Читать книгу Rags To Riches Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 41

BETH was spellbound by the plush red velvet and opulent gold décor of Teatro dell’Opera. The auditorium was horseshoe shaped, with tiers of seating boxes rising up towards a magnificent frescoed dome, and suspended from the centre of the dome was a huge chandelier of breathtaking beauty.

With her eyes focused on the ceiling, she stumbled in her high heels and felt Cesario grip her arm to steady her.

‘Are you all right?’ he murmured in her ear.

‘Overawed,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never been to a theatre before. This is amazing.’ She glanced around at the crowd filing in to take their seats and gave him a rueful look. ‘I understand now why you insisted that I should dress up. The only other people I’ve seen wearing so much bling are the drug dealers who trade on the estate where I live.’

He muttered something beneath his breath and slid his arm around her waist. ‘Why do you live there?’

‘Because it’s the only place where I can afford the rent.’

‘I don’t want you to go back there,’ Cesario said harshly. ‘Even if Sophie is not my child I’ll help you find somewhere safer to bring her up.’

Beth could not bear the idea of him viewing her and Sophie as a charity case. ‘If it turns out that she is not your responsibility why would you care what happens to her?’

He cared, Cesario realised with a frown. Little Sophie, with her button-round brown eyes and shock of dark hair, evoked a protective instinct in him. When he held her he did not consider whether or not she was his. One thing he was certain of was that, whatever the outcome of the DNA test, he would not allow Beth and the baby to return to a tower block in a crime-ridden area of East London.

They had a private box which offered a perfect view of the stage. From the moment the curtain rose Beth was transfixed by the tragic story of doomed young lovers told through the grace and beauty of ballet. But she was also desperately conscious of the man sitting beside her, she acknowledged ruefully as she darted a glance at his handsome profile. In the dark, hushed atmosphere of the theatre she was aware of the steady rise and fall of his chest, and when he moved position so that his thigh brushed against hers she felt as if an electric current had shot through her.

‘Are you enjoying the performance?’ Cesario asked her in the interval, when he escorted her to the bar and ordered champagne.

‘This is the most magical night of my life.’ Beth flushed when she realised how gauche she sounded, but nothing could diminish her pleasure in the ballet. ‘I’m sorry your PA missed tonight, but thank you for inviting me.’

She stared in surprise when streaks of colour flared along his cheekbones.

‘Okay, I wasn’t absolutely truthful when I said I had originally planned to bring Donata,’ he growled.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I bought the tickets for you.’

Beth’s eyes widened and her heart suddenly beat faster. The bar was packed, but the sound of chattering voices and laughter, the clink of wineglasses, seemed strangely distant, and it was as if only she and Cesario existed, cocooned in their own private world.

‘Why did you do such a lovely thing?’ she whispered.

‘Because I hoped it would make you smile.’ He held her gaze, his grey eyes gleaming with an expression that made her blood fizz. ‘You have a beautiful smile, Beth Granger.’

As he watched the corners of her mouth lift in that shy smile that had such a profound effect on him Cesario felt his gut ache with desire and something else that he refused to define. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to so badly that he did not care that they were standing in a crowded bar, even though he usually abhorred making a public display. Beth had got under his skin, and at this moment he did not care who knew it. He wanted to taste her, to feel her soft lips part beneath his so that he could slide his tongue into the moist interior of her mouth.

She was watching him, waiting, and he knew from her absolute stillness that she shared his need. He bent his head, his heart hammering as he brushed his mouth across hers in a gossamer-light caress. He heard her swiftly indrawn breath and felt an unexpected flood of tenderness mingle with the fierce hunger that corkscrewed through him.

‘Cesario!’

A woman’s voice sounded from close by and continued in a stream of voluble Italian. Cesario snatched his mouth from Beth’s and cursed beneath his breath, before muttering, ‘I’m sorry, cara, but you’re about to meet Allegra Ricci—patron of numerous charities and the biggest gossip in Rome. There’s no malice to her. She just likes to discuss everyone’s business. Her husband is a good friend of mine. Fortunately for Gilberto he is hard of hearing—or at least he pretends to be when he’s with his wife,’ he said dryly.

