Читать книгу To Catch a Groom - Rebecca Winters - Страница 7

June 17, House of Lords, England

“MY LORDS, we will begin by hearing the opening statement from Signore Maximilliano di Varano of the House of Parma-Bourbon. He is the chief counselor avvocato for the Emilia-Romagna Farmers Consorzio of Italy, of which the Federazione del Prosciutto de Parma, a member, is the appellant in the case brought against the United Kingdom Supermarket Cartel, known as UKSC, represented by Lord Winthrope.”

Back in the House of Lords for the second time in a year, Max got to his feet, determined his appeal would force the case to be moved to the European Court of Justice for a definitive decision.

“Thank you, my lords,” he began with virtually no trace of accent, thanks to an elite private school education that included four years at Oxford and extensive travel in the U.S. and Canada with his cousins.

“To refresh your memories, Prosciutto de Parma, or Parma ham, has been made in Parma from pigs reared in northern and central Italy since Etruscan times. It is famous throughout the world with a name that is a protected designation of origin.

“The Corona Ducale, a five-pointed coronet symbolizing the ancient Duchy of Parma, is the outward guarantee of authenticity. According to Italian law, it has to appear upon the product in whatever form it is sold to the customer. If he buys a complete ham, or slices cut up at a shop, it has to bear the brand. If he buys prepackaged slices, it must appear stamped on the package.

“The second respondent, Prime Choice Affiliates, is a reputable food processor in Herefordshire that prepares packages of authentic Parma ham slices and pieces to be sold to the first respondent, UKSC, which sells them to the public in its supermarkets. Unfortunately it’s done without the Corona Ducale on the package.

“The Federazione del Prosciutto de Parma maintains this is an unlawful practice under Italian law, as well as European law, enforceable in the courts of all the member states.

“In the present proceedings, the Federazione claims a continuing injunction against Prime Choice Affiliates and the UKSC, restraining them from marketing the packages as Parma ham until the European Court of Justice can hear the case and make a definitive ruling. I now yield my time back to Lord Winthrope.”

When Max sat down, his assistant, Bernaldo, handed him a note.

With one ear taking in the QC’s opening remarks, he read the message. But his mind was focused on the case to the degree that it didn’t register until he’d read it a second time.

Your secretary in Colorno just received a call from the head of security at Cristoforo Colombo airport in Genoa Sestri. You’re to phone Fausto Galli at 555 328 as soon as possible. It’s a classified matter of great importance.

Translated, it meant there was no crisis such as his own personal family or extended family being injured in an accident or some such thing. Relieved, he put the message in his suit pocket, making a mental note to call Signore Galli back during the recess.

For ten minutes Max listened while the QC pontificated. Finally the man came to the point.

“In my view there exists a fair argument that the supervisory role of the Parma Federation in ensuring that only the genuine product is sold as Parma ham, has been discharged once it leaves the Parma area. I yield back to Signore di Varano.”

Once again Max got up from the chair. “My lords, the issue here is whether the Federazione del Prosciutto de Parma’s prohibitions contained in a legislative measure of a member state can achieve community wide effect to the U.K. and elsewhere. Therefore I respectfully appeal this case to the European Court of Justice. Otherwise it will continue to remain at an impasse which achieves nothing for either party.”

Following his remarks, presiding judge Lord Marbury announced a fifteen-minute recess. Curious to discover what the call from Genoa was all about, Max pulled the cell phone from his breast pocket and dialed the number written on the paper.

He only had to wait two rings before he heard a male voice say, “Pronto. Signore di Varano?”

“Si?”

“It is an honor to speak to you. I have some news that I know will be of great interest to your family. Since you handle its legal affairs, I felt it prudent to alert you first.”

“Go ahead, signore.”

“A half hour ago three American women passed through customs after deboarding their flight from New York. My men detained them using the excuse they were vetting incoming passengers for information due to a suspicious person being aboard the plane. In truth, it was discovered they’re each wearing the Duchesse pendant.”

“Each?” Max shook his dark head in exasperation. “That’s impossible!”

There was only one pendant in existence, but it could be anywhere because well over a year ago the Duchess of Parma jewelry collection on display at the family palace in Colorno had been stolen.

The pendant was the least valuable of the items taken in terms of monetary worth, however its historical and sentimental value was inestimable, especially to Max’s family.

“Did you consult an expert?”

