Count Valieri's Prisoner

by Sara Craven

  So, she would break down in front of no-one—especially Andrea Valieri and his sour-faced spy, now struggling to keep up with this headlong dash.

  When she reached her door, she flung it open, marched in and kicked it shut behind her. She half-expected it to open again to admit Domenica with the shrill tirade she was sure had been burning on her lips, but there was only a long silence, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Something that, for once, she welcomed.

  She threw herself across the bed, her fingers digging into the coverlet, and buried her face in the pillows as the first harsh sob rose in her throat.

  Now that the tears had come, they were scalding, uncontrollable, and she welcomed that too, sensing somehow that she was weeping away all the tensions and fears that she’d been trying to suppress since this nightmare began.

  That this was a catharsis that she needed.

  When the storm passed, she felt limp and empty. She sat up slowly, pushing the damp strands of hair away from her face. She had to think about this latest development, she told herself, and think clearly too.

  She’d been counting too much on other people. Taken it for granted that instant aid would be on its way, and that freedom was a foregone conclusion.

  She took a deep breath. Well, she knew better now. And one of the uncomfortable facts to be faced was that Nigel Sylvester might indeed refuse to rescue her, regarding it as her own wilful disobedience that had led to this predicament in the first place.

  ‘She put her career before you,’ she could hear him saying to Jeremy. ‘As she always will. And this is where it’s led. She’ll never make the wife you need and deserve, and it’s time you came to terms with this. Admitted that marrying her will never work.

  ‘Besides, she won’t come to any real harm. When the kidnappers realise we have no intention of giving in to their demands, they’ll have to let her go.’

  In return, Jeremy would protest that he loved her, that she was the girl he wanted. Of course he would. But his hands were tied. His father controlled the money, and there was no way he alone could raise the kind of ransom being demanded. Whatever that was.

  I wonder what I’m valued at in hard currency, she thought bitterly.

  Even so, whatever the terms of her release, she knew that Nigel Sylvester would still see her as a liability, and do his best to have the wedding postponed at the very least.

  Therefore, she could no longer afford to let matters drift. Somehow, she had to seize the initiative and try to engineer her own escape.

  There were elements on her side. She knew now where there was a change of clothes that might prove an adequate disguise, and she had seen more of the house, including where the kitchens were sited. It might not be much, and there was still this locked door to be dealt with, but it was a start.

  She would not allow Andrea Valieri’s scheming to threaten everything she held dear in life, she told herself, her heart jolting painfully.

  But perhaps she was being unduly pessimistic. Maybe moves were already afoot to trace her secretly. To use some kind of professional negotiator, a fixer to arrange a compromise deal.

  She had to believe that, in case her jailers were too watchful and self-reliance proved inadequate. Had also to pin her faith on Jeremy fighting for her. Coming to find her.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I need you so badly. For God’s sake hurry.’

  And just managed to stop herself saying, ‘Before it’s too late.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS SHE SHOWERED away the signs of distress and weakness, Maddie decided that, to begin her campaign, she should try to regain some of the ground she’d lost earlier.

  It had been unwise to lose her temper, and let him see how much this lack of response from London disturbed her. And sheer folly to over-react to his more personal remarks, she thought broodingly. Far better to have kept her cool and shrugged it off as trivial banter.

  But from now on she would remain impassive in the face of any news, good or bad, and display total indifference to his sexual teasing. And if he persisted, she would tell him quietly that his behaviour was a breach of the good manners his birth entitled her to expect. Shame him into silence.

  Although instinct warned her that he would not shame easily.

  He would probably be anticipating more fireworks at dinner, but he would be disappointed, she thought as she dried her hair. She would conduct herself impeccably, speaking when spoken to and refusing to rise to any bait. And that’s how it would be, however long she remained in this place.

  At the same time, she would be looking all the time for a way out. Any chance, however slight, would do. And somewhere she would find help. There had to be a village around, albeit a small one, with communications to the world at large.

