by Lynne Graham
‘Very well.’
‘You didn’t even stir when I checked on you around midnight.’
Lydia stiffened and her chin tilted. ‘Why did you feel the need to check on met?’
‘You were upset. l wanted to be sure that you were all right-‘
‘Well there was no need. I wasn’t upset, just tired !
‘ ‘Okay… ‘ Cristiano dragged the word out with amazing expressiveness.
‘I’m not being unreasonable! ‘Lydia snapped defensively.
‘1 didn’t say anything. ‘
‘It was the way you said okay”,’ she mumbled in the silence that he allowed to stretch until she was forced to make a response.
‘It sounded long-suffering.’
‘Why would I sound like that?’ Cristiano chided silkily, and she almost threw the phone across the room.
He made her so angry-yet she had never before had a problem with her temper. At least not until she had loved and lost Cristiano Andreotti. Until he had yanked her back to him, handcuffed to a contract that made self-respect a desperate challenge. Nonetheless yesterday she had acted the part of mistress to the manner born.
Worrying at the underside of her lower lip, she glanced in the mirror. The blue silk organza dress hung like the exclusive garment it was clinging to her slender figure where it should skimming where it should not.
She saw the view from the terrace before she saw Cristiano and it was so spectacular that she walked straight over to the stone wall to gaze in wonder. Lowlying clouds wreathed a village on the far side of the valley with a misty haze that lent the ancient ring of stone medieval buildings on the hill a fair,ytale quality.
‘It’s so beautifulj’ she murmured when she heard steps behind her.
‘Not quite as beautiful as you, bella mia’
Cristiano remarked for she looked dazzling in a dress
that reflected the sapphire-blue of her eyes, with her abundant hair simply styled to fall round her shoulders. After the restive night he had passed striving to come to terms with the concept of giving up his freedom, he was finally willing to acknowledge that there would be one very obvious reward.
Lydia spun round and momentarily allowed herself to take her visual fill of his extreme impact in a formal dark suit. Even that elongated glance proved to be a mistake. As she looked her fingertips tingled with the memory of the warmth of his bronzed skin and the silky feel of his hair. Ready colour rose in her cheeks and she moved hurriedly towards the table that sat in the cool shade of towering chestnut trees.
Wine was poured and antipasto was served. The golden liquid was dry on her tongue. She didn’t much like wine but having recognised the world-famous label on the bottle she persevered. The first course arrived and she asked Cristiano how long he had owned the palazzo.
‘lt’s been in the family for a while ‘ Cristiano revealed.
Lydia gave her wine another valiant tasting.
‘How long is a while’?’
‘A couple of hundred years.’ His tiny shrug said the subject as of no import, and he signalled the hovering manservant to pass on some instruction.
‘I really know next to nothing about your background. You’re an only child aren’t you’?’
she pressed, determined to keep the dialogue on lines that she could handle.
A fresh glass was set in front of her and another bottle uncorked with Italian ceremony.
‘What’s this’?’ she asked.
Cristiano laughed.
‘You are drinking what you’ve got as though it’ s cough medicine. I requested something sweet’
His acute observation powers mortified her but he made light conversation with enviable ease and the food was fabulous. Slowly she began to relax.
‘I have something important to say to you’
he murmured gravely at the end of the meal.
Her blood ran cold.
‘You’ve had enough of me already and you’re sending me home?’
‘No, I don’t want to let you go’ Cristiano confessed without apology.
She felt almost light-headed at that news and the realization shook her. Was that relief she was feeling? Surely not? Bewilderment and shame threatened her composure, for she was finding it increasingly hard to comprehend her own reactions around Cristiano.
His crystal glass casually cupped in one lean brown hand Cristiano rose and strolled across the terrace into the hot sunlight before looking back at her.
‘I reached certain conclusions last night’ he admitted flatly.
‘I have treated you in a way l have treated no other woman.’
‘How nice to be singled out as unique! ‘
But although she tried to sound insouciant she was dry-mouthed with stress at the prospect of what he might be about to say next-His stunning eyes were pure lethal gold.
‘It’ s not a joking matter. I will be frank…from the hour you took off with Stevens I thought of you as a total slapper.’
That was frank indeed and she reddened.
‘And l was wrong. You’re the exact opposite. You on the other hand thought I was real bastard and you were right to think that ‘ he spelt out with sardonic cool.
‘The business with the bet was indefensible and the contract was designed to entrap and demean.’
She gripped her fine porcelain coffee cup so hard she was surprised that the handle didn’t break off. She stared at the immaculate white linen tablecloth her heart beating very fast.
‘I owe you…1 owe you big-time. ‘ Cristiano breathed hard and low, as if the very words were being forced from him.
Lydia glanced up in surprise.
His lean strong face was sombre.
‘1 do have honour l do have standards I can’t change the past though. It seems that you’ve won this round hands down…I am willing to marry you.’
CHAPTERSEVEN
LYDIA stared at Cristiano unable to credit what he had said and scarcely daring to breathe in the hot still air.
‘M-marry me’?’
she stammered shakily.
