The Colorado Countess

by Stephanie Howard

  Carrie’s insides twisted. Oh, no, I’m not, she thought.

  Then he smiled. ‘I know you’ll like it because it happens to concern your work.’

  ‘My work?’

  ‘Yes, your work. I may be able to help you.’

  ‘Help me?’ She was suspicious. ‘In what way?’ she queried. ‘I really don’t think I need any help.’ She hurried on, assuring him, ‘I’ve already seen Dr Lamberti—he’s the manager at the Castello factory—and we’ve agreed on a programme for doing interviews and photographs, plus all the access I need to the archives. I know enough Italian to decipher most of it, but if I have any problems he’s offered to provide a translator.

  ‘So, you see,’ she ended, conclusively stamping on his suggestion, ‘I really don’t see how you could possibly help me.’

  The very last thing she either needed or wanted was to get tied up with Count Leone!

  He had listened without a word and now he shrugged as though in agreement. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need my assistance.’ And, to Carrie’s immense relief, he stood up.

  Carrie jumped to her feet too. What joy! He was finally leaving! She couldn’t wait to wave him down the stairs to his car.

  But, just as he was about to head for those very same stairs, he paused and turned round to face her again. ‘I take it, then,’ he said with an inquisitorial lift of one eyebrow, ‘that you’re unaware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service?’

  Carrie had very nearly gone walking into him when he had turned round so suddenly, and she’d been about to deliver him a fierce scowl as she stepped back. But now she forgot about scowling and blinked at him instead.

  ‘On the contrary,’ she informed him. ‘I’m very much aware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service.’

  Anyone who was even remotely interested in Castello porcelain couldn’t help but know about the fabulous dinner service that had been made to mark the wedding of the first Duke back at the end of the seventeenth century.

  She looked at Leone now, wondering what he was getting at. ‘It’s in the Duke’s private collection that’s kept locked up in the Palazzo Verde.’ As she said it she couldn’t disguise the note of longing in her voice, for she had applied to the palace press office for permission to include it in her book and had been greeted with an immediate and categorical refusal.

  ‘But no one’s allowed to see it, let alone photograph it,’ she added now. For at least there had been that much consolation—that no other member of the public had ever been allowed anywhere near it either.

  She kept her eyes fixed on Leone, suddenly curious. ‘Why do you mention it?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘I just wondered if you’d be interested. . .’

  ‘Interested? How do you mean, interested?’

  ‘Interested in including it in this book of yours.’

  Carrie’s heart almost stopped. That look in his eyes was the look of someone holding out a bar of candy to a baby. And this was one bar of candy Carrie desperately wanted.

  She swallowed and held her breath. ‘But I just told you no one’s allowed to see it. I already tried and they turned me down.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Leone smiled. ‘But you didn’t have me backing you then.’

  Carrie was still holding her breath. ‘Meaning?’ she croaked.

  ‘Meaning that if you had me backing you you might have a different response.’

  ‘And why should you back me?’

  ‘Do I need an ulterior motive?’ His smile was pure innocence, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’d simply like to help you,’ he suggested.

  Yes, and cats might kiss canaries. She didn’t believe that for a second. But for now his motives were a separate issue. The issue that concerned Carrie now was much more immediate.

  She let out her breath and put to him, ‘Do you really mean it? Would you help me?’

  ‘I might. And if I do there’s a good chance that I’ll succeed. I have a fair amount of influence with my brother.’

  ‘If you could, that would be wonderful.’ Carrie wasn’t sure she should be saying this. She had the feeling that some silken noose was about to close around her neck. But how could she respond otherwise? He was offering her a prize she’d dreamed of. ‘I’d really be grateful,’ she heard herself add.

  ‘Would you? That’s nice to know.’ Leone was still standing over her, looking down at her with eyes as tempting as Satan’s. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he added, his blue gaze sweeping over her. ‘A woman’s gratitude, I find, is always a most generous thing. And I’m sure I’ll think of a suitable way for you to express yours when the time comes.’

