour now, and bore her no ill will. If anything, their spat had been useful in breaking the ice.

Dancing On Line was a very modern musical, a satire about the internet, dry, witty, with good tunes and sharp dancers. They both enjoyed it, and left the theatre in a charity with one another. The rain had stopped, and the cab he’d ordered was waiting.

‘I know a small restaurant where they do the best food in London,’ he said.

He took her to a place that she, a Londoner, had never heard of. Slightly to her surprise it was French, not Italian, but then she realised that surprise was the name of the game. If he really was planning an outrageous suggestion then it made sense for him to confuse her a little first.

‘Perhaps I should have asked if you like French food,’ he said when they had seated themselves at a quiet corner table.

‘I like it almost as much as Italian,’ she said, speaking in French. It might be showing off but she felt that flying all her flags would be a good idea.

‘Of course you’re a cosmopolitan,’ he said. ‘In your line of work you’d have to be. Spanish?’

‘Uh-uh! Plus Greek and Latin.’

‘Modern Greek or classical?’

‘Both of course,’ she said, contriving to sound faintly shocked.

‘Of course.’ He smiled faintly and inclined his head in respect.

The food really was the best. Harriet notched up a mark to him. He was an excellent host, consulting her wishes while making suggestions that didn’t pressure her. She let him pick the wine, and his choice exactly suited her.

The light was dim in their corner, with two small wall lamps and two candles in glass bowls on the table, making shadows dance and flicker. Even so she managed to study his face and had to give him ten out of ten for looks. His dinner jacket was impeccable, and his white, embroidered evening shirt made a background for his lightly tanned skin. He was a handsome man. She conceded that. His lips, perhaps, were slightly on the thin side, but in a way that emphasised his infrequent smiles, giving them a quirky irony that pleased her.

His eyes drew her attention, being very dark brown, almost black. She would have called them beautiful if the rest of his face hadn’t been so unmistakably masculine. They were deep set and slightly shadowed by a high forehead and heavy eyebrows. That gave his face a hint of mystery, because she couldn’t always see whether his eyes had the same expression as his mouth. And she suspected that they often didn’t.

So far, so intriguing. It was lucky Olympia had warned her what was afoot, or she might have been completely taken in; might actually have found him seriously attractive. As it was, she held the advantage. She decided to disconcert him a little, just for fun.

‘What brings you to London?’ she asked innocently. ‘Business?’

If the question threw him he gave no sign of it. ‘A little. And I must pay my respects to Lady Dulcie Maddox, who became engaged to my cousin Guido a few weeks ago.’

Harriet savoured the name. ‘Lord Maddox’s daughter?’

‘Yes, do you know her?’

‘She’s been in the shop a couple of times.’

‘Buying or selling?’

‘Selling.’ Harriet fell silent, sensing a minefield.

‘Probably pieces from the Maddox ancestral home, to pay her father’s debts,’ Marco supplied. ‘I gather he’s a notorious gambler.’

‘Yes,’ she said, relaxing. ‘I didn’t want to tell tales if you didn’t know.’

‘It’s common knowledge. Dulcie has to earn her living, and she was working as a private enquiry agent when she came to Venice and met Guido. What did you think of her?’

‘Beautiful,’ Harriet said enviously. ‘All that long fair hair—if she still has it?’

‘She had when I said goodbye to her a few weeks back. As you say, she’s beautiful, and she’ll keep Guido in order.’

She laughed. ‘Does he need keeping in order?’

‘Definitely. A firecracker, with no sense of responsibility. That’s my Uncle Francesco talking, by the way. Count Calvani. He’s been desperate for Guido to marry and produce an heir to the title.’

‘Hasn’t he done that himself?’

‘No, the title will go to one of his nephews. It should have been Leo, Guido’s older half-brother. Their father married twice. His first wife, Leo’s mother, was supposedly a widow, but her first husband turned up alive, making the marriage invalid and Leo illegitimate, and unable to inherit the title.’

‘That’s dreadful!’

