Claiming My Untouched Mistress

by Heidi Rice

  More than anything, I wanted to impress upon him that he hadn’t made a mistake in giving me this chance. Which meant not getting ideas above my station, as I had that excruciating morning at Belle Rivière, about what he did and didn’t want from me.

  ‘Miss Trouvé, welcome to La Villa Paradis. My name is Collette; I am Mr Allegri’s villa manager,’ an older woman greeted me in perfect English, before directing a young bellboy to take my carry-on bag. ‘Pascal will take your belongings to the guest house Mr Allegri has assigned to you. I hope your flight wasn’t too tiring?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. The flight had been just one more eye-popping experience. I’d never travelled in a helicopter before. ‘It was perfect,’ I said.

  Collette sent me a warm smile. ‘Good, then let me show you to your guest villa. I have arranged for a light lunch to be served to you there, but if there is anything else you require just let me know.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I nodded, disconcerted by the offer and her manner. I was Dante’s employee too, not a guest.

  ‘I thought you might like to rest for an hour before meeting with the stylist,’ she added. ‘So I have pushed the appointment back until three o’clock, if that is okay?’

  ‘Yes, but... What stylist?’ I asked, even more disconcerted.

  ‘Mr Allegri has hired Nina Saint Jus of La Roche to assemble your look,’ she said, naming a Parisian designer and fashion house so famous even I’d heard of them.

  ‘My look?’ I repeated dully, feeling the blush warm my cheekbones.

  Apart from the second-hand ball gown I’d worn to the casino the night I’d first met Dante, my wardrobe wasn’t exactly illustrious, being a collection of jeans and T-shirts in various states of disrepair. But Joseph had already arranged an advance on my salary for the event, and I’d managed to find some bargains online that I had hoped would ensure I didn’t look like a waif and stray Dante had dragged in off the street.

  I knew I needed to look the part, that dress was important. But a stylist? And one of Nina Saint Jus’s pedigree? How could I possibly afford to pay for this wardrobe? It would probably cost more than my entire salary.

  ‘Mr Allegri has not mentioned this to you?’ Collette asked with a benevolent smile on her face, as if she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’

  She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘Men!’ she said and sent me a conspiratorial grin that downgraded my panic a notch. She patted my hand as she led me down a path shaded by palm trees, the flower beds choked with an array of lilies and roses that added a heavy perfume to the fresh sea air. ‘Mr Allegri is arriving after lunch,’ she said helpfully. ‘He has requested that you meet him for dinner after your fitting; you will be able to talk to him then.’

  Far from downgrading my panic, Collette’s casual comment had it swelling into a ball—and head-butting my tonsils.

  * * *

  Ten hours later, as I was escorted through the mansion’s east ballroom and up a staircase to a mezzanine level, worry sat like a boulder wedged in my solar plexus.

  I had wanted to make the best possible impression today. But the fitting hadn’t gone well. While I had been trying to keep the price down, the stylist and her three assistants had insisted on discarding all the clothes I had brought with me and selecting a whole new wardrobe.

  For tonight, I was dressed in a fire-red satin body-con dress picked by the designer from her prêt a porter collection. My usually unruly hair was pinned up in a waterfall of curls that draped down my back, my make-up had been professionally done, and it had all been achieved by a team of beauty stylists who had arrived at my villa an hour before my dinner date with Dante.

  The expensive satin caressed my skin as I walked. The dress was absolutely exquisite, more beautiful, and a lot more expensive, than anything I’d ever worn before in my life. The designer had referred to it as a simple cocktail dress, while taking my measurements to design a series of more formal gowns for the ‘entertainments’ Dante had planned for the week ahead.

  To say all this activity had intimidated me would be putting it mildly.

  What entertainments? I wondered.

  As I walked along the balcony that skirted the ballroom, the heeled sandals I was wearing were muffled by the silk carpeting.

  The mansion’s grand décor—the modern art that lined the walls, the ornate plasterwork and elegant lighting—did nothing to calm my jangling nerves.

  I didn’t feel like me any more. When I had looked in the mirror after the styling I hadn’t recognised myself.

  I would have to tell Dante the truth at dinner. The truth I had hoped to keep hidden. That I really didn’t fit into this world. Into his world. That I could easily make a catastrophic mess of the job he’d given me, say something gauche or inappropriate, address someone the wrong way. That it was highly likely some of the guests might have known my mother, or certainly knew of her notoriety. And that I couldn’t possibly afford this wardrobe.

  My escort, a young man called Gaston with a friendly smile, opened a large door and I stepped into a room that was easily the size of the whole of Belle Rivière’s ground floor. Dante was standing on the other end of the huge banqueting hall, silhouetted against a view of the villa’s lavish gardens, currently lit by a series of nightlights. The long table which took up most of the space was set at the far end for two people with antique crystal and fine china.

  Were we eating alone tonight?

  ‘Bon appétit, Mademoiselle Trouvé.’ Gaston bowed and left, closing the door behind him before I had a chance to thank him.

  My inadequacy started to strangle me, but it was joined by the pulsing deep in my abdomen when Dante turned. He watched me but made no move towards me, so I was forced to walk to him.

