In fact, Georgiana decided, marching back towards the kitchen, she was actually very well rid of him.
As she opened the back door her phone rang again. In her agitated state she picked it up without checking the number.
“Georgiana, querida—at last.”
She froze, dropped the basket, and held the edge of the table, hit by a sandstorm of feelings rushing unbridled to the fore: anger, pain, rage, longing—all soared within her.
“How dare you?” she cried, cutting him off mid-sentence. “How do you have the audacity to ring me when in less than two hours you’ll be marrying Leticia?” she hissed, hands trembling. “You’re beyond belief, Juan, totally unscrupulous. I hate you. I never want to hear from you again—ever,” she ended, tears stifling her voice as she turned off the phone and threw it into the fallen basket of herbs, before sinking onto the nearest chair and collapsing in a flood of tears.
What on earth was the matter with her? Hadn’t Lady Cavendish told her the wedding was off? And to make it worse Georgiana hadn’t allowed him to speak. Dios mio, what a damn mess. Juan paced his study, worried, pressing the repeat button on his cellphone for the umpteenth time, hoping beyond hope that Georgiana would pick up and allow him to explain what was going on before judging him so harshly. There must be some way of explaining to her that she was mistaken, that he had no intention of marrying Letti.
That he intended to marry her.
It was so obvious, so cut and dried for him. But of course if she still believed he was marrying Letti that explained it. Of course, he consoled himself confidently, as soon as she knew the truth everything would be resolved.
When finally he gave up ringing Juan sat down and called his secretary. The best thing to do was make immediate travel arrangements. The sooner he got to Gianella and made Georgiana listen to reason, the better it would be. Then matters would be settled and life could move on.
After reserving a first-class ticket to Italy, Juan felt better. It would of course be easy once he reached the village to find her. And after that there would be no problem making her see the light. He smiled. It was natural for her to have been angry that he’d phoned if she still believed he was marrying another woman. But all that would be easily smoothed over as soon as he arrived and explained matters.
He glanced at his watch. He would have to get ready if he was going to be on the evening flight to Rome, where he would connect to Florence.
Rising, Juan marched confidently to his apartments. There he found his valet. After instructing the man on what he needed for the journey, Juan went in search of the Condessa. With a bit of luck Georgiana could be persuaded to return with him. She could stay here under the Condessa’s chaperonage while they made plans for the future. All in all, life would work out very well.
With a smile and a nod Juan entered the living room, content in the knowledge that from now on it would all be plain sailing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BY THE time Juan drove the last few miles to Gianella the following day he was tired, irritated, and glad to be arriving at his journey’s end. First the flight from Madrid had been delayed due to bad weather. Then in Rome he’d been obliged to hire a plane to get him to Florence, since all the internal airlines were on strike that day.
Now, at last, he’d reached the village. All he needed was for one of the residents to give him directions to Georgiana’s villa and then he’d have reached his destination and the woman he loved. It was still unclear to him why she should have chosen to bury herself in the middle of the Tuscan countryside, but so be it. That also was something he planned to rectify very promptly.
He had a number of ideas on how to spend the next few days. A lot of hours, he hoped, a smile ghosting on his lips, would be spent in bed, loving her, catching up, caressing her as he’d dreamed of so often over the past weeks.
Arriving in the piazza, he parked the smart Alfa Romeo he’d picked up at the airport and made his way across the street to the nearest bar.
“Ah, you are looking for the signorina Inglesa?” The bartender nodded, leaning across the old wood and marble counter to answer his enquiry. “La signorina, e bellissima,” the man enthused, kissing his fingers in an expressive gesture.
“Per piacere,” Juan replied, smiling, and ordered a café machiatto. “Do you know where I might find her?”
“Va bene.” The man rubbed his brow thoughtfully, then turned towards the coffee machine and shrugged in a manner only Italians knew how. “She might be at the Villa Collina. On the other hand she might be with the other Inglesa.”
