A Guilty Affair

by Hamilton, Diana

  ‘Today’s my first day with Mark,’ she admitted tensely, then was furious with herself for giving him the opportunity to gloat as he purred with what sounded like monumental self-congratulation,

  ‘Then you did take my advice. You decided to try your wings. Good for you, Bess.’

  His conceit took her breath away, disabling her. She wished she could think of something swift and cutting to put him in his place.

  And it wasn’t true. The way he’d called her room at Brenda’s a mousehole might, to some degree, have been responsible for catapulting her into the decision to share with Niccy. She would, reluctantly, admit to that. But no way had her decision to work for Mark had anything to do with him! Faced so unexpectedly with him again, she had to make herself believe that.

  She almost whimpered with relief when Mark finally joined them. She was safe now—safe from whatever it was that Vaccari did to her.

  A shudder coursed down her backbone. She didn’t like herself when the Italian was around and the feeling was difficult to cope with. But she had to cope; right now she had to. For Mark’s sake.

  And to begin with it was easier than she had dared hope. Vaccari’s questions and comments were incisive, indicating clearly that, however lightweight his attitudes might be when it came to his emotional life, he was undeviatingly single-minded in his business affairs. And Mark put his case convincingly, his narrow, clever face enthusiastic, enabling Bess to forget her animosity and make a few telling points of her own, so that she was almost sorry when Vaccari was called away to the phone.

  He rose from the table with a graceful apology and Mark leaned towards her, his eyes bright with confidence. ‘That just about wraps it up, I think. We haven’t left anything out, have we?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything.‘ Bess broke into a grin because she too felt buoyantly confident. Given that Vaccari was the backer Mark had approached, the whole meeting had been easier than she could have hoped. Strangely exhilarating too. The Italian had done his homework, she had to give him that, and she knew they’d put their case convincingly. ‘Will he give us a decision now, or will we have to wait and bite our nails down to our knuckles?’

  ‘Now, I hope. I’ll push for it, anyway.’ He glanced quickly over his shoulder then turned back to Bess. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but I got the impression at one point that you and Vaccari know each other from somewhere.’

  Sighing, Bess felt her elation wither away. She knew the incident he was talking about. A lull in a discussion of cash-flow requirements while their fish-course plates had been whisked away had brought those tarnished-silver eyes homing in on the slender fingers of her left hand.

  ‘You haven’t managed to lose the ring permanently, then. If I were writing a progress report I’d say “Must try harder”.’

  As if she’d deliberately left her ring in the dirty dishes! And she had no intention of breaking up with Tom, as he had suggested—he had to know that! He couldn’t help making snide remarks, nasty comments, and she’d been sorely tempted to tell him to mind his own damn business, but had been saved from that folly by the smooth arrival of the next course. Then Mark had taken up the earlier discussion, and to her sagging relief the Italian had given his unwavering attention over to business again.

  ‘He’s going to marry my sister,’ she said stiltedly now. ‘I hardly know him at all.’

  ‘Luke Vaccari marry again?’ Mark’s eyes popped wide open. ‘Bang goes his reputation!’

  ‘Reputation?’ Bess parroted, as if the word had a nasty taste, and Mark lifted one shoulder.

  He told her, ‘You know what it’s like with these wealthy workaholics. What play time they get is quality time. Plenty of lovely ladies to pick and choose from, nothing but the very best, but no commitment—definitely no commitment. In his case, given his background, I’d say he couldn’t trust a woman under fifty as far as he could throw her.’ Then, catching the disgust in her huge emerald eyes, he coloured uncomfortably. ‘Forget I spoke. Your sister must be a wonderful woman. And don’t forget it’s said that reformed rakes make the most faithful husbands—

  ‘Oh, no problems, I hope?’ Mark turned with obvious relief as the ‘rake’, reformed or not, returned to the table. ‘More coffee?’

  Luke shook his head to both, leaning back in his chair and looking every inch the man in charge as his eyes idled from Bess to Mark and back to Bess again.