“Si. During the interrogation, photographs were taken. They were enhanced for our forensics expert who compared them against the photo of the pendant you had distributed to the police after the theft. They were a perfect match.”

Max blinked in astonishment.

“That’s why I’m calling you, Signore di Varano. Do you wish me to confiscate the pendants so they can be examined? So far the Americans still don’t know why they’re being detained.”

“That’s good. Let’s leave it that way for now. I appreciate your discretion and quick thinking, Signore Galli. You’ve handled the situation perfectly.

“However we’ve had many leads since news of the theft was made public and a reward for its return was offered. So far all the leads have turned out to be false. But I must admit this little joke initiated by some brazen Americans was meant to draw attention for a reason. One can only wonder why.”

“My very thought, particularly since the joke gets even stranger.”

The odd inflection in the other man’s voice intrigued Max. “Explain what you mean.”

“They’re sisters.”

“You mean professed nuns?”

“No, no. They are the same age with the same birthday.”

“Triplets?” You didn’t see that every day. “How old are they?”

“Ventisette.”

Twenty-seven and already leading a life of crime…

“Molto bellissima!”

Beautiful, of course.

“Their paperwork states they are the Duchesses of Kingston from New York.”

Duchesses of Kingston?

Max flicked his gaze to Lord Winthrope. If such a title existed, the esteemed QC would know who they were in an instant.

“Unfortunately I’m in London and can’t return to Genoa before evening to investigate this matter. Did you find out their purpose for being in Italy?”

“They claim to be on vacation with a little business thrown in. We checked the information they gave us. It’s been verified they’re booked at the Splendido tonight and have chartered a sailboat for tomorrow.”

“From Portofino?”

“No. Vernazza.”

A frown slowly replaced Max’s smile. That little bomb-shell hit too close to home to be a coincidence.

Two years ago he’d given the Piccione to his good friend Fabio and his two younger brothers after their parents had been lost at sea in the family fishing boat. The Morettis now made their living crewing for tourists.

To his friend’s credit and business prowess, he’d paid Max back every last Euro, though Max had never asked or expected repayment. For twenty months like clockwork he’d received a good-size installment with a note of heart-felt gratitude from the man he didn’t see nearly as often as he would have liked.

Besides watching after his brothers, Fabio now had a wife and they were expecting their second baby. Since they ran the only sailboat charter business in the tiny town which had been Max’s backyard growing up, he knew exactly where to find these Americans. That is if they intended to stick to their agenda once they were freed to leave the airport.

“You may release them, Signore Galli, but have them followed and closely watched. After my flight touches down I’ll make contact with you.”

“Bene. Arrivederci.”

After hanging up the phone, Max wrote a note on his scratch pad. He asked Bernaldo to hand carry it to Lord Winthrope. “Wait for his answer and bring it back to me.”

Bernaldo went off to do Max’s bidding. He returned a few minutes later. Max opened the note, eager to read what the other man had to say in response.

Glad to be of help, Max.

Evelyn Pierrepont succeeded his grandfather as the second duke of Kingston. He was primarily famous for his liaison with Elizabeth Chudleigh, who claimed to be the Duchess of Kingston, but the Kingston titles became extinct on the duke’s death around 1733. He had no children. Hope that answers your question.

Indeed it did.

Max lifted his head and smiled at Lord Winthrope who smiled back.

So…these American women weren’t only audacious imposters, their impudence showed a certain shrewdness to pick an English title that had become extinct over two hundred years ago and pass it off as their own.

What kind of a game were they playing to come to Italy wearing pendants identical to the stolen one? Where did they get such an idea? Why would they do it?

“Much as I’d love to run to the room and change into my swimming suit, I’m too tired.”

“Jet lag’s caught up with me, too. Let’s go to bed. You coming, Greer?”

“In a minute—”

The magic of the balmy Genoese night held her in its thrall. She’d always dreamed of coming to Italy. Though ninety percent of their ancestry was English and Scotch-Irish, their father had favored their Italian-Austrian roots. As a result he’d infected Greer with that love.

“Okay. Just don’t make noise when you let yourself in.”

“I promise,” she said before their footsteps faded.

After several business meetings which might or might not produce a foothold in Europe, followed by a late dinner, they’d taken a walk to the San Giorgio church and visited the interior.

