Ultimate Temptation (Harlequin Presents)

by Sara Craven

  She gave Lucy a long look. ‘One of these days, signorina, you and I must discuss the circumstances in which you became so readily available for this job.’

  Lucy picked up her case. She said, ‘I suggest you ask your stepson, contessa. After all, anything I had to say would only be servant’s gossip.’

  Head high, feeling she’d scored a minor victory, she marched back along the passage to rejoin Emilia. She extracted the hairdryer and the adaptor from her case, and began to dry Emilia’s hair, a process the child endured in smouldering silence.

  ‘Now then,’ Lucy said when she finished. ‘Doesn’t that look pretty?’

  Emilia gave her reflection a look of total indifference.

  ‘I am not pretty. I heard Nonna say that no one would ever believe I was Mamma’s daughter, and that I look like a fanciulla abbandonata—a child from the streets.’

  Lucy sighed soundlessly. She said gently, ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Nonna means everything she says. She wants Mamma to send me away to school to nuns who will beat me when I am naughty.’ There was a note of real despair in the small, sulky voice.

  Lucy said robustly, ‘Then you’ll have to be extra good, so there’s no excuse for you to go.’ She reached into her case and brought out a cream-coloured T-shirt with stylised flowers in red and gold cascading across the front. ‘Until your own things turn up, would you like to wear this?’

  Emilia looked down her nose at it. ‘Does it belong to you?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve never worn it, so you won’t be contaminated,’ Lucy said lightly, trying to make a joke of it. ‘And it would make a very pretty nightshirt,’ she added. ‘You can’t sleep in a damp towel:

  Emilia looked mutinous again. ‘I don’t want to sleep,’ she denied, the heaviness in her eyes belying her defiant words.

  ‘Remember what I just said about being extra good?’ Lucy popped the T-shirt over the child’s head, and after only a superficial show of reluctance Emilia consented to allow herself to be tucked under the thin coverlet.

  ‘How long are we going to stay here?’ she asked, watching Lucy replace her hairdryer in its carrying case.

  ‘That’s for your mother to decide,’ Lucy returned.

  The child looked woebegone. ‘We were going to the sea when that car hit us. I like it there. Here, there is nothing.’ She sighed. ‘But Mamma will do what Nonna says. She always does when my father is not here. I hope he comes back soon.’

  I’ll drink to that, Lucy agreed silently.

  ‘This is Zio Giulio’s room,’ Emilia went on. ‘Why am I here?’

  Lucy smiled at her. ‘Because our rooms aren’t quite ready yet. We’re going to stay in our own little House in the grounds.’

  Emilia sat up in bed. ‘The house that was Maddalena’s?’ Her voice was incredulous.

  Far from being a waif, at that moment she bore a strong resemblance to the contessa, Lucy thought ruefully, but she gave a cheerful nod.

  ‘That very one.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘And we’ll have it all to ourselves.’

  Emilia stared at her, clearly weighing the ignominy of being relegated to the housekeeper’s accommodation against the positive advantage of being away from her grandmother.

  ‘But why can we not stay here?’ she demanded at last.

  ‘Because there are going to be other visitors,’ Lucy explained. ‘One of your cousins.’

  ‘I have only one—Angela.’ Emilia’s mouth twisted petulantly. ‘Of course, Nonna would ask her.’

  Lucy bit back a smile at the world-weary tone. ‘Don’t you like her?’ she asked, tugging down the lid of her case.

  Emilia shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter whether I do or not. It’s Zio Giulio who has to like her.’

  The words seemed to fall into an odd stillness.

  ‘Why?’ Lucy asked at last, aware that she was concentrating with unwonted fierceness on the clasps of her suitcase.

  Emilia gave a superior little giggle. ‘Because she’s the girl Zio Giulio is going to marry, of course.’

  Lucy felt suddenly as if she was trapped inside some vast, echoing vacuum. As if all sound, colour and sensation had vanished from the world, leaving her empty and desolate.

