by Penny Jordan
Aidan Montgomery had died from his tuberculosis before they could marry, and as she’d inspected the documents closely Lily had wondered if the marks on them came from tears cried over the letters by the fiancée he had left behind.
It had been Marco who had noticed her concentration on the stains, and Marco too who had pointed out dryly to her, when she’d voiced her thoughts, that if Teresa d’Essliers had grieved for her fiancé that grief had not stopped her from marrying someone else within eighteen months of his death.
‘A diplomatic family marriage,’ the curator had told them. ‘Her father was a banker who enjoyed gambling with other people’s money. Her husband was one of his clients—a wealthy silk merchant who wished to improve his own social status.’
‘Will we have time to visit any of Como’s silk mills?’ Lily asked Marco now, as the hovercraft took them to their next appointment—a villa situated at the side of the lake, with its own landing stage.
Como had been a centre for the production of silk for many centuries. Although the business was now in decline from its heyday, because of the expense of its manufacture compared with silk imported from China, it still produced many of the exclusive silks used by both interior and fashion designers.
‘Do you want to visit one?’ Marco asked her. His voice was curt as he focused on keeping as much emotional distance between them as he could.
The coldness in his voice made Lily flinch inwardly, but she refused to let him see how she felt, saying as calmly as she could, ‘I’d like to. It could help with the exhibition.’ When he looked questioningly at her, she explained, ‘One of the things we’re trying to do with the exhibition is interest a younger audience, and I feel that the more personal detail we can display, the more able they will be to relate to it. I thought that Como’s silk business would appeal to them. I have to admit that I’d also love to see something of the archives of those companies who have been producing silk for several centuries. Although it isn’t my specific field, I’ve seen some of the work that’s being done on the research and restoration to the decor of the trust’s properties, and some of those fabrics are just so beautiful.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned Como’s silk industry’s connection with the modern-day fashion industry. Surely that would have an even greater appeal to you, with your own involvement in that particular business?’
‘What do you mean? What involvement?’ Lily’s voice was sharp with anxiety.
‘I was referring to your other means of income—the photographic studio,’ Marco reminded her grimly.
Lily’s body almost sagged with relief. For one awful moment she thought that somehow Marco had guessed about her past and her father.
‘I’ve already told you,’ she defended herself, ‘I was doing a favour for … for someone.’
‘That someone being a man, I assume?’ Why was he doing this to himself? Why was he deliberately feeding his own jealousy like this? Prior to Lily coming into his life, if asked, Marco would have said and believed that he was not a man who felt jealousy. He had certainly never experienced it with any of his lovers.
But he was experiencing it now, and it galled him like a thorn sticking into his flesh that Lily should be the person to inflame his feelings to such a pitch, to such a destructive emotion. She represented so much that filled him with contempt it should have been impossible for him even to want her, never mind feel about her as he did.
‘Yes,’ Lily was forced to admit.
If only she had not agreed to help her half-brother. If only she and Marco had met for the first time at the reception and not at that wretched studio. Then what? Then he would have taken one look at her and yearned for her? Was that what she had done? Had she taken one look at him and somehow known what was to happen to her and that she would want him? A deep shudder tormented her body.
What had caused her to look like that? Marco wondered. So … so stricken, somehow, as though she was having to face a terrible, inescapable truth? She was simply trying to arouse his pity, he warned himself. She was, after all, an excellent actress—as he had good cause to know.
Lily took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was a qualified professional with a job to do. She couldn’t let herself be hurt even more. All she could do was try to protect herself by pretending that nothing untoward had happened.
‘Is that the villa we’re approaching now?’ she asked Marco, in what she hoped was a calm and businesslike voice.
Marco had to bend his head to look out of the window of the hovercraft, his action bringing him far too close to her for Lily’s comfort, making her feel as though she had jumped from one uncomfortable situation into another that was every bit as uncomfortable in a different way. With him this close to her she could smell the clean tang of Marco’s soap mixed with the sensual warmth of his body. The hovercraft jolted on the movement of the water, forcing her to lean as far back as she could to avoid coming into physical contact with him. After what had already happened she couldn’t bear to have him thinking that she was tempted to take advantage of the opportunity to be close to him.
Men soon tired of women who were too vulnerable to them. They preferred the excitement and the challenge of the chase, the power of winning their trophy. When that trophy became needy and dependent they no longer wanted it. She had seen that so often with her father. She had seen it break her mother’s heart and spirit. Better not to love at all than to be destroyed by the pain of loving someone who had grown bored and become indifferent to you.
A strand of hair had escaped from the clip Lily had used to secure it into a soft knot away from her face, and Marco had an aching urge to reach out and lift it from her skin. If he did his knuckles would graze the soft flesh of her throat and she would turn and look at him, her grey eyes dark and questioning, her lips parted for his kiss. He wanted that to happen, Marco recognised on a savage stab of brutal self-knowledge. He wanted to take her in his arms right now and hold her. He wanted to kiss her until she murmured his name against his mouth in a soft plea of arousal and need.