‘Leo doesn’t think so. He doesn’t want to be a count. The trouble is, neither does Guido, but that’s going to be his fate. So uncle tried to find him a suitable wife, and was giving up in despair when Guido fell for Dulcie.

‘My uncle is also, finally, going to get married. Apparently he’s been in love with his housekeeper for years and has finally persuaded her to marry him. He’s in his seventies, she’s in her sixties, and they’re like a pair of turtle-doves.’

‘That’s charming!’ Harriet exclaimed.

‘Yes, it is, although not everyone thinks so. My mother is scandalised that he’s marrying “a servant” as she calls her.’

‘Does anyone care about that kind of thing these days?’

‘Some people,’ Marco said carefully. ‘My mother’s heart is kind but her views about what is “proper” come from another age.’

‘What about you?’

‘I don’t always embrace modern ways,’ he said. ‘I make my decisions after a lot of careful thought.’

‘A banker would have to, of course.’

‘Not always. Among my banking colleagues I have the reputation of sometimes getting carried away.’

‘You?’ she asked with an involuntary emphasis.

‘I have been known to thrown caution to the winds,’ he said gravely.

‘Profitably, of course.’

‘Of course.’

She studied his face, trying to see if he was joking or not, unable to decide. He guessed what she was doing and regarded her wryly, eyebrows raised as if to ask whether she’d worked it out yet. The moment stretched on and he grew uncomfortably aware of something transfixed in her manner.

‘Would you like some more wine?’ he asked, to bring her back to earth.

‘I’m sorry, what was that?’

‘Wine.’

‘Oh, no—no, thank you. You know your face really is familiar. I wish I could remember—’

‘Perhaps I remind you of a boyfriend,’ he suggested delicately. ‘Past or present?’

‘Oh, no, I haven’t had a boyfriend for ages,’ she murmured, still regarding him.

What was the matter with her he wondered? Sophisticated one minute, gauche the next. Still, it told him what he needed to know.

As they were eating he asked, ‘How do you and Olympia come to have different nationalities?’

‘We don’t,’ Harriet said quickly. ‘We’re both Italian.’

‘Well, yes, in a sense—’

‘In every sense,’ she interrupted with a touch of defiance. ‘I was born in Italy, my father is Italian and my name is Italian.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Marco said, seeing the glint of anger in her large eyes and thinking how well it suited her. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘Hasn’t Olympia told you the story?’

‘Only vaguely. I know your father married twice, but naturally Olympia knows very little about his first wife.’

‘My mother loved him terribly and he just dumped her. I remember when I was five years old, finding her crying her eyes out. She told me he was throwing us out of the house.’

‘Your mother told you that?’ he echoed, genuinely shocked. ‘A child?’

‘She was distraught. I simply didn’t believe it. I adored my father and he acted as though he adored me. He used to call my name first when he came home. I thought it would always be like that.’

‘Go on,’ he said gently, when she paused.

‘Well, his girlfriend was pregnant and he wanted a quick divorce so that he could marry her before the child was born. We were out. Mum said he even forced her to go back to England by threatening to be mean about money if she didn’t.’

Marco thought of Guiseppe d’Estino, a fleshy, self-indulgent man of great superficial charm but cold eyes, as he now realised. He could well believe this story.

‘It must have been a sad life for you after that,’ he said sympathetically.

‘I kept thinking he’d invite me for a visit, but he never did. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to turn him against me. My mother never recovered. She grieved every day of her life. She only lived another twelve years, then she had heart trouble and just faded away. I thought he’d send for me then, but he didn’t. I was about to go to college and he said he didn’t want to interrupt my education.’

Marco murmured something that might have been a swear word.

‘Yes,’ Harriet said wryly. ‘I suppose I was beginning to get the picture then, very belatedly. I was rather stupid about it really.’

‘The one thing nobody could ever call you is stupid,’ Marco said, regarding her with new interest. ‘I know that much about you.’

‘Oh, things,’ she said dismissively. ‘Anyone can learn about things. I’m stupid about people. I don’t really know much about them.’

‘Or maybe you know too much about the wrong sort of people,’ he said, thinking of the father who’d selfishly cast her off, and the mother who’d made the child bear the burden of her grief. ‘Did your father totally reject you?’