  Across some wide and stinging distance, she heard herself say, ‘Are they engaged?’

  The child shook her head. ‘No, but I heard Mamma say to Papà that Zio Giulio was only waiting for her—’ her forehead creased ‘—to grow up and settle down.’

  Lucy looked down at her hands. There were red marks where the clasps had dug into the soft flesh.

  She thought with anguish, Oh, you fool. You stupid, pathetic idiot.

  Aloud, she said calmly and quietly, ‘Well, it’s time you settled down as well. I’m going to go and make, our new home ready for us.’

  With a grudging nod, Emilia slid down in the bed. Lucy went into the bathroom to tidy up, closing the door behind her. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting almost clinically her pallor, and the wide, startled, unhappy eyes.

  She said softly and fiercely, ‘Well, what did you think? You knew from the start that he was only amusing himself at your expense. And now you’ve had it confirmed.’

  She could only pray that Giulio Falcone had no idea how far she’d travelled down the road of no return to a hell of her own making.

  No doubt he thought she was easy game—a woman recently rejected by another man. But if he thought she was in the market to be used—humiliated yet again—if he thought she was a pushover, then she would prove him wrong.

  He might have been able to gauge her physical reaction to him, but oh, dear God, let him not have guessed the depth of her mental and emotional surrender.

  She thought despairingly, Don’t let me have fallen in love with him. Not that—never that.

  It was in her own hands now. He must never know—she must never reveal by word or sign that he had the power to hurt her. Otherwise her time at the Villa Dante would be purgatory indeed.

  And I thought I could hate him, she mocked herself bitterly. I thought I could make that my defence.

  But how could things have moved so far and so fast—and with a man she hardly knew? It was ridiculous—incredible. She wasn’t impulsive. She was steady and reliable, testing the ground before she moved. Her relationship with Philip had been based on secure foundations—or so she’d thought.

  But what did I know? she lashed herself. A few days of that Tuscan sun Giulio had spoken of had already transmuted her, changed her into some unknown and challenging quantity.

  Forty-eight hours ago, she thought slowly, she’d been unaware that Giulio Falcone even existed. Now she was enmeshed and helpless in a bitter web of jealousy and passion.

  She tidied the bathroom like an automaton, pushing the used towels into the linen basket, wiping out the bath with a handful of tisssue.

  If she left, if she actually, physically ran away, Giulio Falcone could not follow her. His fiancee’s presence would see to that.

  But wherever she went, however much distance she put between them, he would be with her in spirit, the demon on her shoulder, the restless yearning that could not be appeased.

  I have to stay, she told herself. I have to see him each day with this Angela, the woman he intends to marry. I have to face the certainty of it. I have to bum out this need for him before it destroys me. To treat it as the pathetic infatuation it undoubtedly is.

  When she eventually returned to the bedroom, she saw without surprise that Emilia had already fallen asleep.

  She stood looking down at the little girl, aware of a tug of sympathy as she saw that a single teardrop had made its way down the small, sallow face.

  You poor little soul, she thought with sudden anger. I’m not the only unhappy one. Damn him. Damn all these Falconese with their beauty and their careless cruelty.

  But I won’t let them get away with it. I’m going to stay here—and fight, even if the real battle’s going to be against m
yself.

  And, holding her bead high, Lucy went downstairs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TO LUCY’S relief none of the family was immediately in evidence, although she could hear the murmur of voices from behind the closed doors of the salotto, including Marco’s childish treble.

  In the kitchen, she found Teresa, a big, smiling woman, already clashing pots and pans with vigour. Lucy introduced herself matter-of-factly, fended off Teresa’s flood of questions with apologetic incomprehension, and removed herself with tactful speed to her new abode.

  It was hardly a spacious refuge, with two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom up a flight of wooden stairs, and a combined living room and kitchen at ground level, but it would do.