What was happening to him? How could he feel like this about her when everything he knew about her told him that at best he should be wary of her and at worst he should despise her? Earlier in the day, watching her as she’d talked to the curators of the two villas they had visited, listening to her as she spoke with them, he had seen a woman who was a skilled communicator, a woman who knew and loved her subject and who wore her knowledge comfortably, a woman who had been willing to listen respectfully to what the curators had to tell her even when Marco suspected she was far more knowledgeable about the collections and the history of the villas than they were themselves—a woman, therefore, to whom the feelings of others was important. And yet at the same time she was also a woman to whom the vulnerability of a foolish young man was simply something to be exploited—for money. A woman who was selfish enough to think nothing of using other people to pursue her own desires.
‘Yes, it is the villa,’ he confirmed as the craft headed for the landing stage. ‘I’ve arranged for the car to pick us up from here after we’ve viewed the collection. I don’t think there’ll be time for us to visit a silk mill today. The Duchess will be expecting us, and like most people of her generation punctuality is important to her. She loves entertaining, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s made arrangements to that effect for this evening—probably for a dinner party. However, if you’d rather not be involved, I’ll have a word with her and tell her that you have work you want to catch up on. I expect you will have reports you want to file with the trust.’
She did, it was true, but Lily suspected his suggestion sprang more from his wish not to have to endure any more of her company than he had to rather than any concern for her.
‘There’s no need for you to do that. Being involved with the villa owners is part of my job. Besides, I imagine that the Duchess has some fascinating stories to tell about her family history and the villa. However, if that is a polite
way of telling me that you don’t want me there …?’ she challenged Marco, determined to let him know that she had guessed the real reason behind his offer.
‘It isn’t,’ he denied. ‘I merely thought you might wish to have some time to yourself.’
‘I’m here to work. And that work includes listening to what those connected with the villas have to say,’ Lily told him firmly.
It was a little later than Marco had allowed for on their schedule before they were able to leave the third villa. It had been in the same family for several generations, having originally been built for one of Napoleon’s favourite generals, and in addition to agreeing to loan the trust several valuable pieces for its exhibition the owner, an elderly Italian who spoke impeccable English, had allowed Lily to take photographs of the interior of the villa, which would also be put on display—a coup indeed, as she was fully aware.
Watching Lily with her camera, Marco could see her professionalism—but instead of admiring it, as did the Visconte, whom she had charmed completely with her interest in his family history, her expertise brought back all Marco’s doubts about her and his disdain for what he believed she was.
He would be glad when this task was over and he could return to his normal life and put Dr Lillian Wrightington out of his mind for ever. And out of his heart? The sneaky little question was slid under his guard so dextrously by that taunting inner voice he literally stopped in midstride as he fought to deny the unjustifiable allegation. She meant nothing to him. Nothing, that was, apart from the fact that he didn’t trust her and last night she had aroused him to the point where nothing had been more important than possessing her. So he had desired her? Physical desire alone meant nothing. His emotions weren’t engaged with her. That was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Then how did he explain away his anger and jealousy?
Marco welcomed the distraction from his inner thoughts provided by the necessary formalities involved in taking their leave of the Visconte and thanking him for his kindness.
As their chauffeur-driven car purred up the drive to the Duchess’s home, through the most beautiful formal Italianate gardens, Lily was uncomfortably conscious of Marco’s silence. He had barely spoken to her since they had left the previous villa, and she had felt too aware of coldness of the stone wall of his silence to want to break it.
The front of the elegant Palladian-style villa was basking in the last of the early October sunshine beneath a clear blue sky, and as always when she was in the presence of a beauty that stirred her senses Lily felt her emotions rise up in humble awe. It didn’t make any difference to her reaction if it was nature that was responsible for that beauty or the skill of a human artist—the effect on her was the same.
Unable to stop herself, she murmured more to herself than Marco, ‘This is just so beautiful.’
Somehow the emotion in Lily’s voice managed to find a faint hairline crack in Marco’s defences that he hadn’t known was there. The moisture he could see glinting in her eyes couldn’t possibly have been faked, he knew, even though he wanted to believe that it was. A fresh surge of jealousy spiked through him—but not over another man this time. ‘Both the setting and the villa do please the eye,’ he told her in a dry voice. ‘But I like to think that my family’s castello can rival the villa for catching at the heart. You’ll have to give me your opinion when you’ve seen it.’