He straightened and smiled coolly at the matronly woman dressed in electric-blue too-tight satin who had descended on them.

‘Good evening, Allegra. Is Gilberto with you?’

‘No.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘He does not enjoy the ballet so I have come with my sister.’ Following Cesario’s lead, Allegra Ricci now spoke in English, but she barely looked at him. Her bright black eyes were focused intently on Beth.

‘And who is your delightful companion, Cesario? I don’t believe we have met before.’

‘This is Beth Granger.’ Cesario gave the Italian woman a bland look and offered no further information, much to Allegra’s obvious frustration.

‘Are you staying in Rome, my dear—on holiday, perhaps?’

Faced with such a direct question, Beth felt she had no option but to reply. ‘Actually I’m staying in Sardinia. At the Castello del Falco.’

Cesario checked his watch. ‘We’d better make our way back to our seats. Please give my regards to Gilberto.’ He nodded to Allegra and firmly led Beth away.

Her reprieve was short-lived. A visit to the cloakroom was unavoidable, and her heart sank when Allegra followed her through the door.

‘So you are a guest at Cesario’s home?’ the Italian woman murmured. ‘How intriguing. I’ve never known him invite any of his female friends to the castle. He usually conducts his affairs here in Rome—although it’s no secret that he never keeps any of his mistresses for long.’ She met Beth’s eyes in the mirror and gave an unexpectedly kindly smile. ‘You are so young. Forgive me for saying so, but I fear you are out of your depth with Cesario. I know he is charming, but I’ve heard there is a side to him that is as ruthless as his barbarian ancestors. His wife discovered that when he banished her from his castle and refused to allow her to see their baby son.’

Allegra shook her head. ‘Who could blame poor Raffaella for trying to snatch Nicolo? What mother could bear to be separated from her child? Of course it was a tragedy that they were both killed. And the terrible irony for Cesario is that Raffaella and Nicolo are buried together in the grounds of the castle chapel and he is alone.’

* * *

During the second half of the performance Beth tried to concentrate on the ballet, but the magic of the evening disappeared as Allegra Ricci’s insidious comments about the accident that had claimed the lives of Cesario’s wife and son swirled in her mind. Why had Cesario sent Raffaella away from their little boy? Nicolo had only been two years old when he had died. A child of that age had surely needed his mother. The questions went round and round in her head, and her stomach churned with tension.

She could not bring herself to talk on the way back to his apartment. Cesario too seemed lost in his own thoughts as the limousine whisked them through the brightly lit Rome streets—still bustling with traffic even though it was nearly midnight.

Sophie hadn’t stirred all evening, the nanny reported when Beth hurried straight to the nursery. ‘I’ll head off to bed now that you’re home,’ Luisa whispered.

Beth remained leaning over the cot, listening to the soft whisper of Sophie’s breathing. Earlier in the day she had felt reassured by Cesario’s promise that he would not separate her from Sophie if the paternity test proved she was his child. But after her conversation with Allegra Ricci she felt sick with worry. Allegra had described Cesario as ruthless. And when she pictured him at the Castello del Falco, a dark figure riding his great black horse, his falcon perched on his shoulder, a shiver ran through her. He was as uncompromising as the granite walls of his castle and she would be a fool to forget it.

She was tempted to grab Sophie and flee the apartment, but her common sense quickly reasserted itself. She was a stranger in Rome; she did not speak Italian or have money or their passports. She was trapped here, just as she had been trapped at the castle. But even if she could escape, what kind of life could she give a child in the rough area of London which was the only place she could afford to live? It would be far better for Sophie if Cesario was her father. He could give the little girl a much better life than-she could, she acknowledged bleakly. Sophie’s welfare was the only thing that mattered, Beth reminded herself. But she could not dismiss her fear that Cesario might send her away from the baby in the same way that he had apparently separated his wife from their son.

