Harlequin Presents--April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Dani Collins

  * * *

  Jenna glanced up at the sky, still overcast from the rain earlier that day. Dusk was gathering, but this was her first chance of fresh air today and she wasn’t going to miss it. Amelie had opted for staying indoors with the housekeeper, playing noisy card games with her and the two maids, Maria and Loretta.

  Jenna would be back in time for the little girl’s supper, but for now she was enjoying her walk along the woodland path that emerged at the top of the private road to the palazzo, which wound steeply uphill from the public highway a kilometre below. Lower down, another path would allow her to cut back up to the grand front entrance of the palazzo.

  On her way down, the narrow road kinked around a rocky outcrop, and she gave a little gasp to see there had been a rockfall; heavy scree and large boulders littered the road’s surface. She surmised that it had been caused by the heavy rain they’d had, loosening the soil on the side of the hill.

  The spread was extensive, and as she stared she saw it was potentially dangerous. Any vehicle approaching from the highway, slewing as it must around the outcrop, would not see the rockfall until it was upon it. This would put it at risk of hitting it full on, or swerving towards the sheer drop to the valley on the other side.

  As she hovered, wondering what she should do, knowing she needed to get back to the palazzo to alert the staff of what had happened, she froze. She could distinctly hear the noise of a car, turning off the public highway and roaring uphill with a throaty growl of acceleration. In moments it would reach the outcrop, swerve around it...and hit the littered boulders.

  She ran forward, scrambling over the fallen boulders and rounding the outcrop. The daylight was fast fading and the oncoming vehicle had its headlights blazing, pinioning her in their glare in the middle of the road, right in the car’s speeding path. For a second terror seized her, and then, with a screech of tyres, the car—some low-slung, flashy-looking monster of a car—ground to a halt.

  The engine cut out but Jenna couldn’t move, fear pinning her in place. Then someone was getting out, slamming the driver’s door angrily.

  As angrily as he snarled words in a burst of furious Italian. ‘Idiota! What the hell do you think you’re doing, running into the middle of the road? I could have killed you!’

  He stood, silhouetted in the glare of his car’s headlights, towering over her, his strongly planed face cast into stark relief by the glaring headlights. His charcoal business suit sheathed broad shoulders and long legs, its superb cut—along with the grey silk tie and gold tie pin—telling her just as clearly as the obviously expensive car that there was only one person this scathingly irate man could possibly be.

  This was Evandro Rocceforte.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JENNA FELT HER heart sink—then she rallied again. Her chin went up.

  ‘Mi dispiace.’ Her voice was breathless and shaky, but she ploughed on. ‘I had to stop you!’ She reverted to English, not knowing the Italian translation for what she had to explain. ‘There’s been a rockfall just around the outcrop.’

  She gestured sweepingly with her hand and saw her employer frown. Without a word he strode past her, to see for himself. Then he turned.

  The furious look had gone from his face, but it remained dark.

  Impressions tumbled through Jenna’s mind—irrelevant to the moment but pushing into her consciousness all the same. Her overpowering initial impression of a man with formidable presence had lessened not one iota. Nor had the visceral impact of his height and powerful body.

  ‘That’s a hell of a mess,’ he said, his face tightening in angry displeasure.

  He frowned, looking back at his car and then striding to it to turn off the headlights. Then he got out his phone, speaking into it rapidly in curt Italian, too fast for Jenna to follow. Hanging up, he slid the phone back in his inner jacket pocket and looked across at her again.

  He frowned, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘So, just who are you?’ he demanded. Realisation clearly sinking in, he answered his own question. ‘Ah, of course—the English teacher.’ He gave a short, sardonic laugh. ‘You look more like some kind of woodland sprite, melding into the landscape at dusk. Well—’ his voice became brisk ‘—get yourself back to the palazzo. Take care as you go. They’re coming down to collect me, and to block the entrance to the drive so no one else risks their lives here. They’ll clear the rockfall in the morning.’

  He turned away, striding back to his car, and Jenna watched him yank open the boot, extracting some luggage. Then, mindful of his order—for an order it certainly had been—she retraced her steps around the outcrop, picking her way carefully through the rockfall to gain the path back up through the woods.

  Her thoughts were hectic.

  So, that’s Amelie’s father.

  She lifted aside the drooping branch of a tree, quickening her pace. He’d yelled at her and given orders, and he looked every inch a rich, powerful captain of industry and the owner of a historic palazzo. But there had been something else in his tone... She heard it in her mind again—the short, sardonic humour in his voice as he’d likened her to a woodland sprite.

  That, surely, was out of character?

  But it was not her ponderings over his character that dominated her thoughts as she emerged into the extensive rear gardens at the palazzo. It was that formidable impression of height, a powerful physique, strong, arresting features and a deep, mesmerising voice that burned in her consciousness.

  She felt her heart rate quicken with her pace, and hurried on.

  When she got inside, it was to find the palazzo humming like a disturbed beehive, thanks to the unscheduled arrival of its owner. The staff were bustling about and Signora Farrafacci only briefly paused to inform her that Amelie was to dine with her father, and that Jenna’s own dinner would be brought up to her quarters later.

