Opening the gate to let Lorenzo and his horse through, she shut it again before gathering her own mount’s reins in her hands.
‘You go on ahead,’ he said, realising that she was looking forward to a good gallop across the fields. ‘To be honest, I’m still feeling slightly bruised all over, and would prefer to ride at a slower pace.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
He shook his head. ‘No, of course not,’ he told her with a smile. ‘Off you go!’
Watching as she wheeled her horse about, before digging in her heels and beginning to race away across the short, springy grass, Lorenzo cantered slowly and steadily after her.
It was perhaps just as well that he had only given Antonia a brief, edited version of the long conversation he’d had with Flavia, in the studio. Nobody liked the idea of people talking about them behind their backs, he reminded himself. But it had been an illuminating conversation, certainly as far as he was concerned.
‘Antonia is a wonderful girl,’ Flavia had murmured earlier that afternoon, her hand moving swiftly over the pad on the easel in front of her. ‘The problem is that, although she seems to be hard, tungsten steel on the surface, the darling girl is really soft, gooey toffee inside. Of course, I blame that father of hers,’ Flavia had added reflectively, standing back and squinting at the charcoal drawing in front of her.
‘Her father?’ Lorenzo prompted quietly.
‘Mmm...he obviously couldn’t cope when his wife died soon after Antonia’s birth, leaving him with three boys and a girl. To be honest,’ Flavia admitted with a shrug, ‘I can see that it must have been far easier—as far as he was concerned—to bring up all the kids in the same way. Which may have been all right when she was little, but as she grew up that poor girl never quite knew whether she was supposed to be a boy or a girl! And, to make matters worse, none of her three brothers were at all athletic or interested in sport.’
Surprised to find himself so interested in hearing more about Antonia’s background, he was anxious not to disturb the concentration of the woman standing at the easel. However, he discovered that a few encouraging noises every now and then was enough to keep Flavia on track, and for him to learn all he wished to know.
‘As you can imagine, Tom’s father was pretty fed up to discover that his three highly intellectual sons all much preferred to keep their noses buried in a book—and weren’t at all interested in playing football or cricket. So, of course, the dotty old man set his sights on Antonia—the only one of his kids who was a natural athlete, determined to try and turn her into the sort of son he’d always dreamed of having. And that, as you can imagine, led to all sorts of problems.’
‘Hmm...?’
‘I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with Antonia,’ Flavia assured him earnestly. ‘She’s a perfectly normal, highly attractive woman. All the same, it took her a long time to grow up, and realise that there was more to life than regarding your body as a holy temple, which must be honed to athletic perfection all the time! She and I have a good laugh about it nowadays,’ Flavia grinned. ‘But it must have been a bit tough on the girl, all the same.’
She paused for a moment, leaning forward to make a small adjustment to the drawing in front of her, before tearing it off the pad and asking Lorenzo to turn sideways, as she wished to do a drawing of his profile.
‘If you ask me, I think what that girl really needs is a warm, loving and happy family life, where she can relax and stop feeling that she has to prove herself all the time.
‘Things would have been very different, of course, if her mother hadn’t died when the girl was so young,’ Flavia continued. ‘She might have been able to soften her daughter’s hard edge. But Antonia is so frighteningly competent and self-reliant—besides always being so brutally frank!---that she frightens off most of her suitors. Maybe one day she’ll find a man who’s sufficiently confident of his own masculinity not to find her intimidating. But quite honestly,’ Flavia added with a slightly rueful laugh, ‘I’m afraid that there aren’t too many of that sort of man around nowadays!
‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about the dear girl. She has lots of boyfriends of course—any number of men who are only too happy if she’s willing to throw them a glance, and allow them to wine and dine her. But she’s a strong-minded girl. And, she needs to marry an equally strong man whom she can not only love but also respect. I do think that last quality is so very important, don’t you?’
‘Hmm...’ Lorenzo murmured. With his Italian ancestry, he was naturally in complete agreement with his hostess as to the right and proper relationship between a man and his wife.
