Bedded For the Italian's Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JULIET huddled under the covers of her bed knowing she’d done something totally stupid. No matter how she tried to justify what had happened, nothing could alter the fact that she was supposed to be Cary’s fiancée and she’d let Rafe Marchese kiss her.

  Kiss her!

  Was that really all he’d done? Was that a genuine description of his hungry possession of her mouth? Dear God, she felt as if he’d ravaged her. How else to explain the searching pressure of his tongue against her teeth, the pitiful defence she’d put up before she’d let him have his way with her?

  Well, to be honest, he hadn’t actually had his way with her, she reassured herself. He’d kissed her, yes; he’d thrust his tongue down her throat. He’d even pushed his leg between hers to bring her closer. But he hadn’t actually touched her intimately. Not really. Even if she was still wet and throbbing from her own pathetic arousal.

  How on earth had it happened? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. One minute she’d been preparing a dignified exit, and the next he’d grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. Why hadn’t she stopped him? Why hadn’t she slapped him or said something to wipe that predatory look off his face? Why had she behaved as if he held all the cards?

  But, heavens, her limbs had turned to jelly as soon as he’d put his arms around her. He’d held her so close to him that she’d felt the taut muscles of his thighs against her legs. Her breasts had been crushed against his chest in a way that must have left him in no doubt as to their reaction, and when his hand had cupped her bottom she’d felt an unfamiliar wetness in her pants.

  Touching her breasts now, she discovered they were still hot and heavy. Much like his erection, she remembered, shivering convulsively. He’d felt so big, so powerful, pushing against her stomach with an insistence she’d never experienced before. David had made love to her, but she’d never responded so violently. And, God help her, she’d wanted Rafe to show her exactly how satisfying making love with him might be.

  Which was unforgivable on all counts. What was wrong with her, for goodness’ sake? What had happened to the cool, controlled individual she’d always believed herself to be? Heavens, she hadn’t even caused a scene when David had walked out on her. Was that because she’d felt she deserved it or because she hadn’t really cared?

  And why was she having this crisis of identity now? Just when she was supposed to behave with the style and confidence for which she’d once been famous? What was it about Rafe Marchese that made her act in a way that was totally unfamiliar to her? What she did know was that if Rafe had been the one to ask her to act as his fiancée, she’d be in deep trouble now.

  Even deeper than the trouble she was already in, she acknowledged. Dear heaven, the man had only kissed her and already she was a quivering wreck.

  Looking back, from the safety of her bed, Juliet wondered now what might have happened if Josie hadn’t interrupted them. Fortunately they’d heard her footsteps as she crossed the hall, and by the time she’d appeared in the doorway Rafe had put half the width of the conservatory between them. But she was sure he must have been glad of the comparative darkness to conceal his frustration. Juliet knew she’d been flushed and breathless, limp with relief or disappointment. She wasn’t sure which.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Cary suggested they take a trip into Polgellin Bay.

  Juliet had no idea what time he’d returned the night before and she didn’t really care, but she did think he ought to spend some time with his grandmother instead of going out again.

  ‘Oh, she’s OK,’ he said when she broached the subject with him. ‘I went to see her earlier on and she said she was feeling much better.’

  Juliet wasn’t sure whether this was the truth or not, but her own conscience was still pricking her and she didn’t feel she had the right to criticise Cary’s behaviour when her own was so much less than perfect. But she suspected his information had come from Josie. When she’d seen Lady Elinor earlier, she’d said nothing about her grandson. Only Rafe.

  The old lady had sent word with Josie that she’d like to speak to Juliet after breakfast. She’d been eating in the dining room. Cary hadn’t come down yet, and, although Juliet had offered to have her meal in the kitchen with the housekeeper, Josie had been adamant.

  ‘We don’t want you going away with the idea that a visit to Tregellin means doing for yourself,’ she’d declared firmly. ‘Now, you sit yourself at the table, and I’ll fetch you some coffee and toast.’

  It was when Josie came back to see if Juliet needed anything else that she delivered Lady Elinor’s summons. ‘She’ll be getting up later on,’ she confided, ‘but I think she’s concerned that you might feel you have to hang about here until she appears. She’s feeling much better this morning. Quite looking forward to the dinner party tonight. Now, I’ll show you to her room. She should have finished her breakfast by now.’

