Bedded For the Italian's Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  ‘Yes, the Bainbridges,’ agreed Cary gratefully, but Juliet, hearing the falseness in his tone, could well understand why Lady Elinor had chosen to investigate his employment for herself. It was to be hoped the old lady wasn’t a friend of the Bainbridges, too. Debbie would be most confused to hear that Juliet was planning on getting married again without telling her. Not to mention meeting her future fiancé at her house.

  ‘And that was when?’

  The old lady wasn’t finished yet and this time Cary intervened. ‘Oh—it must be over six months ago!’ he exclaimed expansively, inspiring a silent groan from Juliet.

  ‘Over six months?’ queried his grandmother at once, as Juliet had known she would. ‘So why haven’t I heard anything about it? When you were down—let me see, six weeks ago—you made no mention of the fact that you were thinking of getting engaged, Cary.’

  Cary looked blank-faced now and Juliet knew that, once again, she’d have to come to his rescue. ‘That was my fault, Lady Elinor,’ she lied, hoping her smile would hide her blushes. ‘I’m afraid I asked Cary to keep our relationship to himself. With it being such a comparatively short time since my divorce, I didn’t want anyone to think I was rushing into marriage again.’

  The older woman’s lips thinned. ‘Even though you are,’ she commented drily, and Juliet gave a rueful shrug. But, fortunately, Josie returned at that moment to say that supper was ready and Cary got gratefully to his feet.

  The rest of the evening progressed without further embarrassment. Juliet couldn’t decide whether Lady Elinor had been satisfied with the answers they’d given her or merely biding her time until morning. Whatever, the meal—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with a fruit compote for dessert—passed without incident, and afterwards Juliet had the perfect excuse to retire early.

  ‘It’s been a very long day,’ she said, when Cary chose to question her departure, and, meeting her narrowed gaze, he evidently decided not to push his luck.

  ‘Yeah, you get a good night’s rest,’ he said, catching her hand as she passed him and raising it to his lips. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, darling. Sleep well.’

  In fact, Juliet slept only fitfully. Although the bed was comfortable, it was a strange bed, and the knowledge that there were still three more days to go weighed heavily on her mind. After tossing and turning for hours she eventually rose just as the sky was lightening, padding barefoot across to the windows and peering out.

  The view was calming. Sunrise on the estuary, and the mudflats were a veritable hive of activity. She’d never seen so many birds in one place before, cackling and squawking as they vied with one another for the grubs the receding tide had left behind.

  It looked as if it was going to be a fine day. The clouds, such as they were, were thinning, and a delicate haze was lifting to reveal a pale blue horizon. Juliet knew a sudden urge to be outside, far from another round of interrogation. For no matter how amiable Lady Elinor had been the night before, she was fairly sure her curiosity hadn’t been totally assuaged.

  In the bathroom, the hand shower ran lukewarm, but it was better than nothing. Chilled, but refreshed, Juliet dressed in jeans and a V-necked olive-green sweater, pulled on Converse boots, and left her room.

  As on the night before, there seemed to be no one about, which wasn’t really surprising. It was barely seven o’clock. Much too early for Lady Elinor to want breakfast.

  The kitchen was chilly. The Aga, which had evidently kept the place warm the afternoon before, was cold now and blinds still covered the windows. Juliet opened the blinds and, locating the kettle, set it to boil. If she could just find a jar of instant coffee, she thought, she’d be happy.

  She found what she was looking for in the third cupboard she opened, and by then the kettle was boiling. She put two teaspoons of coffee in a mug and then filled it with hot water. Then she turned to a rather elderly fridge, looking for milk.

  She had her back to the door when a key turned in the lock and it opened. She swung round in surprise to find Rafe Marchese letting himself into the house. He was carrying a couple of bags and the delicious aroma of newly baked bread came to her nostrils. She had thought she wasn’t hungry, but she’d been wrong.

