Bedded For the Italian's Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  ‘I want to hear all about how you two met,’ she said firmly. ‘Bob is so shy when it comes to personal details.’

  Liv looked decidedly nervous now and Juliet couldn’t blame her on that score. She’d experienced a similar interrogation the first evening she was here and Liv had so much more to hide than most.

  ‘So—Juliet, is it?—how long have you and Ellie’s grandson been seeing one another?’ Juliet was distracted by Lord Holderness who had evidently decided to conduct his own investigation. ‘Did you meet before he went to South Africa?’

  ‘I—well, yes, we did,’ Juliet was fumbling, when to her complete surprise Rafe came to her rescue.

  ‘They met when they were children,’ he said, strolling over to join them. ‘Isn’t that right, Cary? Before you came to live here, wasn’t it?’

  Cary handed out the glasses of wine he was carrying and then gave his cousin a resentful look. ‘You know it was,’ he said, without gratitude, and Rafe’s lips tilted in amusement.

  ‘I thought so,’ he said drily, making Juliet wonder what else he knew as well.

  But, watching them, she felt powerless to intervene. She might believe Rafe was only using Cary to protect his own relationship with Liv Holderness, but now that the moment had gone, she baulked at telling the old man his wife was having an affair with a younger man. Lord Holderness seemed too genuine an individual to hurt like that.

  Thankfully, Cary seemed more intent on improving the impression Lord Holderness had of him than arguing with Rafe and, slipping a possessive arm about Juliet’s waist, he said, ‘I consider myself a very lucky man, my lord.’

  Rafe, viewing Cary’s actions with unjustified irritation, clenched his teeth. Just watching his cousin lay his hands on Juliet aroused a gnawing hunger inside him that wouldn’t go away. He badly wanted to tear Cary away from her; to draw her out of there—by her hair, if necessary—and show her she was wasting her time on such a sorry piece of dirt.

  Which was so unlike him, he thought, trying to concentrate on the conversation. Keeping his eyes away from Juliet’s slightly flushed face, he tried to rationalise what was happening to him. God, he was no caveman, desperate to show how macho he was. But for the first time in his life, he had to accept that Juliet aroused feelings inside him that refused to be rationalised. He wanted her, he acknowledged frustratedly. Or perhaps, less emotively, he wanted to sleep with her. Maybe then he’d be able to get on with his life.

  Tuning back into the conversation, he heard Cary saying, ‘I’m sure you consider yourself a very lucky man, too,’ and Lord Holderness gave a grunt of agreement.

  ‘I do indeed,’ he said, taking a sip of his wine. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Yes, Liv’s a damn fine woman,’ Cary continued, obviously not appreciating that he was treading on dangerous ground. ‘I’ve always thought so.’

  As Rafe had anticipated, the old man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You know my wife, Daniels?’

  ‘Oh…’ Cary reddened. ‘Well, yeah. Everybody knows her!’ he exclaimed uncomfortably. And then, compounding his error, ‘Only by reputation, of course.’

  ‘By reputation!’

  Lord Holderness was fairly breathing fire now and once again Rafe felt compelled to intervene. ‘I think what Cary means is that as she’s Ken Melrose’s daughter, she’s naturally met a lot of people,’ he said mildly. ‘Isn’t that right, Cary?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ muttered Cary again, though the look he cast in his cousin’s direction was hardly grateful.

  ‘I assume you mean because her father owns the Dragon Hotel,’ Lord Holderness said, somewhat mollified. ‘But she never worked in the bar, you know.’

  Didn’t she? Rafe exchanged a speaking glance with the woman in question, but he didn’t contradict the old man. Josie’s appearance to announce that dinner was waiting was a welcome relief to all of them.

  They were eating in the conservatory instead of the somewhat questionable dignity of the formal dining room, but Lady Elinor presided over the table with all the elegance of her ancestors. The fact that on his arrival that evening Rafe had had to help Josie carry the small table out of the morning room and set it up in its present position wasn’t mentioned, or that it was he who’d suggested to the housekeeper that a cold starter might be in order, thus saving the old woman from bustling back and forth with hot plates on two occasions.

