Polly nodded numbly.
‘Bene,’ he said briskly. ‘In return, I promise that your life as the Marchesa Valessi will be as easy as I can make it. You will be made a suitable allowance, and asked occasionally to act as my hostess.’ His smile was hard. ‘But you may spend your nights alone.’
She swallowed. ‘And—you?’
‘I hardly think that concerns you,’ he said coldly. ‘However, I will ensure that any liaisons I have are conducted discreetly.’
She bit her lip. ‘As ours was?’
‘Davvero,’ he nodded. ‘Precisely.’
She said with difficulty, ‘And what about me—if I met someone?’
His brows lifted. ‘I should require you to behave with equal discretion. I would tolerate no open scandal in my family.’
He paused. ‘So what is your answer, Paola? Will you be my wife?’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Concealed by the skirts of her robe, her hands were clenched painfully into fists. ‘I mean—you might want more children at some point.’
‘I have a son to safeguard the inheritance. That was always my priority in such matters. As to the rest …’ He shrugged again. ‘I have cousins, both married with bambini. At times my house seems full of children. Although that, of course, will be good for Carlino,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘He does not talk as well as he should, and he hardly knows how to kick a ball. That must change.’
Polly’s lips parted in sheer outrage. ‘How—dare you? Last week you didn’t even know you were a father. Now you’re a bloody expert on child-rearing.’
‘I made no such claim,’ Sandro returned mildly. ‘But Julie had concerns which she mentioned to me.’
‘Then she had no right,’ Polly flared. ‘Charlie’s absolutely beautiful, and he can do all kinds of things,’ she added hotly, burying the memory of various clashes she’d had with her mother on that very subject.
‘And could do far more, I suspect.’ Sandro’s smile was cold, ‘if he was allowed to—and once keeping his clothes clean from every speck of dust is no longer a major priority.’ He allowed her to absorb that, then went on, ‘Can he swim?’
She reddened, still stung by his last comment, but honestly unable to refute it. He hadn’t missed much during his first encounter with her mother, she thought ruefully.
‘No, not yet,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘I meant to take him to the local baths, but weekends are always so busy.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ he said. He smiled at her for the first time that night without edge, the sudden unforced charm making the breath catch in her throat. ‘I shall enjoy teaching him myself in our own pool.’
She caught her lower lip in her teeth, struggling to regain her equilibrium. Trying to disregard the image his words had presented. ‘Yes—I suppose …’
‘So,’ he said, after a pause, ‘shall we settle this thing now? Will you marry me, and come to Italy with our son?’
‘I don’t seem to have much of a choice,’ she said in a low voice.
Something unreadable came and went in his face. ‘And if you could choose? What then?’
‘I would wish to be as far from you,’ she said passionately, ‘as it’s possible to get.’
His head went back, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Well, do not despair, bella mia,’ he drawled scornfully. ‘My home at Comadora is large, a palazzo, with thick walls, and many rooms. You should be able to avoid me easily.’
‘Thank you,’ she said huskily.
‘Tonight, however, you will not be so fortunate,’ he added.
She stiffened. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I intend to spend the night here.’
She gasped. ‘But—but you can’t …’ She tried not to look at the all too obtrusive sofa bed. ‘There’s no room.’
‘It will be cramped,’ he agreed. He took off his jacket, and began to loosen his tie. ‘But it is only for one night.’
She said in a choked voice, ‘You promised me—you swore this wouldn’t happen. Oh, why did I think I could trust you?’
‘The boot is on the other foot, cara mia.’ He began unhurriedly to unfasten his shirt. ‘I do not trust you. Who knows what you might be tempted to do, if you were left alone?
‘But I have no intention of breaking my word,’ he added. ‘This armchair looks comfortable enough, so I shall use that.’ His smile grazed her skin. ‘And you can have that congegno quite undisturbed. I hope you sleep well.’
He draped his shirt over the back of the chair, sat down and removed his shoes and socks, while Polly watched in growing alarm. But when he stood up, his hands going to the waistband of his trousers, she intervened.
‘Kindly stop right there,’ she said grittily.
‘You have some problem?’
‘Yes.’ Her green eyes were stormy. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Then deal with it.’ He unzipped his trousers, stepped out of them, then placed them, folded, with the rest of his clothes. He was wearing brief silk shorts, and the rest of him was smooth tanned skin. For one burning moment of self-betrayal she found herself remembering the taste of him, and felt her body clench in uncontrollable excitement.
‘Why, Paola, you are blushing,’ he jeered softly. ‘But not even to spare you will I sleep in my clothes. And you were not always such a prude,’ he added drily. He indicated his shorts derisively. ‘These, as you know, are a concession. But if the sight of me is still too much, you could always close your eyes.’ He paused. ‘Have you a towel I can use?’
Dry-mouthed, she muttered acquiescence, and went to the chest of drawers. As she reached for a towel, she uncovered Charlie’s photograph.
‘What is that?’ Sandro came to her side, and took it from the drawer. He studied it for a moment, brows lifted, then turned to her. ‘Is this where you usually keep it?’
‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘You hid it,’ he asked, incredulously. ‘In case I came here?’
‘Think whatever you wish,’ she flung at him. ‘I don’t give a damn.’
He set the photograph carefully on top of the chest of drawers. ‘And you wonder why I do not trust you,’ he said silkily. He rescued the towel from her nerveless hand and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
For a moment she stood irresolutely, trying to decide what to do. She could hardly go to bed in her robe, without exciting the kind of comment