  ‘Making yourself at home?’ he remarked lazily, putting the bags down on the pine table. He was wearing khaki cargo pants this morning and a navy body-warmer over an open-collared Oxford shirt. There was a disturbing glimpse of dark body hair showing in the opening, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back to display forearms that were deeply tanned and also spiced with hair.

  Juliet felt herself going red as she looked at him. Honestly, she thought with annoyance, you’d think she was a foolish virgin who’d never dealt with men before. Which was so untrue. What was it about Rafe Marchese that made her think about things any decent girl would be appalled by?

  ‘Um—do you want some?’ she asked, trying to sound cool and collected, when she was anything but, and Rafe’s lips curved in amusement.

  ‘It depends what you’re offering,’ he said, watching as the hot colour flamed in her cheeks.

  She was certainly easy to watch, he thought. Easy to disconcert, too, which was interesting. This morning she was wearing jeans that hugged the sexy contours of her hips, and, although she persistently pulled her sweater down, it kept inching up to display a tantalising glimpse of creamy skin.

  She was certainly nothing like the woman he’d expected when the old lady had told him that Cary was bringing his fiancée to Tregellin. And, although common sense told him it would be unwise to bait her, there was something about her that aroused a malicious desire to see how far he could go.

  For her part, Juliet knew he was being deliberately provocative, and she wondered why. Dammit, she was a divorced woman, and supposedly Cary’s fiancée besides. Did he know she was hopelessly out of practice when it came to men like him?

  ‘Coffee,’ she replied now, with heavy emphasis, and, as if taking pity on her, he grinned.

  ‘If you mean that—stuff—you’re drinking, I’ll pass, thanks,’ he said, pulling various bakery products out of the bags. ‘Josie makes filter coffee. The equipment’s around here somewhere.’

  ‘I hope you don’t expect me to make you special coffee!’ exclaimed Juliet indignantly, and he arched a mocking brow in her direction. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ she persisted, refusing to let him daunt her. ‘Isn’t it a bit early to be making a social call?’

  Rafe sucked in a breath. ‘This is your idea of being sociable?’ He propped his lean hips against the drainer, crossed his feet at the ankles and folded his arms. Then, regarding her with dark, assessing eyes, he added, ‘Remind me to avoid you when you’re feeling touchy. Or is that tetchy?’ He grimaced. ‘One or the other.’

  Juliet pursed her lips. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘What question was that?’

  Juliet knew he knew damn well what question, but she played along. ‘I asked what you were doing here so early in the morning. Did Lady Elinor send for you?’

  Rafe looked down at the toes of his boots before answering her. Then he said, ‘In a manner of speaking,’ not wanting to explain exactly why he was here.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did she send for you?’ If he could be provocative, so could she. Then a thought occurred to her. ‘She’s not ill, is she?’

  Rafe’s lids lifted and he looked at her again with those dark, disturbing eyes that caused such an insistently hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. ‘Not that I know of, anyway,’ he remarked. Then, casually, ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’

  Juliet blew out a breath. She felt as if she’d been running fast and not getting anywhere. He was being purposely obtuse and she didn’t know how to penetrate his mocking façade.

  ‘It was—very pleasant,’ she said at last, resisting the urge to expand upon her words. She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Hmm, this is good.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’
>
  Rafe didn’t believe her, but he really didn’t have the time to prove it to her right now. Rubbing a hand over the incipient beard on his jawline, he straightened away from the unit and said, ‘D’you want a croissant? They were made fresh this morning and I can vouch for that.’

  Juliet was tempted, but she wasn’t sure it would be wise to take anything from him. Her tongue circled her lips. ‘Did you make them?’

  Rafe gave a short laugh. ‘No,’ he said, for once being straight with her. ‘I didn’t get to bed till one a.m., so I certainly wasn’t up at five o’clock making pastry.’

  One o’clock! Juliet would have loved to ask what he’d been doing until that time, but she didn’t have the courage to go that far. Besides, he’d probably been with some woman, and did she really want to know?

  Instead, she said, ‘OK,’ unable to deny the lure of the delicious-smelling roll. It was so long since she’d been able to afford such a treat.

