Contrary to what Lorenzo seemed to think, she had been well brought up. She had attended a prestigious boarding school and art college. Her family had been reasonably wealthy by any standards, and their home—while not as spectacular as this—lovely. Not overflowing with staff, but there had been a housekeeper who’d arrived at eight every morning and left at four. Her husband had been the gardener, and the acres of grounds had been well tended. When her parents had entertained extra staff had been hired. Her mother had been a beautiful, loving and elegant lady, whom everyone had adored—especially Lucy. But everything had changed after her mother died.
No, she wasn’t going to dwell in the past—she had done too much of that already. And, flicking her wayward hair back, she ran up the stairs to her room.
Lucy stopped at the top of the stairs and drew in a long, steadying breath. The huge hall looked more like a ballroom, with exquisite floral arrangements and a small raised platform at one side, where a quartet were arranging their music. Already quite a few guests had arrived, the men all wearing tuxedos and the woman glamorous in designer gowns, some short, some long, and all probably costing a fortune.
Suddenly Lucy was really glad that she had at the last minute packed the dress the Contessa had given her. It was perfectly appropriate for this sophisticated party. And no way was she wearing the black dress Lorenzo had suggested. After this afternoon, she was never doing anything he said again.
The dress was by an Italian designer, and a classic mini from the nineteen-sixties. Not too short, ending two inches above her knees, it had a curved neckline that revealed the upper swell of her breasts and skimmed perfectly over her hips and thighs. But it was the fabric that made it sensational—a fine silk jersey almost completely covered in white sequins from neck to hem, except for the dazzling psychedelic pattern of silver sequins down the front. On her feet she wore high-heeled sequined shoes.
Lucy made it down the stairs without stumbling, and heaved a sigh of relief when she got to the bottom safely and glanced around. Lorenzo was walking towards her, his dark eyes blazing. Whether he was angry or something else, she didn’t know. She had seen him conservatively and casually dressed, but wearing a black tuxedo, a white dress shirt and bow-tie he looked more stunningly attractive than any man had a right to, she thought helplessly, unable to take her eyes off him.
‘You are late,’ Lorenzo said.
He had watched Lucy walk down the stairs, a shimmering vision in white and silver, and she took his breath away. Her hair was swept up into a swirl on top of her head, with a few long tendrils left to fall down the back of her neck and either side of her face. She was wearing make-up, understated but perfect, and her big green eyes fringed with thick curling lashes looked even larger somehow. Her lips were a glossy deep pink that made him want to taste them—taste her. No, not any more, he reminded himself.
‘Sorry,’ Lucy murmured, and raised her eyes to his. She saw the desire, the hunger he could not disguise, and knew hers were conveying the same emotion. She caught the hint of regret before the shutters came down and Lorenzo spoke.
‘Very eye-catching dress, but what happened to the black I suggested? ‘ he demanded, and offered her his arm.
Consigned to the bin, along with all her foolish hopes, Lucy thought bitterly, and took his arm, thankful that tonight was the last act of this ridiculous drama.
They joined his mother, Anna hugged and kissed her, and Lucy lost count of the number of people she was introduced to. Teresa Lanza almost squeezed the air out of her and most of the other guests seemed very pleasant.
Then suddenly there was a hush, and Lucy watched as a stunning, tall and dark-haired woman in red on the arm of a much younger man made an entrance, pausing and looking haughtily around for a second or two.
Lucy felt Lorenzo tense beside her, and caught the slight frown on Anna’s face as the couple walked over.
Anna introduced the pair of them to Lucy. ‘Signora Olivia Paglia and her son Paolo.’
With the briefest of acknowledgments in her direction, Olivia wrapped her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. It would have been his mouth if he had not moved his head, Lucy thought, her gaze flickering between the two of them as the woman began speaking.
She gathered from her limited understanding of Italian that Olivia was reminding him of his friend, and how much her poor disabled Fedrico would have loved to be here. It was not possible any more, and it was hard for her on her own, but how grateful she was for Lorenzo’s support.
