The Baby Gambit

by Anne Mather

  ‘A small problem with the irrigation system, Nonna,’ he averred, his presence immediately dispelling any relief Grace might have been feeling. ‘Happily, Aldo was able to repair it, and I am now at Grace’s disposal.’

  ‘Oh, really—’ Grace began, only to have the marchesa override her automatic objection.

  ‘Nonsense, child,’ she said. ‘The outing will do you good.’ She smiled, folding her hands together in her lap. ‘I’ll tell Miss Calloway where you’ve gone if she puts in an appearance before you get back.’

  Grace pressed her lips together. ‘Well...’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe after we’ve had coffee...’

  ‘I’m sure you were only joining me for coffee because you were too polite to refuse,’ declared the old lady shrewdly. ‘Go along now. I’ll see you both at lunch, I hope.’

  Matteo’s car was waiting outside, and this time he didn’t make the mistake of allowing her to avoid his courtesy. Striding ahead of her, he had the door open before she reached the car, exchanging a mocking glance with her as she got rather ungraciously into the passenger seat.

  ‘Smile,’ he advised as he got in beside her. ‘Nonna may be watching. You don’t want her to think you’re only humouring her by coming with me, do you?’

  Grace sniffed. ‘Even if I am.’

  ‘Even if you are,’ he conceded, putting the car into gear. ‘Come on, cara. I’m sure you don’t hate me half as much as you pretend.’

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ muttered Grace, turning her head away, but she heard the soft chuckle he gave as he accelerated down the long avenue of trees.

  The ruined monastery of Sant’ Emilio wasn’t far from the villa as the crow flies, but the journey took considerably longer by road. It was situated high in the hills that overlooked the valley, and the route they took was little more than a goat track in places. Grace couldn’t help but admire the view as they climbed the mountainous passes, but she found herself gripping her seat with sweating hands as the car skimmed the narrow ridge that wound up to the building’s crumbling walls.

  ‘We’ll make it,’ remarked Matteo gently, noticing her terror, and she forced herself to relax as they reached the stone gateway that had once given access to the inner courtyard of the monastery. ‘Imagine what it must have been like for the monks, having to bring all their supplies up in a cart or on the back of a mule. Whatever protection its remoteness gave them must have been far exceeded by its inaccessibility.’

  Grace nodded, but when Matteo stopped the car she made no immediate attempt to move. She wasn’t at all sure her legs would support her, and she let Matteo get out and disappear through the weather-scarred archway before opening her door.

  She was leaning against the engine-warmed bonnet of the vehicle when he came back to see why she hadn’t followed him. It was considerably cooler here and the heat of the car was pleasant against her bare thighs. But she was instantly aware of his appraisal, and she gave him a defensive look.

  ‘It’s a marvellous view,’ she said, trying not to think about the fact that they had to descend by the same route as they’d come up, and Matteo pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he strolled towards her.

  ‘Some compensation, I suppose,’ he agreed, gazing about him. ‘But the monks who ran this place weren’t interested in secular pleasures. They were Cistercians, who are believed to have come here in the twelfth century. They were the followers of a saint who taught self-sufficiency and austerity above all things.’

  Grace nodded. ‘What else?’

  Matteo’s lips twitched. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  Grace pushed herself up from the car. ‘I feel fine.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ He was sardonic. ‘I thought for a minute that you were nervous.’ He came towards her, but although she stiffened automatically he only pointed down into the valley below them. ‘There’s the villa,’ he said, and she swallowed convulsively. It looked like a doll’s house, set in a field of green.

  ‘Stop worrying,’ he said, and she realised she wasn’t fooling him for a minute. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the altar in the chapel that’s still standing. Well, part of it is, anyway,’ he amended as he guided her through the arched gateway. ‘As you can imagine, we don’t get many tourists making the trek up to the monastery. I guess that’s why it’s still here. So many old buildings have crumbled beneath the weight of their own popularity.’