  Her skin tautened with explicable tension and something hot and dark jerked savagely in the pit of her stomach as those veiled silver eyes minutely studied her face, feature by feature. And then, as if pulling himself from some private reverie, he drawled softly, ‘I’m impressed by your package, Jenson. Call by my Lombard Street office tomorrow and my finance and legal department will draw up a contract.

  ‘But there is one thing.’ His voice was low, a husky purr, his eyes on Bess again. She shivered. She felt—unreasonably, she hoped—as if she was waiting for a catastrophe to happen. He looked almost sinister, but she couldn’t look away as his eyes bored more deeply into hers. ‘A favour,’ he said.

  ‘Of course—anything!’

  Bess just knew her boss was having difficulty containing his elation. If they hadn’t been in a public place he’d have leapt to his feet and punched the air.

  She desperately wanted to warn him to be careful, but knew she couldn’t, knew he wouldn’t listen if she did. But he didn’t know Vaccari as she did. The ‘favour’ he was about to ask could be dynamite, and Mark, tumbling over himself to agree to anything, couldn’t see that.

  ‘From your proposal I see Ms Ryland’s first brief is to travel to Tuscany on Wednesday of this week to set up deals and itineraries at two locations you personally vetted while on a scouting trip last autumn.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Mark leaned forward eagerly. ‘A converted convent on the outskirts of Florence and a—’

  ‘I would like you to consider a third,’ Vaccari cut in smoothly. ‘I have a cousin—a widow, sadly. Her husband left her a small castle and many debts. I offered to discharge them.’ He shrugged, his distinctive features bland. ‘But Emilia is independent.

  ‘However, when she announced her intention of putting her inheritance to good use, she agreed to allow me to finance her. The castle is to be made into a small, exclusive hotel—permission has been granted, architects engaged. If, after her Tuscan business is finished, Ms Ryland would meet me there—shall we say Saturday?—and give me an opinion on whether, on completion, Emilia’s hotel would meet Jenson’s exacting standards we would be eternally grateful.’

  His heavy-lidded eyes mocked her sudden hectic colour. It was as if he knew the reason for the instinctive clench of fear that took her breath away. The fear was real enough, but the reason for it lay worryingly beyond her grasp. So why should his eyes tell her that he understood it perfectly?

  It made her feel diminished, lacking in a sense of self, all her control gone, given over to him. And, precisely as she had known he would, Mark agreed.

  ‘Done! If it works out, we all benefit. The more tempting venues I can offer the better. It depends, of course, but if your cousin could get the place up and running in time we could feature it in our brochures next year.’

  He was talking as if the proposed hotel would have everything going for it—style, location, excellence of service, Bess thought irritably. But then, of course, he would bend over backwards to please his new backer. And never mind if the last thing she wanted was to meet up with him on Saturday.

  Saturday!

  Bess squirmed in her seat. Tom was counting on her being home this weekend. Never mind Aunt Faye’s fortune: the old lady could leave everything to the exchequer to help reduce the national debt for all she cared. But Tom had said he wanted her there, putting them back on their old, comfortable, footing, the disagreement over her job forgotten. She wasn’t prepared to disappoint him. So she said firmly, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve made arrangements for this weekend. They’d be difficult to cancel.’

&
nbsp; ‘But not impossible?’

  She heard the confidence in his voice and hated him for it, despised his tactics, too, when Mark jumped on her.

  ‘Nothing’s impossible.’ His eyes snapped a message that only a fool would have ignored—all to do with the short shelf-life of new assistants who refused to cancel a social arrangement to accommodate the whims of the man who held the pursestrings. ‘Fax me the details of the location, the time you wish to meet, and Bess will be at your disposal.’

  Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Bess could only capitulate. She had no choice—not if she wanted to avoid the dole queue and the inevitable ‘I told you so’s from Tom.

  ‘Ms Ryland?’ Tiny flames of triumph leapt in the depths of the Italian’s eyes. The choice he appeared to be offering was no choice at all. And he knew it.

