Leaning towards her, he blew softly, watching a pale, silky tendril of hair move against her neck before asking, ‘Hungry?’
Thrown by the sudden change of direction, she looked at him warily. ‘For what?’
Eyes gleaming between thick, dark lashes, he murmured, ‘I can provide whatever you need. Food, or…’
Swallowing, she managed jerkily, ‘Make it food. Despite last night’s excellent meal, I’m ravenous.’
She felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment when, sighing, he commented, ‘Not very romantic, but somehow reassuringly wife-like. Ah, well, as soon as I’ve showered I’ll rustle up some breakfast’
‘Won’t your housekeeper…?’
‘I’ve given Maria the day off.’
Far from enthusiastic about encountering what she guessed would have been grim, if tacit disapproval, Bel could only feel pleased.
Throwing back the duvet, he got out of bed, and as she watched him stretch, lithe and virile, the now familiar pang of desire clutched at her stomach.
Though he was tall, there was nothing ungainly about him. All his movements held the unconscious animal grace of someone perfectly co-ordinated, in control of his own body.
As though feeling her eyes on him, he turned to drop a brief kiss on her mouth. ‘You can have the en suite bathroom all to yourself…Unless you’d like to shower with me?’
Her heart began to beat erratically and her throat went dry. ‘No, thank you,’ she refused hurriedly.
Sighing, he agreed, ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Then he added mockingly, ‘I suppose we should save some excitement for when we’re married.’
Shrugging into a short black silk dressing gown that had been thrown over a chair, he went out, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving her thoughts in chaos.
The whole thing was utter madness. But just hearing ‘when we’re married’ said so lightly somehow made the idea more concrete. Made it seem feasible.
Thoughts crowding and jostling in her mind, chaotic as Rome’s traffic, Bel got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom.
Miraculously the rose had recovered and, its crimson petals opened wider, was perfuming the air. Its triumphant survival seemed to be in some strange way symbolic, but symbolic of what, she wasn’t sure.
When she’d showered, enjoying the flow of hot water over her skin, she dried herself on the soft, absorbent towels and borrowed a short white bathrobe which, though she was tall and far from narrow across the shoulders, managed to swamp her.
Almost as if its owner had expected an unequipped visitor, there was a hairbrush and a toothbrush still in their cellophane packets, and an untouched tube of toothpaste.
After cleaning her teeth and fastening her long hair into a ponytail, Bel made a quick foray into the deserted living room to find her discarded top, before going back to the bedroom to collect the rest of her clothing, grimacing at the thought of having to wear yesterday’s undies.
But the matching peach chiffon set had vanished, and lying over the chair where they had been was an exquisite satin and lace eau-de-Nil bra and a pair of dainty panties.
Though they were her size, she had never seen them before, and it was obvious that they were brand-new.
Flabbergasted, she stood quite still, gaping openmouthed at them. How on earth…? Unless Andrew was some kind of magician…?
Closing her mouth, she told herself sternly that there must be a logical explanation for their presence.
A sister, perhaps?
No, he’d spoken as if he was, like herself, an only child.
So had they been bought for a previous lady-friend?
That seemed to be the most likely.
He had a nerve!
Gritting her teeth, Bel hesitated. It was a case of either borrowing the garments and dressing or confronting him in the terry robe, which, no matter how tightly she tied the belt, seemed to have a disconcerting tendency to gape open.
Deciding she’d feel more confident fully clothed, she gathered up the undies and went back into the bathroom to get dressed.
When she returned to the living room, which had lost its initial strangeness and was starting to look familiar, she found there was still no sign of Andrew, but an appetising smell of coffee wafted in from the balcony.
Heading that way, Bel saw he was already at the table, casually but smartly dressed, leisurely turning the pages of the morning giornale.
Tossing the newspaper aside, he rose to his feet at her approach and, with the courtesy that seemed to come naturally to him, pulled out a chair for her.