  Jenna retreated gratefully, taking refuge in the large, generously appointed bedroom and adjoining sitting room she had been allocated on one of the upper floors of the palazzo. A connecting door linked her sitting room to a mirror room on the other side, set up as Amelie’s playroom, which the little girl’s own bedroom opened off.

  She crossed now to the window in her sitting room, sliding it up and leaning on the sill with her elbows, breathing in the soft mild air, scented with the honeysuckle growing far below. Night had gathered completely now, and she could hear owls hooting mournfully in the woods beyond the gardens.

  Her abrupt, adrenaline-fuelled encounter with her charge’s father replayed in her mind with vivid impact—and not just because of the danger she had both invited and averted by impulsively running forward to warn him of the hidden rockfall. His tall, powerful, broad-chested physique and frowning brows were also vivid in her mind’s eye. As was the way he had yelled at her angrily for running into the path of his car.

  Her chin lifted defiantly.

  Well, if I hadn’t, both he and his horribly expensive car might now be at the foot of the valley, smashed to pieces!

  She walked through into her bedroom, and on impulse decided to have a leisurely bath while waiting for her dinner to arrive. Baths were a rare and luxurious indulgence for her; showers were quicker and more efficient.

  As she sank into the deep waters she found herself replaying, yet again, that encounter with her employer. But not, this time, his initial harsh words to her. Rather, that throwaway likening of her to a woodland sprite...

  It was a description of her that was as fanciful as it was unlikely. Sprites were elfin and beautiful—they were always described as beautiful. She was nothing like that.

  She was of medium height, with medium-length hair—always neatly confined in a French plait. Slightly built, she wore clothes chosen for practicality and comfort. Her unremarkable looks were the opposite of eye-catching, and she did not bother with make-up—it was not needed in the classroom, and her limited social li
fe was mostly confined to school functions with her colleagues.

  So, no—nothing like a woodland dryad. Nothing at all. What on earth had made him say such a thing?

  As she slid deeper into the warm water she felt it lapping her body like a caress. Around her shoulders her loosened hair floated freely, and the water buoyed her whole body, almost to make her float. It felt warm and sensuous, playing at the sensitive points of her wrists as her hands hovered in the water.

  A strangely dreamy mood started to overcome her, induced by the heat of the water, the steamy atmosphere of the thickened air she was breathing and the feeling of absolute relaxation as she gave herself to the moment. The single soft light above the vanity unit added to her languor, bestowing upon her an awareness of her physical body, the weightlessness of it in the shimmering water.

  She let her eyes fall shut, lids lowering into drowsy somnolence, yet she was still conscious of the contours of her half-floating naked body... In the darkness behind her closed eyelids an image of her employer sprang to life, strong and vivid—as if he were beholding her vulnerable nakedness as she lay there, his dark gaze sweeping over her, enjoying what he saw...

  She surfaced with a start, her eyes flying open as she levered herself upward, her soaking wet hair instantly heavy and soggy on her shoulders and back. Her cheeks heated suddenly—and not from the heat of the bathwater. She shook her head, as if to shake that thought, wherever it had come from—however it had come to her—right out of her brain, where it had no business to be.

  She took a breath, staring at the tiled wall at the foot of the capacious bathtub, blinking to dissipate the vivid—and unbidden—image. Then, resolutely, she reached for the bar of soap and the bottle of shampoo to get on with the actual point of bathing—to get herself clean.

  And not—not—to indulge in thoughts that were as inexplicable as they were outrageous.

  With vigorous movements she soaped herself briskly, shampooed her hair, then set the bath to drain and turned the shower head on as cold as she could bear it to rinse off not just the soap and shampoo but her outrageous thoughts as well.

  Ten minutes later, wrapped in her sensible dressing gown and wearing her sensible cotton pyjamas, she was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, switching on the English news channel. After dinner she’d check her lesson plans for the next morning and jot down a brief report on Amelie’s progress so far, in case her employer enquired about it.

  Her employer.

  She repeated the word firmly to herself.

  The tap on her door announcing the arrival of her dinner was timely.

  * * *

  Evandro stood out on the terrace overlooking the gardens, hands thrust into his trouser pockets, looking out into the night. High in the sky, the moon appeared to be moving through the scudding clouds. An illusion, just like so much in life was.

  Like his bride had been.

  He frowned. Why the hell was he thinking of his wedding day, ten long, damnable years ago? A day that, for all the vast sums of money spent on it, had been a sham. Their lavish, no-expenses-spared wedding had been like Evandro’s bride—as gaudy as a carnival float and just as shoddy...fake and cheating.

  Berenice—seductively sensual, dripping in diamonds, her wedding dress having cost as much as a house—had revelled in being the glittering star of the whole over-the-top show, and it had been splashed all over the gushing celebrity magazines with himself cast as the adoring bridegroom, dazzled by her brilliance and beauty.

  His frown deepened. How, just how had he come to be so incomprehensibly stupid?

  His jaw tensed. He knew exactly how he’d become that stupid, that gullible.

  He had been led by the nose by the woman he’d married...and urged on by his father.

