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‘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 (#ulink_88a135d5-6279-5641-9a25-3da3567d6d74)
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.
‘Nothing to worry about. Her blood pressure is fine, and Anna is better than she has been in years. Lucy has given her a new lease on life. You as well, Lorenzo, I shouldn’t wonder. You are a very lucky man.’ He beamed at him, sipping his glass of cognac, more than slightly drunk. ‘That young woman of yours is a true gem—beautiful and talented, with a heart as big as a lion, loving and compassionate … maybe too compassionate for her own good. If I had been her doctor I don’t think I’d have advised a teenager to do it.’
‘Do what?’ Lorenzo asked, draining his glass. He placed it on the low table and reclined back in his chair. Had Lucy had an abortion? he wondered cynically, knowing how the doctor felt about such a procedure, being deeply religious.
‘Why—give one of her kidneys to her brother, of course.’
A rushing noise filled Lorenzo’s head. The colour leached from his face, and he sat up straight and stared at the doctor with horrified eyes. ‘Lucy did what? When?’ he demanded in a hoarse voice.
‘Surely you must know? When her brother returned to England—after the climbing accident. Apparently the Swiss clinic he spent a day in said he was naturally a bit exhausted, but fine, and discharged him. A couple of weeks later his own doctor and local hospital weren’t much better, and three months later he ended up in the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London. They finally diagnosed him as having a rare disease, probably picked up in South America at the beginning of the year, that attacked the kidneys. The only solution was a transplant. Lucy was a perfect match—not that it did much good. She told me her brother died last year.’
‘Lucy … ‘ Lorenzo groaned her name as the enormity of what she had done hit him. ‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, terrified of the answer.
‘Yes, she is fine—very fit. One kidney is almost as good as two. I got her blood results this morning. No food poisoning—nothing wrong at all. Probably, as she said, the wine and too much rich food. She is a very sensible girl, who rarely drinks and watches what she eats. I think Anna was hoping Lucy might be pregnant, but she isn’t—and she is not on the pill, either. Doesn’t believe in putting anything in her body that is not necessary to her health—very wise.’ He suddenly stopped and added belatedly, ‘But I should not have told you—doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.’ Rising to his feet, he said, ‘Time I went to bed. Goodnight, Lorenzo.’
But Lorenzo didn’t hear. He was fighting to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest as the full weight of what the doctor had revealed exploded in his mind. Lucy—his Lucy—with the laughing eyes and the brilliant smile. It would kill him if anything happened to her. And in that instant he knew he loved her—probably had from the day she’d walked into his office and he had kissed her.
A host of other memories flooded though his mind: their first night together, when he’d carried her upstairs and she’d given herself to him so willingly. For the first time in his life he’d lost control. He should have known then he loved her.
He remembered kissing the scar at the base of her spine and asking her how she’d got it the second night they were together—when, after the first rush of passion, they had made long, slow love … caressing, exploring and having fun together. She had said it was just a cut, and, so engrossed in what she was doing to him by then, he’d never queried her answer. Later that night he had delivered a cruel cut of his own, and he couldn’t bear to think how brutal he had been.
He had actually accused her brother of manslaughter and ended their weekend affair with a ruthlessness as insulting to her as it was shaming to him. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands.
Lucy was never going to forgive him—how could she? He was the staid, arrogant banker she’d called him, who thought he was always right. She had tried to tell him this afternoon, when he’d shoved his so-called proof at her. She had accused him of seeing things in black and white and suggested her brother might have been weakened or passed out. But had he listened? No.
Lorenzo had no idea how long he sat there with every day of the last few months he’d spent with Lucy replaying in his mind—every word, every action. He had read somewhere that love was a kind of madness and, given the crazy way he had behaved since he’d met Lucy, he could believe it.
Finally he got to his feet, and with a steely glint of determination in his eyes walked upstairs. He hesitated for a second outside her bedroom, then opened the door and walked in.
He crossed to the bedside and stared down at where she lay on her back, her beautiful face illuminated by the bedside light, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep. His conscience told him the way he had behaved towards her was despicable and he should leave now. Let her go home as planned, and get on with her life without him. But he was not that altruistic. What he wanted he fought tooth and nail to get—and he wanted her with a passion, a depth of love, he had never imagined possible. Just the thought of never seeing her again tore him apart. She stirred slightly.
‘Lucy.’ He said her name and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Lucy.’ he said again, and raised his hand to rest it on her shoulder.
Somewhere in her dreams Lucy heard Lorenzo call her name, and her eyelashes fluttered. She moaned a soft, low sound—'Lorenzo … ‘ Her lips parting in the beginning of a smile. Then she heard it again, louder, and blinked. ‘Lorenzo?’ she repeated, and felt his touch. She opened her eyes. This was no dream—he was sitting on her bed. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, knocking his hand away and scrambling back against the pillows, tugging the coverlet to her neck and suddenly very aware of her naked state.
‘I had to see you—to talk to you—make sure—’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ she cried. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
‘Yes—out of my mind with loving you.’
Loving her.
Her green eyes opened wide. She had to be still dreaming. But, no—Lorenzo was there, larger than life, minus his jacket, his shirt open at the neck. His black hair looked as if he had run his hands through it a hundred times, and his face was grey, but it was the pain in his eyes that shocked her most.
‘You look more like a man on death row than a man in love,’ she tried to joke. She could not—would not—believe what he had said.
‘Oh, Lucy,’ he groaned. ‘I might as well be if you don’t believe me. I love you—it is not a joke.’ And, reaching out, he curved his hands around her shoulders. ‘The only joke is on me, for not realising sooner,’ he said, staring down at her with haunted eyes. ‘Dio, I hope I am not too late.’
Lucy hung on to the coverlet as if her life depended on it and looked at him. This was a Lorenzo she had never seen before. Gone was the hard, emotionless man. She could see the desperation in his eyes, feel it in the unsteady hands that held her, and she could feel herself weakening, beginning to believe him … Her pulses were beating erratically beneath her skin, her heart pounding.
‘I have sat downstairs for ages, wondering how to explain my actions … the appalling way I have behaved towards you since the day we met … and the only explanation I have is because I love you.’
Her heart squeezed inside her. ‘That has to be the dumbest reason I have ever heard for declaring you love someone.’ She wanted to believe him, but with a cynicism she had never had until she’d met him she said, ‘What is this? Some ploy to get a farewell lay? Well, you are wasting your time. I know exactly how contemptuous you think I am—a promiscuous, greedy woman who can’t help herself around men and who you can pay off. But you’re wrong.’
She was angry—at herself for her body’s instant response to his closeness, and at Lorenzo for doing this to her now, when she had finally resigned herself to their parting.
‘I only ever had sex once in my life before you. As for your paying me off—that convoluted deal was all your doing. All I ever asked from you was for you to vote with me and not sell your shares to save my family firm. I ended up blackmailed into your bed. So excuse me if I don’t believe you love me. Just leave me alone. I am packed and ready go.’ And then she added, ‘Try Olivia. I’m sure she will oblige—probably already has, according to rumour.’
He looked stunned. ‘Rumour is completely unfounded. My relationship with Olivia Paglia is strictly business, and I will sue anyone who dares repeat it.’ He sounded genuinely affronted. ‘How the hell did you find out about the rumours?’
‘I met you coming out of her apartment building, remember? The Contessa told me.’
‘I thought better of the Contessa—she is not known as a gossip,’ he said, and she saw disillusion in his dark eyes.
‘In fairness,’ Lucy began, ‘the Contessa did not believe them—and now I think you should leave.’