  The seating arrangements were of Lady Elinor’s choosing. Significantly, she’d seated herself and Lord Holderness at opposite ends of the table, with Juliet and Cary on one side and Olivia and Rafe on the other. It meant that Juliet was conscious of Rafe’s eyes upon her with disturbing frequency throughout the meal, which wasn’t tempered by Cary’s indignation that his grandmother had placed Rafe opposite him, thus acknowledging his cousin’s right to be there.

  ‘What the hell does she think she’s doing?’ he muttered to Juliet as the other members of the party were debating the pros and cons of Cornwall’s bid for independence. ‘This is to punish me, isn’t it? Because she’s discovered that I’m not working at some prissy job in the City.’

  ‘He is your cousin,’ pointed out Juliet in an undertone, having no desire to defend Rafe, but aware of the dangers here. ‘For goodness’ sake, Cary, what does it matter? We’re going home tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’ Cary’s jaw set belligerently. ‘But you have to wonder what he says to her when I’m not here.’

  ‘You’re getting paranoid,’ protested Juliet impatiently, and then flushed when she found Rafe’s eyes on her again. Goodness, she fretted, was reading lips another of his accomplishments? She wouldn’t be at all surprised. Lifting her table napkin to her lips, she used it to screen her next words. ‘Don’t forget, he got you out of a sticky situation earlier on.’

  ‘Yeah. I wonder why.’ Cary was unappeased. ‘What do you think? Are he and Liv having an affair? She seemed bloody familiar with his apartment, if you ask me. And she didn’t like it when you and he went down to his studio on your own, however amenable she might have appeared.’

  Juliet’s stomach tightened unpleasantly. Hearing her own opinion voiced by another person was so much worse than believing she was the only one who knew the truth. And for all she told herself she hated the way Rafe had behaved towards her, the memory of how she’d felt when he was kissing her was a constant torment.

  ‘You’re not eating, Juliet.’

  Lady Elinor had noticed that, although she’d taken a few mouthfuls of the chilled consommé that had started the meal, so far she’d barely touched the rosemary-flavoured chicken, whose crisp skin made her feel slightly sick.

  ‘Oh—I’m not very hungry,’ she murmured awkwardly.

  ‘You don’t like chicken, perhaps?’

  ‘Heavens, yes.’ Juliet was conscious of everyone looking at her now. ‘It’s not the food—’

  ‘Then, what—?’

  ‘You’re embarrassing her, old lady.’ Rafe regarded his grandmother over the rim of his glass. ‘She’s not as used to you as we are. Why don’t you turn your considerable energies towards ringing the bell for Josie? I’m sure your other guests would like another bottle of this excellent Chardonnay.’

  Lady Elinor’s lips pursed. ‘I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Raphael,’ she declared irritably, and Juliet was aware of Cary’s chortle of triumph at what he saw as Rafe’s humiliation.

  But Rafe’s words did have the desired effect and a moment later Lady Elinor reached for the bellpull and gave it a sharp jerk. However, Rafe noticed that it didn’t stop her from casting a speculative glance from him to Juliet and back again, and he knew his defence of the girl hadn’t gone unnoticed. He just hoped he hadn’t overplayed his hand.

  After dessert—a delicious summer pudding that Juliet suspected might have been bought in for the occasion—they all retired to the drawing room again for coffee. This time Cary made sure he was seated near Lord Holderness, and when Josie had delivered the tray and departed he started the conversation
by saying, ingenuously, ‘Grandmama tells me you live in a castle, sir. How exciting! Is it very old?’

  Lord Holderness frowned. ‘What have you been saying, Ellie?’ he asked half-impatiently. ‘You know perfectly well that Trelawney is just a country house.’

  Lady Elinor’s lips tightened. ‘I believe what I actually said was that Trelawney looked a little like a castle,’ she declared, giving her younger grandson an impatient look. ‘Besides, I can’t see that it’s of any interest to you, Cary.’

  ‘Oh, you’re wrong. I’m always interested in old buildings,’ he protested with assumed innocence. ‘I mean, I’m always amazed at how much it costs for the upkeep these days. I can’t imagine how you—all—manage it.’

