Catherine Spencer - In The Count's Bed - The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby

Her reticence frankly bewildered him. He had once been forced to listen to Paolo’s drunken boasting about his London conquests, and restraint had never featured as one of the qualities his cousin most favoured in a woman.

So what was he doing with this girl? His Laura, with her level smoky gaze and proud mouth? On her side, he supposed she might have been beguiled initially by Paolo’s surface charm, but that must have been seriously eroded by the spoilt-child act of the past week.

And there was another factor that had been gnawing at him too. When he’d gone to post her cards that morning in Besavoro, he’d quickly noted down the names and addresses of the recipients, deciding they might prove useful for future reference. So who was the man Carl that she’d written to at Harman Grace, and what was their connection?

Could this whole trip with Paolo be simply a ploy to make her real lover jealous—provoke him into commitment, maybe? Was this what she was hiding behind that veil of cool containment?

No, he thought. I don’t believe that—not in my heart. There’s something else. And I have the whole night to find out what it is. To bring down the barrier and possess her utterly.

But first, he thought, he would have to get her to relax—to respond to him—to enjoy being teased a little. Perhaps tease him in return…

After all, he told himself with sudden cynicism, she would not be the first girl in the world to be coaxed into bed with laughter.

For one strange moment, he wished it were all over, and that she were joyously and passionately his, sitting beside him in the Jeep as they set off to some destination where his aunt’s malice could not follow. Somewhere they could relax in the enjoyment of some mutual pleasure, he thought restlessly.

He longed, he realised, to fall asleep each night with her in his arms, and wake next to her each morning.

He wanted her as unequivocally and completely as he needed food and clothing. And he was going to wipe from his mind every vestige of the sordid bargain he’d been originally forced into by his aunt. From the moment he’d seen Laura, it had counted for nothing anyway.

But it could have been very different, he reminded himself grimly, so his amazing fortune was hardly deserved. And for a moment the thought made him disturbed and uneasy. And, he realised, almost fearful.

Pulling himself together, he picked up the nearest branch of candles and walked over to her, holding out his hand. ‘Let us go into dinner,’ he invited quietly.

Laura had made up her mind to plead a headache and go to her room directly after she’d eaten. But it was clearly ridiculous to express a wish for peace and quiet while the storm was still raging overhead, and might prompt Alessio to draw his own conclusions about her sudden need for seclusion. And that could be dangerous.

It was a strange meal. Conversation was necessarily sporadic. The flicker of the candles sent shadows dancing in the corners of the room, until they were eclipsed by the lightning flashes that illumined everything with a weird bluish glow. It seemed to Laura as if each crash of thunder was rolling without pause into the next, and it was difficult to concentrate on Emilia’s delicious food when she was constantly jumping out of her skin. It was much easier, in fact, to drink the red wine that Alessio was pouring into her glass, and which made her feel marginally less nervous.

One particular thunderclap, however, seemed to go on for ever, with a long, rumbling roar that made the whole house shake.

Laura put down her spoon. ‘Is—is that what an earthquake feels like?’ she asked uneasily.

‘Almost.’ Alessio was frowning, but his gaze softened as he studied her small, pale face. ‘My poor Laura,’ he said. ‘You came here expecting long, hot days and moonlit romantic nights, and instead—the storm of the century. But this house has withstood many storms, if that is any consolation. And it will survive this one too.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ She bit her lip. ‘But—I—I’m quite glad you decided not to stay in Perugia, signore .’

‘Why, mia bella ,’ he said mockingly. ‘What a confession. And I am also—pleased.’

She hesitated. ‘Do you think it’s this bad at Lake Trasimeno? They will be able to get back tomorrow? Paolo and I have all our travel arrangements to work out.’

He shrugged. ‘As to that, I think we must—wait and see.’

‘Maybe you could phone—and find out.’ She tried not to sound as if she was pleading.

‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘If the telephone was still working. Guillermo tells me it went off not long after my aunt’s call.’

‘Oh, God.’ She stared at him, unable to hide her shock and dismay. ‘But you must have a cell phone, surely.’

‘I have more than one, but there is no signal here. I regard that as one of the many pleasures of this house,’ Alessio said, pouring more wine.

Lightning filled the room, and he smiled at her, his face a stranger’s in the eerie light. ‘So, for the time being, we are quite cut off, mia cara .’ He paused. ‘And there is nothing we can do about it,’ he added softly.

THE fierce riot of the storm seemed suddenly to fade to some strange distance, leaving behind a silence that was almost tangible, and twice as scary.

Laura swallowed. ‘Cut off?’ she echoed. ‘But we can’t be.’

He shrugged again, almost laconically. ‘It happens.’

‘But how long are we going to be—stuck here like this?’ she demanded defensively.

‘Until the storm passes, and we can reassess the situation.’

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Don’t you even care?’

‘Why? There is nothing I can do, mia cara .’ He smiled at her. ‘So, I shall let you be agitated for both of us.’

Well, she could manage that—no problem, Laura thought grimly.

She picked up her glass, and drank again, aware that her hand was shaking, and hoping—praying—that he wouldn’t notice in the uncertain light. She said huskily, ‘There’s the Jeep. We could—drive somewhere—some place with lights and a phone.’

‘In this weather, on that road?’ he queried softly. ‘You are suddenly very brave, mia bella . Far braver than myself, I must tell you. So, do you wish me to give you the keys, because I am going nowhere.’ He paused. ‘You can drive?’

‘I’ve passed my test,’ she said guardedly.

His smile widened. ‘Then the decision is yours. But you may feel it is safer to remain here.’

There was a silence, then Laura reluctantly nodded.

‘Bene,’ he approved lazily. ‘And now I will make a deal with you, Laura mia . In the morning, when this weather has cleared, I will drive you anywhere you wish to go, but only if—tonight…’ He paused again, deliberately allowing the silence to lengthen between them.

Laura’s mouth felt suddenly dry. She said, ‘What—what about tonight, signore ? What are you asking?’

He said quietly, ‘That you will again play the piano for me.’

‘Play the piano?’ Laura was genuinely taken aback. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘I am most serious. You played the first night you were in my house. Why not the last? After all, you are going back to your own country. I may never have the opportunity to listen to you play again.’

Laura looked down at the table. ‘I’d have thought that was a positive advantage.’

He clicked his tongue in reproof. ‘And that is false modesty, mia cara . I have heard you practising each day. And once I found Emilia weeping in the hall, because your playing brought back memories of my mother for her also.’