Was Lorenzo really that clueless about what Olivia was doing? Lucy wondered. The only person Olivia was interested in was Lorenzo. It was blindingly obvious. She was playing on his sympathy for his friend with the hope of moving on to him. Or maybe she already had, if the rumoured affair the Contessa had told her of was to be believed. Well, they looked about the same age, and they obviously knew each other very well—they certainly had plenty to say to each other.
As if she wasn’t hurting enough already, another thought struck her. Maybe the reason for Lorenzo insisting she meet his mother and play the lover had nothing to do with his fear of Anna contacting her but was a deliberate ploy to use Lucy as a smokescreen to deflect talk of his affair with his friend’s wife. She wouldn’t put anything past him, and it would explain why except for one lapse he wanted nothing to do with Lucy now she was in Italy.
She glanced at Anna, who was greeting someone else, and then back at Lorenzo and Olivia, who were still talking. She moved to one side, totally disgusted. Then she caught sight of the latest arrival, and a genuine smile slowly curved her lips as she walked forward to meet her.
‘Contessa,’ she said, and was greeted with a delighted laugh.
‘Lucy!’ The Contessa put her arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks, then stepped back. ‘Let me look at you.’
Grinning, Lucy gave a twirl. ‘What do you think? Does it suit me?’
‘Perfectly—as I knew it would. You look lovely and it brings back so many happy memories for me. I was nineteen, and wore it the night I first met my husband. Now,’ she said, taking Lucy’s arm, ‘come and show me this painting I’ve heard about.’
Lucy was happy and relieved to go along with the Contessa. ‘It is on an easel in the lounge, I believe.’ Arm in arm, they started to walk.
‘Good—and later you can tell me what on earth you are doing with Lorenzo Zanelli. He is far too serious for you—though to be fair there is no doubting he is a very attractive man, and definitely all male. But be warned—he is the type of man a woman can enjoy making love with, but to talk with, to really know—never. He has too much pride and passion in his work. Everything else is on the periphery of his life, especially his women—and there must have been a few.’
‘I guess so,’ Lucy said. ‘But I am not doing anything with him. I am going home tomorrow,’ she stated as they approached the double doors. And if the Contessa noticed the hint of bitterness in her tone she did not remark on it.
Before they could walk through into the lounge, Lorenzo appeared.
‘Contessa … ‘ He spoke to her in Italian.
But she answered in English, with a mischievous glance at Lucy. ‘No need to apologise, Lorenzo, for not greeting me on arrival. I could see you were occupied with Signora Paglia, and Lucy more than made up for your lapse.’ As a put-down it was brilliant and she smiled at Lucy, her sparkling eyes brimming with merriment. ‘Lucy is going to show me her latest work of art—shall we, dear?’
Lorenzo stood frozen to the spot and watched as the two petite women—one old, one young—both beauties, walked into the lounge, the sound of their laughter floating back to him. He had never been so elegantly dismissed in his life.
He was about to follow them when Olivia caught his arm again.
‘Lorenzo, you never told me your little friend was an artist and had painted a portrait of your brother—how sweet. And she looks very sweet in that vintage dress. But secondhand clothes have never appealed to
me—I prefer new.’
He looked at the tall brunette hanging on his arm. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t you know? The Contessa gave Lucy the dress she is wearing. Teresa Lanza overheard them talking, and apparently the Contessa wore it the first time she met her husband. Heaven knows how many years ago that was, but at least it saved you having to buy one for your mother’s little protégée. She probably had nothing suitable for an occasion like this.’
Olivia really was a bitch, Lorenzo finally realised, and from now on Fedrico was going to have to look after his own business affairs. Disabled or not, there was nothing wrong with the man’s brain.
Shrugging off her arm, he said, ‘Excuse me,’ and strode into the lounge.