‘You’re willing to marry me?’
Cristiano tossed back the contents of his wine glass with seemingly little appreciation for the vintage. ‘There will be some consolations. l find you incredibly desirable, ‘gioia mia. ‘
very different emotions assailed her. Hurt pride disappointment and pain combined inside her in a volatile mix. Once a proposal of marriage from Cristiano would have been her every dream come true. But his ambivalence his reluctance to marry her was almost comically obvious. Dully she wondered why she wasn’t laughing.
Cristiano dealt her a brooding look of dark cynicism. ‘Of course you are’
She wanted to hit him. He knew what a rich prize he was in terms of looks status and wealth. It did not seem to occur to him that a woman might expect something more than those superficial attributes from him. Or that he might meet with a refusal.
‘How do you feel about me’?’
Cristiano shot her a frowning appraisal his stubborn jawline clenching.
‘What’s that supposed to mean’?’
Lydia was as pale as death her fingers knotted below the level of the table and then frantically crossing for luck. ‘You’re not stupid. You know.’
‘I don’t do love-just sex ‘ he asserted very drily.
To force a laugh that was convincing enough at least not to shatter the glass in her vicinity but deep down inside she felt as if a steamroller had gone over her vital organs. The crazy wheeling and dipping of her thoughts bewildered her as much as the distinct downward plunge of her spirits.
Cristiano rested unamused night-dark eyes on her.
‘I appreciate that l’ve taken you very much by surprise.’
A tremor ran through her taut length. She was in a state of shock and almost pointed out that an announcement of his nuptial plans could make headlines round the world.
‘Yes you have—’
‘But I don’t like your attitu
de’ he said bluntly.
Every scrap of colour ebbed from her lovely face and she bent her head fighting for the control not to snap back at him. Her first marriage proposal and it was an insult. He knew his own worth too well. He saw no reason why he should dress up the degrading reality that all he wanted was her body on tap. He regarded her as a lesser being whom he would be honouring with his name and his riches.
Her role was to be a grateful recipient scarcely able to believe her good fortune. Unfortunately torture could not have dragged such a humble response from her at that moment. How dared he think that she would take him on such terms? How dared he tell her to her face that sex was all she had to offer him? She hated him. That was all she was sure of just then. Hatred and pain were like a twisting knife inside her and she couldn’t think beyond that.
‘l’m sorry you don’t like my attitude,’ she said woodenly, staring a hole in the tablecloth.
‘But 1 wouldn’t want to marry someone like you.’
The tension was appalling. She was so stiff she was afraid a sudden movement would shatter her into tiny pieces, and the silence seethed around her like a menacing storm. She had offended him, and his displeasure chilled the atmosphere.
‘Look at me…’
And she looked, even though she didn’t want to look, for the habit of command was so engrained in him that she could not resist its powerful pull. He surveyed her with impassive dark eyes and she shivered.
‘You’re saying no’?’ Like a marionette on strings, she nodded, hardly daring to credit her own nerve. Yet the more his formidable assurance and presence intimidated her, the harder she fought to remain untouched and unaffected.
Pure outrage leapt in Cristiano. He could not believe it.
Unless there was someone else she cared about. But how likely was that when she had been a virgin? A celibate, very moral someone else? Some dead guy? He suppressed that unusually imaginative train of thought with icy distaste. Could she dislike him so much? He rammed that reflection back down into his subconscious while mercilessly crushing that disturbing sense of outrage stone-dead. He had made the offer. If she was too foolish to appreciate the advantages of becoming his wife, honour at least had been satisfied. She had done him a favour. For the first time he reminded himself that she was a thief, and just as quickly he was marvelling that he had ever contrived to overlook that reality and even considered marrying her.
While Lydia watched, Cristiano checked the time and murmured without expression,
”We’re flying to London early tomorrow morning.’
Her spine was so rigid it ached.
‘Are we? But we only got here yesterday.’
”This is how my life is. 1 have a board meeting at the UK office.’
‘Right,’ Lydia muttered, her entire focus locked to him in bemusement. Was that it? Was that really it? Was there to be no further discussion of that staggering proposal? It seemed not. The savage tension had already vanished as though it had never been. He appeared cool, indifferent.
‘And you have an appointment to keep with the Happy Holidays charity.’
Her eyes opened very wide, and even though she assumed she had misheard him, she lost colour.
‘1 beg your ardor…?’
‘l’m afraid that, regardless of how you feel, you will have to bite the bullet and smile throughout the proceedings.’
‘What proceedings’?’
‘My staff have organised a photo opportunity and reception to which the press have been invited. You will officially hand over a cheque for the money you were accused of stealing,’ Cristiano explained with unnerving calm.
Her stomach executed a nervous somersault.
‘You’re joking !
‘No. 1 have never regarded theft as a laughing matter.
You do not have a choice on this one.’
Even though she had not been responsible for stealing the money in the first place, Lydia still cringed at the threat of being forced to meet the charity personnel again. ‘I won’t do it’
‘You will do it. The charity has agreed. It’s a PR exercise. You’re part of my life now, and your reputation must be rehabilitated,’ Cristiano advanced without apology.