  Carrie was about to step back. Suddenly, danger signs were flashing. And she was tempted to blurt out, Forget it! I’ve changed my mind! She could almost feel the silken strands of the noose biting into her neck already.

  But, before she could utter a word, Leone was stepping away from her. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he was saying. ‘Thanks for the peach.’

  Then he was turning away and hurrying down the stone steps. And Carrie was still standing there, wondering what on earth she’d let herself in for, when a moment later she heard his car drive away.

  Four days passed and there was no further word from him.

  He’s forgotten, Carrie decided, or else he was never serious in the first place. All of which was to be expected and was probably for the best anyway. Count Leone, she had decided, was as dangerous as a ticking time bomb.

  So it looked as though the only reason he’d come to her house was in order to amuse himself for half an hour. How odd, she thought, when he could have been somewhere more exciting, posing for the paparazzi and making headlines for the papers. Well, perhaps he’d just felt like a quiet interlude. No doubt such were the ways of the idle aristocracy!

  It was disappointing, of course, about the Montecrespi dinner service. To have been able to include that in her book would have been a major coup and she’d already been picturing it adorning the front cover! Too bad, she thought philosophically; it had been nice to dream for a while—though it had occurred to her that it might be worth having another go herself at trying to get the Duke’s permission.

  If I don’t hear from Leone within the week I’ll contact the palace press office again, she told herself. It was worth a try and she had nothing to lose.

  At the same time, if she didn’t hear from him she’d send off the money she owed him—for the other day, to her chagrin, it had completely slipped her mind. She’d get a money order from the bank and send it to the palace.

  In the meantime she was being kept busy with her work at the Castello factory. Dr Lamberti, who had given her her own little office there, was proving to be enormously helpful and she had already taken a couple of rolls of photographs. Even without the fabulous dinner service she had the makings of a firstclass book.

  But the following day she was in for a small shock.

  She got home from the factory to find her landlady waiting for her. ‘This is for you,’ Signora Rossi told her, handing her a letter. ‘It was delivered this afternoon by private messenger.’ She pointed to a finely embossed emblem in the corner and gave Carrie a look of bemused admiration. ‘It looks as though it’s come from the Palazzo Verde.’

  Carrie hurried up to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed before tearing the envelope open with curious fingers. Then she pulled out the single sheet of cream-coloured vellum, unfolded it carefully and began to read the message, written in a clear, plain hand.

  Dear Carrie,

  I’ve spoken to my brother on the subject we discussed. Please come to the palace on Friday evening if you wish to pursue the matter further. If not, phone the number at the top of this letter. If I don’t hear from you I shall send a car to pick you up at eight-thirty.

  The letter was signed quite simply, ‘Leone.’

  Well, how about that? She felt her heart flip over. The playboy count had kept
his promise, after all, and it looked as though she was on the point of achieving her goal to include the fabulous Montecrespi dinner service in her book!

  She jumped from the bed and let out a whoop of delight. I’ve done it! she told herself. The scoop of a lifetime!

  But through her excitement there was another emotion taking hold of her. A very strong sense of apprehension. For she was remembering what Leone had said about the gratitude of women and how he would think of a suitable way for her to express hers.

  Well, he’s misjudged badly this time, Carrie told herself firmly. All he’ll get from me is a polite and heartfelt thank-you—and maybe, if he’s good, a bottle of best brandy!

  But in spite of her resolution she couldn’t quite conquer the way she kept feeling that familiar rush inside her every time she thought of seeing him again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LEONE pushed aside the plastic curtain and stepped under the shower, feeling the cool, needle-fine jets sharp and refreshing against his back. It had been a hot, exhausting day and he had been looking forward to this.