‘All the same...’ she gave a slight sigh ‘...I very much fear the dear girl will end up with some sort of wimp whom she can easily push around, and who won’t give her any trouble. There! I’ve finished,’ Flavia concluded, putting down her piece of charcoal and wiping her hands on a nearby rag. ‘Now, would you like to see some of my paintings?’
Eventually catching up with Antonia on the far side of the field, Lorenzo thought that he’d never seen her looking so well. Indeed, with her cheeks flushed from the exercise and her enchanting, wide smile and laughing eyes, he was suddenly taken aback to realise just how badly he wanted this girl.
As they rode slowly back home in a relaxed, companionable silence, Lorenzo was only too well aware of the difficulties he faced. As he’d found to his cost, Miss Antonia Simpson was no push-over. And her obsession about maintaining a highly proper, professional distance between them was proving a considerable obstacle.
However, now that he’d decided to raise the stakes, and was hunting in earnest, he was simply going to have to find an answer to the problem.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATER that evening, sitting in front of her mirror and slowly brushing her hair before going downstairs to prepare dinner, Antonia was surprised at just how easy and relaxed a day it had turned out to be.
What was even more surprising was the fact that Lorenzo had fitted in so easily. Neither Tom, Flavia nor herself had been given the feeling that they must entertain him, content to treat their visitor as if he were an old friend of the family.
Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—Flavia would not be cooking the evening meal, since she and Tom were attending a formal dinner in his college.
‘A terrific bore, my dears,’ she’d announced when Lorenzo and Antonia had returned from their ride, and everyone was sitting outside in the garden under the shade of an old oak tree, having a cup of tea. ‘And poor Tom—who can resist drinking too much of the really excellent wine and port which the college serves on these occasions—always suffers from a really bad headache the next day.’
‘It’s worth it!’ Tom had grinned at them, before grimacing with annoyance. ‘I’m sorry, Lorenzo. I was completely absorbed in a particularly interesting piece of research this afternoon, so I forgot to say that there have been several telephone calls for you. From Italy,’ he’d added, searching through his pockets, before handing his guest a piece of paper on which was written a long telephone number.
‘That’s odd...’ Antonia had murmured with a frown. ‘How did anyone know that you’re staying here?’
‘It’s no mystery,’ he’d told her as he’d risen to his feet. ‘I am, of course, constantly in touch with my business in Milan via my mobile phone. So, if you would please excuse me for a moment...?’ He’d smiled at Flavia, before walking back into the house.
‘It’s not important, of course,’ Tom had said, helping himself to another slice of chocolate cake. ‘But I don’t think those calls were from Milan. I thought the man said he was calling from Rome. Still, I could be mistaken,’ he’d added with a shrug, before wandering back to his study, intent on finishing a chapter of his book before leaving for dinner in his college.
‘We shall, of course, be desolated to miss your magic touch in the kitchen, Flavia,’ Lorenzo had draw
led smoothly some time later as his hosts were preparing to leave for Cambridge. ‘But I am sure Antonia will be able to whisk up something utterly delicious.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that!’ she’d told him. trying not to giggle, and wondering what on earth she could produce which would satisfy this clearly picky man.
She was still wondering if she could get away with a simple omelette, or whether to just give up the struggle and serve cold beef and salad, as she checked her appearance in the long mirror in her bedroom.
Realising that Lorenzo would still be wearing Tom’s clothes, she’d chosen a very plain silk dress, in one of her favourite shades of misty blue. The loose garment fastened on her shoulders with thin shoestring straps.
It was a warm evening, and absolute bliss not to have to wear stockings, or a bra, as she’d have felt obliged to do if on formal duty in London, she told herself, slipping into a pair of high-heeled mules before going downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Well! I’d never have believed it!’ she exclaimed, standing in the doorway and staring in amazement at the sight before her.