“What other Inglesa?”
“Signora Patsy. Another lovely example of womanhood. Carlo the artist’s wife,” the man said, in a tone that implied Juan should know these obvious facts. Then he laid down the coffee on the bar with a flourish.
“Who is she? The other lady, I mean?” Juan asked, wondering if Georgiana had come with a friend. Lady Cavendish hadn’t mentioned her travelling with anyone else. In fact he’d got the impression Lady C was annoyed that Georgiana was on her own.
“The signora Inglesa lives over there, in that house you can see to the left. The one with the dark wooden shutters.” The man pointed across the piazza down to a house in a nearby street.
Downing his coffee, Juan placed a note on the counter and, thanking the man for his assistance, headed across the square to the house, where he knocked smartly on the door. Seconds later it was opened by an attractive chestnut-haired girl with big blue eyes.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, smiling his seductive lazy smile, “but I’m looking for Georgiana Cavendish. The man at the bar seemed to think you might know where I could find her.”
The girl sent him a speculative look. “And who are you?” she asked coldly.
Juan felt like telling her it was none of her damn business. Then, realising that wouldn’t get him very far, he smothered his pride. “I’m an old friend of hers. Juan Monsanto. I’ve come to pay her a visit.”
“Really?” The girl raised a brow and looked him up and down in what Juan considered a most impertinent manner. “Are you sure Georgiana wants to see you?”
“Look, this is a ridiculous conversation,” he said, losing his patience. “Kindly tell me where I can find Georgiana. It’s very important. I need to speak to her at once.”
“The point,” Patsy replied, crossing her arms firmly, “is not whether you want to see her, but if she wants to see you.”
“I can’t think why she shouldn’t,” he exclaimed angrily.
“Can’t you?”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Signora, but frankly my reasons for wanting to see Georgiana are none of your business.”
“Sir, you made them my business when you came knocking at my door asking for her. Georgiana happens to be my friend. From her description of you I get the strong impression you’re the last person on the planet she wants to see.”
Juan stood in patent astonishment as the door was summarily slammed in his face. He was about to lift his hand to knock again angrily when a hand came down on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
He spun round to meet the amused dark gaze of a young Italian man of medium height, smiling ruefully.
“What have you to do with this?” Juan snapped. He’d had just about enough of people interfering in his personal life for one day.
“Oh, I’m her husband,” Carlo said, with a smile and a jerk of the head towards the reverberating door. “Terrible temper, that one, when she loses it. I heard you were looking for Georgiana?”
“Yes,” Juan muttered in a measured tone, “I am. I don’t suppose you can tell me where I can find her?”
“I might,” Carlo responded, the slow smile spreading across his handsome features. “But I suggest we cross the road and have a drink first. I get the feeling my bellissima Patsy may have her wires crossed. She can be very loyal and passionate about friendship. It’s one of the things I like about he
r,” he added with a wink, and a nod in the direction of the bar. “But you know women—they sometimes don’t see things in their proper perspective.”
“How very true,” Juan replied with feeling. Slipping off his jacket, he threw it over his shoulder and fell into step with this young man who at least seemed open to helping him. “I’m Juan Monsanto,” he said, stretching out his hand.
“Carlo Bagnoli. Piacere.”
The two men strode across the piazza and entered the bar. Juan ordered a cold beer and Carlo a Negroni.
“So, you’re the wicked lover who dumped Georgiana for another woman,” Carlo said, raising his glass and taking a long, appraising sip.
“What?” Juan’s head jerked up in astonishment. “Dios mio. Is that how she sees me?”
“That’s pretty much how it came over when Patsy described the story to me. Aren’t you meant to be married and on your honeymoon or something?”
“Yes. No. I damn well am not.” Juan brought the glass down on the table with a bang and let out an oath. “This is all perfectly ridiculous.”