  The pastry crumbled in her fingers and tiny flakes flecked her lips as she struggled to get it into her mouth. She looked incredibly sexy and Rafe knew an unexpected desire to lick the pastry from her lips with his tongue. She wasn’t wearing any make-up this morning, and he sensed her mouth would be soft and wet and sweet-smelling—

  Dios! He arrested his thoughts at that point. She was Cary’s girlfriend, for pity’s sake. What was he thinking of, allowing himself to get a hard-on when there was absolutely no chance of him easing it with her? If he had any sense, he’d keep her at arm’s length.

  Juliet had put down her cup to take the pastry and now she pulled a paper towel from the roll and wiped her lips. ‘That was—fantastic!’ she said, and meant it. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Rafe returned, aware that she was looking at him with much less hostility now. Evidently his generosity had had the opposite effect on her and it would be fatally easy to change his mind.

  But, to his relief, he heard the sounds of activity from upstairs. Josie’s rooms were above the kitchen and dining room, and Rafe guessed she’d either heard his car or their voices. Probably the latter.

  Keeping his tone deliberately light now, he said. ‘So—what are you and Cary planning on doing today?’

  Juliet picked up her cup, took a sip, and set it down again. ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Believe it or not, before you arrived I was intending to go for a walk. Maybe along by the river.’

  Rafe regarded her assessingly. ‘In those boots?’

  Juliet glanced down at her feet. ‘They’re very comfortable.’

  ‘But not exactly waterproof,’ observed Rafe drily. ‘You need rubber boots. The river bank is very muddy at this time of year.’

  ‘Oh, well…’ Juliet shrugged her slim shoulders, causing her hair to bounce against her neck. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to confine my explorations to the garden.’ She paused. ‘Are you—teaching today?’

  Rafe’s brows drew together. ‘The old lady told you that, I suppose?’

  ‘That you teach? Yes.’ Juliet frowned. ‘It’s not a secret, is it?’

  ‘No.’ But she could tell he didn’t like the idea that they’d been talking about him. ‘You’ll find that Lady Elinor prefers the thought of me pursuing regular employment to making my living in some other way.’

  ‘Painting, you mean?’

  He grinned without malice and her stomach twisted in response. He was so damn attractive and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t been aware that being single again had definite disadvantages. It was so long since she’d either had, or wanted to have, sex with a man, least of all David. But the idea of Rafe’s hands on her body caused goose bumps to feather her skin.

  Not that it was likely to happen, she reminded herself. Apart from the fact that he wasn’t interested in her, she was supposed to be Cary’s girlfriend. There was no way he was going to forget that, however much she might wish he would.

  ‘Yeah, painting,’ he said now, just as Josie came into the kitchen. Her sharp eyes took in their presence and the bakery bags lying open on the table. And Rafe found himself feeling guilty. As if the thoughts he’d been having were somehow visible on his face.

  ‘You’re up early, Miss Lawrence,’ she said, addressing herself to Juliet first, and Juliet gave a rueful smile.

  ‘It was such a lovely morning,’ she said, even though she’d had no idea what it was like when she’d first got out of bed. ‘I thought I might go for a walk.’

  ‘And I delayed her,’ put in Rafe pleasantly. ‘She needs rubber boots and she doesn’t have any.’

  ‘What size shoes do you take, Miss Lawrence?’ asked the housekeeper, bending to open what appeared to be a flue. Juliet realised then that the Aga hadn’t been dead, as she’d imagined. As soon as Josie opened the vents, it roared to life again.

  But they were waiting for her answer, and forcing herself to concentrate, she said, ‘Um—five-and-a-half, I think.’

  ‘Then you can borrow my boots, if you want to,’ declared Josie triumphantly. She straightened, resting a hand on the curve of her spine as though it pained her. ‘They’re a six, but if you add a couple of pairs of socks, they should do.’