Dressed in a pair of her brother’s tight blue jeans and a freshly laundered white short-sleeved shirt from the same source, Lorenzo had a large apron around his slim hips as he stood, wooden spoon in hand, busy stirring something in a pot on the stove.
‘There is no need to sound so surprised, my dear Antonia.’ He turned to smile at the girl standing on the other side of the room. ‘Like most of my countrymen, I take my food very seriously. Strange as it may seem, I can tell you that I am, in fact, a very good cook.’
Delighted to have the responsibility for the meal lifted from her shoulders, she grinned happily back at him. ‘I certainly haven’t got a problem with that. What’s on the menu?’ she added, coming over to peer into the saucepan on the stove.
‘Nothing special, I fear. In fact—’ he frowned ‘—I have never seen a store cupboard so empty. If it wasn’t for the herbs and vegetables in your brother’s kitchen garden, we’d be forced to go to a restaurant.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she smiled. ‘That bad, huh?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid so. However, there’s no doubt that you, my dear Antonia, are looking very pretty,’ he said, gazing appreciatively at the girl standing beside him. ‘That colour suits you.’
‘Er...thank you,’ she muttered, suddenly conscious of his hooded eyes lingering on the outline of her unconfined breasts. ‘Shall I open a bottle of wine?’ she added hurriedly, wishing that she’d chosen to wear something more decorous and formal.
He nodded, telling her to try and find a good vintage, since they would need cheering up after what would be, he assured her sadly, a very second-rate meal.
‘Well! If that’s what you call “second-rate”,’ Antonia said later, in amazement, ‘I can’t wait to see what you can produce with a full store cupboard.’
Because the meal, which Lorenzo had somehow conjured up out of nothing, had been absolutely delicious. Starting with an improvised version of creamy cold vichyssoise—with young leeks from the kitchen garden—-they’d moved on to herb meatballs made with finely minced beef, left over from lunch, in a wonderfully aromatic, fresh basil and tomato sauce—-from the kitchen garden again—-served with plain pasta—-from a dusty packet found at the back of the store cupboard. This had been followed by fresh raspberries and cream.
‘That was absolutely wonderful!’ she assured him as he poured them both another glass of wine. ‘Where on earth did you learn to cook like an angel?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve had one or two girlfriends, in the past, who were good cooks. And I sort of took it on from there. In fact, I find it a very good way of relaxing after a hard day’s work in the office. A glass of wine, some good music on the radio...’ He shrugged his shoulders again. ‘You do not mind?’
‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed in amazement. ‘Why on earth should I mind?’
‘You’d be surprised. Some women definitely do not like to see a man in the kitchen,’ he told her. ‘They seem to think that it is...’ He paused, clearly hunting for the right word. ‘They feel it is effeminate ... not masculine, you understand?’
Antonia gave a surprised gasp of laughter. ‘Oh, come on! I can think of quite a few adjectives to describe you, Lorenzo—and some of them might not be very polite!’ she added, with another ripple of laughter. ‘But, believe me, “effeminate” is most definitely not one of them!’
‘Thank you for those few kind words!’ he grinned, before suggesting that they take their glasses and the bottle of wine out into the garden.
‘It is rather hot inside the house tonight. It will be much cooler sitting out on the terrace under the stars, hmm?’
And that was where she’d made a big mistake, Antonia told herself later.
All that delicious food, and probably too much wine as well—what had happened to her rule never to drink while on duty?---had somehow blunted her instincts and made her careless. And, sitting outside on an old swing-seat, in the bright moonlight, with Lorenzo’s thigh pressed closely to her own as they swung gently to and fro, had definitely not been a good idea.
‘The past few days have been very interesting,’ he told her, gently taking the glass of wine from her fingers and placing it down on the terrace beside him. ‘It’s no secret, of course, that I was very much against any form of what you call “close protection”...’ he added, turning to smile at her as he took hold of her hand, the shafts of moonlight emphasizing his hawk-like features. ‘However, it seems only fair to say that I have, to my surprise, discovered that there are considerably worse fates in life than being looked after by the highly competent Miss Simpson.’
