Marco's Convenient Wife

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‘Please, Alice,’ the younger girl was beseeching her. ‘Please, please do what he wants. I can’t bear the thought of going to prison.’

As she listened to her Alice knew that in reality there was no choice for her at all. Not really.

There was no point in her making the mistake of hoping that the man in front of her was simply bluffing. She could see that he wasn’t…

A large four-wheel-drive vehicle suddenly pulled up behind the red sports car. Its driver jumped out and came hurrying towards them.

Listening to the swift exchange of Italian between him and her persecutor, Alice realised that the new arrival worked for the conte and that the conte was instructing him to take care of the sports car, and escort Louise to the airport, whilst he, the conte, drove himself and Alice to his estate.

‘Your luggage will be brought to the palazzo from the hotel,’ he informed Alice, without bothering to ask her what her decision was. But then of course why should he? It must be as obvious to him as it was to her from Louise’s white shocked face that there was no way she could subject the younger girl to the ordeal of police questioning and potentially a spell in prison, even if for her pride’s sake she was prepared to inflict such traumas on herself.

There was barely time to do anything more than exchange a swift hug with Louise, who was now sobbing woefully, full of contrition and guilt as she hugged Alice back with genuine appreciation and whispered, ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant—’

‘Shush, it’s all right,’ Alice whispered back to her, trying to reassure her, but still warning her gently, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to say anything about this to Connie.’

The last thing she wanted was for her sister to worry about her, especially since Connie had hinted to her that she and Steven were planning to try for a baby.

There was just time for them to exchange a final hug and then Alice was being firmly drawn away by her new employer. To an outsider she suspected that the hand he had placed around her upper arm looked as though he were merely guiding her. But she knew better. She could feel the sharp bite of those steely fingers against her flesh, she could tell too, from the closeness with which he held her to his side, that he was not in any way guiding her, but guarding her…as in imprisoning…She was his prisoner. He had total control over her, and she knew that he would not hesitate to exercise that control should he feel the need to do so.

Her whole body ached with shock. She felt slightly sick from the hot beat of the strong Florentine sunshine on her exposed head, and from what had happened. But there was no way she was going to show any sign of weakness in front of this man!

Had it not been for Louise and the plight of the baby she would certainly never have allowed him to dominate her like this. He was everything she hated in a man. Everything she despised and loathed.

Too arrogant, too sure of himself, too wrapped up in his own self-importance and too damn sexy by far. Oh, yes he was certainly that all right, she acknowledged, unable to resist the impulse to give him a quick sidelong look. And then wishing she had not given in to such temptation as he caught her betraying glance, faultlessly returning it with a smooth, knowing response that made her face flame and her heart thud in denial of what she was feeling.

But even by turning away from him she wasn’t able to escape; all she found was their reflections in the shop window. It seemed there was no way she could escape from him—nor from the shockingly intimate feelings he was making her experience.

Fiercely she tried to concentrate on realities, rather than feelings. He was much taller than her, imposingly so, his whole bearing proud and autocratic, his expression hardening the chiselled perfection of his features.

She in contrast looked small and pale, overwhelmed by him. He could have been a rapacious Roman centurion and she his captive. A long, dangerous shiver of an emotion she wasn’t prepared to name shocked through her.

CHAPTER THREE

ALICE woke immediately at the first soft whimper of baby Angelina’s cry despite the fact that it was almost three o’clock in the morning and she had had barely two hours’ sleep.

They had arrived at the palazzo the previous afternoon, just as the full lazy heat of the June sunshine had been bathing the creamy walls of the huge Palladian building in hot golden light. Set as it was against a magnificent backdrop of the surrounding Tuscan countryside, the effect on Alice’s finely tuned senses had almost overpowered her, affecting her as headily as too much indulgence in strong wine.

It was almost too perfect, had been her verdict as they had driven up the Lombardy-pine-guarded private road that led to the palazzo, and then in through the delicate high wrought-iron gates past imposingly formal gardens and finally into an enclosed courtyard at the rear of the palazzo which had immediately seemed to enclose her, shutting her off from the outside world and reality.

A small, gnarled man of about sixty had hurried out to the car, engaging in a low-voiced conversation with the conte, of which Alice could only hear the sharp, autocratic questions that her new employer was throwing at him.

‘Yes, the doctor has been called,’ Alice heard the older man replying in Italian. ‘but there has been an emergency at the hospital and so he has not as yet arrived.’

‘You have left the car in Florence?’ Alice heard the older man asking the conte, in an incredulous tone that immediately raised Alice’s hackles.