  It would have to, she thought with gritted teeth as she tried to decide how to allocate the sleeping accommodation. The children were still young enough to share a room, so she determined to put both the old-fashioned single beds in the larger room, and herself use the folding bed with the rather solid mattress in the small bedroom. Even the contessa couldn’t object to that, she thought grimly.

  The doorways were narrow, but, with a lot of pushing and pulling, she eventually achieved her objective.

  If ever I lose my job, I can always find work as a chambermaid, she thought, pushing her hair back wearily, and wincing faintly as her fingers encountered the bump on her head. Something else to hate him for.

  She’d found the linen store, and was matching sheets and pillowcases, when she heard someone enter the casetta with a swift, forceful stride, and then Giulio Falcone calling her name. For a moment, she experienced a cowardly urge to jump into the cupboard and hide.

  Lunatic, she chastised herself caustically. You’ll have to face him sooner or later.

  She took three deep and calming breaths, then walked collectedly downstairs. He was standing staring around him, hands on hips, his face grim.

  Lucy halted on the bottom step. I need the advantage of the extra height, she told herself. In fact, I need all the help I can get.

  ‘Is something wrong, signore?’ Her voice was cool.

  ‘Everything, I would say, signorina,’ he returned in savage mimicry of her own formality. ‘I have come to apologise to you.’

  Surprise jolted her. It was not what she’d expected.

  ‘There’s really no need—’ she began, but he interrupted her.

  ‘You are wrong, Lucia. There is every need.’ His tone grated. Without doubt, he was very angry. ‘I asked you to stay here to help Fiammetta and the children. I did not anticipate Claudia’s descent on us, or that she would have invited—guests without consulting me first.’ His mouth was compressed into lines of stone. ‘Nor did I expect this.’ He gestured contemptuously around him. ‘I can only say, to excuse her, that she is a law unto herself, and has always been so.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘But her arrival, and its consequences, changes everything, naturally. Under the circumstances, I release you from our bargain. You are free to leave whenever you wish. I suggest the sooner the better.’

  There was a silence.

  It was almost funny, Lucy thought with detachment. Here she’d been, agonising over whether to go or stay, torn by indecision and the pain of love. And here was Giulio giving her her marching orders without a second thought. Only she didn’t feel like laughing.

  She said quietly, ‘And what happens to the children?’

  ‘They have a mother and a grandmother. Between them—’

  ‘Very little will happen. You admitted as much yourself,’ Lucy said bitingly. ‘To be frank, neither of them wishes to be bothered.’ She lifted her chin. ‘So—are you prepared to take the job on?’

  He looked taken aback. ‘I?’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ Lucy gave a decisive nod. ‘In that case, I’m staying, signore, but only for the children’s sake, and until you can find other help.’

  He said quietly. ‘That is impossible.’

  ‘Why?’ She paused, forcing herself to challenge his gaze.

  ‘Because your presence would cause difficulties.’ His tone was harsh. ‘You are not aware of the identities of these—new visitors.’

  ‘You’re wrong, signore. I know exactly who is expected.’ She actually managed a trace of cool amusement. ‘And you really don’t have to worry about a thing. I have no intention of being an embarrassment, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

  He stared at her, his whole attention sharply arrested. He said, ‘You know? You have heard? But how?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ She was shaking inside, but she kept her voice even. ‘It makes no difference to me, I assure you.’

  ‘Then it should.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Lucia, you don’t have to pretend. Not with me.’

  ‘There’s no prefence about it.’ Her nonchalant shrug took every ounce of strength she possessed. ‘It was just—an interlude. I know that. Not to be taken seriously, and certainly best forgotten. That’s what I plan to do. So please don’t worry.’

  ‘It seemed otherwise to me,’ he said quietly. ‘Forgive me, but I had the impression that it was more—far more than just an interlude.’

  Lucy bit her lip. Humiliation was twisting inside her like a knife, but she kept her voice level. ‘Then you’re wrong, signore. But at least I hope we can agree that it’s over. And that it’s best to act as if—as if it never happened at all.’

