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‘I know what she’s like,’ agreed Julia bitterly. ‘She’ll do anything she can to split us up.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Don’t I?’ Julia regarded her with accusing eyes. ‘What if I tell you that I wasn’t the only guest at the villa this weekend?’
‘Well...’
‘It was the first time I’d had the opportunity to visit Matt’s home,’ went on Julia resentfully. ‘I thought it was just going to be a family occasion, but when we arrived all these other people were there.’
‘Well,’ began Grace again, ‘perhaps she thought it would make things easier for you. Did you ask Matteo about it? Perhaps it was his idea.’
‘It wasn’t.’ Julia spoke flatly. ‘He knew nothing about it until we got there. But the real sickener was that the old lady had invited this woman, Caterina Vincenzi. A contessa, no less, and fairly obviously the woman the marchesa would like to see as the next Signora di Falco.’
‘Oh, Julia, did she honestly tell you that?’
‘She didn’t have to.’ Julia’s lips twisted. ‘There must have been more than a dozen guests at dinner yesterday evening and she was the one who was seated beside Matt. I was tucked away at the end of the table with some old uncle. God, he was disgusting! He slobbered all over his food.’
‘Julia!’
‘He did.’ Julia was indignant. But then, when Grace continued to look at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, she gave a shrug. ‘Well, he made plenty of noise,’ she said defensively. ‘You don’t know what it was like, Grace. You weren’t there.’
‘No.’
Grace conceded that point, and as if realising she was becoming far too agitated Julia took a breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘It’s not your fault that the old witch lives in the past. Anyway—’ Julia’s eyes glittersed ‘—I intend to drag her—kicking and screaming, if necessary—into the present. We’ll see who has the last laugh when I spring my surprise on her.’
Grace stared at her friend. ‘Your surprise?’ she echoed, wondering why she felt such a sense of apprehension suddenly, and Julia flung herself back against the cushions of the sofa.
‘When she finds out I’m having Matt’s baby, of course,’ she declared triumphantly. ‘She won’t be able to dismiss me so offhandedly when she discovers I’m having her precious grandson’s child.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u43995f21-c241-5a6a-8949-208d318b1091)
THE phone rang as Grace was going out of the apartment.
She was tempted to leave it. She was fairly sure the call wouldn’t be for her, and she’d made arrangements to go to Viareggio that morning. In the last couple of days, she’d become quite familiar with the buses that ran from Portofalco to the other resorts along the coast, and instead of going to the hassle of hiring a car she’d left the driving to someone else.
But the possibility that it could be one of her sisters calling about her mother compelled her to pick up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said, not yet used to using the Italian ciao, and then sank down somewhat weakly onto the arm of the sofa when Matteo di Falco’s disturbing voice spoke in her ear.
‘Miss Horton.’ He paused. ‘Grace.’ Her name had an unfamiliar resonance on his tongue. ‘I was hoping I might catch you.’
‘Were you?’
Grace knew she didn’t sound particularly friendly, but since Julia had dropped her bombshell about the baby she had found it even more difficult to think of Matteo di Falco without a feeling of distaste. She didn’t know how he could allow his grandmother to treat Julia so indifferently. But then, he didn’t know that in a few short months she was going to have his child.
‘Yes.’ Clearly, he had no such reservations. ‘I am coming to Portofalco this morning and I wondered if you’d allow me to buy you lunch?’
The gall of the man!
Grace was incensed, her own opinion of his sex reinforced by his behaviour. ‘I’m afraid I have other plans, signore,’ she informed him coldly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bus to catch.’
She would happily have put the receiver down there and then, but his sardonic, ‘A bus!’ had her fairly trembling with indignation.
‘Yes, a bus,’ she repeated crisply. ‘Or autobus, if you will. It’s a large motor vehicle with a wheel at each corner that delivers its passengers to various points along the coast!’
The breath he sucked in was plainly audible. ‘Yes, I know what an autobus is,’ he declared tautly, and Grace had the uneasy feeling that Julia was unlikely to approve of her insolence. ‘In that case, please do not let me detain you any longer.’
‘I won’t,’ muttered Grace resentfully, but it was under her breath, and by the time she had thought of a suitable rejoinder the line had gone dead.
He’d hung up on her, she realised, slamming down her own receiver with some force, but although she stood there for several more seconds, justifying what she’d said to herself, she couldn’t deny a certain feeling of remorse at her behaviour. After all, as she’d told herself before, Julia’s affairs were nothing to do with her, and she doubted her friend would have defended her with such enthusiasm if their positions had been reversed.