From there they’d strolled around the tropical gardens on the grounds of the Splendido, a former sixteenth-century monastery. They’d finally ended up at its outdoor pool overlooking Portofino harbor.

In Greer’s opinion the view was worth a king’s ransom. How their mother would have loved this flower-scented paradise.

There were quite a few guests climbing in and out of the water. Waiters moved around unobtrusively refilling champagne glasses. Every so often Greer caught snatches of conversation and laughter from beautiful men and women enjoying the elegant amenities of the privileged class.

As she stood next to a palm tree wearing her designer sundress in a stunning tangerine color, her attention was caught by a man doing laps with the speed and fluidity of a shark. A great black shark, if there were such a thing she mused fancifully.

Glimpses of a bronzed, well-toned male physique and jet-black hair kept her gaze riveted. Suddenly he levered himself from the water onto the tiled deck.

The shark had legs.

Strong, powerful legs that propelled his tall, black trunk-clad body past the admiring glances from women and the envious stares of men toward Greer.

His total disregard of the surroundings testified to his inbuilt radar system which had targeted its next victim. How easy her subconscious had made it for him by sending out the message that she wanted to see if all of him lived up to her image of the quintessential playboy.

All of him did…

From an aquiline face, whose Italian bones had been refined and molded down through the centuries, gleamed a pair of black eyes that resembled volcanoes erupting in the night sky. One intimate look from them beneath expressive black brows and she felt as if her body had come too close to the mesmerizing magma.

Burned alive would be the more accurate description.

The pulse in her throat throbbed so violently, she could feel it move the pendant she wore around her neck like a choker.

She watched him watching it. He’d taken the bait.

Piper would be especially pleased to find out her suggestion to wear the family heirloom had proved to be a winner their first night in Italy.

“I saw you walking on the grounds earlier, signorina.” His heavily accented English delivered in a deep masculine voice, vibrated to her insides. Its cadence sent a delicious tremor through her system even though the night was warm. “I hoped you would come to the pool.”

Of course he did.

“I noticed you, too,” she responded boldly, for once throwing her innate caution to the wind. “That’s why I didn’t go upstairs with my sisters.”

It was a lie. She hadn’t seen him. He was too much of a predator to have given himself away beforehand. Like his species, he’d lurked in the depths until it was time to make his attack.

“Swim with me.”

His ardent demand, whispered with a pulsating urgency that said his life wouldn’t be worth living if she didn’t consent, decided her.

“I’m not wearing a suit.”

“Does it matter?” came the breathtaking question.

She could have toyed with him a trifle longer and enjoyed every provocative minute of it. But in the end she decided not to tempt fate.

“No.”

The second she said the word, she saw something flare in the dark recesses of his eyes.

Had she surprised him with her answer? To her knowledge sharks didn’t have human emotions, only instincts that led them to their nearest prey.

Well, here I am… Let’s see how long it takes you to swallow me.

With great daring she slipped off her gold sandals, left her gold watch and gold lame clutch bag on a table near the deep end of the pool, then dove in headfirst.

Having lived along the Hudson River all their lives, their father had taught Greer and her sisters to be strong swimmers. As a result, it was their favorite sport which they enjoyed on a regular basis.

The bottom of this pool was tiled in a fabulous design. She swam lower to get a better look, but was halted in her quest when a strong pair of male hands found her hips and brought her swiftly to the surface.

She emerged with her neck-length hair plastered around her head, no longer the picture of classic royal grace. Unfortunately that wasn’t what disturbed her. It was the fact that her dress had ridden up to her waist, which meant nothing was separating his hands from her skin except her underwear.

With his arresting face only centimeters from hers, she would have to put on the performance of her life not to let him know how alarmed she was by this shocking turn of events.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Greer Duchess.”

“Greer,” he repeated softly. The way he pronounced it made even the hard “G” sound beautiful. His slow white smile dazzled her. “Your name is as unique as you are. What brings a beautiful American woman like you to Italy?”

It was time to try out the story she’d rehearsed. “My sisters and I are here to visit relatives.”

“Ah, yes?”

“Yes. My ancestor was the Duchess of Colorno.”

His black eyes flared in recognition. “You’re referring to Maria-Luigia of Austria of the House of Parma-Bourbon?”

So he knew his Italian history well enough to recognize the Duchesse pendant! This was so easy it was scary!