  ‘As Mark says, I am at your disposal,’ she conceded stiffly, her face set. He had got his own way, as he had known he would, but she didn’t have to smile about it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HIGH in the hills to the north-east of Florence, Bess slowed down and glanced at the sheet of directions on the passenger seat of her hired car.

  Satisfied that she really was meant to take the unmade track snaking away on her left, she pulled the car into the side of the narrow road and gave herself a few moments to get herself mentally in tune for the coming meeting with Luke Vaccari and his cousin.

  The two and a half days she’d spent giving the two hotels Mark intended to sign up a detailed inspection—from the quality of the cuisine down to the reliability of the plumbing—had been hectic. And back in her room in the evenings she’d worked on her written reports until she could have sworn her eyes were about to drop out.

  And even then she hadn’t been able to sleep because of the guilt she’d felt over letting Tom down. His reaction to the news that she wouldn’t be able to fit in a visit and see Aunt Faye was something she didn’t want to dwell on. It hadn’t been flattering and she’d had the strongest suspicion that he’d been more interested in keeping the rich old lady sweet than seeing his brand-new fiancée.

  And, as if that wasn’t enough, there’d been this squirmy feeling inside her every time she’d thought about seeing Vaccari again. And, if she was totally honest with herself, she had to admit that the sensation had been more akin to excitement than apprehension.

  She didn’t know what was wrong with her and groaned softly, closing her eyes, her teeth worrying at the corner of her mouth.

  She hated the way he made her feel. She didn’t want it. He did something to her that she couldn’t control. It was, she told herself grittily as she put the car into gear, an experience she could have lived without.

  She took what comfort she could from the fact that they wouldn’t be alone together. His cousin would be around and that, hopefully, would stem his wicked, unsettling taunts and quite definitely put paid to his hands-on approach, because Emilia would surely know about his wedding plans and he wouldn’t want news of his sneaky misdemeanours getting back to his wife-to-be, who was rapturously trying to choose her wedding gown!

  If this was the only access to the proposed hotel then the surface would have to be greatly improved, she noted, pushing her brain into business mode, then jumped on the brakes because Luke Vaccari strolled round the first bend, his hands stuffed in the pockets of the casual white chinos he wore.

  Her skin went damp. It had been only a few days since she had seen him last yet the mere sight of him was a cataclysmic shock to her system. It made her mouth go dry, her heart beat like a steamhammer. She hated him for his ability to do this to her, despised herself for reacting to his raw sexuality like a silly adolescent.

  It was only a passing aberration, she told herself raggedly as he walked round and slid his long, indolent body into the passenger seat. It had to be. Her mind had been in a turmoil, one way or another, ever since they’d met, and now her body had joined in the fun—wanting to touch and be touched, wanting to be held, closely held, wanting a repetition of the kiss that had rocked her to the foundations of her being, wanting all the forbidden, wicked things...

  ‘I decided to meet you,’ he explained lightly, angling himself in his seat to face her. ‘After a few hundred yards you could have decided you’d taken the wrong turn-off and turned back. And got lost. I wouldn’t want to lose you—such a little thing in such a large landscape.’

  He was doing it again, she agonised, her heart contracting painfully. Making her feel important, of value, making her believe—

  She forced the thought roughly away. It made her shake. He wasn’t smiling and the dark glasses he wore hid his eyes, and his black shirt made his skin tones more olive. His voice was soft as he instructed, ‘Drive on, Bess.’

  So, fumblingly, she did, stingingly aware of his dark-veiled gaze. And that heightened her awareness of everything else: the folds of the hills, the blues, the greens, the distant purples; the shining loop of a river far below; the heat of the sun, the heat of her body, the molten heat inside her, the sudden distaste for the plain cotton skirt and blouse she’d chosen to travel in.

  Flames performed a searing dance in the pit of her stomach and she took a bend in the track far too fast, slowed down a little, her heart thumping wildly, and tried to pull herself together, to pretend that Vaccari was a million miles away.