  Grace marvelled that anyone could have conceived of building in such a place. The monastery’s outer walls were simply an extension of the rocky hillside in places, with drops of hundreds of feet falling away below.

  It was certainly not the sort of place for someone who suffered from vertigo, but, even though she’d never considered herself a victim before, gazing down such precipitous slopes did make her feel a little dizzy. Maybe it was the prospect of their return journey still lingering in the back of her mind, she thought tensely. Whatever the reason, she tried to stay well away from the curtain walls.

  ‘Come and see this,’ Matteo called as she was resting on a pile of stones in the middle of what he had told her used to be the refectory. He beckoned her to where he was standing at the far end of the ruined dormitory. ‘Don’t be scared. I won’t let you fall.’

  ‘I’m not scared,’ Grace declared irritably, but she approached him with obvious reluctance, looking anywhere but at the ledge where he was sitting.

  ‘If you say so,’ he remarked wryly, reaching out and grasping her hand. ‘Come here. I’m not going to push you over.’

  Grace went, but slowly, hardly aware of the hands that curved round her bare thighs as he drew her between his knees. ‘There,’ he said softly, pointing towards a pinecovered ridge that speared up out of the hillside above them. ‘Can you see the nest? It’s a hawk’s. Look, there seem to be several young birds inside.’

  Grace gasped. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I can see it.’ She put her fingers to her lips in wonder. ‘Heavens, how ever did you know it was there?’

  ‘I didn’t. But I was watching a hawk flying around the ridge, and then it swooped down with something in its beak.’ He shook his head. ‘I knew there were hawks nesting in the valley,’ he added modestly. ‘But I’ve never seen a nest before.’ He turned her round to face him. ‘That’s what falco means, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Grace looked down at him in sudden comprehension, and at the same moment she became aware of his strong fingers gripping her legs beneath the hem of her shorts. She stepped back instinctively, not giving a thought to what was behind her, and then flapped her arms in panic, when the ground crumbled beneath her feet.

  Matteo’s actions were swift and automatic. Although she realised later that she had never been in any real danger, because the ledge would have saved her, when he reached for her she clutched his arms with desperate fingers. He pulled her sideways, away from the opening, and she was overwhelmingly relieved when she felt the wall of a chimney at her back.

  ‘Oh, God!’ She was shuddering uncontrollably, and Matteo’s hands cupped her neck in gentle reassurance.

  ‘You’re okay,’ he said, smoothing back the strands of damp hair that were clinging to her forehead. ‘I promised you I wouldn’t let you fall’

  ‘That—that’s easy for you to say,’ she muttered, trying to sound flippant and failing abysmally. ‘I thought—I thought—’

  ‘I know what you thought,’ he assured her huskily, pressing one finger against her quivering lips. ‘But it didn’t happen. Nor would it, believe me!’ His eyes darkened with sudden emotion. ‘I’d never let anything bad happen to you.’

  Grace’s breath caught in her throat, and, realising she was still grasping his arms in a death-like grip, she forced her fingers to part. ‘Well—thank you,’ she said, intensely conscious of his nearness. ‘But I don’t think you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ She tried to look over his shoulder, but her eyes were drawn to the compelling beauty of his. ‘Well, becaus
e it’s just one of those things people say. When I leave here, you won’t have any control over my life.’

  ‘Ah...’ His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she pressed her shoulders back against the wall in an effort to hold onto reality. ‘When you leave here. I see.’ His thumbs caressed her cheeks. ‘And what if I don’t want to let you go?’

  Grace shivered. She had to think of Julia, she told herself. She had to remember why he had brought her here, and the contempt she’d felt for the way he was treating her friend.

  But...

  ‘I think your grandmother would have something to say about that, don’t you?’ she got out, despising herself for her weakness. ‘And—and your daughter?’

  Not to mention the child he as yet knew nothing about! But she couldn’t say that.