  Juliet was horrified now. She thought she knew exactly where this was going, and she tried to catch Cary’s eye to warn him not to say any more. But her ‘fiancé’ was enjoying himself for the first time that evening, unaware that he might just alienate himself from the one person who cared anything about him.

  ‘Nevertheless, we do,’ Lord Holderness responded stiffly. ‘It would be a terrible shame if one’s heritage had to be sacrificed on the altar of commercialism.’

  ‘I agree.’ Cary was endeavouring to sound sincere. ‘I know I love this old place, but you must have noticed how it’s deteriorating. I wish there was a way I could help you, Grandmama.’ He frowned as if he’d just thought of it. ‘Have you ever thought of selling some of the land that’s at present part of the estate? To give you some working capital, so to speak.’

  ‘That will do, Cary.’

  It was Rafe who spoke. He’d been lounging on the sofa beside Lady Elinor, jacket parted, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. But now he sat up, and Juliet could see he was furious. She was fairly annoyed herself, she thought, and she wasn’t even a member of the family. Didn’t Cary realise he was in danger of betraying the fact that he’d read that letter from the developer?

  ‘I don’t believe I spoke to you,’ Cary said now, scowling at Rafe for involving himself in the discussion. He turned to the old lady again. ‘You must agree with me, Grandmama. Tregellin is going to collapse about your ears unless something is done.’

  ‘Cary—’

  ‘It’s all right, Raphael.’ Lady Elinor placed a hand upon his knee, indicating that she didn’t need his assistance. ‘Cary has his own opinions, of course. And I’m interested in how he feels about Tregellin. I must take his suggestion of selling the property seriously.’

  ‘Not the house,’ broke in Cary at once, apparently realising his mistake. ‘Just—one or two of the farms, perhaps.’ He cast about him for someone to support his argument. ‘Jules, you can see the sense in what I’m saying, can’t you? No one wants to see the old place fall apart.’

  Before Juliet could say anything, Lady Elinor spoke. ‘I believe I know what’s best for Tregellin, Cary,’ she murmured, and, judging from her expression, Juliet didn’t think Cary understood his grandmother at all. ‘Now,’ she turned to Lord Holderness, ‘does your wife play bridge, Bob?’

  She didn’t, but her hostess prevailed upon her to learn and, together with Cary, who was eager to mend fences, they made a four. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Juliet?’ the old lady asked, before they gathered round the table in the conservatory again. ‘Raphael, you’ll entertain our young guest, won’t you? You might show her your mother’s paintings. You’ll find one or two in the library.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RAFE pushed open the library door and allowed a reluctant Juliet to precede him into the room. He was trying hard to hide his frustration at the way Lady Elinor had manipulated him, aware that he was the last person Juliet wanted to spend any more time with.

  Not that he’d wanted to join the bridge party. Far from it. But he resented the old lady’s machinations almost as much as Cary did. Dammit, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with a woman who didn’t trust him. Not when being with her was both a betrayal of his own self-respect and an intolerable temptation.

  Another source of irritation was the apparent presence of some of his mother’s paintings. In all the time he’d lived at Tregellin, he never remembered seeing any of her water colours on public view. In fact, he’d always assumed that the old lady had destroyed any that had come into her possession after his mother’s death.

  Now, however, when he followed Juliet into the library, which had also acted as his grandfather’s study when he was alive, he caught his breath in stunned disbelief. Two walls were, as usual, lined with the books that had been collected over the years, but the others were a veritable art gallery of not just his mother’s paintings, but also his own.

  Pastel impressions of the shifting light on the canals of Venice mingled with Cornish landscapes that were harsh and rugged, and scarred with old mine-workings; vanilla skies above purple Tuscan hills were offset by a rocky coastline that despite its silvery sands was intrinsically English. Some of his own work, paintings he’d assumed had been sold to anonymous collectors, were his earliest efforts, landscapes that these days wouldn’t survive his personal cutting floor.

  ‘Dios,’ he said succinctly, backing up against the door to close it, leaning against the panels for a moment, too dazed to move.

  Juliet turned to give him a resentful look. ‘Hey, I don’t like this any more than you do!’ she exclaimed. And then, noticing his stunned expression, ‘What’s wrong?’

  Rafe grunted. ‘Nothing. Everything.’ He stared at the paintings. ‘I wonder how long the old lady has had these?’

