The Colorado Countess

by Stephanie Howard

  He feigned interest. ‘And what kind of work is that?’

  ‘I’m putting together a book.’

  ‘A book? That sounds fascinating. May I enquire what kind of book?’

  ‘A book on Castello porcelain.’ Then she added unnecessarily, for if he really was a local he would surely already know, ‘It’s a locally made porcelain that’s famous throughout the world. Over the centuries it’s graced the tables of every royal family in Europe, not to mention the table at the White House also.’

  He was smiling. ‘Ah, so you are capable of stringing more than one sentence together. I was beginning to think you had a serious communication problem.’

  Very amusing. But Carrie did not smile back. She’d already been thinking she’d been just a little too forthcoming. It was her enthusiasm for the project that had momentarily got the better of her, for this book she was putting together on Castello porcelain—literally putting together, for she was both writing it and doing the photographs!—was undoubtedly one of the most exciting projects she’d ever worked on. Ever since her New York editor had first OK’d the idea two months ago she had barely been able to think of anything else. And she loved talking about it to anyone who would listen!

  But she hadn’t intended to confide her passion to this arrogant dark stranger, who now knew a little too much about her for her liking—especially since she still knew nothing about him!

  And it was time to put that right. She regarded him boldly. ‘But enough about me. Tell me something about you. For example, what do you do for a living?’

  ‘Me?’

  He continued to smile at her and did not answer immediately, almost as though he was pondering how to respond. Perhaps he was astonished that she didn’t know. Or insulted—though he did not look it. Rather, he looked intrigued, Carrie decided as she waited, wondering what had prompted this unlikely display of reticence.

  ‘Now it looks as though you’re the one with the communication problem,’ she pointed out.

  He laughed then. ‘Touché!’ Then he smiled. ‘Well, since you ask. . .’

  But he never finished the sentence, for at that very moment a man in a dark suit suddenly appeared at his elbow, murmuring something in Italian that Carrie couldn’t understand. Damn! she was thinking as her still unidentified stranger, with a polite nod in her direction, turned away to reply to him. Wouldn’t you just believe it? Talk about bad timing!

  ‘I’m afraid I have to go.’ He was turning back to look at her. ‘It would appear my presence is required elsewhere.’

  Then, surprising her, he held out his hand for a brief handshake. ‘It’s been most interesting meeting you. And again, let me offer you my apologies. I hope your bad experience this evening won’t spoil your stay here.’

  And, before she had time to do more than mumble, ‘I’m sure it won’t,’ he was turning sharply on his heel and disappearing into the interior part of the restaurant.

  Not, Carrie thought wryly as she watched his departure, that she would have been capable of saying much more anyway. That brief handshake had quite literally galvanised her for a moment. The touch of his skin had seemed to scorch against her. In those brief seconds of contact she’d been aware of a raw vitality that had sent shock waves down to the soles of her feet.

  Phew! Whoever he was, this guy was pure dynamite!

  She was rather glad to be brought back to earth as the waiter appeared at the next table and she suddenly remembered that he still hadn’t brought her the bill. She waved to catch his attention. ‘My bill, please,’ she called, but he was already coming over.

  ‘Signorina,’ he smiled. ‘There is no bill.’ He shrugged an expressive shrug. ‘It has already been paid.’

  ‘Paid?’

  ‘Yes, signorina.’

  ‘By whom has it been paid?’ Though Carrie had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew the answer.

  The waiter made a gesture as though reluctant to divulge this information. Then he murmured conspiratorially, confirming her suspicion, ‘By the gentleman you were just speaking to a moment ago.’

  ‘But he had no right to do that!’ Carrie was already rising to her feet indignantly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of paying my own bills!’

  And before the waiter could stop her, if indeed he even thought of trying, she was grabbing her bag and steaming across the terrace in the direction her misguided benefactor had taken. Who the devil did he think he was?

  There was no sign of him in the inner restaurant, but he couldn’t have gone far. Carrie headed for the door that led to the foyer at the front. And as she pushed the door open she beamed in triumph to herself. He hadn’t escaped her, after all. She’d arrived just in the nick of time!