‘No, he kept up a reasonable pretence when he couldn’t help it. I studied in Rome for a year. I chose that on purpose because I knew he’d have to take some notice of me. I even thought he might invite me to stay.’

‘But he didn’t?’

‘I was asked to dinner several times. His second wife sat and glared at me the whole time, but Olympia was always nice. We got quite friendly. After that my father sent me a cheque from time to time.’

‘Did he help you buy the shop?’

‘No, that was money I inherited from my mother’s father. I was able to buy the lease and some stock.’

‘Your father could have afforded to help you. He ought to have stood up to that woman.’

‘You mean his wife? Do you know her?’

‘And detest her. As do most people. Of course she was determined to keep you out. My poor girl. You never stood a chance.’

‘I guess I know that now. But at the time I thought I could win him over by doing well, learning languages, passing exams, being as Italian as possible.’

Marco was growing interested in her strange upbringing. He suspected it had moulded her into an unusual person.

‘Did you really think I was a bailiff?’ he asked curiously.

‘For a moment.’ She gave a gruff little laugh. ‘You’d think I’d know how to recognise them by now. I keep thinking things will get better—well, they do. But then they get bad again.’

‘But why? That shop should be a gold-mine. Your stock is first-rate. It’s true, you made a mistake about the necklace, but—’

‘I did not make—never mind. Sometimes I get on top of the figures, but then I see this really beautiful piece that I just have to have, and bang go all my calculations.’

‘Why not just sell up?’

‘Sell my shop? Never. It’s my life.’

He ran up a flag. ‘There’s more to life than antiques.’

She shot it down. ‘No, there isn’t.’

‘You seem very sure of that.’

‘It’s not just antiques, it’s—it’s the other worlds they open up. Vast horizons were you can see for thousands of years—’

She was away again. Recognising that it would be impossible to halt the flow until she was ready Marco settled for listening with the top part of his brain, while the rest considered her.

He’d grown more agreeably impressed as the evening wore on. She was an intriguing companion, intelligent, educated, even witty. It was a shame that she wasn’t beautiful—at least, he thought she probably wasn’t. It was hard to be sure when her hair shielded so much of her face. But her green eyes flashed fire when she spoke of the ‘other worlds’ that she loved, and in them was a kind of beauty.

Her lapses into gaucheness were hardly her fault. She’d been denied the chance to grow up in sophisticated society. A few trips to the discreetly luxurious shops on the Via dei Condotti would greatly improve her. He felt he had the basis for a deal that would be beneficial on both sides.

Harriet was bringing her passionate arguments to a conclusion. ‘You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?’ she asked anxiously.

‘You care passionately about your subject,’ he said. ‘That isn’t being crazy. It’s being lucky. So saving your shop means more to you than anything in the world, and perhaps I can help. How much would it take to extricate you from your difficulties?’

She named a large sum with the air of someone plunging into the deep end.

‘It’s a lot,’ Marco said wryly, ‘but not too much. I think we’re in a position to help each other. I can make you an interest-free loan that will solve your problems.’

‘But why should you?’

‘Because I want something in return.’

‘Naturally. But what?’

He hesitated. ‘You may find this suggestion a little unusual, but I’ve considered it carefully, and I assure you it makes sense for both of us. I want you to come to Rome with me, and be my mother’s guest for a while.’

‘Are you sure she’ll want that?’

‘She’ll be delighted. Your paternal grandmother was her dearest friend, and her hope is that our families can become united. In short, she’s trying to arrange my marriage.’

‘Who with?’ Harriet asked, not wanting to seem to understand too much too soon.

‘With you.’

She’d known that this moment was coming, but without warning she was embarrassed. Watching him sitting there in the corner, the candlelight on his face, he was suddenly too much; too forceful, too attractive, too like an irresistible gale storming through her life, flattening all before it. Too much.

‘Hey, hold on,’ she said, playing for time. ‘Things aren’t done like that these days.’