Still, it was too late now to be having second thoughts, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t complain about her ignorance to Julia. It would be hard to explain why she felt so strongly about it. It wasn’t as if she and Julia were that close.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped on her sunglasses, collected the bag and hat she’d bought in Livorno the day before, and left the apartment. She was determined not to let what had happened spoil her day, and she made a special point of smiling at the unctuous old caretaker just to prove to herself that she could be as sociable as anyone else.
The bus to Viareggio was waiting near the ferry terminal and Grace handed over her carta arancio, or orange seven-day pass, to be stamped as she climbed aboard. She’d learned that these bus tickets were sold in advance, and she felt a sense of pride at the speed with which she’d adapted to the arrangements. It was true that many of the people who were already on the bus looked like tourists, but there were locals, too, and she had learned to accept their curiosity about her travelling alone without embarrassment. What was new, after all? she reflected wryly. It was her choice, and she was stuck with it.
But, once again, as the bus set away up the winding road that led out of Portofalco, Grace found her thoughts returning to the conversation she had had with Julia just a couple of nights ago. She still found it hard to accept that her friend had been reckless enough to get herself pregnant in the first place, let alone that she believed it would result in Matteo di Falco’s asking her to marry him. Somehow Grace doubted that anyone could force the man she knew to do anything he didn’t wish to, and she was very much afraid that Julia had placed too much store in the Italians’ love of family.
Of course, she could be wrong. But why then had Julia stated that she intended to wait until there was no chance of her having an abortion before confessing what had happened to the man she loved? If she loved him. Given his Italian heritage, surely he’d never agree to it anyway. It was a gamble, and Grace hoped her friend would not be too devastated if things didn’t work out the way she’d planned.
Yet Grace’s doubts persisted, doubts which had not been dispelled by the phone call she had received this morning. Had Julia known he intended to contact her? Had it been done with her approval and support? Or, as Grace suspected, had it been all Matteo di Falco’s idea? The man was a perfect jerk, she thought irritably. He obviously hadn’t believed that she might turn him down.
She was getting edgy, and that annoyed her even more. She hadn’t come to Italy to get involved in Julia’s love life, and she forced herself to look out of the window and concentrate on the view. They were high above the ocean now, with a fantastic vista of sea and cliffs stretching away into the distance on either side. Closer to, the scent of myrtle and wild thyme drifted in through the open windows. If the bus had air-conditioning, the driver didn’t use it, and Grace decided that she preferred the warm breeze that fanned her face.
Despite its uncertain beginnings, she enjoyed her visit to Viareggio. Unlike Portofalco, it was famous for its beautiful sandy beach, and she walked along the promenade to the pier, before taking refuge from the sun in the palm-shaded Piazza d’Azeglio. Lunch was a spinach and egg-filled pasta to die for, and by the time she boarded the bus back she felt it had been a day well spent.
It wasn’t late when the bus deposited her at the terminal. But it had been a fairly strenuous day, and she was unwillingly aware that she was feeling the effects of doing too much, too soon. She wasn’t used to the heat, or to so much activity, and the next day she intended to take her own advice and do nothing at all.
Deciding she needed a drink before tackling the walk up to the villa, she entered the nearby gelateria and ordered an ice-cream soda. Italian ice cream was so delicious, as she’d discovered the previous day, and served with fresh lemonade it made a really delightful drink.
She took a table in the window instead of sitting outside, glad of the comparative coolness out of the sun. Happily the spreading awning protected the window, and she set her drink down in front of her and sucked greedily at the straw.
And that was when she saw him. He was sitting behind the wheel of a sleek, dark green convertible that was parked across the narrow street, and if it hadn’t been so incredible she’d have said he was staring straight at her.
But he couldn’t be.
Nevertheless, Grace’s eyes went wide with a mixture of confusion and dismay, and she drew back abruptly so that the straw left her mouth. But her lips were still parted, her pink tongue unknowingly provocative as it explored the corners of her mouth. Oh, God, she thought weakly, what was he doing here?
She wished she’d taken any table but this one now. She felt so exposed; so obvious. But the idea of getting up and moving back into the shadows on the off chance that he might have seen her was ludicrous. He didn’t intimidate her. Or, if he did, he must never become aware of it
Dumping her tote bag on the chair beside her, she determinedly clamped both hands about her glass and resumed drinking. The coldness of the drink was invigorating, the chilled condensation on the glass a boon to her moist palms. He’d go away soon, she told herself, deliberately not looking in his direction. He’d said he was coming to Portofalco, and he had. Her seeing him now was just a coincidence. She was tired, that was all. That was why she felt so threatened by his presence.