  For most of the past nine hours he’d been at the wheel of the team’s racing car, doing lap after gruelling lap round the sun-scorched race circuit as he carried out rigorous tests on the new gearbox they were working on. But although it had been exhausting he felt satisfied, and as he washed the grime from his body he had a feeling of immense satisfaction at a job well done.

  This was how Leone spent most of his days, down at the workshop he shared with his five team mates, either working at the drawing board or in the cockpit of one of their cars. And if he’d been able to have his way he’d have been there every day.

  Some days, however, his royal duties as the Duke’s brother made that ambition, sadly, impossible. There would be functions to attend or official visitors to receive and, though he tried to keep these engagements to a minimum, inevitably there were days when they intruded. But he always made a point of making up for the lost hours, coming into the workshop at dawn sometimes, at other times staying on till well after midnight. And he made the sacrifice gladly, for he adored his work.

  Partly what he loved about it was the privacy and the informality. Only a very trusted few knew about his secret passion and here at the workshop he was safe from the paparazzi. And to the men with whom he worked he was an engineer, not a count. There was no time-wasting protocol. They all just got on with the job.

  He turned his face to the shower and let the water splash over his head and shoulders. He had achieved a lot today—in spite, he thought, smiling, of the somewhat distracting thoughts that had kept jumping into his head, surprising him by their insistence and by the way they made him feel. Somehow, these thoughts had simply given him an extra boost.

  Carrie. The elusive Carrie. She’d been in his thoughts constantly. That lovely bright-eyed face, that sexy cropped blonde hair, those glorious legs that went on for ever. There was nothing else for it. He simply had to have her.

  He soaped himself quickly, strong, suntanned hands working the lather over his powerfully muscled body. For, though he was not prone to dwell on the fact, the life he had chosen to lead had equipped him with a physique that was the envy of many men—not to mention the desire of countless women. Physically, he was quite sublime, as hard-muscled as a cougar, as generously proportioned as a stallion.

  Quickly, he sluiced the soap away, stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel that hung from a hook on the wall behind him. And as he rubbed himself dry Leone reflected for a moment on the note he had asked Silvestro to deliver to Carrie yesterday.

  So far there’d been no phone call to say she wouldn’t be coming—he’d checked with the palace during his fifteen-minute lunch break!—so it looked as though she’d be showing up tonight after all. He felt a dart inside him. It looked as though his plan was working.

  He tossed the wet towel into the laundry bin where he’d already dumped his dirty overalls and crossed to the bench where his clean clothes lay. Perhaps he was being a trifle devious in the way he had chosen to lure Carrie, he reflected a little guiltily as he started to get dressed. But he had understood immediately that she was different from the others, that ordinary, more direct tactics simply wouldn’t work.

  Dressed now, Leone ran his fingers quickly through his hair and headed out of the locker room, glancing quickly at his watch. In just a couple of hours or so he would see her again. At the thought he felt his senses leap with pleasure.

  And he quickly doused his guilty conscience. All that mattered was that he must have her. And sometimes, he decided, the end justified the means.

  Carrie had taken more than an hour and a half to get dressed.

  This wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she was decisive in such matters. Normally, she just opened her wardrobe, pulled out something appropriate, quickly slipped it on and thought no more about it. But what did you wear for an appointment at the palace of a royal duke? None of the outfits she kept trying and retrying looked right.

  And Leone’s note had been vague. Would she be meeting the Duke? Would there be other people present or would it be just her and Leone? Was this to be an informal encounter or something more weighty? Would she be invited to stay for dinner?

  In the end, she decided to opt for simplicity. A cool cream-coloured shift dress worn with a navy belt and navy shoes. Surely she couldn’t go wrong with that?

  At least Signora Rossi, her landlady, approved.

  ‘How beautiful you look. So very chic, signorina.’ She kissed her bunched fingertips in graphic appreciation before continuing with the real reason she’d come up to knock on Carrie’s door.