  Lady Elinor lay propped on lace-edged pillows in a bed as big, if not bigger, than the one Juliet had slept in. Her room was huge, too, with the kind of antique furniture Juliet had only ever seen in a saleroom. But for all its faded grandeur, there was something impressive about it, and the view from the windows was worth a king’s ransom.

  Or a developer’s fortune, thought Juliet unwillingly, remembering what Cary had told her. If she were Lady Elinor, she’d do everything she could to hang on to this place. It wasn’t just a house. It was a family tradition.

  ‘You saw Rafe last night.’

  After giving an impatient response to Juliet’s concerned questions about her health, Lady Elinor got straight to the point.

  ‘Um—yes.’ Juliet hoped her face wasn’t as revealing as her uncertain stomach. Already the coffee she’d had for breakfast was threatening to return. ‘I believe you spoke to him, too.’

  ‘Well, of course. He came to see me.’ The old lady was complacent. ‘He worries about me. Or so he says.’

  ‘I’m sure we were all concerned about you yesterday evening,’ said Juliet carefully. Dammit, she owed Cary her support. ‘Rafe—Rafe said you’d had flu earlier in the year and perhaps you were doing too much.’

  ‘Rafe should keep his opinions to himself,’ retorted Lady Elinor shortly. ‘Who was it that called Charteris? Was it him?’

  ‘No, I think that was Josie,’ said Juliet, hoping she wasn’t treading on anyone’s toes. Then, appealingly, ‘It’s always best to have a professional judgement.’

  ‘Humph.’ The old lady regarded her dourly. ‘It comes to something when you can’t make a decision for yourself.’ She frowned and then changed the subject entirely. ‘Did you tell Rafe I’d given you a ring?’

  Juliet caught her breath. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’ She frowned. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t ask you about it.’

  Juliet moistened her lips. ‘Well, actually, I wasn’t wearing it.’ She paused and when it became apparent that something more was required, she added awkwardly, ‘I’d put it in my pocket while I was helping Mrs Morgan prepare supper, and I’m afraid I forgot about it. Until—until later.’

  Until she’d escaped from the conservatory, actually. Uneasily she remembered running up the stairs, scolding herself for what had happened, feeling like a scarlet woman. She’d pulled the ring out of her pocket then and rammed it onto her finger. As if it might act as some kind of talisman and erase the mistakes she’d made.

  It hadn’t, of course. But its glowing heart had sobered her. Reminded her that whatever happened here, she was not at all what either Rafe—or Lady Elinor—believed her to be.

  ‘I see.’ If she hadn’t been feeling so ashamed, Juliet might have wondered at the faintly smug gleam that entered the old lady’s eyes at her words. ‘Well, you’re wearing it this morning.’

  ‘Oh—yes.’ Juliet couldn’t prevent the index finger of her right hand from circling the flawless stone. ‘It’s so beautiful! Naturally I’ll give it back before we leave.’

  ‘Give it ba
ck?’ Lady Elinor stared at her disapprovingly. ‘Of course you won’t give it back. The ring is yours.’

  ‘But—’ The words stuck in her throat but Juliet knew she had to say them. ‘If—when—Cary buys me an engagement ring, I won’t need it any more.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘Of course I like it.’

  ‘Then we’ll hear no more about it.’ The old lady flapped a dismissive hand. ‘It pleases me to think that my grandson’s wife will wear the ring. That in time she’ll pass it on to her granddaughter. Now, I don’t want you spending the day worrying about me. Get out and enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you later.’

  And that was how Juliet had had to leave it. But she wasn’t happy about the situation and she determined that when her ‘engagement’ to Cary ended, she’d return the ring to Lady Elinor with her gratitude.

  Now, aware that Cary was still waiting for an answer to his invitation, Juliet gave in. If they were out of the house for a few hours, Lady Elinor would have time to get more rest. Besides, she would enjoy seeing a little more of the surrounding area. So far, apart from her walk along the river bank, she’d spent all her time in the house.

