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‘Well, in certain circles it would—but, no, I suppose you can be excused—since you’re Italian.’
His chuckle was rich and deep. ‘How nice of you to say so, although I’m not quite sure whether I should be flattered or offended by your remark.’
‘You must interpret it as you like—but I truly meant no offence.’
They went outside and walked along a flagstone path that separated the flower beds leading to an arbour. A white lace table cloth covered a small, round, wrought-iron table on which delicate china tea things and cakes had been set out. Max pulled out a chair for Christina and Lorenzo poured the tea before excusing himself and disappearing along the path and into the house.
‘That’s Lorenzo, by the way, my steward, secretary and—’
‘General factotum by the look of things,’ Christina was hasty to add. ‘He seems to know how to lay a perfect tea table as well as take care of his secretarial duties.’
Sitting across from her and resting one foot atop his other knee, Max unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back in the chair. Relaxed and comfortable, he looked across at his companion, transfixed as he stared at her seated against a backdrop of vibrant climbing red roses. Having removed her bonnet and with her luxuriant hair tumbling over her shoulders and her green eyes glowing from between the thick fringe of black lashes, she presented such a captivating picture that he was torn between the urge to shove the table and its crockery away and pull her into his lap, and the equally delightful desire simply to relax and feast his eyes on her.
He was unable to believe she was here with him after so many years. Ever since she had been taken away from Castello Marchesi, without fully realising what had happened he had carried his dream of meeting her again in his heart, and the fact that the boy had become a man had not diminished that dream.
Chapter Three
‘Would you like a cake?’ Max said, picking up a plate and offering Christina one of the dainty confections Lorenzo had purchased at the village bakery earlier.
Christina took one and put it on her plate. She smiled, diverted by his ever-present courteous formality, even when she wasn’t being particularly nice to him. A lazy somnolence had descended on the garden and the perfume of roses—red, white, pink and yellow—was heavy and sweet.
‘Why do you stare at me?’ she asked, settling back in her seat and taking a bite out of her cake, finding it virtually impossible to ignore the tug of his eyes and voice.
‘Because I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’
‘Are you always so…?’
One black arched brow lifted in mild enquiry. ‘What?’
‘Forthright? Why do you always seem to be on the verge of laughing at me?’
‘Not at you, Miss Thornton. For some unfathomable reason you amuse me—and because I happen to like you.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there have been times when I have been less than polite to you. In fact, I’ve been positively beastly.’
‘I agree, but you’re forgiven.’
‘That’s gracious of you to say so, but I really was quite horrid to you when we first met.’ Christina glanced at him and smiled, shaking her shining head as the memory of how she had looked and what he must have thought assailed her, and when she met his eyes she saw that he remembered it too.
‘You mean when you were cavorting semi-naked in the lake.’
‘Yes. I was quite shameless,’ she murmured, finishing off her cake and licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers, unwittingly unaware of how this simple childish gesture warmed Max’s blood.
‘I agree, you were. You see, life in Italy has the Italian woman living under close scrutiny of family members. Her acquaintances with the opposite sex are selected and chaperoned, and if she were to be seen swimming almost naked with two young men, her reputation would be ruined and she would in all probability see out the rest of her life in a convent.’
A note of reproach hardened his voice and Christina wondered why, but quickly dismissed it as of no importance. ‘Dear me! I find that a bit extreme, but then—I’m not Italian,’ she remarked airily. ‘You seem very at home here, Mr Lloyd.’
‘Max—please call me Max.’
‘Very well. Mister Lloyd does seem rather formal, and I positively refuse to call you Count. You must call me Christina. Tell me what it’s like where you come from?’
‘In Tuscany?’
She nodded.
‘It’s very beautiful. Enchanting. Timeless. It is a different way of life altogether. You have to see it to appreciate it.’
‘What is it you do there?’
‘Why should I do anything? Being a count, I might be extremely rich and not have to work.’
‘You don’t strike me as a gentleman of leisure—no matter how rich you are.’