‘But everybody’s going to know it’s your money I’m handing over! ‘
she protested, rising from her seat in her distress. ”What’s the point’?’ people may well wonder if it’s my money, but they will no longer feel so certain of your guilt. Doubts will be aired. And if, in a couple of months, you are seen to perform another act of goodwill for the same charity, you will look even more like an innocent. Most will assume that the recent…unpleasantness… ‘ he selected that word with acerbic bite : …was a storm in a teacup.’
‘I won’t do it,’ she mumbled again, but it was like talking to a brick wall.
‘I mean it, Cristiano.’
”Think of it as your penance.’
‘I thought you were that! ‘ she returned bitterly.
”Would you really prefer to carry the label of thief for the rest of your life’?’
That derisive question cut through her defences and she swallowed hard. Years from now, who knew what her life might be? Her supposed theft might well come back to haunt her when she least expected it. His argument was un-answerable. She supposed it was best if the whole shameful episode could be decently buried with a show for the sake of appearances. But the very thought of having to face the Happy Holidays fundraising team again tilled Lydia with dread.
‘I thought not,’ Cristiano murmured drily.
‘I can’t believe you asked me to marry you… ‘
Lydia heard herself say with an abruptness that startled her. She flushed to the roots of her hair. She had truly not meant to voice that tactless reminder, but the thought had raced straight into reckless speech.
Cristiano was more than equal to that sudden diplomatic challenge. Angling brilliant dark golden eyes over her, he drawled with unblemished cool, ‘Fact is often stranger than action.’
A manservant came to a tactful halt at the other end of the terrace and Cristiano spoke to him.
‘Your Italian teacher has arrived for your first lesson,’ he told her.
Her face was perplexed. ”You never did explain why you want me to learn Italian.’
He raised a sardonic brow. ”You will be a more useful hostess with it than without.’
A cheerful little man in his early sixties greeted them both in excellent English. After chatting for a few minutes, Cristiano left them. The teacher informed her that he would be concentrating on her ability to use conversational Italian. She listened with a relaxed smile but she was a thousand riles away, thinking about Cristiano and wondering if she would ever understand him.
Why had he offered marriage when he so clearly didn’t want to marry her? But perhaps being a wife would have been preferable to being a mistress …? That thought crept up on her and lingered even when she tried to shut it out.
Well, it was too late for a change of heart now, wasn’t it? In any case, she didn’t want to be married to a guy who felt nothing for her, and she wouldn’t marry him for the lifestyle he could give her. At least she was hanging on to a modicum of self-respect that way.
She dined alone that eventing, and wandered through the beautiful gardens, which were kept inimmaculate order. She did not see Cristiano before she finally went up to bed, and although she lay tense as a bowstring while she waited, wondering if he would come to her, she was left undisturbed.
She couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, wrestling with her seesawing emotions, until she fianally shamefacedly acknowledged disappointment.
Cristiano went through a couple of reports with his staff on the flight to London, while Lydia slumbered, curled up in an unselfconscious heap like a child. He covered her with a blanket.
While he worked, every so often he would raise his head and his keen gaze would rest with cool probing force ocher delicate sleep-flushed profile. It was rare for a
nyone to surprise him, but she managed that feat on a regular basis. She fought with him. She melted into his arms and then told him she hated him.
He had a Byzantine mind of surpassing shrewdness. He liked things to add up, and her behaviour didn’t. If there was another guy, dead or alive, he wanted to know about him. This was a live-in relationship, the most serious thing he had ever got into with a woman. It would probably only last a couple of months, but it would only be sensible to find out everything there was to know about her. He would have her checked out by a private detective agency.
‘What time is this photo opportunity with the Happy Holidays crew kicking off’?’
Lydia asked tautly in the limo that was ferrying them through the London traffic.
”Two this afternoon.’ He skimmed a glance over her pale tight profile.
‘I don’t know what you’re worried about.Nobody in the charity team will dare to be unkind. My patrenage is worth too much to them. As for the press, you’ll just have to keep your smile pinned on and take what you get thrown at you.’
Having proffered that dollop of cold comfort in a bracing tone, Cristiano told her that he would see her later. The limo nosed in by the kerb, his bodyguards leapt out, and he vacated the limo and strode into the Andreotti building.
She breathed in slow and deep. She promised herself that she would get through the day by dealing with it in small manageable bites. Only then did it occur to her that her mother might well see a newspaper photo of her daughter handing over a cheque to the charity. Her eyes brightened. That would certainly signal the all-clear for her parent to get back in touch again. That cheering prospect made the coming ordeal seem well worthwhile.
Having pushed through his own agenda as usual, and been listened to in hushed silence by his awe-inspired board members, Cristiano emerged from the meeting in good form. His most senior PA approached him, wearing a curious air of anxiety.
“Problems ‘?’
Cristiano enquired with a raised brow.
‘A Gwenna Powell has requested a meeting with you, and she’s a very insistent woman.’
Cristiano frowned. ‘Gwenna…powell’?’
The PA cleared his throat.