  He could hear the older man’s eager words even now.

  ‘She’s got everything...absolutely everything. Ravishingly beautiful, and with her father dead now she inherits all the voting stock in Trans-Montane that we need.’

  It had seemed a combination made in heaven.

  It had turned out to have originated in hell instead.

  But out of it had come Amelie.

  His expression changed. The meeting between them this evening had been strained—she’d been shy and subdued, the same way she had been when he’d collected her at the airport on her arrival from Paris, bringing her here to the palazzo three weeks ago. But that would change, given time. Time he would devote to her.

  As for the woman he’d hired to be Amelie’s teacher... He frowned now, as he tried to remember her unremarkable features... She would simply have to work around the time he spent with her pupil.

  He frowned again, shifting position once more. The woman had rushed headlong into the path of his speeding car, as if discounting the possibility of her own destruction in order to warn him of the possibility of his. His expression flickered. Had her behaviour been recklessness...or courage?

  Or both?

  * * *

  Jenna walked down the wide marble staircase to the grand entrance hall, carrying Amelie’s schoolbooks and artwork. The expected summons to report on her pupil’s progress had come, and now she knocked lightly on the door of the library before entering.

  She’d left Amelie up in the schoolroom with a spelling worksheet to get on with. The little girl’s mood this morning, following her father’s arrival the evening before, was... Jenna sought for the right word before settling on unsure.

  She could understand it well enough. She, too, felt a flutter of trepidation now, as she walked into the large, book-lined room, with its imposing fireplace flanked by deep leather armchairs.

  Illuminated by large French doors—open to the terrace today, to admit fresh air—was a desk of considerable size and grandeur, bearing a PC and some paperwork. Seated behind it was her employer.

  Jenna deliberately used the word inside her head, to counter the sudden tightening of her stomach muscles as he looked up. The impact he made on her was just as instant, just as powerful, as it had been last night. That impression of toughness and power was every bit as overwhelming.

  But she must not let herself be overwhelmed. She was being summoned to give an account of her progress—or not—with Amelie, and the man she was approaching would likely make an impact on anyone approaching for any reason at all.

  He had a presence about him, Jenna found herself thinking. A look of formidable gravitas which presumably went with being the head of an international company with global reach, turning over huge revenues and employing vast numbers. There was no doubt he was a man of power and responsibility.

  Currently, he was observing her approach with an unreadable expression, deep lines carved around his mouth.

  What’s caused those deep lines? What has he had to endure?

  The questions flitted across the surface of Jenna’s mind, unbidden.

  She pressed her mouth tightly. It was irrelevant—absolutely irrelevant—what he looked like, or what experiences in life he’d been through. Just as the impact of his powerful physique, strongly saturnine looks and air of wealth and gravitas was nothing to her.

  She stopped in front of the desk as he gave her a curt nod and bade her to sit on the chair set for her.

  ‘So, Miss Ayrton...’ he addressed her in English, his deep voice brisk and only slightly accented. ‘How have things been with Amelie these first few weeks? Please make your account as brief as possible.’

  Jenna placed the bundle of paperwork she had brought down with her carefully on the desk, away from his own papers, and calmly and concisely ran through her assessment of Amelie’s current educational level, before moving on to where she was focusing her efforts—on building key skills in reading, comprehension and maths, plus providing a general syllabus of geography, history and basic science.

  She was in mid flow, pointing out the developmental
impact of Amelie being multilingual, when her employer raised a hand to silence her.

  ‘Enough,’ he said curtly. ‘Show me her exercise books.’

  He held out a hand in a peremptory fashion, and Jenna docilely handed him the required items. He flicked through them, then handed them back, making no comment.

  ‘Amelie is making progress.’ Jenna wanted him to know that. ‘Having lacked formal schooling, her biggest educational challenge is application,’ she went on. ‘Of course, that is true for children generally—play is nearly always preferred to work!’

  A sardonic expression formed on her employer’s face. ‘And not only by children, Miss Ayrton,’ he observed caustically.

  Jenna looked at him, uncertain as to whether to smile. He might have intended that as a humorous remark, but it was impossible to discern. So she simply nodded, and then continued, picking her words with care.

  ‘Routine and stability,’ she said, ‘are essential for children—especially to develop focus, concentration and attention span. I acknowledge the fact that has been largely absent up till now.’

  She saw her employer’s face darken sharply.

  ‘She’s been dragged from pillar to post across Europe and the USA all her life. It’s a wonder the child can read, let alone anything else.’

  The harshness in his voice echoed the tone he’d used the night before, when he’d excoriated her for running into the path of his car.

  Jenna said nothing. It was not her place to comment on the friction that she knew, after many all-too-often fraught parent-teacher evenings, could erupt between warring divorced parents.

  Then, abruptly, the anger was gone. And in a voice that was not harsh, merely brisk, he addressed her again.

  ‘Is there anything she is good at?’ he demanded.

  Jenna did not trouble to hide the shocked look on her face. ‘Yes, of course!’ she retorted roundly. ‘Maths may never prove to be Amelie’s strong suit,’ she allowed, ‘but art and creativity definitely will be.’