‘Coffee?’ he queried. ‘Or would you prefer to start with orange juice?’
‘Coffee, please,’ she answered tightly.
His quick glance took in her grim expression, but he filled both their cups from the cafetière without comment, and she sipped in silence while he helped her to a warm roll and some delicious-looking cherry conserve.
The balmy air carried the evocative scent of pine and myrtle, and the sun, having scaled the vine-covered wall, was using the wrought-iron of the balcony to paint tiger stripes of light and shade across the snowy cloth.
Deciding to leave the bigger issue for the moment, Bel braced herself to deal with the smaller one. ‘The undies I’m wearing, where did they come from?’
Appearing in no way put out, he answered casually, ‘From a small boutique just round the corner.’
Her soft mouth tightened. ‘I mean, who do they belong to?’
‘Ah,’ he murmured softly, ‘I see. No, they’re not some ex-mistress’s. They were bought for you.’
‘I don’t see how they could have been,’ she objected.
‘The lady who runs the boutique happens to be a friend of mine, so I phoned to tell her what was needed. By the time I’d finished showering, her assistant had brought them round.’
Bel was forced to admit that most men would probably never have thought to question her needs. Andrew had not only thought, but taken the trouble to provide an answer.
Flustered, ashamed of her previous tone, she said, ‘Oh…Well, thank you…But you must let me pay for them. I really can’t accept—’
‘As we’re going to be married,’ he broke in firmly, ‘I can’t see that one inexpensive gift is going to compromise you.’
‘Who said we were going to be married?’
He studied her, slit-eyed against the sun. ‘When you opted to stay for breakfast, instead of running as fast as your legs could carry you, I presumed you must have decided in favour.’
Perhaps her subconscious had? Terrified by the thought, she cried in panic, ‘No, no, I haven’t. I—I can’t marry you.’
‘Why not?’ he asked calmly. ‘You know you want to.’
It was the truth, and she was badly shaken to realise how much she wanted to. He was the only man who had ever succeeded in getting through her defences, the only man she had ever gone overboard for.
But everything had happened so quickly, and how could she consider marrying someone who felt nothing for her apart from a powerful sexual attraction?
Hardly above a whisper, she said, ‘It would never work.’
The strong bones prominent, the dark brows sharply accenting his face, he urged, ‘If we were both prepared to try we could make it work. Any relationship, whether the people involved love each other or not, needs a willingness to give and take if it’s to succeed.
‘We’ve got a lot going for us. Contrary to what you seem to think, I want more from marriage than just a woman to warm my bed. I want someone with similar tastes to share things with, good companionship…Good companionship should be rated as highly as good sex. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Disconcerted by his sudden question, she found herself stammering, ‘Well, yes, I—I suppose so. But I still don’t believe it would work.’
‘Because we don’t love each other?’
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
‘You look about fifteen with that ponytail,
but you must be twenty-one or two?’
Startled, she answered, ‘I’m twenty-three.’
‘How many times have you been in love?’
‘Once,’ she answered truthfully, if misleadingly.
‘Which proves you don’t give your heart easily…’
If only he knew!
‘You’ve admitted you wouldn’t go back to Bentinck, and you’re not the kind of woman to indulge in casual affairs, so if you don’t marry me, what are you going to do?’
What would she do with her life? A future alone looked grey and bleak and depressingly empty compared with what she might have if she married Andrew.
His eyes on her face, he pursued, ‘You and Bentinck had discussed the subject, so you must want children?’
‘Yes, but…’ She hesitated.
Usually Andrew kept his emotions well hidden behind a cool barrier of good-humoured sophistication, but now his jaw tightened with anger. ‘You wouldn’t want mine?’
Shaking her head, she managed, ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’
‘What were you going to say?’
Swallowing hard, she ducked her head. ‘I was about to ask if you would want children?’
‘I’d always intended to have a family once I’d found the right woman.’