  ‘Hi.’ My greeting came out on a helium squeak worthy of Minnie Mouse. I cleared my throat, mortified now as well as nervous.

  Dante’s lips quirked in that knowing smile which only unnerved me more.

  His gaze burned down my dress. The silky satin rubbed my sensitised skin like sandpaper.

  ‘I see Nina has done the job I paid her for,’ he said. ‘You look exquisite, bella.’

  His voice reverberated through me, making the liquid tug in my abdomen sink into my sex.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, then bit into my bottom lip.

  Tell him now, you ninny.

  ‘There is a problem,’ he said, and I realised he had noticed my nervousness. ‘You don’t like the dress?’

  ‘No, I love it,’ I said. ‘It’s just...’

  ‘Just what?’ he prompted.

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ I said. ‘Any of it.’

  He chuckled. ‘I guess it’s a good thing I’m paying for it then.’

  ‘But...’ My eyes widened again. I had to look like a rabbit in the headlights by now, but I couldn’t help it. I was totally overwhelmed. ‘Really?’

  His lips crinkled in a wry smile. The way they had when he’d teased me before, after I’d made that daft suggestion about showing him five million euros’ worth of gratitude.

  ‘Of course, I need you to look the part, Edie. Some people will assume you’re my mistress.’

  ‘They will?’ The heat flared in my cheeks.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ The muscle in his jaw tensed and I had the horrible thought that I might have insulted him with my shocked reaction.

  ‘No, not at all. It’s... I just didn’t expect you to pay for my clothing. As well as the generous salary you’re paying me.’

  The muscle relaxed and his smile returned. ‘It’s all part of the job, bella. If you really want to, you can always return the clothes to me once the event is over. But I doubt they will fit me.’

  I laughed, and his smile widened.

  He stepped closer and his thumb skimmed my cheek. ‘Has the bruise healed? Or is tha
t the work of a good make-up artist?’

  Something shimmered through me, more than the heat. I tried to pull it back. His concern was nothing out of the ordinary. He was just being a conscientious employer. The only reason I was taking it so much to heart was that I’d never had a man look at me like that before, as if he actually cared that I had been hurt.

  ‘Yes, it’s better, thanks,’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad,’ he murmured. The something shimmered through me again. He dropped his hand—and I felt a strange sense of loss. Holding out his arm, he indicated the table behind us as two serving staff entered the room. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he said. ‘This is a working dinner. We have much to discuss about next week.’

  My heart lurched into my throat as he seated me and the waiters set out a selection of delicate salads, fresh bread and charcuterie for our starters.

  I needed to come clean about my qualifications for this job, or rather the lack of them, I told myself. My panic attack over the clothes was proof of that.

  He poured me a glass of wine and I gulped it down as he served me from the terrines on the table.

  ‘Mr Allegri, there’s something I...’ I began.

  ‘Call me, Dante,’ he said. ‘You are part of my team, not a waitress.’

  I cleared my throat, the colour flushing through my system at the intimacy in the look he sent me. ‘Dante, I’m not sure I’m who you think I am.’

  ‘How so?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair to sip his wine.

  The colour rose to my hairline under that assessing gaze.

  I’d never been ashamed of my background. I was illegitimate—I’d never met my father; in fact he’d never even acknowledged me or my sister. Because we’d been the product of an extra-marital affair. But, despite that, I’d never been ashamed of my mother’s choices.

  She’d been reckless and irresponsible and selfish in a lot of ways, and careless—especially with other women’s husbands—but she’d also been loving and vivacious. And she had also been notorious, her exploits, her affairs, her lack of decorum or compunction documented in minute detail and found wanting in the tabloid press. She’d tried to shield us from that as children. But I’d heard all the whispers about her behaviour at the boarding schools I’d attended. That she was a marriage-wrecker, a slut, a whore. I’d got into enough fights over the years defending her honour, even though I knew in some ways she didn’t have any. The one time I’d confronted her about one of her ‘protectors’ when the story had hit the tabloids that she had broken up the marriage of a famous actor—and the girls at school had made my and Jude’s life a misery—she had simply laughed and said, ‘If his wife wanted to keep him, she should have made more of an effort to entertain him.’

  But, here and now, as I sat in front of Dante, it was hard for me to explain my upbringing without wishing it could be different.

  ‘I think you may have got the impression because of Belle Rivière...’ I swallowed, trying to alleviate the dryness in my throat ‘...and my background, that I’m an aristocrat and I know the workings of high society. I don’t.’

  He didn’t seem surprised by this revelation. ‘You are the granddaughter of a British duke—is this not true?’

  My ribs felt as if they were squeezing my lungs. So he had heard the rumours. The few bites of salad I had eaten coalesced in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘My mother always maintained as much,’ I said. ‘But I never met him or my father. And our father certainly never acknowledged us.’ I tried to sound flippant; the circumstances of my birth had never been important to me before. Why would they? My father had chosen not to be a part of my life. But, for the first time ever, instead of feeling belligerent and indifferent about the man who had sired me, I actually wished I could claim the pedigree Dante clearly believed I had.