  ‘Your mother’s paintings?’ Juliet moved closer to the wall. ‘I assume these water colours are hers?’

  Rafe nodded. ‘She loved Italy. Particularly Tuscany.’ Then, as if trying to clear his head. ‘We spent a lot of time there when I was young.’

  Juliet gave him a curious look. ‘How old were you when your mother died?’ she ventured, and then shook her head. ‘Don’t answer that. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  Rafe answered her anyway. ‘I was seven,’ he said flatly. He bent his head, ‘There was no one to look after me, so the authorities sent me to England.’

  ‘To your grandmother?’

  ‘To the old lady, yes,’ agreed Rafe, pressing his shoulders back against the door behind him. ‘I hated it at first. England was so cold!’

  Juliet thought she could imagine how terrifying it must have been for him, a small boy, uprooted from everything he knew and was used to, from his paternal heritage, in fact. She wanted to ask where his father had been at that time, but that would be too intrusive. All the same, she had to know why the pictures had come as such a surprise to him.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she said, ‘And you didn’t know Lady Elinor had these paintings?’ she asked tentatively. ‘But if they were here—’

  ‘They weren’t.’ Rafe raked agitated fingers over his skull. ‘I was here, in this room, less than a week ago.’ His lips twisted. ‘They weren’t here then and nor were the others.’

  ‘Your paintings, you mean?’

  ‘If you can call them that.’ Rafe was bitter. ‘I painted these—oh, maybe fifteen years ago.’

  ‘And what happened to them?’

  ‘I got a call from a solicitor in Bodmin, who said he’d heard about my work through his connections with the school where I was teaching. He came to see them, said he liked them. I considered myself lucky to have found a buyer.’ He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘I even pitied the poor devil for taking them on.’

  Juliet stared at him. ‘Don’t be so critical. I think they’re very good. This solicitor must have thought so, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Rafe pushed away from the door and strode across the room fairly radiating controlled violence. ‘Don’t you see—there was no solicitor? It was the old lady manipulating me again.’ He paused. ‘I was still living here, at Tregellin. I didn’t have a place of my own, but she knew I’d converted one of the old coach houses into a makeshift studio, and she lost no opportuni
ty to ridicule my efforts, to tell me that I’d never succeed in producing anything worthwhile. She used to tell my mother the same thing. That’s why Christina—that was my mother’s name—refused to come back to England. The old lady wanted to control her life, just as she’d like to control mine.’

  Juliet frowned. ‘So why do you think she bought the paintings?’

  ‘Who knows? Another of her games, perhaps. If, by some incredible chance, I became successful, she could produce these and claim she’d always known I had talent.’ He snorted. ‘If not, no one would be any the wiser.’

  Juliet shook her head. ‘Do you really believe she’s that devious?’

  Rafe scowled. ‘She can be,’ he said, ‘so beware.’

  Juliet caught her breath. Was he warning her that Lady Elinor might have an agenda for her, too? She’d certainly thwarted Cary’s attempt to outwit her. About his job, at least.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ she said again, not wanting to take sides, but to her dismay Rafe came to stand directly in front of her.

  ‘It will be when you marry Cary,’ he said, lifting a hand and smearing his thumb across her lower lip. It was an incredibly sensuous thing to do and she wondered if his anger had blinded him to his actions. His eyes darkened. ‘Are you really going to marry that sorry excuse for a man?’

  ‘He’s not a sorry excuse for a man.’ Juliet was defensive. ‘And you’re hardly in a position to judge.’ She jerked her head to one side to avoid his intimate caress, but all she did was shift his focus, long fingers curving about the taut muscles at the back of her neck.

  She was intensely conscious of him, of the fluid strength with which he held her as he probed the sensitive nerves that bracketed her spine. Her mouth dried, her protests shrivelling in spite of her resistance. All she was really conscious of were his eyes upon her, watching her closely, like a predator preparing to strike.

  ‘Go on,’ he taunted at last. ‘Say what you have to. You despise me. I can see that. But what is there about Cary that rings your bell? Tell me about him. Tell me how much you love him. What does he have that attracts you? Is it his personality? His good looks? What?’