He would make a good father, Bel found herself thinking, as she remembered the child in the Villa Borghese.
Reaching out his hand, he lifted her chin. Recognising that she was weakening, he pressed, ‘So it’s settled?’
As if there was no help for it, she nodded.
Just for an instant a look of almost savage triumph flared in his handsome eyes, then it vanished. His voice casual, he said, ‘In that case I suggest we fly back to London without delay and I’ll make arrangements for us to be married as soon as possible.’
Feeling as though she had been snatched up by some whirlwind, she protested, ‘Why the hurry?’ Then, halfjokingly, she said, ‘Are you afraid I’ll change my mind?’
The instant the words left her lips she saw by his expression that she’d put her finger on it.
His face becoming suddenly guarded, he answered a shade brusquely, ‘Let’s say I can’t wait to make you my wife.’
‘But I need time. I have to talk to Dad and—’
‘Time might be something we haven’t got too much of.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
Coolly, he pointed out, ‘There’s a possibility you may already be pregnant.’
As the matter-of-fact statement exploded inside her head like a hand grenade Bel realised he’d sounded serene, complacent, anything but concerned.
But he had known what kind of woman he was taking to bed, and he must have been aware that she’d been too overwhelmed by passion to give it any thought. So why hadn’t a man of his experience exercised some caution?
The answer seemed obvious. He’d been hoping for an additional weapon to use against her, to force her into marrying him…
Jumping to her feet, she burst out, ‘You wanted me to get pregnant. didn’t you?’
Lean fingers closed around her wrist and jerked her onto his knee. When she would have wriggled free, a steely arm held her captive while his lips brushed her bare shoulder in a sensuous caress.
‘I’m in no particular hurry to become a father…’ His mouth moved up the side of her neck to the warmth of her nape, punctuating his words with a series of soft, baby kisses that made chills run up and down her spine.
Feeling her shiver, he went on, ‘As a matter of fact I’d prefer us to have a few years on our own first, so you can travel with me and we can enjoy getting to know one another…But just in case you are pregnant. and to observe the proprieties, I think we should be married without delay.’ His lips followed the clean curve of her jaw and lingered tantalisingly at the corner of her mouth. ‘Agreed?’
Common sense warned that the old saying ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure’ was most probably not only trite but true. But, though she might live to regret it, there was no way she could say no.
‘Agreed.’ Her whispered assent was lost as his mouth closed over hers and he kissed her with an expertise that sent the world spinning and blotted out the bright day.
When he raised his head, she opened dazed green eyes to find he was smiling, watching her in a way that made her skin prickle.
Softly, he said, ‘I’d like nothing better than to take you back to bed and stay there all day, but unfortunately we haven’t the time.’ Then, in the tone of someone who is prepared to brook no argument, he added, ‘You’ll fly home with me, of course?’
Accepting that there was no way she could slow down the whirlwind, Bel nodded. ‘Yes, but I’ll need to go back to the flat to pack and hand in the key.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE instant his aims were accomplished, the ardent lover was replaced by a cool, brisk man of business.
‘I’ll ring the airport and let Captain Drummond, my pilot, know when we’ll be ready to leave.’
While Bel sat over a freshly poured cup of coffee Andrew made a series of short phone calls, then a slightly longer one to someone he addressed as Giovanni, issuing what sounded like low-toned but precise instructions.
Moving between the two capitals as freely as he did, Andrew needed to do little else apart from summoning a taxi, apprising his housekeeper of the situation and locking up the villa.
Their cab had arrived and was drawn up outside the ornamental iron gates. When Andrew had helped Bel in, he gave the driver her address, instructing, ‘Make it as quick as you can.’
The man nodded, and with a fine disregard for other road-users set off to cover the comparatively short distance in record time.
As soon as their driver’s attention was on the road Bel turned to Andrew, a little frown marring her smooth forehead, and asked abruptly, ‘How did you know where I was staying?’