He spotted Lucy with the Contessa, sitting on a sofa with a group of people standing around them. Lucy was laughing at something young Paolo Paglia had said. Lorenzo took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked over to the group.
‘Champagne, Lucy?’
Lucy heard Lorenzo’s voice, though she had not seen him approach, and her smile dimmed as she looked up at him and took the glass he offered. If his interest in her had been genuine, and he’d seen her as more than just a body in his bed, he might have noticed she never drank the stuff.
She listened as he effortlessly joined the conversation. But his very presence so close was affecting her hard-won poise—and it was getting worse.
For a man who could hardly wait to get rid of her, and was prepared to pay to do so, he had an odd way of showing it, Lucy thought two hours later. Lorenzo had insisted on sticking with the Contessa and Lucy. He had totally charmed the Contessa, and kept touching Lucy—her arm, her waist. She knew it was just for show, but by the time he escorted them to the buffet laid out in the dining room she was beginning to wonder.
The Contessa left after the buffet, and the band began to play.
Lorenzo led Lucy on to the dance floor and took her in his arms. For a moment it was like the first time they’d danced together—a perfect fit. Held close against his long body, Lucy stopped wondering, and her soft heart began to hope.
Then Lorenzo burst her bubble by speaking.
‘Did you hope to insult me by wearing the gown the Contessa gave you?’
It was like a douche of ice water over her head.
‘Did I succeed?’ Lucy asked, stiffening in his arms.
His dark eyes clashed with hers, something moving in the inky depths. ‘Not really—it looks beautiful. But if you wanted a new dress you had only to ask. I would have bought you as many as you like.’
‘I think you have paid quite enough already to get me here,’ she said. ‘As have I. And isn’t it time you mingled with your other guests?’
‘You are right,’ he agreed. ‘Maybe I have been a little neglectful.’ And he led her off the dance floor and through into the lounge, where Anna sat with a few friends.
‘Watch what you say,’ Lorenzo murmured as he led her over and she sat down beside Anna on the sofa.
The doctor made way for her with a smile and, perching on the cushioned arm. Lorenzo said a few words to the small group which made them smile.
Lucy managed not to flinch as he finally glanced down at her and she recognised the familiar ruthlessness in the tight line of his mouth.
‘I’ll see you later, cara.’
The indifference in his eyes chilled her to the bone. She watched as he walked back into the hall and saw he was quickly surrounded by a crowd of sophisticated friends, all laughing and talking—including Olivia Paglia, competing with the rest for Lorenzo’s attention. She looked as if she was winning.
Lucy turned her head away and, pinning a smile on her face, listened as Anna introduced her to Luigi, a small dark man, obviously Italian, but whose English was faultless—as was almost everyone’s here, she thought. But then at this level of society that was probably to be expected.
‘My congratulations, Lucy. Your portrait of Antonio is amazing—especially for someone so young,’ said Luigi.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, and when he said he was an art historian the conversation flowed.
For the remainder of the evening Lucy stayed where she was, only moving after Luigi rose to take his leave, kissing both Lucy and Anna goodnight. Then Anna excused herself, as it was nearly midnight and time for her to retire. The rest of the group stood up.
Anna kissed Lucy on the cheek. ‘It was good of you, my dear, to spend so much time with us oldies. Now, come—I will find that formidable son of mine and tell him he has played host long enough. I will say goodnight, then you two can enjoy yourselves.’
Lucy didn’t think so, but she had no choice but to follow Anna into the grand hall. Lorenzo’s dark head bent towards his mother as they said goodnight and then Anna moved towards the stairs.
Lucy was left standing like a lemon, wishing she was anywhere else but here. She could feel Lorenzo looking down at her, and reluctantly glanced up.
‘Are you enjoying the party, Lucy?’ he asked, but his eyes were still dark pools, no glimmer of interest in their depths. ‘You seem to have been a big hit with everyone—especially Luigi … a good man to know in your line of work.’
Then just behind her she heard a young man’s voice.
‘At last the lovely Lucy has joined the dance.’