She found him in his study, a brandy glass in his hand as he stood at the window looking down at the late-night revellers who were still milling around the piazza. He had discarded his jacket and tie, and despite Allegra Ricci’s warning that he was a ruthless womaniser Beth felt a familiar weakness in her limbs that had nothing to do with her being anaemic and everything to do with the smouldering sensuality of the man whose enigmatic expression gave no clue to his thoughts.

He turned his head when she hovered in the doorway. ‘How is Sophie?’

‘Asleep. Luisa says she hasn’t heard a peep out of her all evening. I’m going to bed now.’ For some stupid reason she blushed, and her heart-rate quickened when he strolled over to her.

‘Can I get you a nightcap?’ When she shook her head, he said softly, ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?’

‘Several times.’ She smiled, but her voice shook slightly and she caught her breath as he reached out and idly wound a lock of her long hair around his finger. The gleam in his gaze sent a tremor through her, and she closed her eyes for a moment while she sought to fight her fierce awareness of him.

‘I came to return the necklace, but the clasp seems to be stuck.’

‘Turn around and lift up your hair.’

She did as he bade, standing rigidly as his fingers brushed lightly against her neck. His warm breath whispered across her skin, and she trembled when he bent his head and pressed his lips to the sensitive place behind her ear. The silence was so intense that she was sure he must hear the frantic thud of her heart. She sensed he was waiting for a sign from her, that if she turned her head a fraction towards him his restraint would shatter and he would seize her in his arms and plunder her mouth with a primitive hunger that could only have one outcome.

Dear heaven, the temptation to give in to the molten desire flooding through her veins was so strong. Her heart missed a beat when he slid the strap of her dress a little way down her arm and trailed his lips over her shoulder. She knew he could see the swollen peaks of her nipples jutting against the clingy silk of her dress, and she imagined him peeling the material away and cupping her breasts in his hands.

She bit her lip. Was this how he had tempted Mel into his bed—with the practised ease of a skilled seducer? What would happen if she gave in to the desperate clamour of her desire? And afterwards? Would he treat her with the same callous disregard with which he had treated Mel?

She recalled Allegra Ricci’s warning. ‘As ruthless as his barbarian ancestors…Poor Raffaella…Banished her from his castle and refused to allow her to see their son…’

He released the clasp and caught the necklace as it slipped from around her throat. She lowered her hands so that her hair tumbled down her back and quickly stepped away from him.

Her eyes fell on a photograph on his desk, and with a shaking hand she picked it up.

‘Your son?’ The resemblance to Cesario was obvious, even though the little boy in the picture was just a toddler. With a mass of unruly black curls, striking grey eyes fringed by long lashes and a happy grin, the child was enchanting.

‘Yes.’ Cesario’s voice was suddenly terse. He drained the brandy in his glass and glanced briefly at the photo. ‘That’s Nicolo.’

A second photo was of Nicolo and a dark haired woman. Beth stared at her, certain from the expression of fierce adoration in the woman’s eyes as she looked at the child that she was Raffaella. ‘Your wife was very beautiful.’

‘Yes, I suppose she was.’ His indifference was chilling.

Beth swallowed, compelled to try to unlock the secrets of his past. ‘You told me that you didn’t love her. If that was so, why did you marry her?’

He turned his head and fixed her with a narrow stare. As the seconds ticked by she was sure she had overstepped an invisible boundary, that she had been too intrusive and he would refuse to answer. He reached for the bottle of brandy, refilled his glass and downed half its contents in one swallow.

‘It was a business arrangement—a merger between our two families, Piras and Cossu, which resulted in the formation of the largest and most successful private bank in Italy. I was brought up to believe that power is everything,’ he said harshly, when he saw her shocked expression. ‘Marriage to Raffaella Cossu was an opportunity that I knew would give me a level of power even my father would find impressive.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘In my arrogance I did not understand that everything comes at a price. I was taught by my father that emotions are a weakness and love is a failing—something that afflicts lesser men but never a Piras.’