How typical of what she already knew of the conte that even his employees should know that he would be more concerned about the future of his car than that of his baby!

‘There was an accident,’ she heard him replying grimly, shaking his head immediately as the other man instantly expressed concern for his health.

‘No. It is all right, Pietro, I am fine,’ the conte was assuring him.

Grittily, Alice watched him. At no point during their hair-raising drive to the palazzo had the conte expressed either interest or concern in whether or not she had been hurt in the accident, and she was certainly not going to tell him just how queasy and uncomfortable she had felt during the drive, she decided proudly.

She still felt rather weak, though, and she was relieved to be ushered into the cool interior of the palazzo, which was, as she had somehow known it would be, decorated in an elegant and very formal style, and furnished with what she suspected were priceless antiques.

How on earth could a young child ever feel at home in a place like this? she wondered ruefully, as she followed the conte and his housekeeper, Pietro’s wife, Maddalena, who had now joined them, through several reception rooms and into a huge formal entrance hall from which a flight of gleaming marble stairs rose imposingly upward.

The baby’s suite of rooms—there was in Alice’s opinion no other way to describe the quarters that had been set aside for the little girl; certainly they were far too grand to qualify for the word ‘nursery’ as she understood it—was at one end of a long corridor, and furnished equally imposingly as the salons she had already seen.

A nervous and very flustered young girl who was quite plainly terrified of the conte appeared from one of the other rooms in response to the conte’s voice. She was inexpertly clutching the baby, who was quite plainly in discomfort and crying.

Immediately Alice’s training and instincts took over, and without waiting for anyone’s permission she stepped forward and firmly removed the baby from the girl’s anxious grip.

The baby smelled of vomit and quite plainly needed a nappy change. Her face was red and blotchy from distress and as Alice gently brushed her cool fingers against her skin, whilst reassuringly comforting her, she suspected that she probably had a temperature.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the move the conte made towards her as she took control and cradled the baby against her shoulder. Automatically she turned towards him, only just managing to suppress a small smile of grim contempt as she saw him glance from the baby to his own immaculate clothes.

A truly loving father seeing his motherless child in such distress should have instinctively placed the baby’s need for the security of his arms above those of his immaculate suit, especially when she suspected that the conte was more than wealthy enough to buy a whole wardrobe of designer suits.

A baby, though, could never be replaced; nor, in Alice’s opinion, could a baby ever be given too much love or security. And she immediately made a silent but vehement vow that, just so long as it was within her power to do so, she would ensure that little Angelina never, ever lacked for love.

As she and the baby made eye contact Alice felt a soft, small tug of emotion pulling on her heartstrings, her feelings reflecting openly in her eyes and quite plain for the man watching her to see and comprehend.

He had heard of love at first sight, Marco acknowledged wryly, and now had witnessed it taking place.

Quickly he veiled his own gaze to prevent Alice from seeing what he was thinking.

Almost as soon as she held her, little Angelina stopped crying as though she had instinctively recognised the sure, knowing touch of someone who knew what she was doing.

Alice could hear the conte speaking to the nursemaid in Italian. Alice wondered why a man as wealthy as the conte might choose to employ an untrained nanny to look after his motherless child. The girl looked haggard and white-faced and she had started to wring her hands as she explained how the baby had started to be violently sick, shortly after she had fed her.

Alice had already made her own professional diagnosis of what she suspected was wrong. Quietly but determinedly she walked towards the communicating door through which the nursemaid had appeared.

The room beyond it, whilst as elegantly furnished as the one she had been in, was in total chaos, and Alice grimaced as she saw the pile of soiled baby things heaped up on the floor, and the general untidiness of the room. It was plain to her that the girl whom the conte had left in charge of his baby daughter had no professional skills and very probably very little experience with babies.

Carrying Angelina into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom, she quickly started to prepare a bath for her, all the time holding her securely in one arm, sensing her fear and need to be held.

It astonished her when the conte suddenly appeared at her side, instructing her, ‘Give her to me.’

The baby started to cry again, a small, thin, grizzling cry of exhaustion, pain and misery. Dubiously Alice looked at her unwanted employer, but before she could say anything the baby turned her head and looked at the conte and suddenly she stopped crying, her eyes widening in recognition and delight as she held out her arms towards the man watching her.

To her own furious outrage, Alice actually felt sharp, emotional tears start to prick her eyes at this evidence of the baby’s love for her father. But what really shocked her was the easy way in which the conte had held his small daughter; whilst she prepared a bath for her, cradling her lovingly in his arms, soothing her with soft murmurs of reassurance until Alice was ready to take Angelina off him and gently remove her soiled clothes.