  He was standing by the open door, just about to step out into the street, his back towards her so he couldn’t see her. And on the pavement ahead of him was the man in the dark suit who was now holding open the door of a black limousine which was conveniently parked just a couple of steps away.

  Nice, Carrie thought scathingly as she stepped boldly towards her quarry. No wonder he thinks he can behave all high and mighty if this is the way he gets treated all the time!

  The thought fired up her anger. In a tight voice, she called out to him, ‘Just a minute, if you don’t mind! I’m afraid I’ve got a bone to pick with you!’ She continued to hurry up to him. ‘About that high-handed gesture of yours. . . that high-handed gesture of paying my bill for me. . .’

  Then her voice trailed off. He had turned round to look at her. And, suddenly, Carrie was dying a thousand deaths all in one go. For now, in the much brighter light of the foyer, she had instantly recognised who he was.

  How could I have been so stupid? she berated herself sickly, wishing she could just melt into the carpet and disappear. How could I have been so dim as not to recognise him instantly? And much worse, how could I have been so gross as to speak to him the way I just did?

  Her heart had stopped inside her, her flesh turned to stone. Me and my big mouth. Now I’m really going to be in trouble! she thought.

  But if she was, it was not just yet.

  He threw her a look she could not decipher. Then with a small lift of the eyebrow he told her, ‘I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry. Some other time, perhaps. I can’t stop now.’

  Then he was turning away, sweeping across the pavement and climbing into the back of the black limousine. And Carrie was still standing there, speechlessly staring at it, when a moment later it purred away.

  ‘Ah, there you are! The waiter said you’d left. I’m sorry I took such ages. I met someone in the john.’

  Carrie turned woodenly to look at Louise who had just appeared at her elbow. Her brain was still spinning inside her head like a top.

  ‘I met this woman who’s here on holiday and—would you believe it?—she lives just two blocks away from me in Queen’s! Can you imagine? What a coincidence! Anyway, we got talking, and—Hey, Carrie, are you all right?’ Louise paused and peered into the face of her friend who hadn’t heard a single word she’d been saying. ‘You look a bit strange. Has something happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happened. I think I’m going mad.’ Carrie gave herself a shake and smiled a wry smile at her friend. ‘I’ve just had a most fascinating encounter myself. And I’m afraid I’ve really put my foot in it.

  ‘I thought I was speaking to just any old Prince Charming. But I wasn’t. For once, I was speaking to the real thing: She sighed and turned to the open door through which the dark stranger had disappeared. ‘I’m afraid I’ve just made a terrible faux pas. I’ve just insulted Count Leone, the heir to the throne.’

  ‘Here you are, sir. These are the papers I mentioned. The Duke would be grateful if you would sign them at your earliest convenience.’

  ‘Just leave them on the table, Pierre.’ Leone turned to glance at his private secretary who had appeared with the usual daily batch of papers to be dealt with. ‘I’ll take a look at them while I’m having breakfast,’ he t
old him. ‘You can pick them up in about half an hour.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ Pierre nodded deferentially. ‘Will there be anything else for the moment?’

  ‘Not for the moment, thanks.’ Then, as the other man started to go, he called after him, ‘Oh, by the way, congratulations. I hear you’ve finally fixed the big day. Well, it’s about time the lovely Margherita made an honest man of you, I’d say.’

  Pierre smiled a pleased smile. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he responded. ‘We both hope you’ll honour us with your presence at the wedding.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You know how I love weddings.’ Leone laughed. ‘Just as long as they’re not mine, of course.’

  It was just after seven-thirty at the Palazzo Verde, and Count Leone Alberto Cosimo George di Montecrespi, brother of the ruling Duke and heir to the throne of San Rinaldo, currently dressed in a red silk dressing gown, was in his private apartments getting ready for the day.

  And it would be a full day as usual, he was thinking as he drank his coffee. Thank heavens he could rely on Pierre to organise everything.

