Bedded For the Italian's Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  If Rafe was disconcerted by her sudden appearance, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even get up, she noticed, merely raised the mug he was drinking from to his mouth and regarded her enigmatically across the rim.

  ‘Yes, your tea.’ Josie was anxious to assure her guest that it was all ready for her. ‘But as you’re down, would you like me to serve it in the drawing room instead?’

  ‘Oh—um—’ after the fiasco of lunch, Juliet had no desire to repeat the experience ‘—couldn’t I just have it here? With you and—Mr Marchese.’

  ‘Rafe,’ he said flatly, putting his mug down on the table. He had no desire to get to know this young woman any better than he did already, but he couldn’t ignore her. ‘I think Josie would prefer it if you allowed her to serve you in the drawing room.’

  Juliet’s lips pursed. ‘And I’d prefer to have it here,’ she insisted smoothly. ‘Is there a problem with that?’

  ‘Of course not, Miss Lawrence.’ Josie was clearly disturbed by the sudden hostility between them. ‘If you’ll just give me a minute to boil the kettle and make some fresh tea—’

  ‘What you’re having is fine.’ Juliet sent Rafe a challenging look. Then, with what he thought was a reflection of his cousin’s arrogance, ‘I thought you’d left, Mr Marchese.’

  ‘I came back,’ said Rafe calmly. Then, mimicking her defiance, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  Her cheeks darkened with becoming colour, proving she wasn’t as confident as she’d like to appear. ‘It’s not my place to comment,’ she retorted tartly, but he couldn’t let her get away with that.

  ‘But you have,’ he pointed out, picking up his mug again, and Josie clasped her hands together in dismay.

  ‘Rafe, please,’ she said, her eyes wide and appealing. ‘I’m sure Miss Lawrence was only making conversation.’ She hurriedly took the cup and saucer from the tray and lifted the teapot she’d been using. ‘How do you like your tea, Miss Lawrence? With milk and sugar or a slice of lemon?’

  Juliet felt embarrassed. There’d been no tension in the room when she’d arrived, but there was now. And it was all her fault.

  Well, maybe not entirely her fault, she defended herself, as Josie added to her cup the milk that she’d requested. She was beginning to wonder if Cary might have some justification for his resentment after all. There was no doubt that Rafe was being deliberately awkward with her.

  ‘Is your room comfortable?’ Josie asked, offering Juliet a seat—and a way out—and, although she would have preferred to remain standing, she realised the old woman wouldn’t sit down again unless she did.

  ‘Um—very comfortable,’ she said, casting another glance at Rafe as she pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It has a marvellous view of the estuary.’

  Rafe watched her through narrowed eyes, wishing the old lady hadn’t put her in his mother’s old room. Wondering, too, what a girl like her would see in a loser like Cary. What had Lady Elinor told him? That she’d already been married and divorced? She didn’t look old enough to have had so much experience of life.

  Juliet was aware of him watching her, lids lowered, lashes to die for shading those disturbing dark eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he assume that like Cary she was only interested in the old lady’s money? For, despite what he’d said to his cousin, she’d seen the expression on Cary’s face when he’d thought Lady Elinor wasn’t looking, and it hadn’t been pleasant.

  The silence had gone on too long and Josie, who had evidently been trying again to think of something non-contentious to say, turned appealing eyes to Rafe. ‘Your grandmother’s having a small dinner party on Saturday night. Did she tell you?’

  Rafe’s mouth compressed. ‘Now why would she tell me a thing like that?’ he queried drily. ‘I’m not invited, am I?’

  ‘N—o.’ Josie had to be honest. ‘But the Holdernesses are coming.’

  ‘Are they?’ He pulled a wry face. ‘The old girl must be pulling out all the stops.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing…’

  But Josie belatedly seemed to realise she’d gone too far in a guest’s presence and, meeting her troubled eyes, Rafe took his cue and said, ‘Well, don’t worry. I’ll be around if you need me.’

  ‘Oh, Rafe!’

  The words were said with such heartfelt emotion that Juliet realised that, whatever she thought of him, the housekeeper didn’t share her view. In fact, there seemed to be a genuine affection between them and Juliet permitted herself another look in his direction.