“Must be some kind of confusion,” Carlo said, taking another long sip. “Pasty got the impression you were on your way to some exotic island with your bride.”
“Look, this is absurd. The truth is, I was going to marry someone else, but we called off the wedding as we both realised we were in love with other people. Please, Carlo, I must see Georgiana at once and tidy up this terrible misunderstanding.”
“Well, if you like I can show you the way to the villa.”
“Finally.” Juan cast his eyes to heaven, then smiled at his new friend. “I don’t know how to thank you enough. God, women can be difficult.”
“Can’t they just?” Carlo rolled his eyes as Juan slapped a note down on the table and the two men made their way out into the night.
The flash of headlights made Georgiana look up from the book she’d been trying to concentrate upon unsuccessfully for the past half-hour. Laying it down on the coffee-table, Georgiana rose and, moving into the ample hall of the villa, went to the window next to the front door.
Who could possibly be visiting her at this hour? Carlo and Patsy hadn’t said they were coming over this evening.
For a moment a flash of anxiety gripped her. Then she pulled herself together. Nothing happened in Gianella that the neighbours didn’t know all about. Somebody would have seen a strange car passing through the village. Georgiana warily opened the door, unable to distinguish the vehicle in the glare of headlights.
Juan saw her as she stood, eyes narrowed, trying to tell who was coming, her beautiful long blonde mane flowing about her shoulders, her face etched in the glow of the headlights. Slowly he came to a stop only a few feet from where she stood. Then, before she had a chance to take in who it was, he switched off the car’s engine, jumped out and crossed the few steps that separated them before she could react.
“Mi amor,” he muttered in a low growl, taking her possessively into his arms. “At long last I’ve found you.”
“Juan!” she cried, straining in his arms and pulling away. “What are you doing here? How dare you come here? You have no right to disturb my peace. Don’t you have any feelings for anyone? Surely even you didn’t have the nerve to leave Leticia on her honeymoon and come looking for another woman?” she spat.
“Georgiana, if you’ll just let me explain I—”
“Explain? I despise everything about you.” She drew back into the safe angle of the open door and looked him over, her eyes filled with hot anger.
“Georgiana, if you’d at least allow me to explain,” he repeated, “perhaps you’d understand that none of what you’re saying makes any sense.” He spoke calmly, raising his arms and moving towards her.
“Oh, doesn’t it?” she jeered, throwing her hair back, eyes blazing. “Don’t think you can come here cajoling me with your sweet talk, Juan. I’ve had enough. I know how you operate and I’m not prepared to tolerate it. You’re a married man. Go back to your wife.”
As she made to slam the door in his face he caught it, moving so swiftly she couldn’t counter it.
“You have a pretty poor opinion of me if this is what you think,” he threw harshly, grabbing her arm as her hand swung towards his cheek. “Oh, no, señorita, I will not allow any temper tantrums. And now, like it or not, you will listen to me,” he said, pinning her arms to her sides.
“Leave me alone,” she said, overwhelmed, hot tears rushing to her eyes as he held her fast. “I won’t listen to a word you have to say. I can’t believe you’ve come here,” she said, breaking down, crumpling.
Juan held her, shocked, but determined to have his way.
“Amor mio, please—just hear me out.” In one swift movement he swept her into his arms and entered the house, moving instinctively towards the living room.
A fire blazed in the huge stone hearth and the soft glow of lamplight encompassed the low-beamed room. Juan sat down on the couch, still holding her in his arms.
“I will not let go of you until you hear everything I have to say,” he insisted, feeling her struggle. Then, before she could react further, he pressed his lips on hers. His fingers smoothed her hair gently, and his hands coursed reassuringly down her back. “Georgiana,” he whispered hoarsely, “my beautiful, wilful Georgiana. Did you really believe that I would come here to you straight from the arms of another woman?”
“You certainly had no qualms about it before,” she murmured, wanting so hard to resist, but entranced by the scent of him, the delicious feel of his body cleaving to hers, the sheer delight of knowing his arms were around her.
