Susan Stephens - At Her Latin Lover's Command - The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command

‘Oh, Dante!’ she breathed.

He stiffened and detached himself. When he gazed down at her languorous face, there was nothing in his expression to reveal how he felt—except for the burning of his dark eyes.

‘I’ll be outside,’ he said thickly. And left before she could reply.

She reached out to the chair in the booth and all but fell onto it, her legs quite weak. Her reflection startled her. She looked as if she’d been ravished and had enjoyed every minute.

Starry-eyed, she hastily dressed, convinced now that they would make love quite soon. And that a closeness would slowly develop between them. He couldn’t keep his hands off her! she exulted.

‘They’re delivering the things I bought,’ she announced breathlessly to him when she joined his brooding figure outside the shop. ‘I had some funny looks from the assistants, though,’ she added, her face pink with embarrassment.

‘Good. It was a clever idea of yours,’ he said quite casually.

She blinked. ‘What was?’

‘Hauling me into the changing booth,’ he drawled. ‘Word will get out that we’re crazy about one another and that we take any opportunity to touch. Take my arm. Let’s continue the deception, shall we, while I show you around Bellagio?’

Miranda tagged along the quaint, narrow streets beside him, her head whirling. Had he kissed her because he’d found her irresistible, or because he’d seen a chance to pretend they had a normal marriage? And how would she ever know? she thought with exasperation.

‘The lake is shaped like an upside-down Y. Bellagio sits where the three arms of Lake Como meet,’ Dante was telling her in jerky, polite tones as they sauntered down the street, their arms romantically entwined.

His head bent to hers attentively. If she didn’t know better, she thought bitterly, she’d think they were similar to the many lovers she could see gazing into one another’s eyes. Only Dante’s travel-guide delivery made her think differently.

‘It’s generally accepted to be one of the loveliest spots in Italy,’ he continued.

An elderly couple smiled fondly at them, clearly imagining Dante to be whispering sweet nothings instead of spouting the contents of a brochure.

‘Really?’ she said but he didn’t appear to notice her sadness.

‘ Certo ,’ he assured her in a low growl. He was hating this, she thought. Loathing their closeness. ‘As you can see, it is unspoiled and picturesque, despite the visitors who flock here.’

They walked along an arcaded piazza and while he was murmuring textbook details about Roman cohorts coming to Como for rest and recuperation two thousand years ago she was trying to distance herself from her reaction to his inherently seductive voice and gestures so that she could think of a way to discover his true feelings about her.

If he hated her, she could work on that by proving her innocence—somehow. Given time she could turn lust into love, perhaps. But if he was truly indifferent…

‘Nero came here. Da Vinci, Verdi, Rossini, Liszt, Wordsworth, Shelley… They found it inspired creativity—’

‘OK. That’s enough. You’ve sold it to me,’ she said, uncomfortable with his detachment.

‘What?’

‘I can read the guide books later,’ she muttered.

‘We’re here to be seen and for people to notice us and comment on our manner together,’ he told her tightly. ‘It would look odd if we walked in icy silence.’

‘We could talk about things that matter to us,’ she suggested quietly.

‘And risk a row? It would be preferable to thrash out our differences in private. Ah,’ he said, sounding relieved to have the chance of a diversion. ‘Here’s where the ferryboats leave. Something you need to know. I do have a private motor launch moored below the palazzo ,’ he told her, ‘but Carlo loves the public boats because they serve drinks and food. In any case, you’d need the car ferry—which leaves further up there—’ he waved a vague hand to their left ‘—if you want to explore the opposite shores comprehensively.’

Private. Public. Yes, she thought in sudden inspiration. She would get Dante into a private situation and see how he responded to her when nobody was around as a witness.

Cheered, she considered his last remark. ‘I don’t have a car,’ she pointed out.

‘Not yet. As my wife and Carlo’s mother, you can have anything you want, remember? It’s one of the prices I am prepared to pay. I give, you take.’

She only lacked one thing she desired. Dante’s love.

‘A small car would be great,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I don’t like being beholden to you for money. That’s why I wanted to work and be independent.’

‘Then I will give you an allowance and you can spend it as you wish.’ To her surprise he bent closer, his mouth nuzzling her ear. ‘Cars, jewellery, dresses, sexy underwear…’

She quivered, rivulets of heat flowing through her at the husky suggestion in his voice. ‘You’d like me to buy—!’ she began with a breathless hope, and then he broke away.

‘Felipe! Maria!’ he exclaimed, warmly triple-kissing a dark-haired woman and hugging her companion with affection. ‘Allow me to present my wife, Miranda. Darling, these are my good friends Felipe and Maria, who looked after my uncle’s palazzo when he was away.’

With a sinking heart, she summoned up a smile. Dante must have seen them coming. That was why he’d murmured something seductive to get a suitable reaction from her.

His friends would have seen the blush that had crept up her face, the lift of her head as she’d gazed adoringly into Dante’s eyes… Oh, how could she have been so stupid?

‘How do you do—?’ she began politely, swallowing her disappointment.

‘ Piacere, Contessa! ’

Felipe bowed low and air-kissed her hand. But his eyes twinkled back at her and she decided she liked him enough to make her own smile genuine.

‘Welcome,’ enthused Maria, kissing her several times. ‘You are as beautiful as Dante claimed. No wonder he was lost without you! He was a different person when he knew you were well enough to return.’

‘Was he?’

Miranda’s heart stopped for a brief moment before resuming a louder, faster beat. She longed for that to be true.

‘To begin with, when we met, we thought he was naturally grumpy,’ confided Felipe with a grin. ‘But, ah, when he knew you were on your way here the sun came out and he began to sing in the garden—’

‘Don’t give all my secrets away!’ joked Dante. But he looked uncomfortable.

Miranda was intrigued by what the couple had said. Surely Dante’s marked change of mood couldn’t be explained purely by a relief that Carlo would be more settled? Or was she trying to fool herself?

‘…meet for dinner,’ Maria was saying. ‘But we are late for the Rapido to Como. Excuse us. We will talk more later, yes?’

After a welter of kisses and farewells, they hurried off.

‘Did you sing?’ she asked at once.

He shrugged and seemed shifty. ‘I might have done. Often I’ll have the refrain of a tune in my head and I sing when I’m alone.’

‘You weren’t alone,’ she pointed out. ‘Felipe heard you.’

‘He might have done,’ he conceded. ‘You must understand, though, that in accordance with Italian custom, Felipe exaggerates,’ Dante added shortly. ‘He was being gallant. Telling you what you want to hear.’

‘Is that what you do, Dante? What you’ve done throughout our marriage?’ she asked tensely.

‘No. I have lived so long in England that I’ve lost the art of effusive flattery. I say what I mean, though perhaps not quite so bluntly as the English.’

She thought about this. ‘Felipe genuinely seemed to think you were pleased because I was on my way here,’ she persisted, hoping to get to the truth.