  I didn’t want to lose this job, and it wasn’t about the money any more. This was the first chance I’d ever had to prove myself. And then there was the thought of being able to spend a whole ten days in his company. I might as well admit it, after his rescue a week ago and the way he had swooped in to give my sister and me a way out of our problems, not to mention the memory of that kiss, I had a massive crush on him. When he’d said that some people might consider me to be his mistress, I’d had the weirdest reaction. Not embarrassment or humiliation, but excitement and pride.

  ‘I was educated in private schools,’ I continued, because he was still watching me with that assessing gaze, not giving away his feelings about my revelations. ‘But I’ve never been to an event like the one you’re hosting here,’ I finished.

  His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw tensed again, but I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or disappointed with this information.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he said at last.

  The question confused me. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Because I don’t want to disappoint you,’ I said, forcing myself to admit it. ‘Although I didn’t recognise any of the names on the guest list...’ Thank God. ‘Some of your guests may still have known my mother, and they may well know of me, that I’m...’ I breathed in and looked out into the night, not able to look into his eyes any more. It was hard to say the word, because I had always been sure to make certain it did not define me, but I knew I had to be honest with him because it might very well define me now and my ability to do the job he’d given me. He’d bought me an incredible wardrobe, he’d put me up in one of the villa’s guest houses, he was giving me a four-figure salary for two weeks’ work and treating me with respect—as if I were more than an employee. He was even happy to have people believe we were dating. He’d shown a faith in me that no other man had ever shown, not even my own father—especially my own father—but I didn’t want to take what he was offering under false pretences, especially as it might have an adverse effect on what he wanted to achieve here. Or that would make me as complicit as my mother in the many, many marriages she’d destroyed.

  ‘That you’re what?’ he prodded, forcing me to bring my gaze back to his.

  ‘That I’m a bastard,’ I finally managed, pushing out the hateful word on a harsh breath. ‘Mr Donnelly said one of the purposes of this event and the new expansion is to increase the public profile of your company and to give the Allegri brand additional status and respect.’ I hurried on as his expression remained tense and shadowed. I had angered him with this revelation, I could see that now, even though he was making an effort not to show it. My hopes shattered. He would fire me, of course he would—what had made me think that I could hide who I really was, even for a second?

  ‘I don’t want to mess that up with my presence, or tarnish your company’s brand, however inadvertently.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I SAT STUNNED, not just by Edie’s revelation—which, of course, was not news to me at all—but by the honesty and openness and genuine anguish on her face as she related her background to me. I gritted my teeth, trying hard not to reveal my reaction. And trying even harder not to feel it.

  But, despite my best efforts, the all-consuming anger—towards the bastards who had ever made her think the circumstances of her birth diminished her—was followed by an even more disturbing sense of connection—at the realisation that she had once been subjected to the same petty prejudices and insults, the same cruel judgements that I had suffered so often as a boy.

  She pressed her napkin down on the table and stood. ‘I should leave,’ she said.

  Wait... What?

  I got up and walked round the table to grab her before she could run out on me again. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t you want me to go?’

  ‘Bella...’ I tried, but I couldn’t seem to stem the sympathy that overwhelmed me at the sight of her distress. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘I’ve just told you my mother was a...’ She swallowed and I could see her struggle with the ugly word she
had no doubt had levelled at her a hundred times. ‘She was notorious, Dante. I don’t want to...’

  ‘Shh...’ I pressed a finger to her lips. ‘My mother was a street whore in Naples, Edie,’ I said, breaking a silence I had kept since I was a child. ‘She picked up men for pennies, screwed them in alleyways. Or brought them back to the room where we lived. My earliest memory is hearing the sounds of sexual intercourse from my crib.’

  Shock widened her eyes, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from exorcising the bitter truth. Stupid that I should feel safe giving her this information. I hardly knew her, but something about the way she had confided in me, not to gain my pity or my empathy but simply to protect my company’s reputation, touched a part of me I thought was incapable of being touched.

  ‘Do you really think whatever your mother did or didn’t do with the men in her life could be worse than that?’

  I cupped her cheek, the softness of her skin, the brutal flush igniting her cheeks making me want to capture her mouth again and devour it.

  She wasn’t innocent—how could she be with a background like hers? She had grown up in the school of hard knocks, just like I had. Maybe her life had had the cushion of gentility that mine had comprehensively lacked, but we had both suffered, thanks to the weaknesses—and arbitrary prejudices—of others. It connected us in a way I might not like, but I could no longer fail to acknowledge.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Dante,’ she said, covering my hand with hers. The consoling words and the warmth in her eyes confused me—who exactly was comforting whom here? ‘That must have been so traumatic for you as a young boy,’ she added.

  I drew my hand away, appalled by her pity, but appalled more by the way it made me feel. Not angry, or even irritated, but moved.

  ‘And for your mother—what a terrible life for her too,’ she added, and I recoiled.

  Was she serious? I had hated my mother for so long—the life she had given me, the way she had discarded me like so much rubbish, I couldn’t quite comprehend what Edie was saying. I didn’t want her pity, but I couldn’t even understand her pity for the woman who had given birth to me.