But he didn’t go away. She drank as much of the lemonade as she could before glancing in his direction again, but he was still there. She thought of ordering another soda, but it would have looked odd when there was still some left in the glass she had. She had no choice but to leave the ice-cream parlour. She just wished for once that she could fade into the crowd.
She had crossed the street and started up the steep slope of the Via Cortese when she heard the car behind her. She knew it was his car. The engine was purring gently at the moment, but there was still an underlying deep-throated roar that spoke of the power that was presently being controlled. Much like the man himself, thought Grace, with a reluctant twinge of irony. She doubted he’d appreciated being put down by a foreigner.
She wished she could quicken her step, but apart from anything else the incline didn’t encourage reckless gestures like that. Particularly not in her present condition. Besides, however fast she walked, he could always overtake her. So, instead of pretending she hadn’t noticed him, she chose a place that was practically smothered with scarlet bougainvillaea, and leaned back against the wall to wait for him.
At least she’d surprised him, she thought as he brought the powerful car to a halt a few yards down from where she was standing. But that didn’t prevent an instinctive tightening in her stomach when he opened his door and got out, or suppress the quiver of apprehension she felt as he climbed the hill towards her.
It annoyed her that she should feel any kind of reaction towards him. He was just another man, after all, and she was usually perfectly capable of dealing with them. But, despite the harshness of his dark features, he was undeniably sexy, and, although his black jeans and matching tee shirt were quite ordinary, on his lean, muscled body they acquired a sensual appeal.
‘So,’ he said, propping his hips against the wall beside her. ‘Did you need a rest?’
Grace’s lips tightened. Beyond his relaxed form she could see the busy waterfront and the blue waters of the bay. She doubted there could be a more perfect spot for a rendezvous, the lengthening shadows redolent with the perfume of the flowers. But this was not a rendezvous, she thought irritably. It wasn’t even a meeting she had arranged.
‘Why are you following me?’ she asked, determined not to lose the initiative, but whatever advantage she’d thought she had was quickly disposed of.
‘You looked tired,’ he said lazily, the sidelong glance he gave her spiked with malice. ‘Perhaps I felt sorry for you. It’s a long walk back to the villa.’
Grace’s hand tightened round the strap of her tote bag, her nails digging painfully into her palms. ‘How kind,’ she said, refusing to let him see that his words had in any way affected her. ‘But I’m sure a man of your—importance has better things to do.’
‘Straight to the point, as always,’ he remarked, pressing his palms down on the warm stones at either side of him. ‘Did you enjoy your trip to Viareggio?’
‘How did you—?’ Grace began to ask the obvious question and then broke off abruptly. He had evidently seen her get off the bus, and if he was familiar with the timetable he would know which bus it was. She took a deep breath. ‘Very much, thank you.’
He straightened then, and for a taut moment she thought he was going to touch her. But all he did was push his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, arching his back reflexively, before turning to face her.
His eyes swept over her, from the top of her bare head—she had stowed her hat in her tote earlier—to the toes of her scuffed trainers and all points in between. Then he said, ‘Come on,’ when her cheeks were pink and she was intensely conscious of her sunburned knees and the untidiness of her braid. ‘Get in the car. I’ll give you a lift.’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want a lift.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He glanced about him dispassionately. ‘Come along. I’m parked in a no-waiting area. You wouldn’t want me to have to pay a fine, would you?’
Grace tilted her head. ‘I couldn’t care less,’ she answered, and his mouth compressed with impatience.
‘What is your problem?’ he demanded. ‘Did I bruise that fragile ego of yours? It’s no sin to admit you need a rest.’
‘I didn’t need a rest,’ said Grace, clenching her teeth, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. For God’s sake, she wished she’d kept on walking. She’d have been almost at the villa by now.
‘As you say,’ he declared dismissively. ‘But I still insist that you get into the car. Now, do you want to do it without my assistance, or would you rather I picked you up and slung you in myself?’
Grace’s jaw dropped. No man had ever threatened to pick her up before. With her height, and not entirely sylphlike form, she had always been too daunting a prospect, and she stared at him as if she didn’t believe a word he said.
‘It’s not necessary,’ she said at last, annoyed to find that he had disturbed her. Not in a sexual way, she assured herself, but there was no doubt that he’d made her look at him in a different light.
‘But practical,’ he pointed out reasonably. His lips twisted. ‘Do you want Julia to think that you don’t trust me?’