She couldn’t wait to tell Olivia and Piper she’d caught a real playboy on her first night! Now all she had to do was play him for a while before she reeled him in and got him to propose marriage.

When she unmasked herself, he would slip off the hook and swim away. Then she would be able to enjoy the rest of this fabulous vacation knowing she’d followed her father’s stipulation about the Husband Fund to the letter.

“Yes. That’s right. My sisters and I are the American descendants from her Duchesse line.” No need to add “the illegitimate line” at this juncture. “Now that I’ve told you something about myself, I’d like to know who you are,” she said in the most seductive tone she could produce.

“Why don’t you guess my name?” he came back in a deep voice that was equally tantalizing.

As if to emphasize his remark, she felt his thumbs making lazy circles against the nylon, increasing her awareness of him while they tread water. Her insides turned to liquid.

She gazed at his incredible male beauty through veiled eyes and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Luigio?”

His lips twitched, as if what she’d said had truly amused him. “No.”

Greer had never been this daring in her life. But something about the man was like an elixir in her veins, increasing her bravado. She flashed him a brilliant smile. “This might take a long time.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his broad Italian shoulders before drawing her closer. “I’ve been in London on business. Now I’m on vacation for the next week and would love nothing better than to spend every second of it with you, bellissima.”

Every second? That meant day and night. She just bet he would!

To her consternation she realized she would love the same thing. A shiver of delight ran through her body.

She’d always heard the expression “carnal thoughts,” but she’d never understood their true meaning until now…

Greer could find no fault in this Italian heartthrob who had it all down pat. Most likely he’d just left a woman in London and was now on the lookout for his next conquest.

As long as she was the bait with jewels and a title, why not tease him for a while longer first. She had an idea it would be a new experience for him.

“Unfortunately my sisters and I are leaving for Vernazza in the morning and won’t be back.”

“I know it well. Since you show no fear of the water, I would be happy to take you to a secret grotto which can only be reached by swimming a short distance beneath the sea.”

She flashed him an artless smile. “Like Edmond Dantes who found Abbe Faria’s treasure on Monte Cristo, will I discover gold and silver and precious pearls?”

His hard-muscled body stilled before he cocked his dark, handsome head. Even wet, his vibrant hair had a tendency to curl. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

Again she had the oddest sensation that she’d said something unexpected, something that puzzled him. “Isn’t everyone searching for treasure that will bring them ultimate happiness?”

“Ultimate happiness?” he murmured the words as if to himself, but his gaze was playing over her features, dwelling on each feminine attribute for heart-stopping seconds. “What is that I wonder?”

The philosopher emerging from the adventurer. He was a better actor than she’d first supposed.

“Thanks to Alexandre Dumas, we do know one thing…”

“That’s right,” he whispered. His lips were so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on hers. In reaction her toes curled against his hair-roughened legs as their limbs tangled beneath the water. “Though the Count of Monte Cristo had his revenge against his enemies, he didn’t find happiness after all.”

“Except that Dumas’s book was a tale of fiction,” she countered.

Again his eyes glimmered like black fires burning on a distant hill. “If you wish, I will take you to the island of Monte Cristo. It’s not far from Vernazza. Perhaps there you will find what you’re looking for.”

You mean you, of course.

She struggled not to laugh at the pure conceit of the man. “Perhaps.”

“Does that mean—”

“It means…perhaps,” she interrupted with a flirtatious smile. “Now I’m tired and must say good night.”

His hands remained fastened on her hips. “But it’s not late, and you’re too young to be tired.”

“True, but we just flew in today, and were detained by the police while we were going through customs. Three hours to be exact. It was very exhausting.”

“I’m sorry such a terrible thing happened to you in my country. Why would the police do this?”

“The head of security said there was a suspicious person on board our jet. He and his men took statements from the passengers who sat near this person.”

“Were you able to help?”

“I don’t know. We tried to remember the people seated around us, but no one looked suspicious to me. When we were finally let go, all we wanted was to reach our hotel and go to sleep.”

“Of course,” he whispered with compassion. His eyes wandered over her in intense appraisal before he said, “Momento—”

With one hand still possessively molding the curve of her hip, he signaled a waiter, rapping out something in rapid Italian. The other man nodded and disappeared.

Reading the question in her eyes, her captor explained, “I asked him to bring you a robe to wear back to your room. Such a delectable sight should not be for everyone’s eyes.”