  She wrapped herself in a fresh bath sheet and trod back into the bedroom for the siesta which had become part of her ritual. And when she awoke a new nightgown and robe would be waiting. As usual.

  Emerald this time, I suppose, she thought as she stretched out on the bed. Although that’s not my colour. I wonder if he’ll realise that.

  She bit her lip. That was not a train of thought, frankly, that she needed to pursue. He was hardly likely to have gone into some shop and chosen these frankly intimate garments himself. He’d have got some hireling to do so. But it was quite bad enough knowing that he’d given the order for her to spend her time dressed—or undressed—like this.

  And if he’d seen her photograph, that meant he already knew her colouring and Heaven knows what other details about her, she thought, her face warming.

  That was what she was finding so unnerving. All the research and planning that had gone into trapping her, of which she’d been so blithely unaware. The unseen power that this man—Andrea Valieri—had been able to exert to achieve it.

  The feeling of helplessness, as if this deliberate removal of all her personal things had also wiped away her identity.

  Added to that—the terrible realisation that she was merely a pawn in some game being played out by two arrogant men, and that pawns were easily sacrificed...

  Stop that right now, she told herself with swift determination as a shiver curled the length of her spine. That’s defeatist thinking and I’m not going to be a victim or a puppet any longer.

  I’m taking my life back.

  She slept eventually, and woke to a room full of evening shadows. As she’d expected, she’d had silent visitors while she was sleeping, and the new robe and nightgown were waiting for her, laid across the foot of the bed. But, this time, she discovered, they were black instead of the anticipated green.

  Different styling too, she thought as she held them up, frowning. The robe had a revealingly deep square neck and was fastened down the front with large buttons embossed elaborately in velvet. And the nightdress was made from chiffon so sheer it was hardly more than a thin veil, with only narrow ribbon straps supporting its tiny bodice.

  Sending her, Maddie realised furiously, an unmistakable message. A sensuous offering with deliberate provocation in every inch of fabric.

  Well, it won’t work, she silently informed her unseen antagonist. I’ll wear the damned things as if they were towelling and flannelette.

  As she glanced around, she saw the box of books on the table, and lying next to it her CD player with the disc of Floria Bartrando’s favourite arias.

  Another concession, she thought, biting her lip uneasily. It was hardly a charm offensive, but it was disturbing just the same. Although it made no difference. Nothing he could say or do would ever change her attitude towards him. Her mind and her body were immune to his overtures.

  He was her enemy, and, once she was free of him, he would suffer for the way she’d been treated.

  If Jeremy didn’t kill him first, she thought, viewing her reflection with disquiet. The robe’s tight bodice enhanced the slenderness of her waist and showed far too much of the creamy swell of her breasts. While those buttons which were supp
osed to keep it fastened seemed much more invitation than protection, she thought, hating the sudden colour that flared in her face.

  Tonight it was Luisa who came to escort her downstairs, her eyes and mouth round with astonishment as she looked at her.

  Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong, Maddie muttered savagely under her breath, grabbing up the CD as she passed the table.

  She was halfway along the corridor when she heard the music. A piano playing something soft and lilting—and not far away. She paused to listen, wondering, then drew a deep breath as she remembered.

  He had lessons in childhood. Andrea Valieri’s casual words. Now he plays only for his own amusement.

  And doesn’t he like to amuse himself, she thought scornfully, as she walked out on to the gallery. He doesn’t miss a trick. What will it be next? Mandolin serenades under my window?

  She stopped halfway down the stairs, looking down the length of the room, watching him, her hand resting lightly on the stone banister, her body taut under its light draperies.

  And the music was certainly beguiling, played in a minor key, dancing joyfully along one moment, wistful and plangent the next.

  His dark head was bent over the keys. He seemed intent—oblivious, but she wasn’t fooled. He was as aware of her as she was of him. Even at this distance she could feel it, like the stroke of a fingertip over her bare skin.