  Telling Josie what they were doing, they left Tregellin a few minutes later. It was already after ten o’clock and, although it had rained earlier, a watery sun was breaking through the clouds as they drove down the valley towards the coast. The road twisted and turned, high hedges giving glimpses of the sea in places, the salty breeze blowing strongly from the west.

  Polgellin Bay was bigger than Juliet had expected. They’d followed the coastal road into the resort, passing pretty villas with palm trees growing in their back gardens, the lushness of the vegetation an indication of how temperate the climate must be. A narrow main street angled down to a harbour, with fishing boats and fancy yachts protected by a sea wall.

  Cary parked by the harbour. At this time of year it was nowhere near as busy as it would be in the season, he told her. At present, it was possible to walk into the shops and cafés without difficulty. In late spring and early summer, the crowds made getting around at all a nightmare.

  Juliet doubted anywhere so pretty could be deemed a nightmare whatever the season. Now that the sun had come out it was quite warm, and she was glad she’d shed her jeans in favour of low-rise cotton trousers. Teamed with a hot-pink camisole and a white cotton shirt, they made her feel as if she was on holiday. Maybe for a few hours she could forget the duplicity of her role.

  A harbourside pub offered outdoor tables, and Cary suggested they have a drink before going to explore the town. ‘Just coffee for me,’ said Juliet firmly, but she appreciated the opportunity to sit and enjoy the activity around them. A fishing boat had just come in and she could see dark grey lobsters and wriggling crabs being tossed into an ice-filled trough.

  Afterwards, they strolled up the steep street they’d driven down earlier. Many shops with famous names vied with local dealers for trade. There were numerous cafés and lots of gift shops, as well as several art galleries, with canny stacks of posters outside to lure the customers in.

  Juliet found herself saying, ‘This is where—your cousin has his studio, isn’t it?’ and then cursed her impulsive tongue when Cary gave her a knowing look.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said flatly. ‘Well, not here, exactly. It’s up one of these side-streets. He can’t afford the rents on these premises with what he makes from his daubings.’

  Juliet sucked in a breath. ‘I gather you’re not interested in art.’

  Cary snorted. ‘Art, yes. What he produces, no.’ He sneered when he saw how his contemptuous words had affected her. ‘Come on, then. I’ll show you. I’m sure Rafe won’t turn you away.’

  ‘Oh—no…’

  The last thing Juliet wanted was to see Rafe this morning. Dear lord, he was going to think she’d arranged this outing. That, in spite of the way she’d scuttled away last night, she couldn’t wait to see him again. Which was patently untrue, she told herself, as Cary took her arm to guide her up another steep street running parallel with the harbour. Indeed, she’d been hoping she wouldn’t see him again before they left.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t think this is a good idea,’ she protested, pulling herself free of his hand and surreptitiously wiping her damp palms on her trousers. ‘The studio may be closed.’

  ‘It may,’ agreed Cary without sympathy. ‘But I’ll get him to open it up. He just lives over the place, after all, and he’s not likely to be teaching on Saturday.’

  The door to the studio was closed and blinds were half-drawn against the glare of the sun. There didn’t seem to be anybody about and Juliet was about to suggest that they should leave it when a woman got out of a sleek Mercedes coupé across the street and walked towards them.

  ‘Are you looking for Rafe?’ she asked, with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing him well. ‘Hey, you’re his cousin, aren’t you?’ she went on, staring at Cary. ‘I remember seeing you around when you lived at Tregellin.’

  Juliet saw at once that Cary didn’t like being associated with Rafe. And, from his expression, he didn’t care for her familiarity either. Though, looking at her deep cleavage and short pleated skirt, Juliet guessed she was just the sort of woman he usually preferred.

  ‘I’m Cary Daniels, yes,’ he said at last, realising he couldn’t ignore her. Not in Juliet’s presence, anyway. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Liv. Liv Holderness. Well, Liv Melrose, don’t you remember? As I recall it, you used to be quite a regular at my dad’s hotel.’

  ‘My God!’ Cary looked stunned. ‘You’re Lady Holderness?’