  At that moment his valet appeared from the adjoining dressing room where he’d been laying out Leone’s clothes for the day.

  Leone glanced at him. ‘Thanks, Silvestro,’ he told him. Then he enquired good-humouredly, ‘I suppose you’ve heard Pierre’s news? You know about the imminent betrothal?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I heard about it. And very pleased I was too.’

  Leone smiled at the young man. ‘Another romantic, I see. No doubt you’ll shortly be following in his footsteps?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so, sir. As soon as Anna’s twenty-one—and that’s only eighteen months away.’

  Leone shook his head at him. ‘You’re all mad, if you ask me. With so many beautiful, available women in the world, why any man under forty would want to get married is an absolute, total mystery to me.’ And, with a smile, he turned his attention back to the pile of papers.

  Not that his attention was entirely on what he was doing as he flicked his way rapidly through the papers, scanning a few lines here and there, scribbling his signature where it was required. For there was a niggling little diversion that had been occupying his thoughts with a fair degree of frequency since yesterday evening. He’d tried to dismiss it from his mind, but it refused to be dismissed, and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he’d have to do something about it.

  Well, why not? he decided. And he smiled at the prospect. A beautiful girl is a beautiful girl, no matter how stroppy she is!

  When Pierre returned, he had finished signing the papers. He handed them over. ‘These all seem to be in order.’ Then, sitting back in his seat and draining his coffee-cup, he added, ‘I want you to track down someone for me. A girl. An American. I don’t know her name, but she’s blonde, mid-twenties and extremely beautiful and she’s putting together a book, apparently, on Castello porcelain. Find out who she is and where she’s staying and anything else you can about her.’

  ‘Is this an urgent matter, sir?’ His secretary’s expression had never altered, though a look of fond amusement had briefly crossed his face. This wasn’t the first time he’d been given such a task.

  ‘Yes, it is urgent, Pierre.’ Leone laid down his coffee-cup and there was a distinctly determined look in his eyes. ‘This young lady and I have unfinished business.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE house Carrie had rented for her stay in San Rinaldo was about five miles out of Rino, the capital of the little dukedom, up a sun-dappled, twisting, tree-lined road with a spectacular view out over the city.

  To be more accurate, she’d rented only part of the house—a marvellous red-tiled eighteenth-century villa. She’d taken the top floor, which was bright and spacious, with its own front door and huge balconies at the front and back. And she was out on the front balcony now, basking in the July sunshine, with a bowl of peaches at her elbow and a notepad on her knee as she sat in one of the comfy cane chairs and worked out her itinerary for the coming week. And it promised to be a busy one, with lots of meetings and appointments. To her enormous satisfaction, though she’d been here less than a week, work was already getting under way.

  But that was Carrie’s way. When it came to matters of work, she liked to dive straight in and get on with the job. And that was why, in the space of just three years, she’d gained a reputation for being a top-rank professional.

  It was hard to believe, but it really was just three years ago that she had arrived in New York fresh from college with no experience at all of the publishing world, just a lot of ambition and a fistful of good ideas. Plus an infinite supply of determination, of course. For she’d quickly lost count of the publishing-house doors she’d had to knock on before one finally took her on to do a book on Colorado gold—for her native state was once prospector country—and since the success of that book her career had never looked back.

  There had followed a book on Amerindian art, then one on New York’s Guggenheim Museum, as well as the steady stream of magazine articles she wrote. But this latest project, the book on Castello porcelain that she had come to San Rinaldo to work on, promised to be the most ambitious so far. This one was going to be really special.

  She sat back in her chair now with a smile on her face and gazed for a moment at the peaceful panorama of cypress-clad hills and green-shuttered villas. What a wonderful place. She was going to adore the next three months here. With a sigh of contentment, she reached for a peach.

  At that moment there was the sound of a car down below, turning into the gravel driveway of the villa. Carrie munched on her peach, which was sweet and delicious, and turned her attention back to her scribblings. It must be someone for her landlady, a widow who lived below. Signora Rossi frequently had visitors.