‘I think that she may only be suffering from a bad bout of colic,’ she told the conte as she gently lowered the baby into the water, keeping her attention on her all the time to ensure that she was not becoming in any way distressed, ‘but of course I would advise that she is checked over by a doctor.’

What she did not want to say was that she thought that it could be the inexpert handling of the baby by her nurse that was responsible for her agitated state. How could anyone leave such a young child with someone who was quite plainly not qualified to look after her?

Surely, having lost his wife, the conte would want to do everything he could to protect and nurture her child? A child who, it was already obvious to Alice, was looking helplessly to her father for love and security.

The arrival of the doctor interrupted her private thoughts, and whilst he was looking at the baby the conte had dismissed the nursemaid to go downstairs and have her supper, an act of apparent kindness, which for some reason only added to Alice’s resentment of him. He had shown no concern at all for the fact that she had not eaten in hours. Not that she wanted to eat particularly; she still felt slightly nauseous and suspected that she might still be suffering from shock. But just whether that shock had been caused by the accident or by the conte himself, Alice was not prepared to consider.

The doctor quickly confirmed Alice’s own diagnosis that the baby was suffering from colic and was probably also slightly dehydrated. Surprisingly he openly admonished the conte for allowing such an obviously inexperienced girl to have charge of Angelina.

‘I understand what you are saying, Doctor,’ the conte had accepted, ‘but I have had no real choice in the matter. The girl was chosen to take charge of Angelina by her mother. She has been with her since the first weeks of her birth, and I have been reluctant to remove her from the care of someone so familiar, although I have now taken steps to rectify the situation since, like you, I have been concerned about the girl’s ability to be responsible for the needs of such a small child.

‘Miss Walsingham here has been employed by me to take over full charge of the nursery and of Angelina,’ he told the doctor, turning to indicate Alice. ‘She is English, as Angelina’s mother was, and a fully qualified nanny.’

The doctor looked at Alice appraisingly, before turning to say with very Italian male appreciation, to Alice, ‘May I say how fortunate I consider Angelina to be to have such a pretty companion.’ The avuncular smile he gave her before turning back to the conte, along with the twinkle in his eye, reassured Alice that he was simply being gallant.

‘You will have trouble on your hands, I’m afraid, my friend,’ he continued to the conte.

‘I do not know whether to commiserate with you or envy you for having so much distracting temptation beneath your roof.’

Alice felt her face starting to burn. What on earth was the doctor trying to imply…? That the conte might be tempted. By her?

However, before she was able to formulate her own thoughts, the conte himself responded to the doctor, telling him with razor-sharp crispness, ‘I have employed Miss Walsingham for her professional qualities as a nanny, and not because of her looks, and as for her ability to tempt our sex…Miss Walsingham’s contract with me precludes her from encouraging any hot-blooded and foolish young man to be tempted by her.’

The hard-eyed look he gave her scorched Alice’s skin.

‘And since she has already foolishly exhibited to me just how irresistible she finds temptation, I fully intend to ensure that her will-power gets all the support it might need, and in whatever form she might need it.’

Alice gasped. How dared he take such a high-handed attitude with her, and in front of someone else? She was acutely aware of the interested way in which the doctor was now studying both of them, his dark eyes twinkling as though he found something amusing in the situation. Well, he might do so, but Alice most certainly did not.

However, before she was able to speak the conte continued almost brusquely, ‘It is essential that Angelina has stability in her life. She has already lost far too much…’ His voice had become so sober that immediately Alice felt unable to take issue with him regarding the statement he had just made.

‘Ah, yes, that was a terrible tragedy indeed,’ the doctor agreed gravely as he finished his examination of the baby and handed her back to Alice.

To her astonishment, as she reached out to take the baby the conte forestalled her, taking hold of his daughter himself and saying over Alice’s head to the doctor, ‘Miss Walsingham was involved in a thankfully minor accident earlier today, and I think it would be a good idea if you were to check her over…’

‘No. There’s no need. I’m fine,’ Alice responded immediately, bridling at the conte’s inference that she was almost as incapable of making her own decisions as the baby he was cradling against his shoulder with fatherly expertise.

At some point he had removed his jacket, and the fine white cotton of his shirt did very little to conceal the dark muscularity of the torso that lay beneath it. Alice could even see the shadowing of his body hair. And she actually felt her muscles threaten to go weak. Fortunately she was able to tense them against such betrayal as she forced herself to focus on the waiting doctor and not her employer.