  ‘One and the same,’ agreed the woman nonchalantly. ‘Bobby and I are having dinner with you and your grandmother this evening. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘I—She may have done.’ Cary was clearly finding it difficult to come to terms with this development and Juliet wondered if his relationship with the woman had been as casual as he’d obviously like to pretend. He licked his lips. ‘Are you here to see—Rafe?’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ she declared playfully. Her gaze drifted over Juliet with a calculated interest. ‘Who’s this? Another relation?’

  ‘Er—this is Juliet Lawrence. My fiancée,’ said Cary swiftly, and Juliet saw the way Liv Holderness’ eyes widened.

  ‘Your fiancée?’ she echoed, a faint smile hovering about her full lips. ‘I bet your grandmother approves.’

  ‘She does.’ Juliet was stung into answering for herself. Then she looked at Cary. ‘We ought to be going.’

  ‘You’ve seen Rafe?’

  The woman arched narrow brows, and Juliet knew an uncharacteristic urge to make some scathing comment about his choice of visitor. But, of course, she didn’t, and it was left to Cary to admit that no, the studio didn’t appear to be open.

  ‘Well, it won’t be,’ said Liv Holderness impatiently. ‘Rafe never works with an audience. Besides, he’s probably up in his apartment. Have you rung the bell?’

  ‘No.’ Cary cast Juliet a helpless glance and then watched as the woman brushed past them and pressed a scarlet-tipped finger to the bell-push beside a painted door that hadn’t seemed to Juliet to have any obvious connection to the studio. ‘I didn’t think he’d be in.’

  Which was so patently untrue that Juliet could only stare at him in disbelief.

  ‘Oh, he will be,’ asserted Liv Holderness confidently. ‘He’s expecting me.’

  Juliet’s mouth was dry and she looked longingly over the rooftops towards the harbour. She so much didn’t want to be here. Particularly not now she’d discovered that Rafe was apparently having some sort of relationship with this woman. Heavens, what was he going to think? That they were spying on him?

  But it was too late. The door was swinging open and Rafe appeared, dark and disturbingly male in a cotton T-shirt and khaki shorts. He was wearing trainers, too, and, judging by the V of sweat that stained the front of his sleeveless T-shirt—and outlined
every taut muscle—he’d either been running or doing some other physical exercise. And Juliet, who’d always believed she didn’t like men in shorts, realised her opinion had been vastly under-researched.

  ‘Darling!’ Liv Holderness wrinkled her nose at him. ‘What have you been doing?’

  Rafe’s expression mirrored his frustration. For God’s sake, he thought, what the hell was Cary doing here? And Juliet. He’d have expected her to steer well clear of him from now on.

  ‘You’re early,’ was all he said, totally ignoring his cousin’s scornful face. ‘I was just about to have a shower.’

  ‘Not before time, I’d say,’ declared Cary, giving Juliet a sardonic look. ‘I didn’t know splashing a paintbrush around could bring you out in a sweat!’

  Juliet wanted to die with embarrassment, but Rafe just pulled a wry face. ‘How would you know, Cary?’ he enquired mockingly. ‘I doubt if you’ve ever broken sweat in your life! Oh, except when the South African authorities were on your tail. I bet you weren’t so smug then.’

  ‘Why, you—’

  Juliet didn’t know what Cary might have done if Liv Holderness hadn’t stepped forward at that moment. But whatever it was, she doubted her ‘fiancé’ would have come off the winner. Seeing them close together only made the difference between the two men so much sharper. The terrier and the tiger, she thought fancifully. There’d be no contest.

  ‘Can we come up?’

  It was the other woman who spoke and Juliet put a hand on Cary’s arm, urging him to make some excuse for them to leave. But for some reason Cary wouldn’t respond to her silent pleas. ‘Yeah, how about it, Marchese?’ he said. Then, in an aside to Juliet, ‘I want to see where he lives. I bet it’s a dump!’

  Rafe wanted to refuse. Apart from the fact that he objected to spending any more time with Cary than he had to, he didn’t want Juliet invading his space. She’d already invaded far more of his thoughts than was sensible in the circumstances. Dammit, she was his idiot cousin’s fiancée. He had no right to be remembering how soft and responsive her mouth had been when he’d kissed her.