  She heard a car door slam, then male footsteps crossing the driveway, past the stone steps that led to her balcony. Though she was barely paying attention. She was carefully studying her itinerary, wondering if she hadn’t maybe over-committed herself tomorrow. And she didn’t bother to glance up when, a moment or two later, there was the sound of voices down below her balcony—Signora Rossi and her visitor talking in Italian. So she was totally taken by surprise when suddenly her landlady called out, ‘Signorina Carrie! There’s someone to see you!’

  How odd. Frowning a little, Carrie laid down her notepad, got to her feet and stepped to the edge of the balcony. Who on earth could it possibly be? She didn’t know anyone who was likely to come visiting.

  She leaned over the balcony. ‘Thank you, Signora Rossi.’

  But then she paused. Where was her visitor? And what manner of lightning bolt had apparently struck her landlady? For the poor woman’s eyes were fixed, saucer-sized in their amazement, on the narrow stone stairway that led to Carrie’s veranda.

  Curious, Carrie turned to follow the stupefied gaze. Then she blinked, her own eyes transforming into saucers of amazement. For ascending the stone stairway was no less a personage than Count Leone Alberto Cosimo George di Montecrespi, the heir to the throne of San Rinaldo, whom she had so grievously insulted just two days ago.

  She felt herself turn pale. Oh, dear heavens! she was thinking. He’s come personally to throw me out of the country!

  He had reached the top of the stairs, where he paused now to address her. ‘Miss Carrie Dunn from Colorado, we meet again,’ he smiled. Then he paused and regarded her pale, fixed face. ‘I hope I haven’t caught you at an inconvenient moment?’

  ‘Not at all. Of course not.’

  Carrie hadn’t a clue what to say or do. So she just stood there, utterly immobile, feeling totally foolish in her skimpy pink shorts and strappy T-shirt, wishing that, at least, she were more soberly dressed. Though he was pretty informally attired too, in a pair of cream cotton trousers, an open-neck blue shirt and light canvas shoes. Nevertheless, he was still a count, the brother of the ruler of San Rinaldo and a member of one of the oldest noble families in Europe. Her brain was churnin
g in confusion. Ought she to curtsy to him, or what?

  Leone, for his part, was feeling a touch bemused too. She was even lovelier than he had remembered. Slender and graceful, with a natural, unadorned beauty, and a perfectly spectacular pair of legs. He looked into her face with its wide hazel eyes, gentle mouth and tip-tilted nose and was suddenly struck by the strong resemblance she bore to one of the angels in the painted frieze of the family chapel.

  That surprising thought made him smile. That angel had always been his favourite.

  But his task at the moment was to put this poor angel at her ease. She was standing there, quite rigid, clutching a half-eaten peach and looking as though she believed he was about to devour her.

  He glanced around him. ‘What a lovely place. That’s a pretty spectacular view you’ve got.’

  ‘Yes, it is pretty spectacular.’

  Carrie managed to answer him, though her voice sounded strange, as though it belonged to someone else. What was he doing here? she kept asking herself frantically, over and over. It was bizarre. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he might want of her. Though one part of her, in spite of her quite genuine anxiety, felt like laughing out loud at the situation. If only her family, or friend Louise, could see her now, standing here hobnobbing with the heir to the San Rinaldo throne!

  Well, not exactly hobnobbing! That thought brought her up sharply. If her family could see her now, they’d think she was a proper wimp! She straightened her spine carefully and lifted up her chin and, suddenly realising she was still clutching her half-eaten peach, laid it carefully on the little table behind her. Then, taking a deep breath and feeling much more in control now, she forced herself to look her visitor straight in the eye.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said in a polite but firm tone, ‘but actually I’m wondering what you’re doing here.’ Then, a little amazed but thoroughly pleased with herself for taking this initiative, she held her breath and waited for his answer.

  Leone looked at her and smiled. Good for her, he was thinking. He knew from their last confrontation that she didn’t lack spirit, but last time she hadn’t been aware of who he was. This time she clearly was and he’d wondered if her attitude might alter. That little demonstration that it hadn’t made her even more interesting.