drawing out every letter as he spoke. ‘That’s not what I asked, Madeleine. I asked if you like to watch people bathe.’
‘I...’ she began again, then paused, before turning and determinedly fixing her gaze on his, head high, as proud as a young goddess. ‘I owe you an apology. I intruded on a private moment earlier today and I...’ She paused again, her eyes darkening. Dante watched, fascinated.
‘No, actually I don’t apologise,’ she said, head even higher. ‘You were bathing on a public beach—anyone could have seen you. If anyone should apologise, you should for trying to embarrass me.’
Dante stayed stock still, torn between amusement at her indignation—and shame. She was right; he was trying to embarrass her. Why? Because of the thrill that had shot through him when he noticed her watching him, had realised how enthralled she was, how safe it had been to retaliate, to look back with a lake between them?
He was her employer, had power over her. It was beneath him to indulge in these kinds of games.
‘Mi scusa, you are right. It was wrong of me. It won’t happen again. Thank you for your tour, signorina; enjoy your evening.’ With a nod of his head Dante turned and left, vowing as he did so to keep every interaction with Madeleine Fitzroy professional and brief. They might be sharing the castello for the rest of the summer, but it was a big space. There was really no need for them to interact at all.
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