  Juliet didn’t know what to say. She’d never had to borrow anyone’s boots before, but this was not the time to be choosy. ‘That’s awfully kind of you,’ she said. ‘And, please, call me Juliet. Yes, I’d like to borrow your boots, if you don’t mind?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RAFE arrived home soon after noon. His apartment was over the small studio where he exhibited his own, and occasionally other artists’ work. It had been a dream of his when he was growing up to open his own premises. And, although the rewards were small, he got a great deal of satisfaction out of it.

  He’d had a class at the school where he worked part-time that morning. But this afternoon, Liv Holderness was coming to the studio so he could make some provisional sketches for her portrait. He sometimes used a camera to get a perspective on his subject. He needed to assess height and depth and the kind of lighting that would be needed. Photography was another subject he’d become fairly expert in, though painting was his first love.

  In his apartment, which comprised a large living and dining area, a small kitchen, bedroom and bath, he flung off his body-warmer and went to make himself some coffee. Spooning the grounds into the filter, he was reminded of his early-morning encounter with Juliet Lawrence. Irritation stirred in his gut. Dammit, what was it about that woman that bugged him so? She’d been reasonably polite, friendly almost, but he’d behaved like a jerk.

  To begin with, anyway, he amended, remembering how he’d provoked her. And, really, he’d prefer not to think about the way he’d reacted later. Letting her get under his skin had been pathetic. Apart from anything else, she was Cary’s fiancée. And from what he’d learned from Lady Elinor, it didn’t sound as if she’d done a decent day’s work in her life.

  According to the old lady, she’d been the pampered only child of a wealthy businessman. She’d gone straight from finishing-school into marriage, apparently becoming a pampered wife. The reasons the marriage hadn’t worked out weren’t so easy to fathom. Irreconcilable differences, he assumed, switching on the coffee-maker. Wasn’t that the current jargon when couples got bored with one another and wanted to move on?

  Why she would attach herself to Cary Daniels was another mystery. Unless she was one of those females who needed a masculine hand to hold. After all, she was—what?—twenty-something, with no evident desire for independence. Didn’t she care that Cary went through money like a knife through butter?

  Whatever, it was nothing to do with him, he reminded himself. Thank God, he had his own life and could make a comfortable living without anyone’s help. That was one of the things that annoyed the old lady. Lady Elinor would have much preferred him to be like his cousin. As it was, she could rarely catch him on the raw.

  He’d brought a ciabatta sandwich home with him. Shades of his father, he thought wryly. He’d a
lways liked Italian bread. It was filled with smoked ham and cheese and he was enjoying it with his second mug of coffee when Olivia arrived. Shoving its remains into his small fridge, he put down his mug and went to answer the door.

  Olivia Holderness was nothing like Juliet Lawrence. Though, once again, why he should be making a comparison annoyed the hell out of him. Just because Liv was a busty blonde, who liked to wear short skirts and high heels to draw attention to her shapely legs, was no reason to criticise her. Yet that was what he was doing, he recognised. Comparing her with a woman who might be tall and slim and classy, but didn’t have half Liv’s charm.

  Nevertheless, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he escorted Liv downstairs again and into his studio. The place was closed to the public when he was working. Unlike some painters, Rafe didn’t like an audience. Besides, any serious collectors tended to make an appointment, and Rafe’s main source of income was commissioned stuff.

  ‘I can only stay an hour,’ Olivia was saying conversationally as he seated her in the chair he intended to use to get perspective. ‘Bobby thinks I’m at the hairdresser’s,’ she added as Rafe adjusted the lights he was angling to expose her face. She giggled. ‘I’m going to have to make some excuse when he notices my hair still looks the same as it did. What do you think?’

  Rafe was still getting his head round the fact that ‘Bobby’ was Lord Robert Holderness. It was easy to forget that Liv was Lady Holderness now, despite the way she looked. She’d confided that Bobby had fallen in love with her because she was so different from his other wives. And that Rafe could readily believe.

  ‘My hair looks all right, doesn’t it?’ She was persistent. ‘I mean, I want it to look good in the portrait.’ She giggled again. ‘Imagine me having my portrait painted! I mean, who’d have thought it?’