Sara Craven - The Italians - Angelo, Rocco & Stefano - Wife in the Shadows / A Dangerous Infatuation / The Italian's Blushing Gardener

‘You regard my grandson’s shameful conduct—this outrage to your godmother’s hospitality as nothing?’ The Contessa’s question was icy. ‘Are you saying, signorina, that you are accustomed to share your bed with strangers? That this unforgivable insult should be—laughed off in some way? Treated as one of the aberrations of modern life? If so, I doubt if Prince Damiano will agree with you.’

Ellie flushed again. ‘No,’ she said, her voice constricted. ‘No, of course not.’ She hesitated, ‘Does he—have to be told?’

‘I think so,’ said the Contessa. ‘Before the story reaches him from another source.’ She paused. ‘It is unfortunate that Carlo Barzado witnessed what had happened, because he will tell his wife, and she will immediately tell the whole world.’

Ellie’s lips parted in a soundless gasp. ‘Oh—surely not.’

The Contessa shrugged. ‘It is inevitable.’

The Principessa sat down beside Ellie, and took her hand. She said more gently, ‘We must suppose that Count Manzini gave some indication—at dinner, perhaps—that he found you attractive, my child, and you were flattered by his attention. Gave him reason to think that you would welcome him later. Is that how it was?’

Ellie bit her lip. The truth was impossible, she told herself, so she would have to rely on prevarication.

She said quietly, ‘If I did, it was—unintentional.’

‘But I think we must accept that was the case and act accordingly.’ Her godmother’s tone was firm. She looked towards the door. ‘I am sure Count Manzini will agree.’

Coming into rooms silently must be one of his talents, Ellie thought bitterly because she’d been totally unaware of his arrival—yet again. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe, the lean body apparently relaxed, his dark face impassive as he listened to what was being said.

But Ellie wasn’t fooled. The anger in him might be dammed back, but she could still sense it. Feel it reaching her across the room.

But why, she demanded silently, when I’m the innocent party in all this? And you know it.

Angelo walked slowly forward. ‘I deeply regret, Signorina Blake, that I completely misunderstood the invitation I thought I had received.’ His mouth twisted harshly. ‘It was an unforgivable error, and naturalmente, I wish to make amends for my behaviour in any way that is suggested.’

‘My dear Angelo,’ said his grandmother. ‘In view of Prince Damiano’s known moral stance, you have only one course of action. Tomorrow, mio caro, to prevent further scandal, you will announce that you and Signorina Blake are engaged to be married.’

ELLIE’S HAND JERKED and the remains of her brandy splashed down the skirt of her robe.

She said in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘No. I can’t—I won’t do it. It—it’s crazy. I tell you—nothing happened.’

‘I believe you.’ Lucrezia Damiano took the glass from her hand. ‘And if only you had been seen by no-one but the Contessa and myself, there would be no problem.’ She sighed. ‘But my dear Cesare, I fear, will adopt a very different attitude.

‘Promised lovers carried away by their feelings, he might accept, although he would certainly not approve. But a casual encounter based on a passing attraction, and conducted in his house?’ She shuddered. ‘That he would find intolerable.’ And paused, adding, ‘Unforgivable.’

Ellie could feel the tension in the room crackling around her like an electrical storm.

‘I’ll talk to him,’ she said wildly. ‘Somehow make him understand.’

‘But, dear girl,’ said the Principessa. ‘What could you possibly say?’

And in one thunderstruck moment, Ellie realised that both her godmother and the Contessa knew perfectly well exactly where and with whom Angelo had really planned to spend the night.

That they’d probably been aware of the situation for some time.

But that, even if it was not a secret, it would still not be spoken of openly, because discretion had to be observed at all costs.

Which, in the short term, she was being called upon to pay. And her silence was only the first instalment.

She bent her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said wearily. ‘I suppose.’

‘You show good sense,’ the Contessa remarked. She looked calmly at her grandson. ‘You have not spoken, Angelo mio.’

His tone was icy. ‘Perhaps I am lost for words.’

‘Tuttavia , I am sure you appreciate the necessity. Your negotiations with Prince Damiano will go more smoothly if you undertake them as Signorina Blake’s fidanzato, rather than her attempted seducer. I am certain you must agree.’

‘Under the circumstances, it seems I have little choice,’ he said with an undisguised bitterness that made Ellie send him a surprised glance from beneath the veil of her lashes. He added with chilling clarity, ‘And an engagement is not a marriage.’

Excuse me, Ellie wanted to say indignantly, but just who is doing the big favour here and to whom? Because, Count Angelo Manzini, I wouldn’t want you if you came gift-wrapped.

And tried to put out of her mind the sudden searing memory of the way his mouth had moved on hers with such devastating sensual purpose, and her own shocked, aching reaction.

‘Then the matter is settled,’ the Principessa said briskly, and rose. ‘Now I suggest we try to get some rest for what is left of the night.’ She paused, then added pointedly, ‘Let us hope there will be no further alarms to disturb us.’

Ellie did not find the remainder of the night particularly restful. Her belongings had already been transferred to her new room, thanks to the supremely efficient Giovanni, whom, she thought shuddering, she never wanted to look in the face again. She had to admit that the accommodation was more luxurious than the tower room and possessed a very much larger and very comfortable bed for its occupant to sink into.

But she could not relax. She had far too much to think about, little of it pleasant. For one thing, it was clear that she and Angelo Manzini had been deliberately set up, and almost certainly by Silvia, but what she couldn’t figure was—why?

For another, as she’d turned at the door of the salotto to say ‘Goodnight’, she’d found him watching her go with an expression of such scornful resentment that she’d felt her skin burn under his regard.

Anyone would think, she’d thought angrily, as she went upstairs, that I was the one having the illicit affaire, instead of him. But whatever problems he’s having, he’s brought entirely on himself, and he has no-one else to blame.

Plus he must know the last thing I ever wanted was to become involved with him or any of his sordid little games, so a touch of gratitude wouldn’t come amiss.

Nor could she escape the terrible irony that the first time she’d found herself in bed with a man was only as a result of mistaken identity. She supposed it was almost funny, yet she had never felt less like laughing in her life.

The entire situation had been total humiliation, she thought as pain twisted inside her, turning rapidly into complete disaster.

She lay in the darkness, her mind revolving wearily over the same well-trodden ground, trying to make sense of it all and failing miserably.

Wondering too how she would get through the horrific difficulties of the day ahead, pretending to be engaged to a man who appeared to despise her.

She could find no answer to that and there were already pale streaks in the eastern sky when she eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

It was mid-morning when she was woken by one of the maids bringing her a breakfast tray of tea with lemon, warm rolls, ham and cheese. At least she was being spared the gauntlet of the dining room, she thought, as the memory of Signor Barzado’s face, goggle-eyed with shock, invaded her shuddering mind. But that had to be the least of her worries.