  ‘There’s a car waiting downstairs for you, signorina.’ And her eyes filled again with that amazed, admiring look that Carrie was rapidly growing used to as she added, ‘It’s a very big one—a limousine. I have a feeling it’s from the palace.’

  ‘Thank you, Signora Rossi.’

  Carrie felt her stomach tighten. She’d been planning to be waiting out on the veranda when the car arrived, feeling cool and calm and perfectly prepared for the evening ahead. But instead, when Signora Rossi’s tap had sounded on her door, she’d been rushing around, one shoe on and one shoe off, feeling anything but calm and cool.

  Still, she was making a convincing effort to appear so now as she asked her landlady, ‘Would you mind doing me a favour? Would you tell the driver I’ll be down in just a minute?’

  As Signora Rossi scuttled off, only too delighted to act as intermediary between her tenant and the palace, Carrie rushed over to the mirror for a final quick check. Not perfect, but not too bad, she thought. And it would just have to do!

  She crossed her fingers. ‘Here goes!’ she told herself, grabbing her navy bag and heading for the door.

  It was about a twenty-minute drive to the Palazzo Verde, first down the winding road that led to the city, then round the edge of the bay, sparkling silver in the moonlight, and upwards again to the spectacular promontory where the three-hundred-year-old Palazzo Verde stood.

  As they approached it, Carrie held her breath. Suddenly, her previous anxiety had transformed itself into sheer excitement. Who would ever have thought she’d be setting foot in the palace, and as a guest, no less, of the ruling family itself? No doubt about it; this was going to be a night to remember!

  And what made it doubly special was what was destined to come out of it, of course. The jealously guarded Montecrespi dinner service was about to be made available to her for inclusion in her book!

  The limousine swept to a halt in a huge paved courtyard, green with potted plants and tall, waving palm trees, and a moment later, before she could even wonder what to do next, the driver was jumping out and coming round to open the door for her.

  ‘Prego, signorina,’ he murmured.

  Carrie climbed out, trying not to beam at the wonder of it all, for the floodlit palace was really quite breathtaking this close up, its turrets and pediments and graceful arches glowing rosy gold
and gloriously ancient.

  ‘Grazie,’ she murmured back, glancing happily round her. It felt like a privilege just to be in such a place.

  A huge double wooden door was standing open, and beyond it Carrie could see the sumptuous interior of the palace. A vast circular entrance hall lit by crystal chandeliers that made the rug-strewn marble floor gleam like a mirror. This was a far cry, she was thinking, from the modest stone house she had been brought up in, or even from her smart little apartment in New York. Inwardly, she laughed. This was really living!

  A woman in a dark suit seemed to appear from nowhere as she crossed the open doorway and stepped into the huge hall. She smiled welcomingly at Carrie. ‘Miss Carrie Dunn?’ she asked politely. Then, as Carrie nodded, she informed her, ‘I’m Flavia. Please come with me.’

  Her heels tapping against the marble, Carrie followed the woman across the hall and down a series of wide, bright corridors. And as she went her eyes were darting to left and to right, trying to take in just a fraction of the treasures—precious porcelain and gleaming silver, antique bronzes and old masters—that were arranged on the antique furniture or hanging on the walls. She could feel her head spinning with the wonder of it all.

  Then Flavia stood aside to allow her to step through a doorway and Carrie forgot her spinning head as her heart stopped in her chest.

  ‘You made it. It’s good to see you.’

  Leone was standing before her in a room all decked out in blue and silver. But it wasn’t the beauty of the decor that had made her heart stop, it was the sight of Leone in his softly cut dark suit, looking ten times more magnificent than any mortal had a right to.

  He stepped towards her, took her lightly by the arms and kissed each cheek. ‘Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Let me offer you a drink.’

  Carrie was grateful for the invitation. She was having difficulty standing, even though her poor heart had started beating again. Tearing her eyes from him and fighting to regain her composure, she sank down thankfully into the nearest armchair.