Cesario took another swig of his drink and felt the burn of fiery heat at the back of his throat. He knew from experience that temporary oblivion from the demons which haunted him could be found in a bottle of spirits. There had been times since Nicolo’s death when the only way he’d been able to cope with his grief had been to seek solace in alcohol. He had never revealed his pain. Not even to his closest friends. Old habits die hard, he thought grimly. The lessons from his childhood were deeply ingrained.

But tonight, for the first time since he was a small boy, he could not control his emotions. Something was building inside him: a need, almost a desperation to voice his feelings and release the pain that scourged his soul. It was Beth, he thought savagely. She had cast a spell on him with her slanting green eyes and made him feel things he did not want to feel. But her inherent gentleness was something he had never experienced before. He had witnessed her compassion, and he sensed that if he told her about Nicolo she would not judge him.

‘Was Raffaella in love with you?’ she asked softly, intuitively.

It was time to be honest and face up to the mistakes of his past. ‘Perhaps,’ he acknowledged heavily, ‘in the early days of our marriage. But at the time I did not know it. She never spoke of her feelings, and it suited me to assume she was content with the relationship we had, based on friendship and respect. Love was an alien emotion to me—something I had been taught to deride. I did not know that I was capable of feeling it until I held my newborn son for the first time and finally understood that there is no greater power than love.’

He drained his glass and moved to the window to stare out at the crescent moon, suspended like a silver sickle against the black sky. ‘I would have died for Nicolo,’ he said roughly. ‘He was my purpose in life, my reason for being, and nothing else mattered—not power or wealth, not the bank. I loved my boy beyond reason. What I failed to understand was that Raffaella loved Nicolo just as deeply.’

‘Allegra Ricci said that you sent Raffaella away and refused to allow her to see Nicolo.’

‘That’s not true. Raffaella had an affair and wanted to leave me for her lover. I can’t blame her. I couldn’t give her the marriage she wanted or deserved,’ Cesario admitted grimly. ‘But I couldn’t let her take our son. The idea of living apart from him, of being sidelined in his life while another man took on the role of father to him, tore me apart. I was willing to share custody. I had been separated from my own mother at a young age, and I considered it vital that Nicolo spent an equal amount of time with his mother as with me. However, I felt it was better for his main home to be the Castello del Falco. Raffaella didn’t agree, and was desperate for him to live with her. Our relationship disintegrated and the rows grew more acrimonious.’

Cesario’s voice rasped in his throat. ‘After a particularly bad confrontation Raffaella snatched Nicolo and fled with him. It had been raining, and she probably drove too fast.’ He delivered the words in a tightly controlled monotone. ‘I heard the crash—it’s a sound that still haunts my dreams. I guessed what had happened. As I ran, I prayed I was wrong. But my worst fears became a nightmare when I saw that the car had skidded off the road and ploughed down the side of the mountain.’

He heard Beth draw a sharp breath, but now that he had opened the floodgates the words kept on coming in an unstoppable tide. ‘I managed to climb down, hanging onto rocks, tree roots. The car had flipped over and landed on its roof. I saw instantly that Raffaella was dead, but Nicolo…I prayed he was still alive.’

‘Dear God,’ Beth whispered. She wanted to walk over to Cesario and take his hand, offer him what comfort she could. But something told her he needed to relive his agonising memories, that this was perhaps the first time since the accident that he had talked about what had happened that day.

‘I had to smash the window with my bare hands to get him out. I didn’t even feel the broken glass slice open my face.’ He ran his hand over his scar and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper, as if his throat had been scraped raw with sandpaper. ‘I was like a madman. I was frantic to save my boy, to hold him in my arms and see his smile, to hear him call me Papà. But he had gone.’ His voice shook. ‘My son was dead.’

