Virginia Heath - Lilian And The Irresistible Duke

‘Well, if they did, I can assure you it has nothing to do with me! I would have put them straight and told them I wasn’t the least bit interested in such nonsense.’

A vehement and convincing denial which needed testing. In his experience, nobody manipulated better than a woman, especially a woman with a mission. ‘Yet here you are… Right next door to my bedchamber…’ His eyes appreciatively travelled the length of her, settling on the bare toes poking beneath the hem of her dress and back up again to the blush which now stained her delicate collarbone, swanlike neck and the alabaster cheeks his fingers suddenly ached to touch—despite all his rampant suspicions. ‘Looking decidedly interesting.’

‘I was about to get into the bath.’ In her embarrassment, her teeth worried her plump bottom lip, drawing his eyes there as she clutched at her shawl like a shield. ‘Your servants brought me the wrong trunk by mistake. Mine must be with Lady Alexandra.’ As if noticing her bare toes for the first time, she twisted her feet awkwardly to hide them under the copious material of her skirt. ‘I was fetching my soap.’

‘I can fetch it for you—and perhaps help to scrub your back?’

His outrageous flirting had the most wonderful effect. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and she threw back her shoulders like an offended queen. Something which did wonders for her full bosom beneath the thin shawl. ‘No, thank you.’

‘If you change your mind…’

‘I won’t!’ She spun on her bare heel and marched back to her bedchamber, slamming the door loudly, and he found himself frowning as he heard her turn the key decisively in the lock.

A woman determined to seduce a man would have flirted back, not shut him out. She would have parried and simpered and used all her feminine wiles to lure him into her trap. Mrs Fairclough had been offended and angry. Much too keen to get out of his way. Exactly like a woman who was as surprised and horrified to see him as he was her.

Pietro winced at his own crassness.

What was the matter with him to be so unforgivably rude? He was prone to cynicism and who could blame him? But thanks to the restlessness which continually ate away at him, he was in danger of becoming too cynical and jaded. And perhaps too vain and arrogant in his appeal, if he was assuming she had purposely been patrolling the hallway in a state of partial undress simply to meet him and seduce him—when there was no possible way she could have known he would come back when he had. In fact, he had told his sister he would not be home that night as he had a longstanding meeting with an old friend in Napoli he could not possibly cancel.

The old friend had really been one of his stalwarts, the American widow Mrs Ida Wayfair, whose house was but a stone’s throw from here. But like the paintings he bought and sold, he kept his affairs ruthlessly discreet. In public he was widely known as a charmer—but was careful nobody knew which of the women’s beds he actually visited.

Ida had an insatiable physical appetite, a liberal attitude in the bedroom and the same strict views on any sort of serious, emotional and permanent attachment as he had. She was also very discreet—something he liked her a great deal for. Except the thought of slipping between Ida’s well-used sheets again hadn’t been enough to tempt him from feeling sorry for himself this evening, and he had cancelled. Then taken his frustration at his own dissatisfaction and bad mood out on Carlotta’s unexpected guest because the sight of her had unnerved him.

Again.

She hadn’t deserved that.

He would apologise to her later for being crass and for offending her delicate sensibilities with his outrageous and indelicate flirting. He never usually behaved so clumsily—especially if he found the lady as attractive as he did in this case. Usually, Pietro prided himself on being a charming flirt, who enjoyed the subtle art of seducing as much as the ultimate seduction itself.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had just come over him, but knew he had to make amends. She was a guest in his house and of his sister’s. He shouldn’t be shamelessly flirting with her for exactly those two reasons. Firstly, it was a point of principal to never dally with any friends of the family, because it was much too close to home for comfort. And secondly, he never ever dallied at home because it was much too personal. He might use the house as a way to seduce them, but he would never seduce them in it. The only person who had ever slept in his bed here in the palazzo was him and that was the way he intended to keep things.

He could leave a strange bed at exactly the time of his choosing, which was always before the lady beside him woke up. Cosy breakfasts gave ladies ideas—even ladies like Ida—and daylight brought a truth to the proceedings which Pietro would rather not experience. He liked to keep his emotions detached from his desires and to do that required distance. For both those reasons, Mrs Fairclough and her potent kisses were strictly out of bounds henceforth. He had no place flirting with her because she was already much too close for comfort.

Although Mrs Fairclough had looked like a woman who needed a bit of flirting in her life. That was probably what had drawn him to her last winter. That and her lovely green eyes which had called to him. She had seemed burdened then, worried, and he had taken it upon himself to make her feel better. He still had no idea why he had needed to do that. He wasn’t completely heartless, it was true, but he was no Good Samaritan either. Yet her quiet sadness had lured him to her and once he was with her, he had fallen completely under her spell. Then fate had placed them in the same carriage unchaperoned and he had kissed her because…well…he still wasn’t entirely sure how to explain that. Other than it had felt entirely right at the time. She had responded with more passion than her prim, no-nonsense attire had suggested she would. More passion than either of them had expected. Certainly enough to keep her fresh in his mind these past four months. The little oasis of excitement in the barren desert of dissatisfaction he seemed doomed to wallow in.

Lilian had to give herself a stiff talking to before plucking up the courage to go down to dinner, and that was after the stiff talking to she gave Alexandra. Typically, her cousin brushed it aside as an oversight, claiming she hadn’t remembered introducing the Duca to Lilian at Lady Fentree’s party. Without confessing to her they had shared a heated kiss in a carriage all alone, and that kiss now rendered her situation very awkward, to say the least, it was difficult for Lilian to convey exactly how miffed she was about being kept in the dark about the situation.

She was even more miffed at his behaviour earlier, because his shallow, unsubtle flirting had soured a memory which she had stupidly treasured since. In that carriage, she had felt special, interesting and appealing in a way she hadn’t in years. Or so she had thought after three large glasses of wine and some of the worst weeks of her life. His clumsy attempt at seduction on the landing this evening had made her realise he hadn’t thought her particularly special or interesting at all. Merely convenient, needy and pathetically malleable and that galled. Because she had been all of those things that fateful night in that carriage.

But as a guest in his house, she would have to remain polite even if she was annoyed at him for making her feel cheap and convenient. Besides, she would not allow the despicable actions of one overly charming Lothario to spoil her great Italian adventure. Better to face it head on, learn from it and consign it to the past like the foolish mistake it was. At some point this evening, she would talk to him and politely explain it had not been his charm which had led to her kissing him back, but the alcohol and that she had realised it had been a huge mistake from the outset. One she had absolutely no intention of repeating. Then, the air cleared, she would keep herself occupied with Rome and all the delights it offered and avoid her now-distasteful host wherever possible.