The di Lucchesi castello. The place from which Marco’s family sprang. The place where his ancestors would have taken their wives and sired their children. Children. Lily’s heart rocked perilously inside her chest, pierced by an agonised ache of pure female longing and envy. One day Marco would take a bride to his castello, and one day she would give birth to his child, his children there. But that woman would not be her. What was she doing, allowing herself to accept thoughts and feelings that could only cause her pain and make her suffer? That mattered to her? Then that must mean.
Lily didn’t want to think about what it could mean. It was a relief when the car came to a halt and she knew that she’d soon be able to escape from Marco’s presence and the effect he was having on her.
The Duchess herself came down the stone steps leading up to the villa to greet them, welcoming them with warm smile before telling the chauffeur that her housekeeper had a meal ready for him, if he wanted to drive round to the courtyard at the back of the villa.
Such kindness and concern was not always displayed by those in the Duchess’s elevated social and financial position, Lily knew, and her heart warmed even further to their hostess as she slipped her arms through both Lily’s and Marco’s, telling them as they headed for the steps, ‘There’s no need for the two of you to be bashful or feel you have to be discreet.’ She pulled a face and laughed. ‘All that creeping around in the middle of the night, terrified that one might step on a creaking floorboard and be discovered. I remember it well. But times have changed, and I like to think that I have changed with them. So, once my housekeeper informed me that her sister—who works at Ville d’Este—had told her the two of you had been sharing a room there, I instructed her to make up my favourite guest suite for the two of you.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LILY couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even think properly. She couldn’t do anything other than look at the Duchess in mute disbelief as she continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll like it. It has the most wonderful view over the lake. My late husband and I used to stay in it when we came to visit before my father died. When I inherited it my husband insisted that we replace the rather small double bed with something larger and more comfortable.’ The Duchess gave a fond sigh. ‘I have so many happy memories of being young here. New love—it is so special. I well remember the first time I saw my late husband. I fell in love with him the minute I set eyes on him. He, though, I’m afraid to say, did not return my feelings for a full twenty-four hours after we had met,’ she told them drolly, adding, ‘I hope that your brief stay here will give you both some memories that you too will come to cherish.’
All the time she had been talking them they had been climbing the steps. Now they had reached the top, and Lily’s heart was pounding—but not because of any exertion involved. Had she understood the Duchess correctly? Had she instructed her housekeeper that she and Marco were to share a bedroom—and a bed? Lily tried to look at Marco, but the Duchess was linked between them, beaming first at Marco and then at Lily, obviously very proud of what she had done and no doubt thinking she was doing them both a favour.
‘I have to say, Marco,’ the Duchess continued blithely, ‘I think that Lily is the perfect girl for you. You both feel so passionately about Italian art and history, and my late husband always used to say that shared interests remain a strong bond between a couple long after the first flush of romance has faded. Ah, good—here we are. Do come in and admire my ancestors, Lily. I hope I may call you Lily? After all we are practically family already, since Marco and I are distantly related.’
The villa’s hall was round, with a wonderful balustrade stairway rising exactly opposite the front door then branching off to form a round gallery landing. The design was repeated on each of the three floors, so that it was possible to look up from the ground floor and see the stained glass dome of the cupola several floors above them.
‘When the sun is overhead, the light from the stained glass makes the most magical patterns. When we were children my brother invented a game whereby we had to chase the moving pattern of a certain colour all the way up and down the stairs. He was older than me, and he always won. He should have inherited the villa, of course, but he was killed during the Second World War. He was only nineteen.’
Lily was listening to the Duchess, but at the same time she was tense with inner anxiety as she waited for Marco to explain to her that there had been a mistake and they were not a couple. Only he said nothing, and now the duchess was exclaiming, ‘Ah, here is my housekeeper, Berenice. She will show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind, but I have taken the liberty of organi
sing a small reception here tonight. Just some old friends I know will enjoy meeting you, Lily. They all have connections with the area and its villas, so don’t be shy about asking them any questions you may have. We’ll meet again in the main salon.’
Their room.
Lily gave Marco an imploring look but still he said nothing, and continued to say nothing until they were alone in the villa’s best guest suite. Lily asked him anxiously why he had not corrected the Duchess’s misapprehension about their relationship.
‘If you had not come to my room last night we would not be in this situation.’
Marco’s uncompromising statement couldn’t be denied, but Lily still shook her head as she paced the elegant suite. Marco stood in front of one of the room’s long sash windows, his head turned so that he was half looking out across the lake and half looking back into the room.
‘I know why the Duchess thinks that we are a couple, but you could have told her the truth. You could have explained to her …’
‘I could have explained what? That you came to my room seeking to use me—either to protect you from your ex or to make him jealous? Is that really what you would have wanted me to say to her? ‘
Without giving her the chance to answer, Marco gave a dismissive shake of his head, telling her grimly, ‘Anyway, she likes you. She wouldn’t believe me.’
He didn’t have to say that he neither understand nor shared the Duchess’s feelings. The tone of his voice said it for him.