Grace straightened. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one most likely to persuade her to do as he asked. She most definitely did not want Julia to think she didn’t trust him. To do so could create a rift between them she feared might never be breached.
‘Oh—if you insist,’ she muttered ungraciously, and pretended she didn’t see the mocking smile that crossed his face. Striding to the car, she jerked open the passenger-side door before he could do so, curling her long legs beneath the dashboard and wishing she’d been wearing anything else but shorts.
He joined her moments later, the gear console providing a welcome barrier between them. But Grace was still uneasily mindful of his nearness and the not unpleasant scent of his clean male sweat. It was infuriating, she thought as he flicked the ignition and the engine came to life again. It wasn’t as if she was lacking in experience where men were concerned, yet his sensuality and casual sophistication left her feeling strangely immature.
‘I trust you’re using a sun-block on these outings,’ he remarked as he put the car into gear, and Grace immediately spread her tote bag to cover as much of her burning knees as possible.
‘Of course,’ she said, although in truth she hadn’t put any of the cream on her legs. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘But you think I am?’
Grace looked quickly at him and away. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ He shrugged. ‘But I have to wonder what Julia has said to you about me for you to have such an unfavourable opinion of me.’
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Julia hasn’t given me an unfavourable opinion of you.’ She swallowed. ‘You must know she thinks you’re—’ She found it difficult to find a suitable word. ‘Marvellous!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ She looked at him again, convinced now that he was simply baiting her. ‘What is it with you, signore? I can’t believe you’re so desperate for compliments that you need to hear them from me.’
His short laugh lacked humour. ‘As I said before, you don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you, cara?’ He slowed to accommodate an elderly couple who were crossing the street in front of them and received a wave of acknowledgement in return. ‘And if it’s not something Julia has said, then I can only assume that you have taken an instant, and inexplicable, dislike to me. Am I right?’
Was he right?
Grace looked down at her bag, smoothing her long fingers over the folds of canvas, trying desperately to find an answer. She could hardly tell him why she’d taken such an aversion to him. Not without betraying Julia’s confidence, at any rate, and she couldn’t do that, however tempted she might be to explode his myth of superiority.
‘I don’t know you, signore,’ she said at last, and earned a slightly disbelieving glance from those deep-set dark eyes. ‘I don’t,’ she insisted, feeling some relief at having found a reasonable explanation. ‘And I’m not used to being familiar with men I only know by reputation.’
‘By reputation?’ He groaned. ‘Heaven protect me from women who judge me by my reputation!’
He was laughing at her now, and Grace was overwhelmingly relieved to see the gates of the Villa Modena up ahead. She realised she had no idea how to deal with him, and she was seriously worried that he was having far more of an effect on her than she would have ever dreamed possible. Indeed, she was afraid that half the antagonism she felt towards him stemmed from her own unwilling attraction towards him, and it was obviously wiser for her to ensure that she was never in this position again.
‘Anyway,’ he said now, his voice deepening to a softness that stroked her tortured nerves, ‘we can easily remedy that.’
Remedy what?
For a moment, Grace’s mind was blank, but then comprehension dawned. ‘I think you’re making fun of me,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Oh—’ As if she was surprised! ‘Here we are.’
‘Just a minute.’ His hand closed round her arm, and although it was the last thing she wanted to do she was forced to turn and look at him.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Grace...’ The way he said her name caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle in sympathetic response. ‘Look, I’m not making fun of you.’ He paused. ‘It’s obvious we’ve got off on the wrong track—’
‘Foot.’
‘What?’
‘It’s foot,’ said Grace awkwardly, wishing she’d never interfered. ‘People get off on the wrong foot,’ she added, her face burning. She shook her head at his expression. ‘It’s not important.’
‘If you say so.’ His thumb rubbed distractingly against her sensitive flesh. ‘Whatever—you’ve obviously got the wrong impression of my intentions.’ His eyes darkened with disturbing warmth. ‘I’d like us to be friends, no?’
No!
For a moment, Grace thought she’d said the word out loud, but his face hadn’t changed so she knew she hadn’t done anything so foolish.
‘Um—well, of course,’ she began, wondering how she could bring Julia into this without giving him the impression that her friend had warned her off. ‘Perhaps when we all get to know one another better—’
‘I know Julia very well,’ he said flatly. ‘And that’s not what I mean and you know it. I’d like to think you and I could spend some time together without you treating me like last week’s bad news, hmm?’ He looked down at where his fingers were caressing her arm and grimaced. ‘You’ve obviously got a poor opinion of my sex, yes? Well, I’d like to try and change that.’