‘You’re right. I’m not. I like to be busy.’
‘So, what do you do?’
‘I grow grapes—as my family has done for centuries.’ He went on to talk about his vineyards, of which he was inordinately proud. He was full of enthusiasm and talked vividly about the Tuscan climate and the effect it had on the grapes, and how the weather could be one’s best friend or a grape grower’s worst enemy, and how they prayed for warm, dry summers before the vendemmie, the grape harvest, in the autumn. Christina proved to be an avid listener.
‘So you are very rich,’ she remarked when he fell silent.
‘My prosperity is largely due to my ancestors and in particular to my grandfather. He was a superb businessman.’
‘I suspect you take after him.’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘How interesting you make it sound.’
‘It is. I—would like for you to see it,’ he said, watching her expression carefully. ‘Would you like to?’
She nodded emphatically. ‘But it’s just not possible.’
‘It might be. You would be made most welcome, Christina,’ he said, using her name for the first time and sending an unexplainable thrill of pleasure through her.
‘Are you married?’ she asked impulsively, wanting to know all there was to know about this strange foreign man who had unexpectedly appeared in their midst.
‘No.’
‘Are you likely to be?’
‘Why?’ he asked, his dark eyebrows drawing together over his incredulous blue eyes. ‘Would you like to marry me?’
His question spoken in jest caused her to laugh out loud and brought a sparkle to her eyes, yet somewhere deep inside her she could feel the first stirrings of discomfort. ‘Of course not. What I mean is,’ she said when he shot her a thoroughly amused look, ‘is there a woman in your life—someone special?’
‘You’re very inquisitive, Miss Thornton.’
Her eyes glowed mischievously. ‘It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.’
‘Then the answer to your question is that there are many women in my life.’
‘Any one in particular?’ she persisted, letting her eyes drift over his thick, smoothed-back black hair to his face, noting the Italian nobility and pride stamped on his bronzed features.
He met her eyes and the line of his mobile mouth quirked in a half-smile. ‘There might be.’
She glanced at him obliquely, a warmth beginning to suffuse her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. His voice was low pitched and though she wasn’t used to men like Max Lloyd—Marchesi, she knew it was sensual and was unsure how to respond to it. ‘You’re very secretive. In fact you’re as mysterious to me now as you were before I met you.’
‘Which adds to my appeal, I hope.’
‘Appeal? Now that’s a strange word to use. I don’t find you in the least appealing.’
‘You don’t?’ he asked with mock disappointment.
‘No, of course I don’t.’
His eyes narrowed and darkened, becoming warm and seductive. ‘And you are sure about that, are you, signorina?’
‘Yes.’ Christina was glad he had called her signorina. It sounded alien to her, emphasising the difference between them and reducing the effect his blatant masculinity was beginning to have on her, bringing her drifting spirit back to reality. Her dawning response to him was solid enough reason to end the visit immediately. ‘I think I’d better be going. I’ve been here long enough and there must be things you have to do.’
‘Why are you nervous all of a sudden?’
His penetrating blue eyes were searching her face. She was not imagining his interest in herself. She might have no experience of men, but she was perfectly able to recognise admiration in a man’s eyes. Suddenly it was like being on an obstacle course of emotions that left her confused. Without warning she had passed from the love she bore James to the more dangerous ground on to which this stranger sought to entice her.
She made absorbing work of putting on her bonnet. Until she’d come into the garden she had known exactly what she wanted, but now her dream was clouded with uncertainty. Now there was something else, something dark and secret stirring inside her that had nothing to do with James, and she didn’t like it, not one bit.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, avoiding his eyes.
‘That’s a pretty bonnet you are wearing. Would you like to know what I see when I look at you?’
‘Not if you’re going to sound like some amorous Latin lover I don’t.’
He laughed softly, noting the tremulous brightness in her eyes and the way her fingers trembled as she tied the bow beneath her chin. ‘We Italians are born with the ability to make love. Are you not curious to know more, Christina?’