  ‘Brave words,’ he said. ‘But how will you feel when you are confronted by reality?’ He spread his hands almost helplessly. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt, Lucia.’

  I’m hurt now, she wanted to scream at him. Can’t you see I’m bleeding to death?

  She straightened her shoulders. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself any more. You—you’re really taking something quite trivial far too seriously. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you a false impression of my feelings—my involvement. It really wasn’t intentional.’

  There was a taut silence. Then he said, ‘I see.’ His tone was courteous but impersonal. ‘Clearly my original opinion of you was the correct one.’ He allowed her to digest that for a moment, then pointed to two suitcases behind him. ‘I have found the children’s clothes,’ he added.

  ‘Grazie, ’ she said.

  ‘Prego,’ he returned carelessly. His smile was brief, not reaching his eyes. ‘I wish you good fortune in your newest role, cara. I hope you don’t find it too demanding.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember my place.’

  He was turning to leave, but swung back to face her. ‘Your place?’ he echoed, his voice harsh with anger. ‘I’ll show you your place, mia cara.’

  The endearment sounded like an insult. Two strides brought him to her. His hands clamped on her waist, pulling her forward so that she was pinioned against him, breast to breast. Then, for one endless moment, his mouth possessed hers, roughly, almost ravenously. Shocked, Lucy felt her lips yield, part helplessly under the force of his invasion.

  But even as she acknowledged her surrender it was over.

  Giulio stood back, releasing her abruptly, almost contemptuously.

  He said, ‘And now you have something else to remember. Another item of trivia for your collection.’

  He strode out of the casetta, and the door banged shut behind him.

  Lucy’s pent-up breath escaped her in a quivering sigh. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from the palms of her hands and flexed them carefully to reduce the ache of tension. Her head was throbbing badly now, and she felt close to tears of mingled rage and disappointment.

  Even before that—violation of her mouth, his whole attitude had been an insult, she thought raggedly. Clearly he was scared that she would try to make capital out of what had passed between them with his future wife.

  Did he really think she was that small-minded and spiteful? Yet what else could she really expect? Giulio, in fact, was taking the more realistic stance. They were, in spite of all that had passed between them, still virtual strangers to each other.


  And the fact that she seemed to have every line of his lean, arrogant body etched on some inner consciousness, that the sound of his voice made her pulses do crazy things, that the touch of his lips and hands, even in anger, made her flesh clench in yearning—this—all this was her problem, and hers alone.

  Except that, to her shame, he had guessed all the emotional turmoil she had wanted to conceal, she thought bitterly. Giulio had seen through her flimsy pretence as easily as if she were transparent.

  And now he was clearly concerned that this Angela might do the same. Which was why he’d tried to hustle her off in that humiliating way.

  But she’ll never guess from me, she vowed silently. From here on in, Count Giulio Falcone was forbidden territory, and she would make sure their separate worlds never collided again.

  Lunch, for Lucy, was a fairly tense occasion. Emilia, though reunited with her own clothes, was in a surly mood, and Marco, who’d had the undivided attention of his adoring grandmother for most of the morning, seemed bent on proving just how badly he could behave if he tried.

  A beautiful child, but spoiled rotten, Lucy thought detachedly as she tried to prevent him transferring the contents of his plate to the dining-room floor.

  The contessa kept up a constant stream of talk in her own language, her thin lips stretched in smiles, her hands gesturing restlessly. Fiammetta, clearly embarrassed, made several half-hearted attempts to switch the conversation into English, and draw Lucy into it, but these were swiftly overridden by her mother, who was at pains to ignore Lucy’s presence altogether. It was an object-lesson in how to be rude, performed with the utmost charm.

  And Giulio said nothing at all. He lounged in his chair at the head of the table, looking withdrawn and preoccupied, toying with the excellent escalope of veal in spinach sauce that Teresa had prepared.

  Lucy, risking one swift glance at him from under her lashes, supposed that he was thinking about Angela. Counting the minutes to her arrival, no doubt. She sighed soundlessly, and helped herself .to more green salad.