  Only to encounter his reflective gaze.

  She looked away immediately, but not before she’d gained the impression that his opinion of her was no less critical than hers of him. He evidently did think she was some empty-headed bimbo who’d only latched on to Cary because of his expectations.

  As if!

  Deciding it was up to her to try and change that impression, she forced herself to meet his gaze again and say politely, ‘Cary said something about you being an artist, Mr Marchese. Should I have heard of you?’

  ‘I believe what he actually said was that I had artsy-craftsy friends,’ murmured Rafe rather maliciously, and heard Josie’s sudden intake of breath.

  ‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed again, barely audibly, but Juliet wasn’t listening to her.

  ‘And do you?’ she countered. ‘Have artsy-craftsy friends, I mean?’

  Rafe sighed, putting down his empty mug and regarding her tolerantly for once. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘That’s just Cary’s way of denigrating anything he doesn’t understand.’

  ‘Please, Rafe…’

  Josie was getting desperate and this time Juliet did hear her. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mrs Morgan,’ she said, giving the housekeeper a quick smile of reassurance. ‘Mr Marchese doesn’t like me. That’s obvious. Well, that’s OK. I’m not especially fond of him either.’ She finished her tea and set down her cup. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a look outside, if that’s permitted?’

  When she emerged into the hall again, Cary was just coming down the stairs. Oh, great! she thought. That was all she needed. And the situation wasn’t improved when the door behind her opened again. For some reason, Rafe had chosen to follow her.

  Someone—Cary, she assumed—had turned on some lights and the hall didn’t look half as gloomy as it had done when she’d come downstairs. In fact, with what appeared to be a Waterford crystal chandelier picking out the reddish grain in the panelling, a little of its former grandeur had been restored.

  The angle of the stairs meant that Cary didn’t immediately notice his cousin. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet?’ he demanded peevishly. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. I went to your room, but you weren’t there. Obviously.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’

  If Juliet had hoped that Cary’s words might deter Rafe from interfering, she was mistaken. ‘She’s been having tea in the kitchen, with me and Josie,’ he drawled lazily, stepping into the light. ‘I assume you have no objections?’

  ‘Like hell!’ Cary had reached the bottom of the stairs and now he looked suspiciously from Juliet to the other man. Then, scowling at his supposed fiancée, ‘How did that come about?’

  Juliet sighed. ‘By accident,’ she said tersely, flashing Rafe an exasperated look. ‘I was looking for—for someone to talk to. I thought Josie might be able to tell me a bit more about the house.’

  ‘So what was he doing?’ Cary cocked his head towards Rafe.

  ‘I was having tea with Josie, if it’s any business of yours,’ replied Rafe before Juliet could answer. ‘This isn’t your house yet, Cary. I come and go as I please.’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’ Cary sounded aggrieved. ‘So where’s the old girl? In the conservatory, as usual.’

  ‘I imagine she’s resting.’ Rafe spoke with evident reluctance. ‘She usually rests in the afternoon, as you’d know if you spent more time at Tregellin.’

  Cary didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he placed a
n arm about Juliet’s shoulders, causing a rather unpleasant shiver to ripple up her spine. He bent his head towards her. ‘How about you and me taking a walk in the grounds?’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to show you around.’

  ‘Oh—no.’ With some discretion, Juliet managed to ease herself out of Cary’s reach. ‘I—er—I was just thinking of taking a bath.’

  She heard Rafe’s disbelieving exhalation of breath and determinedly avoided his gaze. It wasn’t anything to do with him if she chose to change her mind.

  ‘A bath, eh?’ Was Cary being deliberately provocative? she wondered. ‘Oh, yeah, that sounds like a plan. We could take a bath together, baby. Have you noticed how big the tubs are here? It makes you wonder what the people of Great-Grandmama’s generation used to get up to when Great-Great-Grandpapa used to throw those wild house parties between the wars.’