“Georgiana, will you please listen for once? Leticia and I broke off our engagement.”
“You what?” She sat up straight and perched on his knee, staring at him unbelieving.
“We broke off our engagement,” he repeated patiently. “You see, it boiled down to this: both of us are in love with someone else.”
“Leticia? In love with someone else?” she whispered amazed. “But who?”
“Pablito Sanchez, at the university. He’d never had the courage to speak his mind—thought she was too good for him and all that. But then, when he realised he was really going to lose her to someone else, everything came out and she realised she loved him. Poor Letti. She was so caught up between doing her duty to the family by marrying me and wishing she could follow her heart that she hardly had the courage to tell me.”
“But you…” Georgiana said warily. “You would have gone through with the wedding anyway, wouldn’t you?”
He hesitated, then, looking deep into her eyes, knew he must speak the truth. “Yes. I would. I almost told her the truth before she revealed her heart to me. But I couldn’t. I felt it would be so utterly wrong, so hurtful. After all, I had offered her marriage. How could I go back on my word?”
“So you would have been prepared to marry her and carry on an affair with me? Is that right?”
“That isn’t what I really wanted,” he said, aware that he was treading on quicksand.
“No, but you would have done it all the same, wouldn’t you?” she insisted, head high.
Juan sighed. This was harder than he’d expected. When she slipped from his arms and rose to stand near the fire he didn’t stop her.
“Georgiana, I did what I had to do. Try and see this from my point of view. I am a man of honour. I couldn’t break my word.”
“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” she said, the fire blazing in her large green eyes belying her conversational tone. “To tell Leticia the truth about us wasn’t okay, but to carry on an affair behind her back was? I’m afraid I’m having a hard time understanding.” She crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eye, pain and anger battling with the overwhelming desire to feel his arms about her, his body on hers.
Yet she knew that she mustn’t. Couldn’t. Would regret it for ever if she did. She had the baby to think of now. She couldn’t give way to her own desires, but must th
ink of the better good for them all.
Juan looked across at her, then into the flames. “I know you find it almost impossible to understand the way I was brought up. In England you think differently. But you see, had Leticia not been in love with another man, had she married me as planned, she never would have expected me to be faithful to her. This was no love match, Georgiana. Letti and I are friends, but we’ve never so much as exchanged more than a peck on the cheek. Dios mio,” he exclaimed, losing his patience as the desire to possess her engulfed him, “can’t you see that it is all over? Finished? That all that is behind us, and now we can begin our life together?”
“Our life together?” She raised a startled brow. “What makes you think that I would want a life with you?”
“I thought—” He rose and moved towards her, opening his arms.
“No!” She held up her hand like a traffic cop, stopping him in his stride. “I never asked you for anything. I came here to think, to get my life sorted out. Not to be—to be coerced into something I—” She turned her back on him, shoulders heaving.
If only he knew the truth. But thank goodness he didn’t. For if that were the case then she would have no choice. And right now, as much as she loved him, knew she wanted him, she had to come to terms with herself and the situation. What if even now all Juan wanted was a casual affair? After all, he’d only said “begin our life together”. There had been no mention of marriage or permanence.
“I wish you would leave now,” she said unsteadily. “I need time to myself, time to think.”
“I can’t believe this is the way you receive me,” he said, taking another step forward.
“I suppose you expected me to fall into your arms and in with your wishes.”
“Well, aren’t they identical? Don’t we want the same thing? Hell, Georgiana, all I can think of is making love to you. Isn’t it the same for you?” he asked quietly, his eyes burning into hers as slowly he approached her.
Georgiana stood her ground. But his presence was mesmerising. When he touched her cheek, trailed his fingers possessively down it, down her throat until he reached the swell of her breast, she wanted to protest, wanted to push him away. But she couldn’t. Instead a smothered sigh of longing escaped her.
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