  She realised, shocked that her nipples were lifting and hardening against the chiffon that cupped them. Recognised her body’s desire to sway with the rhythm of the music. To let it take her down the stairs and towards him, the black silk floating around her.

  Recognised it and fought it. So that when the final chord rippled into silence, she was able to applaud slowly, almost languidly, making him look at her directly. Letting him register the silent challenge of her pose.

  ‘Bravo, signore.’ She moved then, descending the remaining stairs. ‘And I thought you said you weren’t a virtuoso.’

  He rose. ‘Flattery from you, signorina?’ he queried sardonically. ‘I am astounded.’

  ‘I think it would take a good deal more than that to surprise you.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t recognise the music. What was it?’

  ‘It is something quite new, composed by someone I was at school with, Gianfranco Deloria. He has been collecting old forgotten folk music from this area and giving it a contemporary twist.’

  ‘Well, it’s—beautiful.’

  ‘He would be pleased to hear you say so. His first album is coming out quite soon, and he will give a recital in Trimontano in the autumn.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘The festival. Which reminds me—thank you for the return of my player, but you may keep this.’ She put the Floria Bartrando CD on the dining table. ‘I don’t want any souvenirs of my time in this place.’

  ‘And yet she is what brought you here.’

  ‘As if I needed reminding.’ She allowed a trace of bitterness in her tone. ‘However, that’s when I thought I was researching for a television programme. Now I doubt that Floria Bartrando still exists, let alone has plans to resume her career.’

  ‘On the contrary, she is alive and well,’ he said after a pause. ‘And she does intend to sing again one day—when the time is right.’

  ‘Then she’ll do it without any help from me.’ Maddie shrugged. ‘Does she know you involved her in your scheming?’

  ‘I would not have used her name without her permission.’

  ‘So you do occasionally have scruples. Now I’m amazed. And especially about Signorina Bartrando,’ she added musingly. ‘How can someone with the voice of an angel lend herself even marginally to an extortion racket? Has she fallen on hard times?’

  ‘She lives in perfect comfort.’

  ‘And so do you.’ She glanced around her. ‘Or have you been hit by the global economic downturn? Are the olive oil and ceramics markets heading for the rocks?’

  His brows lifted. ‘No, they are not. But your research has been thorough.’

  ‘But clearly I didn’t look deeply enough,’ Maddie said. ‘For instance, I found no mention of the late Count’s death.’

  ‘He wished it so,’ Andrea Valieri returned. ‘He was a very private man.’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s as well he’s not here to see you drag his name through the dirt.’ She sent him a challenging look. ‘Or, like you, did he consider himself above the law?’

  ‘No-one is that, mia bella.’ His sudden smile touched her like a kiss, and she had to overcome the urge to take a step backwards. Because that would be a damaging act of self-betrayal that she could not afford.

  But she could not control the faint breathlessness in her voice. ‘Don’t—call me that.’

  ‘You think it is more deception?’ he asked softly. ‘I promise it is not.’ The amber gaze studied her, lingering on her breasts then travelling slowly down the rest of her body as if he was imagining what he would see if the robe were gone. ‘You were lovely before, Maddalena. Tonight you are breathtaking.’

  ‘And stop talking like that.’ Her words were falling over each other. Stop looking at me. Stop standing only a few feet away. And, dear God, stop smiling as if you already knew—everything there is to know about me. Because that scares me far more than any number of hours in a locked room. She rallied. ‘You have no right—no right at all.’

  ‘I have any rights I choose to impose,’ he drawled. ‘But there is no need for such panic. I was paying you a compliment, not attempting seduction.’

  ‘Seduction?’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Don’t you mean—rape?’