  ‘Not what you’re imagining, Cary,’ declared a cool, aristocratic voice from the direction of the morning room. Lady Elinor was standing in the open doorway, the little dog, Hitchins, tucked under her arm. ‘Rafe.’ She nodded towards her other grandson. ‘A minute before you leave, if you please.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JULIET had a bath, but it was a fairly cold one. The only shower was hand-held, and she used it to sluice herself down before stepping out onto the marble floor. Fortunately, she’d laid a towel beside the bath before getting into it. She was already shivering, and imagining bare feet on cold marble didn’t bear thinking about.

  There was no hair-drier, but she’d washed her hair that morning, so that didn’t worry her. Nevertheless, she wished she’d brought her own drier with her. She’d been spoiled, she thought. She was used to staying in hotels where every amenity was provided.

  Not any longer, of course, she told herself, the spectre of the electricity bill briefly rearing its ugly head. And, however awkward it was for her here, at least it would provide her with enough money to pay it. If she could just ignore Rafe Marchese, it wouldn’t be all that bad.

  With the knowledge that Lady Elinor was giving a dinner party for her grandson on Saturday evening, Juliet studied the clothes she’d brought with her rather critically. It wasn’t that she was short of clothes. On the contrary, until David had cancelled her credit cards, shopping had been something she enjoyed. But she hadn’t brought a lot of clothes with her. Cary’s complaint that his grandmother never spent any money hadn’t prepared her for the real situation at Tregellin. Although the old lady might not have a lot of money, she lived in some style. The upkeep of the house alone had to be excessive, but there seemed to be no question of her leaving it and moving to smaller premises.

  Which meant Juliet had to save her little black dress until Saturday. It was the most formal thing she’d brought, and when she’d tucked it into her case back in London she’d had real doubts about bringing it. She was glad she had now. Cary would expect his ‘fiancée’ to wear something suitable.

  That evening she decided to wear a pair of cropped trousers in aubergine silk, whose low waist exposed a generous wedge of creamy skin. She’d wear a mauve and green patterned top with the trousers, its smock style successfully covering the breach.

  It was a little after seven when she went downstairs. Cary had told her before they’d parted in the hall that his grandmother usually had supper at half-past. Although she would have preferred to stay in her room until it was time to eat, that would have been impolite, and, hearing the sound of voices from the drawing room, she headed in that direction.

  The housekeeper was on her way out as Juliet entered the room, and after wishing their guest a good evening she hastened on her way. Expecting to find Cary with his grandmother, Juliet was perturbed to find it was just the two of them, though the old lady was graciousness itself as she offered her guest a sherry before the meal.

  ‘Oh…’ Juliet had never liked sherry, finding it too sweet, usually, but good manners dictated that she accept Lady Elinor’s offer. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d help yourself,’ added the old lady, gesturing with her cane towards the tray on the nearby bureau. ‘I have a little arthritis in my hands and I don’t find it easy lifting the decanter.’

  Juliet nodded and went to do as she’d been asked, grateful that she need only pour herself a small amount. ‘My father suffered from arthritis in his hands, too,’ she said, coming to sit on the leather sofa opposite the old lady’s armchair. ‘He used to say it was with holding a pen for so many years.’

  Lady Elinor acknowledged this. She was looking particularly elegant this evening in an ankle-length black skirt and a cream silk blouse. Once again, a shawl was draped about her shoulders, a Paisley pattern this time in autumn shades.

  ‘Your mother died before your father, didn’t she?’ she remarked, and Juliet conceded that this was so.

  ‘She died just after I was born. My father was devastated, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Of course.’ Her hostess absorbed this. ‘And your father was considerably older than your mother, I believe,’ she went on, startling Juliet by her knowledge. ‘But at least he had you. You must have been very close.’

  ‘Yes, we were.’ Juliet felt a twinge of the distress she’d suffered when her father had died. Then, frowning, ‘Did you know my father, Lady Elinor?’

  ‘No.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘But I remember my son and his wife talking about Cary’s friendship with Maxwell Lawrence’s daughter. And I know Cary was dismayed when I removed him from all the friends he’d had in the village.’

  Juliet took a tentative sip of her sherry and found it wasn’t as sweet as she’d anticipated. ‘That seems such a long time ago.’