  And she thought about Torn—or tried to. But he eluded her; she couldn’t bring his face to mind, soy she wondered if he’d still be angry when she was next able to visit home and found it didn’t worry her as much as it should have done.

  ‘How much further?’ she asked, her voice thick. The sooner this visit was over the better she’d feel.

  And she heard him say, ‘We are already there.’ The soft hint of amusement in his voice made her fingers curl more tightly round the wheel as he added, ‘Not before time. The—flamboyance?—of your driving makes me wonder if my life-insurance policy is up to date.’

  To tell him that normally she was a safe, responsible driver, that his presence alone made her drive like a novice trying to emulate Damon Hill on the racetrack, would give far too much away. If he knew how he could affect her he would take advantage, wouldn’t he? And besides, she was momentarily robbed of the power of speech as the car skidded round a final bend, scattering stones.

  The castello wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it. It was no sprawling, ruinous pile but a place of golden beauty, perched on a plateau where a garden had been made, making the ancient building look as if it was floating on a cloud of greenery. It had four square towers, a great central door, and a naïvety and charm that made her catch her breath.

  ‘It’s lovely.’ Enchanted, she forgot for a moment why she was here and who she was with. ‘Out of this world.’

  ‘Then Jenson’s clients should be suitably impressed,’ he remarked, his eyes on her enraptured face—and quickly reminded her of what she was doing here.

  She straightened her smile out quickly and drove on, more carefully now, getting herself back under control as she followed the track that wound round, gently climbing the plateau until it reached a huge sweep of stony forecourt in front of the main door. There she cut the engine, stating, ‘The access road would have to be paved. Although Jenson’s put a car and a driver at our clients’ disposal for the duration of their stay, some of them do like to drive themselves some of the time.’

  She undid her seat belt and slid out of the car, feeling practically together again, waiting while he unfolded himself from the passenger seat and joined her before adding, even more coolly, ‘The track doesn’t meet with our standards.’

  The words slipped out decisively, letting him know—politely, of course—that there were high standards to be met, even if he did hold the pursestrings.

  And she was doing fine, showing him she was a professional. She felt justifiably proud of herself and fully intended to keep it up for the few hours she would need to be here. But then his hooded eyes made an inventory of her appearance, no doub
t taking in her travel-wrinkled, boring clothes, her sensible flat shoes, the sweat-dampened hair that was coming adrift from its moorings.

  His mouth curling unforgivably, he murmured, ‘So the mouse has grown sharp fangs. Well done, carissima, well done!’

  Colour flooded her face, which made her feel more unkempt and gauche than ever, and the impulse to retaliate, to slap his handsome, unrepentant face, was almost too strong to be ignored. But she recalled how he’d responded to her previous bout of uncharacteristic violence and brought herself back in line, turning from him to retrieve her handbag from the rear seat, stiffening slightly when he asked, ‘Your luggage? Open the boot and I’ll carry it in.’

  She dragged in a sharp breath then told him levelly, ‘That won’t be necessary,’ guiltily reminded that the directions that had been faxed through had also mentioned overnight accommodation. Emilia would have been put to the trouble of getting a room ready for her for nothing. She would apologise to her. ‘All I need to do at this stage is see the plans and discuss the potential. The rest—ease of access to places of interest and so on—can be done from my office.’

  With any luck, she thought, hitching the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she could be on her way back to Florence well before nightfall—keeping everything nice and polite here, making a few suggestions, a few vague promises for Mark’s sake, then beating a dignified retreat.

  ‘Actually—’ she dug her notebook from her bag ‘—I planned on getting to Pisa airport this evening.’ So that she could be back in Braylington by tomorrow lunchtime and mollify Tom, although, thinking about it, that didn’t seem nearly as important as removing herself from Vaccari’s presence.

  But she wasn’t going to think of the implications of that. She didn’t dare. And his silent, probing scrutiny wasn’t helping any so she snapped, ‘Shall we make a start?’ and quivered inside as she watched him smile, tipping his head consideringly on one side.