  ‘No,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘I do not, and you insult me and the ancient name I bear by such a suggestion. Because I swear on the honour of my family, that I have never in my life taken a woman against her will.’ He paused. ‘And you, Maddalena, will not be the first.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘If you are honest, surely you must know that? Or is it possible that you are still an innocent with no experience of how a man expresses his desire?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She took a deep breath, adjuring herself silently to get a grip. ‘You know quite well that I’m engaged—and about to be married.’

  He shrugged. ‘Sì. But one thing does not necessarily rule out another. And you seem—curiously untouched.’

  ‘Curious indeed,’ she said, crisply. ‘As Jeremy and I are deeply and passionately in love. But I suppose I have to endure your unpleasant sexist speculations along with everything else you’ve inflicted on me.’

  ‘That will not be necessary. I have already drawn my own conclusions about the depth of passion you have experienced.’ He paused. ‘But tell me, mia cara, have you never wondered if there could be more?’

  ‘No.’ She glared at him. ‘Because loving someone and wanting to spend your life with them isn’t all about sex.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A cynical man might say you had just condemned yourself, Maddalena.’ He paused. ‘So where is this devoted and passionate lover? If you belonged to me, I would be here, beating at the door, offering everything I possessed in the world to get you back into my arms. Except...’

  ‘Yes,’ Maddie prompted coldly. ‘I’m sure there’d be an exception.’

  ‘Except I would never have permitted you to travel into the unknown without me,’ the Count said harshly. ‘I would not have allowed you out of my sight by day and would have made sure you were safe in my bed each night. Why did he not do the same?’

  Safe in your bed? thought Maddie. In what alternative reality would that be true?

  ‘Jeremy has an important career.’ She faced him defensively. ‘He had other things to do than follow me round Italy.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘In other words, mia bella, he was obeying his father’s orders. No, do not attempt to deny it,’ he added as her lips parted indignantly. ‘My research has also been thorough.’

  ‘And, like mine, incomplete, because you don’t know my future father-in-law,’ she flashed back.
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br />   ‘Nor, Maddalena, does he know me. You seem to forget that.’

  She moved a hand impatiently. ‘Because it makes no difference.’ She paused. ‘Oh God, how can I convince you that he’ll never give into your demands. I expect Interpol are searching for me right now.’

  ‘I would not count on it,’ he returned calmly. ‘Nor should you.’

  ‘I’m counting on one thing only,’ Maddie said fiercely. ‘Getting out of here damned quickly.’ And managed, just in time, to stop herself adding, ‘And as far away from you as it’s possible to get without leaving the planet.’ Because, although true, it was altogether too much of a revelation.

  The sound of the door and the rattle of the trolley announced Luisa’s timely arrival with the drinks, and Maddie turned away, drawing a relieved breath.

  She was tempted to ask for mineral water, but instead accepted her spritzer without comment. Everything as usual, she thought, in spite of him.

  When Luisa had poured him his whisky, she was quietly dismissed and they were alone again.

  Needing a neutral topic of conversation, if there could be such a thing in these circumstances, she wandered towards the fireplace, taking a closer look at the oil painting that hung there.

  ‘A strange subject for a picture,’ she commented lightly. ‘Is that the actual wolf the house was named for?’

  ‘No, he was merely a symbol, painted from photographs. Originally, this house was called Casa d’Estate—the House of Summer. My great grandparents named it that because they spent their summers here to escape the heat of the coast.

  ‘It was my grandfather who made the change. Forty years ago, studies revealed that the Apennine wolf was in danger of being wiped out. He had always found them interesting animals, brave loyal and with close family bonds, and he was among those who worked to protect them. They are now on the list of endangered species.’

  Maddie frowned. ‘But they’re dangerous themselves, aren’t they?’

  He shrugged. ‘To smaller animals, certainly. They are carnivores, sì, but they also eat berries and plants. My grandfather had to battle with local shepherds and the hunters who saw the wolves as trophies. He had the painting done and re-named this house to demonstrate to the world which side he was on.’