  ‘Well, of course, it is.’ Lady Elinor sighed. ‘It’s easier to look back when you’re my age.’ She paused. ‘But you married someone else. Cary attended your wedding. Did you realise you’d married the wrong man?’

  Juliet pulled a wry face. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘You’d prefer not to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’ Juliet bit her lip. ‘It was just a stupid mistake, that’s all. David never loved me. As Cary probably told you, he was only interested in my money.’

  Lady Elinor’s brows drew together. ‘And your father didn’t insist that he sign some kind of agreement before you became his wife?’

  ‘My father died a year before I met David,’ explained Juliet ruefully. ‘And as I say, I believed him when he said that money didn’t matter to him.’

  ‘Money always matters,’ declared the old lady firmly. ‘Except perhaps to someone like Rafe.’ She paused. ‘You’ve met Rafe, haven’t you? He’s my daughter Christina’s son. Unfortunately she was never married to his father.’

  ‘Ah.’ Juliet pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘May I ask what you meant when you said Rafe wasn’t interested in money?’

  It was a personal question, but happily the old lady didn’t appear to take offence. ‘Perhaps I should amend that to my money,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘He does extremely well without it. The small gallery he’s just opened in Polgellin Bay has proved quite a success.’

  Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘So he is a painter?’

  ‘He paints,’ agreed Lady Elinor consideringly. ‘He also teaches art at a comprehensive school in Bodmin.’

  ‘Really?’ Juliet realised Rafe had been deliberately vague on the subject. ‘How interesting!’

  ‘You think so?’ The old lady sounded as if she had her doubts. ‘His mother broke my heart with her—reckless disregard for propriety. She painted, too, and look what happened to her.’

  ‘Cary said she—fell from the balcony of an hotel.’

  ‘Well, that’s the official story, anyway.’

  Juliet stared at her. ‘It’s not true?’

  Lady Elinor smiled a little drily. ‘Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Miss Lawrence? Why don’t you tell me how you and Cary came to meet again? It seems such a coincidence. Do you visit the casino, by any chance?’

  ‘Th
e casino?’ Juliet was taken aback.

  ‘Yes. That is where my grandson works, isn’t it?’ She pulled a wry face. ‘I can’t imagine how he persuaded them to employ him after the fiasco he was involved in in South Africa. You know about that, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  Juliet didn’t know what else to say and for once she was relieved to hear heavy footsteps crossing the hall. A moment later Cary appeared in the doorway, somewhat overdressed in satin-seamed black trousers and a dark red dinner jacket.

  He came into the room with a slight swagger, as if he expected to be complimented on his appearance. But all Lady Elinor did was raise her dark eyebrows at him. And when Hitchins, who had been asleep in his basket at her feet, awoke and started growling, she bent and lifted the little animal onto her lap.

  ‘Grandmama.’ Cary greeted her politely, gave the dog a less-friendly look and then came to seat himself beside Juliet. ‘You’re looking delectable this evening,’ he said, bestowing an unwelcome kiss on her neck just below her ear. ‘Hmm, and you smell delectable, too. Is it Chanel?’

  ‘No.’ Juliet refrained from saying that it was a simple herbal essence that wasn’t half as expensive. ‘Your grandmother and I have been waiting for you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Cary would have kissed her again, but Juliet managed to avoid it. ‘If I’d known you were missing me, I’d have been much quicker, believe me.’

  ‘She didn’t say she’d been missing you, Cary,’ observed the old lady a little maliciously. ‘As a matter of fact, Juliet and I have been having a very interesting conversation.’

  ‘You have?’ Cary looked a little uneasy now.

  ‘Yes.’ His grandmother smiled her satisfaction. ‘She was just about to tell me where the two of you renewed your acquaintance.’

  Juliet sighed, aware that Cary had stiffened beside her. This was an eventuality they hadn’t covered, though she realised in hindsight it had been foolish not to do so. ‘We—er—we met at the home of mutual friends,’ she lied, the glance she cast in Cary’s direction warning him not to contradict her. ‘It was the Bainbridges, Cary, wasn’t it? John and Deborah. We’ve both known them for years.’