‘In some societies marriages are still arranged—or at least, half arranged. Suitable people are introduced and the benefits of an alliance considered. My parents’ marriage was created like this, and it was very happy. They were compatible, but not blinded by emotions too intense to last.’

‘And you’re asking me—?’

‘To think about it. The final decision can be taken later, when we know each other better. In the meantime I’ll sort out your financial problems. Should we make a match I’ll wipe the loan out. If not we’ll part friends, and you can repay me on easy terms.’

‘Whoa there! You’re going too fast. I can’t take this in.’ It was true. She’d thought herself well prepared, but everything was so different to her imaginings that it was taking her breath away.

‘You can’t lose. At the worst you get an interest-free loan that will save your shop.’

‘But what’s in it for you?’ she demanded bluntly. ‘You can’t get married just to please your mother.’

It seemed to her that he hesitated a fraction, then answered with a little constraint. ‘I can if that is what I wish. It’s time for me to have a settled life, with a family, and it suits me to arrange it in this way.’

‘It will give us both time to think,’ he went on. ‘You return with me, try out life in my country—your country, and consider whether you’d enjoy it permanently. If you and my mother get on well, we’ll discuss marriage.’

‘What about you and me getting on well?’

‘I hope we may, since we could hardly have a successful marriage otherwise. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent mother to our children, and after that you won’t find me unreasonable.’

‘Unreasonable about what?’ she asked, beginning to get glassy eyed.

‘Come, we’re not adolescents. We needn’t interfere with each other’s freedom as long as we’re discreet.’

She tried to study his face, but it was hard because his eyes were in shadow.

‘Don’t you mind doing it this way?’ she asked at last. ‘Don’t you have any feelings about it?’

‘There’s no need for us to discuss feelings,’ he said, suddenly distant.

‘But you’ve got everything planned like a business deal.’

‘Sometimes that can achieve optimum results.’

The cool precision of his tone sent a frisson of alarm through her. For the first time she understood the extent to which he’d banished human warmth from this plan, and it gave her a sense of unreality. Only a man who’d built fences around himself could act like this. She wondered how high the fences were, and why he needed them.

And what about your own fences? murmured an inner voice. You know they’re there. Brains are safe. Your head can’t hurt you like your heart can. Maybe you’re two of a kind, and he sensed it?

She quickly rejected the idea, but it lingered, troubling her, refusing to be totally dismissed.

Playing for time, she said, ‘If we married you’d expect me to come to live with you, right?’

He looked slightly startled. ‘That is the usual arrangement.’

‘But if I move to Rome I’ll lose the shop that I’m trying to save.’

‘You can leave your establishment here and have it run by a manager, or move it to Rome. You might even find it helpful to be there. I’m sure there’s a great deal you haven’t explored yet.’

He’d touched a nerve. Not meeting his eyes Harriet said, ‘I suppose you know everybody.’

‘Not quite everybody. But I know a lot of people who could be useful to you.’

He would know Baron Orazio Manelli, she thought. He’d probably been in the Palazzo Manelli, with its vast store of hidden treasures. Harriet had been writing to the Baron for two years now, seeking permission to study that Aladdin’s cave. And for two years he had barred her entry. But as Marco’s fiancée…

She bid the tempter be silent, but he whispered to her of bronze and gold, of ancient jewellery and historic sculptures.

‘A visit,’ she said. ‘With neither of us committed.’

‘That’s understood.’

‘We might simply decide it wouldn’t work.’

‘And part friends. But in the meantime my mother would have the pleasure of your company.’

Torn between conscience and temptation she stared at his face as though hoping to find the answer there. And then, against all odds, she did.

‘That’s it!’ she breathed. ‘Now I know where I’ve seen your face.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said, amused. ‘Who do I remind you of?’

‘Emperor Caesar Augustus.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘I’ve got him in the shop—his bust in bronze. It’s your face.’

‘Nonsense. That’s pure fancy.’

‘No it’s not. Come on, I’ll show you.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go and see. We’ve finished eating, haven’t we?’

He’d planned a leisurely liqueur or two, but he could tell it would be simpler to yield. ‘Yes, we’ve finished,’ he agreed.