‘If I may say so,’ she murmured, feeling strangely disoriented, ‘that sounds like a slightly back-handed compliment!’
She’d meant to try and keep the conversation on a pleasant, light-hearted level. Well away from any of the dangerous undercurrents which she could already feel swirling about them. But Lorenzo clearly had his own agenda. And it didn’t appear to include any amusing repartee or light banter.
‘Yes ...it has not only been a very interesting few days, but I also want to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself today—and this evening, of course.’
‘That...er... that’s nice,’ she said, furious with herself for sounding such an idiot—and worried about the alarm bells which were beginning to ring in her dazed, slightly fuzzy brain.
‘I was telling you the truth earlier this morning,’ he murmured, raising her hands to his lips. ‘Believe me, I am not interested in playing games, or lightly trifling with your emotions.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she muttered, wondering why she was still feeling distinctly uneasy.
‘In fact...’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘In fact, I am very serious. My intentions are indeed quite... quite different.’
‘I...I don’t know what you mean,’ she murmured evasively, feeling breathless, all her nerve-ends tingling at the close proximity of his dynamically masculine man. She was aware of a sudden clenching in her stomach at the touch of his warm lips on her fingers—the alarm bells now clanging loudly, as though issuing an imminent air-raid warning.
‘Oh, yes—I think you do!’ he drawled softly, smoothly placing an arm about her trembling figure and drawing her close to his chest. ‘A clever and perceptive woman such as yourself, my dear Antonia, can surely be in no doubt of my desire to make love to you, hrnm?’
Well! No one could accuse this man of being ambiguous-that was for sure! she told herself, having difficulty suppressing a bubble of nervous, almost hysterical laughter.
But it was no laughing matter, she realised a few seconds later. Not when his arms had closed about her, and she was now firmly trapped against his tall, dominant figure.
‘OK—that’s it!’ she exclaimed, struggling not to give in to the temptation to rest her head against his broad shoulder. ‘I thought we’d already agreed that this sort of
nonsense, is strictly off limits? That this is really where I do have to draw the line?’
‘Ah, yes—we must certainly not transgress the rules,’ he agreed, and even in the darkness she could hear the laughter in his voice. ‘But I’m confused as to exactly where we must draw this important line of yours. Does it stop here, like that?’ he murmured, holding her still for a moment.
‘Or perhaps we could extend it as far as this?’ he added, turning her sideways in his arms, before gently taking hold of her shaking hands and placing them around his neck.
‘Cut it out, Lorenzo!’ she muttered as she found herself now staring up into his gleaming blue eyes. She could feel his breath fanning her cheek, and the exciting warmth of his skin through his thin cotton shirt.
‘On the other hand, maybe we could use an eraser? With a view to redrawing the line somewhere else? Like, maybe, here?’ he murmured, his hands gently sliding down over her silky dress, slowly savouring the warm curves of her body as she clung helplessly to his broad shoulders.
‘Or possibly there?’ he whispered huskily as he softly caressed her full breasts, his action causing her fingers to suddenly tighten, burying themselves in his dark hair. She was breathless with desire, her heartbeat racing out of control.
Unfortunately, despite her stern resolve to keep their relationship on a strictly business level, she now seemed helpless, staring mesmerized up into his eyes, which were glittering icy blue in the bright moonlight. She was aware of the thick fringe of his long black eyelashes, and the slight flush of arousal beneath the tanned skin of his high cheekbones.
As the black head moved down towards her, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his mouth—descending so slowly that she was shivering with overwhelming need and desire before it softly possessed her own quivering lips. And then she was lost...lost to all sense of time and place, strangely content to cling tightly to his neck as he rose swiftly to his feet, carrying her lightly in his arms back to the house, and on up to his bedroom.
Mary Lyons - The Italian Seduction Page 12