Tears were running down Beth’s cheeks, but she brushed them away as she flew across the room and halted in front of Cesario. It tore her heart to see his hard-boned face ravaged with pain. How could she have believed him to be unemotional? She knew now that his way of dealing with the devastation of losing his son had been to bury his emotions deep inside him. But tonight his agony was raw and exposed, and impelled by a desire to try to comfort him she slipped her arms around his waist and held him tightly, willing him to believe that she understood his grief.

For a moment he stiffened, but then he put his arms around her and held her, and Beth felt some of the terrible tension that gripped him slowly ease.

‘The accident was my fault,’ he said roughly.

‘No! How can you say that? Raffaella—’

‘Raffaella was torn between her feelings for the man she had fallen in love with and her love for her son. For Nicolo’s sake I should have tried harder to reach an agreement with her on how we could share his upbringing, instead of forcing her into a desperate act that had such tragic consequences.’

He stepped away from her and walked over to the desk to pour another glass of brandy before sinking onto the sofa. He tugged her down beside him, curving an arm around her shoulders as if he needed the physical contact.

‘The party to celebrate the opening of the English subsidiary of the Piras-Cossu Bank in London last year was on the anniversary of the date Nicolo died. I didn’t want to go, but I had a duty to attend.’ Cesario swirled the amber liquid around in his glass. ‘It wasn’t the first time I’d turned to alcohol to numb my mind. God knows how much I drank that night.’ He grimaced. ‘It shames me to admit I have no memory of Melanie Stewart. The DNA test will prove if I slept with her. If it is true, then I cannot condone my behaviour and I regret that I clearly did not treat her with consideration and respect.’

‘I don’t think anyone could blame you for drinking too much when you were grieving for your little boy,’ Beth said gently. ‘Sometimes the only way to cope with painful memories is to try to block them out.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I think Mel would have understood.’ Just as she understood, she thought with fierce compassion. Cesario hadn’t behaved with deliberate disregard for Mel. He had been suffering that night in London, tortured with grief for the son he had adored.

Her heart clenched when she saw the betraying dampness on his eyelashes. It hurt her to see this formidable, strong man suddenly so vulnerable, and she felt guilty that she was intruding on his privacy. ‘I’ll go,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure you must want to be alone.’

Cesario looked into Beth’s soft green eyes and felt the hard knot in his chest loosen a little. He had been alone for the past four years and had mourned his son the only way he knew how—by ignoring his pain and never revealing his emotions. He couldn’t explain why he had opened up to a woman he barely knew, but in a strange way he felt he had known Beth for ever, and he trusted her more than he had ever trusted another human being.

Dio! Where had that thought come from? he wondered.

Her silky hair felt soft against his cheek and smelled of lemons. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He could still taste the acrid burn of tears in his throat, but talking about Nicolo had given him a curious sense of release.

He pulled Beth closer. ‘Stay a while?’ he said gruffly. And a sense of peace settled over him as she rested her head on his shoulder and they sat in silence, sharing an empathy that went deeper than words.

* * *

Cesario had returned to the castle. Beth heard the sound of the helicopter as she watched the first pink streaks of dawn spread across the sky. Her heart lifted at the prospect of seeing him again, but she also felt apprehensive.

It was three days since she had woken at the apartment in Rome and discovered that she had slept in the red evening dress she had worn to the ballet. She’d realised she must have fallen asleep on the sofa in Cesario’s study and he had carried her to her room. The maid had informed her that he had already gone to the Piras-Cossu Bank, and that he had arranged for her to fly back to the Castello del Falco with Sophie and Luisa Moretti.

She’d wondered if he had been deliberately avoiding her—if perhaps he regretted revealing his emotions to her. After all, he had been brought up to hide his feelings, and had been taught by his father that for Piras men, emotions were a sign of weakness.