She swallowed convulsively, her cheeks having turned a glorious shade of pink. ‘Yes,’ she whispered with all the honest innocence of youth. ‘Of course I want to know more, of course I want to know what it feels like to be kissed, but certainly not by some Latin Lothario.’
Inexplicably, Max threw back his head and shouted with laughter, the sound disturbing the quietness of the garden and causing startled birds to take flight. At one and the same time this delightful girl managed to be an intriguing, alluring young woman and an enchanting young girl. In the course of three days she had treated him with outright anger and rebellion, cold disdain, and now with a sprightly impertinence and lightheartedness that he found utterly exhilarating. Still chuckling, he shook his head slowly, his eyes sparkling with humour, his teeth gleaming white between his parted lips.
‘I am immensely flattered that you should liken me to Rowe’s libertine, but let me assure you, my dear Christina, that I am nothing like that reprobate. However, it is clear to me that I have made an impression on you and it warms my heart to know it.’
‘You have no heart,’ Christina quipped good naturedly, smiling radiantly, finding it impossible to be cross with him when he hadn’t done anything wrong or said anything to offend. ‘If you had, you would never have lured a helpless female out into the garden for tea and cakes.’
‘I did not lure you and you are anything but helpless,’ he told her, grinning broadly. ‘However, I won’t embarrass you or offend your tender ears by explaining to you what Lothario was really like, so here,’ he said, pushing the plate of cakes towards her, ‘have another cake.’
‘I should be leaving,’ she said, standing up. ‘I swear the sun is getting hotter.’
‘In Italy the people are content to take their ease when the sun is at its height. Won’t you stay a while longer until it cools down?’
‘I mustn’t. I’ve been here for ages and if I don’t show my face soon Molly—my extremely strict maid who has promised to keep a watch over me while Mama is away—will send out a search party.’
‘Then we mustn’t upset Molly. Come, I’ll walk back with you.’
‘No, you can’t possibly. It isn’t far.’
‘I insist.’
And so Max accompanied her back to Tanglewood, and not until he’d left her did she remember the reason for her visit to his house.
To Christina’s delight, James arrived at Tanglewood later in the day. Smiling in anticipation and hope, from the long window in the drawing room she watched him get off his horse. Handing it to a groom, he bounded up the steps to the house.
‘Don’t look like that, Christina,’ Peter remarked crossly, putting down his newspaper and standing up.
‘Like what?’ she retorted, pretending innocence.
‘Like the cat that got the cream. Since his house is full of guests for the weekend, James has come to stay the night. We’ve planned to do a spot of fishing in the morning. We’re taking the boat out on the lake at first light.’
Christina’s eyes lit up. There was nothing she loved more than fishing in the early morning when the fish were at their keenest. ‘That sounds like fun to me. I’ll be there.’
‘No, you won’t. This time it’s to be just James and me. If Mama were here, she wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Well, Mama isn’t here.’
‘The answer is still no.’
‘But I always go with you.’
‘Not this time, so don’t come trailing after us. It’s becoming embarrassing, the lengths you go to to attract James’s attention, as if you consider him your personal property. He’s not interested, can’t you see that? Really, Christina, why can’t you be like other young ladies, who sew and read romantic novels that are all the rage?’
‘I hate romantic novels,’ she remarked, her lower lip drooping petulantly. ‘There are far more interesting things to do than read about heroines swooning over devastatingly handsome gentlemen all the time.’
‘Ha! And I don’t suppose you can see a similarity between that and your own silly behaviour with James. You never find his sisters hanging about like you do. Why can’t you be more like them and interest yourself in clothes and fashions—?’
‘For which I care even less.’
‘At least they are demure, delicate and refined—and quiet.’
‘And such dreadful bores.’
‘Where are you going?’ Peter demanded, throwing down his newspaper and striding after her.
Christina smiled back at him sublimely. ‘To welcome James.’
‘Christina! James is my friend and my guest. I would be obliged if you would remember that and not make a fool of yourself.’
‘Fiddlesticks! Calm down, Peter. Please don’t make a scene in front of James.’