She felt an arm slip around her waist, and quickly pulled away. Another arm wrapped around her—this time Lorenzo’s—and she heard the laughter of the people around, and a mocking, ‘Well held, Lorenzo.’
‘Careful, cara.’ He smiled. ‘Paolo is only a boy.’
But there was no amusement in the dark eyes staring coldly down into hers.
‘I can see that,’ said Lucy, her cheeks burning and her green eyes sparkling up at him ‘Excuse me a moment.’
She spun out of Lorenzo’s grasp and swiftly moved through the crowd, making her way upstairs without a backward glance. She had been ignored, laughed at and mocked, and she had finally had enough of the injustice of it all.
Kicking off her shoes, she picked them up and made her way to the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and washed her face and unpinned her hair. Then, wrapping a towel around her body, she crossed to the dressing room and found her suitcase. She began to pack.
Carefully she wrapped the dress she had worn for the party in tissue. It was a beautiful gift from a lovely lady, though Lucy doubted she would ever wear it again. She left out jeans and a sweater to wear when she left. She wanted nothing and no one to delay her departure, and if she didn’t meet the usual designer-clad elegant standard of the ladies Lorenzo usually transported in his private jet, she didn’t give a damn!
She walked back into the bedroom and, switching on the bedside light clicked off the main one. Dropping the towel, she climbed wearily onto the big bed. She pulled the satin and lace cover over her and laid her head down on the plump pillows. It was comfortable, and she heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. This time tomorrow she would be at home in her own bed, all her problems solved, financially solvent, and free …
She should be ecstatic, so why did she feel so hurt, so defeated? She knew the answer. After Lorenzo’s outburst this afternoon she had recognised at last the implacability of his contempt for her. Was it possible to desire someone and hate them at the same time? Yes, she thought bitterly. Lorenzo could.
From the very beginning when she had felt they’d made love Lorenzo had felt … nothing … She moved her hand slowly over her naked body, remembering. Not strictly true. She thought of the dark desire, the passion in his black eyes, the need he could not hide when buried deep inside her.
Then she remembered his comment on Monday night. The only time his brain stopped working and planning was in a moment of intense sexual relief … The only time he stopped despising her … And then she knew she didn’t care what proof he thought he had. She had suffered enough pain to last a lifetime because of him.
Her eyes filled with moisture; in a house full of people she had
never felt so alone in her life.
Turning, she buried her face in the pillow and gave way to grief for all those she had loved and lost, letting the tears fall. For her mother, her father, her brother—but most of all for the love she had never had and never would have from Lorenzo.
CHAPTER TEN
LORENZO had watched Lucy ascend the stairs. He had been watching her all evening. It was crazy, he knew, and he had to stop. Even if she had not been the sister of a man he despised she was still not for him. She was too young. Paolo was nearer her age, but he’d had some nerve, trying to put his arm around her. For a second he had wanted to knock the cheeky young devil down.
He glanced around the room. The crowd was thinning fast—time to do his duty as host and see them all out. He was not a lover of parties at the best of times—especially in his home—but at least his mother had enjoyed herself.
Gianni was on hand to round up the stragglers, and an hour later only the doctor was still in the lounge, as he was staying the night.
He glanced around the empty hall and saw again in his mind’s eye Lucy descending the stairs earlier, a vision in silver and white. Damn it! She was in his head again. She had been in his head for the best part of three months, and it had to stop. He had to forget her exquisite little body was curled up in bed a few metres above his head, despite the frustration coursing through him. The woman was driving him mad. The sooner he could stick her on the plane in the morning and forget he’d ever known her the better.
With the last guest gone, he strode into the salon. He was too tense to sleep, and spotted the doctor still seated on a sofa. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled off the bow-tie, crossing to the drinks cabinet and pouring cognac into two glasses. He handed one to the doctor and sat down in a chair opposite.
‘Brilliant party, my boy.’
Lorenzo agreed, and automatically asked him about his mother’s health.
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