‘I am perfectly all right,’ she insisted.

And it was, after all, the truth. That nauseous headache she was still suffering had simply been caused by the heat and her own intense emotions. The minute bruise she had sustained was luckily concealed by her hair, and there really hadn’t been any need for the conte to draw attention to her health!

Quite why she felt so resentful and hostile towards his apparent concern for her health, she didn’t know. Perhaps it had something to do with the anger she felt towards him that he could actually employ a woman he considered to be guilty of attempted theft to look after his daughter—who surely should matter far, far more to him than any mere material possession!

Reflecting now in the middle of the night on what had been said then, Alice reminded herself that the agency had told her before she’d left London that her prospective employer was looking for her to make a long-term commitment to her charge, and that she would be asked to sign a contract to that effect, but she had overlooked that fact in the turmoil of the accident and its aftermath. Now, however…

Quickly she got out of her bed and walked across to Angelina’s cot. She was the reason that Alice was now awake, her instincts alert to the baby’s distress even in her sleep. Angelina was lying awake, whimpering softly. Gently Alice lifted her out, checking her temperature and her nappy.

Her skin felt reassuringly cool, but her nappy needed changing, and Alice decided this would be a good opportunity to give her a small extra feed.

She suspected that she was slightly underweight and maybe even a little malnourished. If she was a slow feeder, then her young nurse might have become impatient.

Holding her tenderly against her shoulder, she padded into the room adjacent to the nursery proper, which had been converted into a temporary but very well-equipped kitchen, with everything to meet the baby’s needs.

She had already prepared some bottles of formula before going to bed, and as she removed one from the fridge and started to heat it she studied the baby’s face.

Her mother might have been English but she looked completely Italian. She had her father’s dark hair and eyes, and Alice suspected she had also inherited the conte’s determined chin.

For a baby of six months she was a little on the small side. As she looked at her with grave, worried eyes Alice couldn’t resist dropping a tender kiss on her forehead as she smoothed her baby curls.

She was adorable, but so vulnerable. Alice ached to protect and care for her; so much so, in fact, that she could almost actually feel a soft tug on her own womb as she held her.

Poor baby. No mother and a father who couldn’t possibly love her as she needed to be loved.

In his own bedroom, Marco frowned as he heard over the intercom the soft, cooing sounds of love and tenderness that Alice was making to the baby.

He, like her, had woken at the first sound of Angelina’s distress. His concern over the nursemaid’s ability to take proper care of the baby had led to him having a sophisticated baby-alarm system installed in the nursery suite so that he could hear if Angelina cried.

Indeed he had been halfway towards the bedroom door when he had realised that Alice had picked her up.

He’d employed Alice primarily so that Angelina would have someone else to bond with other than himself, but also to give himself the freedom to concentrate on his busy professional life, so now he was surprised to recognise that he actually felt almost a little put out at the speed with which the baby was responding to her.

Alice Walsingham!

What was it about this pale, infuriating Englishwoman that was making him feel such ridiculous and unwanted things? Showing him such intimate and dangerous images; images of her lying beneath him in the soft heat of a summer night, her blonde hair spread against his pillows as he threaded his fingers through it and held her so that he could kiss that tempting mouth of hers into reciprocal passion; images of her holding a dark-haired child in her arms, a boy child who was not Angelina, but his child!

Marco didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his own folly.

Alice was a young woman who was quite obviously not very good at hiding her feelings, and he had seen the wariness and hostility in her eyes when she looked at him!

Those were feelings he would be wise to allow her to indulge in—for both their sakes.

There was a considerable amount of discreet family pressure on him to marry. He was after all the head of the family, but as yet…

Marriage. Now why on earth had thinking about Alice Walsingham sent his thoughts in that direction?

He belonged to the modern century and there was no way he could ever feel comfortable in any kind of ‘arranged’ marriage, but, on the other hand, at thirty-five he had seen enough marriages and relationships go wrong to feel a certain cynical wariness about the permanence of what his contemporaries called ‘love’.

Against his will he suddenly found himself thinking that his mother would have liked Alice.

He could hear the soft sucking noises Angelina was making as Alice fed her, and with shocking, nerve-wrenching immediacy he was suddenly once again visualising her holding a baby in her arms, her face soft with maternal love, her breasts bare…

Grimly he banished the image. That was not the way he wanted to see her, not even in the privacy of his own thoughts, and it was most certainly not the way he wanted or intended to think of her.

He was a man, he reminded himself, and it was a long time since he had had a sexual relationship with a woman. Maybe so, but that had not bothered him until now.