Too restless to remain in bed, she jumped up and pulled open her wardrobe. The new clothes she had discovered hanging there when she had returned from Rome were definitely something she would bring up with Cesario. The red dress had been necessary for her to wear to the theatre, but she could not accept all these beautiful designer outfits, she thought wistfully as she ran her hand over the silk and satin and softest cashmere, in pretty rainbow colours that were such a contrast to the dull clothes she had brought to Sardinia.

For now, she had to choose something from the extensive selection. Her own clothes had disappeared and the maid Carlotta looked blank every time Beth asked her what had happened to them. Taking a pale blue wraparound dress from its hanger, she walked into the bathroom and emerged fifteen minutes later, having showered and dressed and blasted her hair with the drier.

Sophie had fed at 5:00 a.m. and would sleep soundly for several hours. The early-morning sunshine beckoned as Beth crept out of the nursery and walked quickly through the silent castle, crossing the entrance hall to the front door that opened onto the courtyard.

The sky was a clear forget-me-not blue, promising another warm spring day, although the mountain peaks on the horizon were hidden by clouds. Beth had intended to sit in the gardens at the rear of the castle, but the sound of horse’s hooves on cobblestones made her glance over her shoulder, and her breath snagged in her throat when she saw Cesario riding across the courtyard.

Dressed entirely in black, his long, tousled hair gleaming like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, he looked as she imagined his medieval ancestors must have done—especially with his falcon, Gratia, perched on his shoulder. His hard-boned face was inscrutable, and the scar running down his cheek pulled at the corner of his eye, giving him a narrowed gaze that hid his thoughts.

He halted in front of her, and she wondered despairingly if she would ever break free from the spell he had cast on her. ‘You’re back,’ she greeted him, flushing when she realised the inanity of the statement. ‘I meant. I didn’t know how long you would be in Rome.’

Cesario took pity on her, intrigued that she had clearly felt the same rush of pleasure that had swept like wildfire through his veins when he had caught sight of her poised like a slender wraith on the castle steps.

‘Thanks to technology I am able to work mainly from the castle, but it was necessary for me to stay in the city for the last couple of days to deal with matters that required my personal attention.’ He studied her speculatively. ‘I’ve just been up to the chapel. I’m guessing it was you who put flowers on Nicolo’s grave?’

‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind that I put them on Raffaella’s too?’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I can’t help but feel sad for her. She died so young and in such tragic circumstances.’

‘Why should I mind?’ he said quietly. ‘I know all about your soft heart, Beth Granger. I hear that in my absence your stray dog has made himself at home in the castle and follows you around like a faithful shadow.’

Despite his stern tone, Cesario did not seem annoyed. There was something different about him, Beth mused. He seemed more relaxed and at peace with himself. He smiled, causing her heart to miss a beat. It was the first time she had seen him smile with his eyes as well as his mouth, and the frank sensuality in his gaze filled her with a yearning so intense that it felt like a clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.

‘Come with me?’ he said, stretching his hand down to her. ‘There is no place more beautiful in the world than the mountains on a clear morning.’

‘I’m not dressed for riding,’ she whispered, catching her breath when he lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the saddle in front of him.

‘Perhaps not, but you look very beautiful, cara mia. The dress suits you.’

Beth found it hard to think of anything but the feel of his big, hard body pressed up against hers as they rode out of the courtyard—but she could not allow herself to be overwhelmed by him, she told herself firmly.

‘About the clothes that have magically appeared in my wardrobe—I can’t allow you to pay for them so I’m afraid you must send them back.’

‘Well, I certainly have no objection to you walking around the castle naked,’ he murmured, lowering his head so that his warm breath tickled her ear.

Heat flooded through her, and the sweet, urgent throb in her pelvis grew more insistent. ‘Of course I won’t be naked. I’ll wear my own clothes.’

‘Ah—that could be difficult, since I asked the gardener to burn them.’

She half twisted round on the saddle so that she could glare at him. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

‘Because you are too exquisite to dress like a drab sparrow.’ He smiled at her startled expression. ‘Now, stop arguing and tell me what you think of the view.’

