hesitation. ‘Of course.’
‘And save your soul?’
‘And save my soul.’
His nostrils flared. ‘Really? But supposing you know that if you walk away, these manuscripts will immediately be offered to an unscrupulous merchant.’ His mouth turned down in disgust. ‘A man who will chop up the scrolls so that he can sell the pages one by one to buyers all over the world—thus destroying the sense of the scrolls so that nobody will ever be able to piece together their true significance. So that a piece of history is mangled for ever.’ His lids lowered lazily. ‘Have you really saved your soul? Or have you lost it?’
‘But as long as there are men like you around,’ David Franks put in, ‘art treasures will continue to be looted.’
‘Now that is just nonsense,’ Alessandro said with a smile. ‘Looting is part of the human condition. I know perfectly well that if someone puts a bullet through my brain—and not too long ago, some gentlemen were most eager to do exactly that—it would make not one iota of difference to the looting of artworks. But it might make a difference to how many of those looted artworks wind up in responsible hands.’
‘How long are you going to be staying here?’ Isobel asked abruptly.
He seemed amused. ‘This is where I live. I’m home.’
‘So you’re not planning to go off on some search-and-rescue mission in the near future?’
‘Not unless duty calls. I’m looking forward to observing your work on the wreck.’
Isobel’s jaw tightened ominously. What a terrible prospect!
‘This meat is delicious,’ Antonio said diplomatically. As the local representative of the Beni Culturali, the authorities in charge of cultural assets, he was probably uncomfortable at having such a notable patron of the arts challenged in this way.
‘Do you all know Sicily well?’ Alessandro asked.
‘Theo and I have been many times on various digs,’ David replied. ‘It’s Isobel’s first visit.’
‘Indeed!’ His dark brows rose. ‘I hope you’ve had a chance to visit our incomparable treasures? Agrigentum, Syracuse, the exquisite temples at Selinunte and Segesta?’
‘I’m familiar with those sites on a theoretical level,’ she replied sullenly. ‘I hope to be able to make some visits before I go back to New York. But right now, there’s a lot of work to do.’
‘My dear Isobel,’ he said compellingly, ‘nobody can understand a site like Segesta ‘‘on a theoretical level’’. You have to go there to understand. It will be my privilege to escort you as soon as there is a break in your busy schedule.’
Her mouth opened to tell him to shove it, but she caught David’s warning eye and managed, for once, to control her tongue. But nothing on earth, she told herself firmly, would persuade her to go on any guided tour with Alessandro Mandalà!
The conversation slipped into less controversial channels and it became a happy, animated meal. Except, that was, for Isobel, who could hardly eat a mouthful of the delicious food for the ball of anger in her stomach. She’d already had a taste of the Duke of Mandalà’s morality that morning.
He could have told her who he was out there at the wreck. Instead, he had preferred to make a fool of her, terrify her, then force his odious attentions on her. Some joke. And now here he was, charming the birds out of the trees, favouring them all with his opinions on morality!
The meal drew to a close with exquisite Sicilian cassata ice cream and liqueurs. Their host suggested brandy and cigars on the terrace, to which the men readily assented.
Isobel rose abruptly. ‘I don’t care for the smell of cigar smoke in my hair,’ she said. ‘And I’ve had a long day. I hope you’ll all excuse me if I go to bed early.’
‘But this is devastating,’ Alessandro said, laying his hand on his heart. ‘The golden moon sets and the night is left bereft.’
‘Like I said, it’s been a tough one,’ she replied frostily.
‘Can I beg one favour before you go?’ he asked, rising to tower over her. ‘Show me the artefacts you have recovered from the wreck.’
‘I—’
‘The gentleman need not bother themselves,’ he purred. ‘Go to the terrace, my friends. Turi will serve you with cigars and cognac and I will join you in a moment. But I must see these treasures before the stars go out and the night grows utterly dark.’
Her jaw was clenched so tight that she was probably doing her teeth irreparable damage. But there was no way she could refuse such a direct request from their host in front of the others.
And as they descended the carved marble staircase together he had the effrontery to link his arm through hers, as though they were the oldest of friends!
‘Let me go,’ she snapped, trying to jerk her arm out of his grip. ‘How dare you touch me?’
‘These stairs are treacherous,’ he murmured, unmoved. ‘The third duchess tripped and fell down them in seventeen eighty-three, breaking her lovely neck. There is a statue of her in the billiard-room, and they say it sheds real tears on the anniversary of her death.’
‘Very funny,’ she snapped. ‘I know it was you this morning!’
‘And I know it was you,’ he replied easily.
‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were,’ she demanded fiercely, ‘instead of making such a fool of me?’
‘You dragged me out of the water by my beard,’ he reminded her. ‘There wasn’t much opportunity for introductions.’
‘Yes, and what happened to the beard and the long hair?’ she demanded.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘You’ve told plenty tonight,’ she said grimly. ‘Long and tall.’
He chuckled. ‘When you saw me this morning, I had just returned from a—well, let’s call it a field trip.’
‘A what?’ she snorted.
‘A sojourn in a country where all the men wear long hair and beards. It was necessary to blend in.’
‘So you could steal some priceless artwork?’
‘I told you—the scrolls shed vital light on the development of a major world religion.’
She glanced at him quickly. ‘So that’s supposed to be a true story?’
‘Quite true, oh, moon of my delight.’
‘Don’t call me pet names!’ she shot back at him. ‘And was this where they wanted to shoot you?’
‘I had a gun to my head for three days,’ he replied easily, ‘while they argued over whether to execute me or not.’
Despite