  ‘Why do you always make excuses for the way you feel?’ he demanded, his hands trailing sensuously down the slender column of her throat to her heaving chest. He spread his fingers, deliberately brushing the swollen peaks of her breasts that pushed treacherously against the soft cotton of her tee shirt. ‘You know you want me to touch you. And God knows,’ he groaned as he glanced down between his legs, ‘I want you to touch me.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Yes,’ he insisted, moving closer, and she felt the hardness of his arousal against her stomach. ‘Open your mouth.’

  She knew she should stop him. She knew she was only building up a whole heap of trouble for herself by even allowing him to get this close to her, but she watched his dark head descend towards hers with a feeling of helpless inevitability. She wanted him to kiss her, she couldn’t deny it, and if that meant she would be damning herself to a lonely, loveless future, then so be it. Julia would never know about it. Not from her. And what was a kiss anyway to a man like him?

  She soon found out.

  When his mouth parted over hers, when his tongue thrust sinuously between her teeth, her knees turned to water beneath her. He’d kissed her before; of course he had. That evening in his car was not so far distant that she couldn’t remember every moment of that almost experimental embrace. But this was different. This was raw, and this was dangerous, and she didn’t realise her mistake until it was too late to do anything about it.

  A flame, hot and uninvited, ignited inside her, so that she had to clutch a handful of his shirt to save herself from falling. His hand at her nape tilted her head back against the wall, but she was hardly conscious of its uneven surface against her scalp. All she was really aware of was the hungry possession of his mouth, and the devouring need she had to arch against him until the muscled contours of his body crushed hers to the wall behind her.

  ‘Dio, Grace,’ he muttered, lapsing into a spate of passionate Italian she couldn’t begin to understand, before seeking her mouth again.

  The excitement built up inside her as he punished her lips with a hungry intensity she’d never known before. His tongue meshed with hers, drawing it into his mouth so that he could suck mindlessly on the tip. He bit her lips, nibbling the vulnerable inner flesh with his teeth, but she was hardly aware of it. Her head was swimming, with a dozen different emotions vying for supremacy, and she could only reach up and hold onto his neck as the one stable thing in a rapidly changing world.

  The first intimation she had that he had tugged the hem of her tee shirt out of the waistband of her shorts was when she felt his hands against her bare flesh. Her spine recoiled from the unexpected familiarity, but when his thumbs brushed the soft undersides of her breasts she didn’t pull away.

  Strong fingers stroked her midriff before sliding under the elasticised strap of her bra. The catch gave way so easily she guessed he must have had plenty of experience in this kind of situation. But even though she knew she ought to break free his thumbs had found her engorged nipples and she doubted her legs would hold her.

  It had to end. Even as she heard the plaintive cry of the hawk overhead, protesting that they were invading its territory, another sound came to her ears. It was the distinctive rattle of the bells the goats wore around their necks, and she had hardly made the identification before Matteo was pulling away.

  ‘Damnation,’ he said, and this time she did understand him. But thankfully the strength had also returned to her legs, and by the time the goatherd appeared to round up his flock she had fastened her bra again with trembling fingers and was examining her braid for damage.

  She turned away as Matteo spoke to the man. She had no wish for him to see her face and possibly speculate on why she was so flushed or how her mouth had got to be bare of make-up. And swollen? she fretted, running anxious fingers over her tender lips. Dear God, she probably looked as if Matteo had been having sex with her, and in a sense he had. It was only the chance appearance of the goatherd and his flock that had saved her from total humiliation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE didn’t speak to Matteo again until they were back in the car and even then she did so with a feeling of bitter self-disgust.

  ‘I suppose that’s why you brought me here,’ she said tightly. ‘What a pity that old man had to come along and thwart your plans.’

  For once, Matteo didn’t have a ready answer for her. ‘I didn’t have any plans,’ he said flatly, glancing her way. ‘Fasten your seatbelt. The road’s equally rocky going down as it was coming up.’

  ‘I know that.’

