he put it mildly. ‘There seems to be an abundance of unemployed teachers in this country at the moment. I can sympathise with you.’
‘Mm, it could all be wasted effort when I’ve finished.’
‘And do you live on your own?’ He offered her a cigarette, lighting one for himself at her refusal.
‘In a bed-sitter? I certainly hope so, there’s hardly room for me, let alone anyone else.’
‘And you have a boy-friend?’
She looked at him sharply, but could see only mild curiosity in his clear brown eyes. ‘I have male friends,’ she said carefully. ‘But none that I feel serious about.’
‘But one who feels that way about you,’ he guessed shrewdly. ‘If he feels this way why has he allowed you to come to London without him?’
‘I don’t feel that way about him, it’s as simple as that.’
‘It is a good enough reason—and I for one am glad of it. I would not like to think I was—cutting in is, I believe, the right expression.’
Suzanne laughed. ‘Mmm, but you aren’t—or at least, you wouldn’t be if you intended—–’ she broke off confusedly.
His dark brows lowered with concern. ‘My age worries you, perhaps?’
She looked startled. It certainly wasn’t his age she was worried about, it was Celeste, beautiful Celeste with her lethal charm. She shook her head wordlessly.
‘I am thirty-two. Is that much older than you?’
Suzanne had to laugh at his earnestness. As if a little thing like age mattered where someone of his looks and charm was involved. ‘You shouldn’t ask a lady her age, Vidal,’ she rebuked him teasingly.
His dark eyes twinkled back at her. ‘I know, but you are not a lady—I mean, you aren’t—–Oh, dear, I am wording this badly. My English is not as fluent as I would wish it to be. What I meant was that you are a beautiful young girl and have no reason to hide your age.’
‘You had me worried for a moment.’ She couldn’t hold back a grin. Wow! When he smiled at her like that…! ‘I’m nineteen—just,’ she supplied.
‘You have been on your own since you were sixteen?’
‘Just about. But I was on my own long before that really. Daddy and my stepmother lived out of the country most of the time, and so I was left in boarding school.’
‘At least I cannot say that. Cesare always cared for me when I was a child. I was fifteen when our father died and Cesare was forced to take up the responsibilities of being the head of the family. I am afraid I was not always a well-behaved child, far from it in fact.’
‘I can believe it.’ And she could too. He still had the look of an impish child when he teased her and she felt sure the Conte Cesare Martino must have had his patience sorely tried. ‘And how did his wife feel about that.’
This question seemed to cause him a certain amount of amusement, and Suzanne could only wonder why. Until he told her. ‘Cesare is not married. Many have tried and many have failed, but as I have told you, it is hard to love a rock, and believe me, Cesare is pure granite. One day I think a woman will come along and knock him completely off balance. It must be so, I am sure of it. He is a Venetian, and we are a warm passionate race. Cesare cannot be so different,’ he smiled with relish. ‘I hope I am around when it happens, I think I would like to see him bowed by love for a woman.’
‘That isn’t a very nice thing to say,’ she scolded.
‘You are right, but I find I have many of these thoughts about my austere brother. You would know why if you were ever to meet him.’
Suzanne gave a little laugh, a soft gentle sound that riveted her companion’s eyes on her glowing face. ‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that!’
The smile faded from her face as she saw the scowl on Vidal Martino’s face, and following his gaze she saw the reason why. A man had just entered the lounge, a tall aristocratic man with a dark look of disapproval in his rigidly held features. Suzanne was instantly aware of his air of arrogance and she wasn’t surprised when the manager of the hotel began bowing subserviently to him, only to be waved imperiously away again. Icy grey eyes settled on the two of them sitting in the corner of the room and Suzanne felt herself stiffen as the newcomer strode towards them with long easy strides.
‘You are about to be proved wrong,’ muttered Vidal, rising slowly to his feet.
Suzanne’s startled gaze swung to the man now standing beside their table, her eyes widening with shock. Surely this couldn’t be the Conte Cesare Martino! This man was too young and he didn’t fit her picture of him at all. That over-long blond almost silver-coloured hair, and those steel grey eyes couldn’t possibly belong to a Venetian. And yet his skin was a dark swarthy colour. The whole effect was very startling and very attractive, much too attractive for any woman’s peace of mind.
‘Cesare,’ Vidal Martino said firmly, confirming Suzanne’s suspicions. ‘I did not expect to see you tonight.’
The Conte’s eyes flickered momentarily over Suzanne as she remained seated, and if anything his look became even more contemptuous. ‘So it would appear,’ he said coldly, his voice only slightly accented, much less so than his brother’s, a deep slightly husky sound that commanded attention.
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Vidal’s face became flushed with anger.
Suzanne compared the two men and could find little resemblance, except perhaps in their physique. Both looked powerful men, although she would hazard a guess that any battle these two entered opposed to each other, be it verbal or physical, the Conte would always emerge the winner. As brothers, half-brothers, they bore no resemblance to each other. One was so dark in colouring, and the other so fair and yet with that dark contrasting skin. There couldn’t be more than six or seven years difference in their ages and yet the Conte had such a distinguished air that he appeared older. And no wonder, if he had had to take over his duties as the Conte Martino at such an early age.
‘I merely meant that as you are already occupied then of course you could hot have been expecting me,’ the Conte answered his brother’s rather heated question. ‘Are you not going to introduce us, Vidal?’ As he said this the Conte lowered his tall frame to sit on the other side of Suzanne, and Vidal had perforce to join them.
‘Suzanne, my brother the Conte Cesare Martino,’ he gave in sulkily. Suzanne was again reminded of a little boy and her resentment towards his brother grew for interrupting what should have been a perfect evening spent with Vidal. ‘Cesare, this is Signorina Hammond, Signorina Suzanne Hammond.’
She felt her hand taken into a firm grip and at last looked up as the Conte’s silver-blond head neared her hand, kissing her suddenly warm flesh with those cold firm impassioned lips. Grey eyes widened slightly as they met the sparkle in her green ones and Suzanne felt strangely unreal for a moment before he calmly broke that gaze.
‘Signorina Hammond?’ he queried softly.
‘Yes,’ she replied breathlessly, feeling curiously as if she had run for miles and miles and now felt winded.
‘I