Only yours, and you’ve been drinking your fill with un-abashed enjoyment, she thought. He played it just right. The lothario with a streak of chivalry to keep him from being a complete cad.

“Thank you, Signore…Mysterioso,” she improvised in her best Italian which, sadly, left a lot to be desired.

A bark of laughter escaped his throat, the first unorchestrated response to come out of him. In that millisecond of time she was allowed a glimpse of what lay beneath the polished veneer and felt an emotional tug totally foreign to her.

Not wishing to delve any deeper into her suddenly confused emotions, she arched backward to escape his grasp and struck out for the shallow end. That way she could use the steps and retain some semblance of dignity.

However he managed to get there first. In a surprisingly protective gesture, he placed the extended white toweling robe around her shoulders. She was quite amazed at the speed with which the waiter had obeyed the stranger’s command without question.

She raised violet eyes to meet the smoldering depths of his. “Thank you. I was feeling a little vulnerable.”

“Like Venus rising from the sea?” he suggested.

The second the words came out of his mouth, Greer could picture the famous painting of the Roman goddess of beauty awakening from a seashell without any clothes on.

Greer blushed at the shocking analogy and turned her head away. But he made the situation even more explosive and intimate by lifting the pendant and lowering his head to kiss the tiny pulse fluttering madly beneath it.

“One day soon when we have no audience except the sun on our skin and the sand beneath our bodies, I hope to see you exactly as Botticelli created her,” he murmured against her scented throat.

Between the sensuality of his remark and the brush of his lips branding her heated flesh, she drew in an audible breath before wheeling away from his grasp.

Trembling, she plucked her watch and purse from the table where she’d left them. Before she could decide whether to wear or carry her high heels, he’d looped his index finger through the gold straps.

“I’ll escort you to your room. Not even the Splendido can guarantee the safety of a woman on her own who looks like you. In your exhausted state you would be no match for someone who would like to spirit you away to some secret lagoon for the night…”

The image he’d created sent another shiver through her body, part ecstasy, part fright.

Before this trip, the playboys Greer had pictured in her mind were likable. Manageable. Easy come, easy go.

Maybe a little miffed to recognize they’d been conned, but gallant enough to salute the girls as worthy adversaries who’d pulled off a well-executed charade. No hard feelings as they made their charming retreat from the playing field.

Up until this moment she’d been enjoying a game that had its nascence back in Kingston two months earlier. But just now when he’d kissed her and whispered his daring remark, she’d sensed a power shift.

Now he was the one dangling her as surely as he dangled her shoes from his fingers.

Instinct told her this was a dangerous man, the kind you didn’t lure back to a youth hostel to tell him “sorry, wrong duchess.” He would be the one to decide when he was tired of playing, then he would move in for the kill. Until then he would keep her trapped in his sights, and there’d be no place for her to hide.

A thrill of alarm caused her to walk faster.

When they reached the elevator where other guests were coming and going, she was in a state of panic and used the brief interim to extricate the hotel room key from her purse.

However by the time they’d exited onto the third floor, reason had reasserted itself. She told herself it was lack of sleep that had made her so uneasy. She would be leaving the hotel tomorrow and since she had no intention of ever seeing him again, she was even able to smile up at him with renewed confidence.

After the long transatlantic flight followed by a grueling three hours detainment at the hands of the police, she hadn’t been herself at all. Otherwise she wouldn’t have given a perfect stranger the green light to pursue her.

For a woman to plunge into the pool with her clothes on in order to sink her hooks into him, what else was a man like him supposed to think?

Tonight had been an experiment. A dry run. Whoops. A wet one, she mused nervously to herself, realizing her emotions bordered on hysteria.

She’d blown it, but she’d learned from it. Tomorrow would be a new day filled with more playboys and fresh possibilities.

The hotel room door was in sight. With one fluid movement she unlocked it, but before she could slip inside, he left a kiss on the side of her neck that set her whole body on fire. “Until tomorrow.”

His promise sounded more like an avowal.

“Goodbye,” she announced through the crack in the door before shutting it hard and locking it.

Congratulating herself on making it safely to her room, she staggered over to the nearest chair and held on while she attempted to recover from her fright. Her clutch bag fell to the floor with a soft thud.

Too late she remembered he still had her shoes. No matter. She didn’t need them. In truth, she never wanted to see them again. She never wanted to see him again.