  But at least what had happened had robbed her of any fear for her own safety. Indeed, there were times during that arduous journey when she half wished that Matteo was not such a good driver. A careless swing of the wheel, and they’d have been sailing out into space with the certain assurance of death at the foot of each precipitous drop. If it wasn’t for her mother, she would have nothing to lose. She’d already lost her self-respect.

  But as they neared the gates of the villa other anxieties reasserted themselves. ‘What do I look like?’ she asked, looking at Matteo, and his face lost its grim expression.

  ‘How you always look,’ he told her, a certain roughness to his voice. ‘Beautiful—’

  ‘That’s not what I meant!’ exclaimed Grace frustratedly. ‘I’m not looking for compliments here. Particularly not from you!’ She took a breath. ‘I want you to tell me honestly how I look. Will—will anyone—will anyone be able to tell—?’

  ‘That I’ve been kissing you?’ Matteo broke in wryly. ‘Is that all that worries you? Whether anyone’s likely to find out?’

  ‘Frankly, yes.’ Grace gave a sudden shiver of remembrance. ‘I knew it. I knew I should never have gone with you. Whatever your grandmother might have thought, I should have stuck to my own beliefs.’

  ‘Why?’ The avenue of poplars could be seen ahead of them now. ‘Didn’t you enjoy any of it?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Not even the hawk?’

  ‘Oh—’ Grace made a fluttery little gesture. ‘Well, yes. Seeing the hawk was a thrill, but—but how was I to know you were going to use it to—to—?’

  ‘Have my wicked way with you?’ he suggested, with bitter humour. ‘Get real, Grace. I didn’t know you were going to do an imitation of a bungee-jumper, without the rope.’

  Grace gave him a resentful look. ‘I should have known you’d make fun of me.’

  ‘I’m not making fun of you,’ he protested wearily. ‘But as far as I’m concerned there are more significant implications here than whether I took advantage of the situation.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Grace agreed. ‘Like what you intend to do about Julia, for example.’

  ‘Julia?’ He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘No, Grace. Not Julia. You. What I’m going to do about you. It’s not something I’d ever thought I’d have to deal with, but it seems I must.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Grace was panic-stricken at the thought that he might be going to tell Julia that he’d decided to transfer his unwelcome attentions to her. But they were driving down the avenue of trees now, and the villa was approaching fast, so this was not the time to start that kind of conversation. Her nails
curled painfully into her palms. ‘You never did tell me how I look.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said harshly, clearly irritated by her determination not to share his concerns. ‘You look fine. What would you rather have me say? That anyone looking at you would know what we’d been doing?’

  Grace breathed convulsively. ‘Would they?’

  Matteo scowled. ‘We’ll soon find out,’ he declared brusquely. ‘There seems to be a welcoming committee waiting on the terrace.’

  She thought he was just trying to frighten her, but in fact the other members of the house party were gathered on the terrace having pre-lunch drinks as they drove up. The marchesa was there, and Ceci, and Uncle Paolo, and just when Grace was beginning to breathe a little more easily she saw Julia, too. Her friend was lounging on a chair that was set in the shade of an enormous flower-patterned parasol, and that was why she hadn’t been immediately visible.

  Grace wanted to die. She had hoped she might be able to get to her room without seeing anyone, but she realised now that that had just been an impossible dream. Apart from anything else, nothing went on at the Villa di Falco without the marchesa knowing about it, and judging by the look of satisfaction on her face she had lost no time in telling Julia where they’d gone.

  Matteo was obliged to park the car on the sweep of forecourt that lay to one side of the terrace, and he cast a look of helpless resignation in Grace’s direction as he made to get out of the car.

  ‘Not my fault,’ he said flatly, and then turned as Ceci came running to meet them.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, tucking her hand through her father’s arm. ‘You’ve been ages. Zio Paolo was sure you must have had an accident.’

  Matteo’s smile was forced. ‘But you knew where we’d gone? Nonna told you.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ceci had a smile for Grace as she came, reluctantly, to join them. ‘She said you’d gone to Sant’ Emilio. I wish I’d known you were going. I’d have gone with you.’