He was a man who led while others followed, but he found himself swept along by her urgent enthusiasm until they were back in her shop, and she’d turned the lights on the bust.

‘Now is that you or isn’t it?’ she demanded triumphantly.

‘No,’ he said, astounded. ‘There’s no resemblance at all. You brought me all the way back here to look at that?’

‘I’m not imagining it. That’s you. Look again. Look.’

He didn’t look. Instead he gave a soft laugh, as though something had mysteriously delighted him, and came to stand in front of her, putting one hand on her shoulder. With the other he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She could feel his warm breath against her skin, whispering across her mouth so that a tiny shiver went through her. But although their faces were so close, he didn’t lower his head, only gave her a small, intriguing smile.

‘A sensible man would run for his life at this point,’ he said wryly.

‘And you’re a very sensible man, aren’t you?’

He brushed back a stray wisp of hair. ‘Maybe I’m not as sensible as I thought I was. I know you’re not a sensible woman. You’re completely crazy.’

‘I suppose I am. A woman who wasn’t crazy wouldn’t even consider your idea.’

‘True. Then I must be grateful.’ He looked down into her face, still smiling, still meeting her eyes.

Then something happened that shocked her. His smile faded. He released her and stepped back. ‘Can you be ready to leave in two days?’ he asked with cool courtesy.

She was too stunned to speak. One moment her body had been vibrating from the intimacy of his closeness, his hands, his breath. The next, it was all over, and by his choice, that was clear. He’d deliberately slammed the door shut on whatever might have happened between them next.

She pulled herself together and replied in a voice that matched his own. ‘Speaking as a businesswoman, will I have the money by then?’

‘You will have it by midday tomorrow.’

‘But you haven’t seen my books,’ she said, suddenly conscience stricken.

‘Do I need to? I’m sure they’re terrible.’

‘Suppose you can’t afford me?’

‘I assure you that I can.’

She gave a sharp little laugh, half-tension, half-anger. ‘Then perhaps I should marry you for your money.’

‘I thought that was what we’d been discussing.’

She surveyed him defiantly, arms folded. ‘I can’t put one over on you, can I?’

‘I try to ensure that nobody can. It’s the best way to achieve—’

‘Optimum results.’ She said the words with him, and he gave her a nod of respect.

‘Let me take you home,’ he said.

‘No thank you.’ Anger had faded as she realised that the threat to the thing she loved most in the world had gone. With a sudden beatific smile that startled him she said, ‘I want to be alone here for a while. Now that it’s safe.’

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s midnight, and I won’t leave you alone with these valuables, a target for robbers and worse. Your untimely death wouldn’t suit me at all.’

‘No, you’d have to rethink the whole plan,’ she agreed affably.

He took her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with someone who understands what matters. I’ll be outside.’

He held her hand for a moment, then raised it and brushed his lips against the back before walking out.

Left alone, Harriet looked down at her hand, where she could still feel the light imprint of his mouth. She was shaken and her heart was beating either with pleasure or apprehension, she wasn’t sure. She could only do this if she felt in control, and he’d threatened that control. Furiously she rubbed the back of her hand until the feeling had gone.

Then she looked around her and her eyes shone. Safe. At least for a while.

The tempter was there again, whispering that the ‘engagement’ could last just long enough for her to investigate the Palazzo Manelli, and no longer. And why not? The plan would be heartless if Marco’s feelings had been involved, but he’d been at pains to emphasise that they weren’t. He’d looked her over as a piece of merchandise that he could make use of, so why shouldn’t she do the same with him?

She knew another brief flare of resentment at the way he’d drawn close to her then backed off. A man who was so much in control of himself wouldn’t be easy to deal with. If she let him, he would call all the shots. But she wouldn’t let him.

His face came into her mind and her eyes fell on the bronze face of Augustus, the two so exactly alike—whatever Marco thought. She remembered Olympia’s words, ‘Really dishy. That fine nose, and that mouth—all stern discipline masking incredible sensuality.’

It was true, Harriet realised. The wonder was that she alone had seen it in the living man.