His horse had carried them along a winding path up the mountainside, and now they had reached a flat grassy plateau bordered by a crystal clear stream that babbled and chattered over the rocks. The falcon had been sitting patiently on his shoulder, but at his command she spread her wings and rose into the air with incredible grace and speed. Within seconds she was a speck high in the sky.

‘It’s incredible,’ Beth murmured, turning her head to scan the panoramic view of the mountains, whose pale limestone peaks emerged from the lush green woodland which covered their lower slopes. Far below was the town of Oliena, with its square white-brick houses looking like toy building blocks and their terracotta roofs glinting in the sunshine.

Cesario dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle. ‘I feel closest to Nicolo here,’ he admitted. He spread a rug on the ground and invited her to sit beside him. ‘He would be six years old now. I imagine him riding up here with me on his own pony, or kicking a football around the castle courtyard.’ He stared into the distance, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but then he turned to her.

‘Since we spoke the other night I’ve been thinking about my son, and for the first time since the accident I’ve been able to look at photographs of him and remember him with joy. The sadness is still there,’ he said huskily. ‘I’ll always miss him. But I have so many happy memories of him and I don’t want to push them away any more. I want to share them.’

Instinctively Beth placed her hand over his. ‘Tell me about Nicolo,’ she said softly.

She lost track of time as they talked. He recounted tender memories of Nicolo, and at his prompting she told him about Sophie’s premature birth and her anxious vigil while the baby had been in the special care unit. She revealed her pain and shock at Mel’s death, and spoke of their friendship which had started at the children’s home.

A cool breeze ruffling her hair reminded her of where they were, and she glanced around, startled to see that the sun had disappeared behind dark clouds.

‘Do you think it’s going to rain?’

‘Undoubtedly.’ Cesario looked behind him to the mountain peaks, and Beth gasped as she followed his gaze and saw an ominous black mass rolling across the sky. A thunderclap as loud as cannon-fire made her flinch and then the heavens opened: raindrops the size of pennies falling with such ferocity that they were soaked within seconds.

‘Come.’ He lifted her onto the horse and swung up onto the saddle behind her.

‘What about Gratia?’ Beth asked anxiously.

As she spoke, Cesario blew on a whistle, and moments later the bird of prey flew down and landed on his shoulder.

He urged his horse forward, but instead of heading down the path he took them higher, skirting the forest until they came to a clearing where a wooden cabin stood, half hidden among the trees.

‘Get inside.’ He had to shout to be heard above the torrential rain, but Beth—drenched and shivering—needed no second bidding, and ran for shelter while he took the horse and the falcon into the adjoining stable.

The cabin was basic—just one main room housing a cooking stove, a table and a couple of chairs, and in the far corner an old-fashioned wrought-iron bedstead. Efforts had been made to give the place a homely feel, with brightly coloured rugs on the floor and crisp white cotton sheets on the bed.

‘Dio, what a deluge.’ Cesario followed her inside, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes.

He disappeared through a door, returning moments later to throw her a towel. He had already stripped off his shirt, and Beth’s eyes were drawn to the beads of moisture clinging to his dark chest hairs. He frowned when she made no attempt to dry herself. Water was dripping from her dress and her teeth were chattering.

‘Come, cara, you need to get out of your wet clothes.’ He strode over to her, his hands reaching for the belt that secured her dress, and began to tug the knot loose.

‘Don’t…’ she said jerkily. The abrupt transition from warm sunshine to freezing rain had been such a shock to her body that she was shivering violently and could barely speak. She tried to push his hands away, but he ignored her and untied the belt. Desperate to halt him, she muttered, ‘I’m not wearing.’ Her words faded as he pushed the edges of the dress apart and released his breath in a slow hiss. ‘A bra.’

‘So I see.’ Eyes locked on her body, he peeled the wet fabric from her shoulders and allowed the dress to fall at her feet. ‘Santa Madonna,’ he said harshly. ‘You are exquisite.’