Clearly his mind was on other things, and the question caught him unawares. He raised a dark brow. ‘Staying?’
Knowing he was far from obtuse, she guessed he was playing for time. ‘You gave the driver my address without asking me.’
His eyes narrowed and, watching him, she saw a flicker of something that might have been chagrin across his face. Then with a faint shrug he suggested, ‘Perhaps you mentioned it yesterday.’
‘I’m quite sure I haven’t mentioned it,’ she denied flatly.
‘In that case I must have learnt it from your exfiancé,’ he said smoothly.
No, she didn’t believe a word. It was possible that Roderick had told him, but most improbable…Yet if he hadn’t learnt it from Roderick, how had he known?
She was still mulling over the puzzle when they reached their destination.
Telling the driver they would be ten minutes or so, Andrew followed Bel up to the flat
He waited in the living room while she changed into a lilac-coloured silk-jersey suit and smart shoes, coiled her pale blonde hair into a smooth chignon and quickly repacked.
When she came back he was standing, feet a little apart, hands in his pockets, looking out across the sunny square. Once again the back of his dark head stirred some memory in her mind, but before she could pinpoint it he turned to face her.
‘All set?’ Though he spoke casually, she sensed he was eager to be gone.
‘I’d just like to phone my father and let him know I’m coming home. I haven’t been in touch with him since I arrived, and if he’s been trying to get hold of me…’
‘Will you tell him you’re getting married?’
She shook her head. ‘There’s such a lot to explain. I’d rather talk to him when I get back…’ As she spoke She was dialling his office number.
It Was answered at the second ring. ‘Mr Grant’s secretary speaking.’
‘Hello, Joan, this is Bel. Can I speak to Dad?’
‘Sorry, your father isn’t in,’ Joan Mitchell told her. ‘He has a meeting with Mr Hargreaves at the bank, followed by a busi
ness lunch and an afternoon appointment I’m not expecting him back much before threethirty. Would you like him to call you, or can I give him a message?’
‘Will you tell him I’m leaving Rome shortly, and I’ll see him some time this evening?’
‘Certainly. Oh, by the way, earlier today Mr Harmen was asking how long you’d be away.’
‘Why? What did he want?’ Bel asked without enthusiasm.
‘Your last report on the Ridgeley account. I found it for him.’ With uncharacteristic venom, Joan added, ‘I can’t help but dislike that man.’
‘I’m not too fond of him myself,’ replied Bel, then said sharply, ‘Has he been bothering you?’
‘Not in the way you mean. I just get the feeling he isn’t to be trusted, either on a personal or a business basis.’
‘I feel the same. Though it’s probably pure prejudice. He has been with the firm a long time, and Dad trusts him…Oh, speaking of Dad, when you talk to him can you emphasise that there’s absolutely nothing wrong, everything’s fine.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘Thanks. Bye.’
As Bel replaced the receiver Andrew asked, Trouble at the office?’
‘Not really. Just a mutual dislike and distrust of our company secretary…’ In response to some faint stirring, some shadowy half-knowledge lurking on the periphery of her mind, she went on, ‘His name’s Mortimer Harmen…I suppose you don’t know him?’
‘No.’ Andrew’s denial was short and decisive. ‘Ready to go?’
‘I just have to return the key.’
While she had a quick word with the custode di casa Andrew carried her luggage down, and within minutes they were on their way to the airport.
During the journey, while Bel struggled to get her thoughts in order and catch up with events, Andrew listened to the taxi driver’s long-winded account of the birth of his new son and heir with commendable patience.
He was a strange, complex man, Bel thought, hearing him offer congratulations. Tough and ruthless in some ways, and with layers of hardness that gave him the strength of laminated wood, yet he had a basic warmth, a genuine liking for people.
By the time they reached the airport all the formalities had been completed, and the plane was only waiting for its passengers to board before starting its flight to London.
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