she had left the Vittoria mansion twelve months ago the same knowledge had had her pale-faced and shaking as Liliana had clung to her, the older woman’s normally proud and composed face awash with tears as she had begged her daughter-in-law to wait before asking Donato for the divorce Grace had said was inevitable.
‘Why? Why now, Grace?’ Liliana had wept, holding the younger woman close to her as they had waited for the taxi Grace had ordered. ‘He loves you—I know this, I know it. Please, for my sake, do not be hasty. Give yourself some time apart but do not be hasty.’
But as much as she loved Liliana Grace couldn’t tell her what she had learnt only that morning—of Donato’s affair with Maria; she had felt too raw, too humiliated at the time. Later she had regretted it, knowing that Donato would have covered his tracks well and that his mother would have been forced to think that she had ended the marriage on a whim, but by then she had made a new life in England and had believed there was always the chance, some time in the future, to put the record straight with Liliana. But ‘some time’ had never come.
She remembered Liliana’s last words to her before the taxi had taken her away. ‘This is all a mistake, my dear, and one day you will see it. You have suffered, I know how you have suffered, but Paolo was part of both of you; let your grieving pull you closer together. I shall say to Donato you want time to heal; that is all.’
But it hadn’t been her anguish over the death of her child that had driven her from her home and there had been a mistake all right—a great colossal giant of a mistake—and Donato had made it—with Maria. She had crept away that morning a year ago like a small, beaten animal seeking solace in a hole, unable to face another confrontation with Donato and leaving a letter to explain that she had discovered his affair with Maria.
But that had been then. Now she was a year older and a year wiser and more importantly she had survived a year without him; she had become autonomous—something she had thought impossible only months before.
The knowledge brought her senses fully alert, jerking her away from the edge of pleasure his lovemaking had taken her to, and now he let her move from him, his eyes narrowed as she faced him like a small, spitting tabby cat preparing to do battle with a vastly superior wild black panther.
‘If you try that again, or anything like it, I’m leaving here regardless of Lorenzo or anyone else. Is that clear?’ she spat with all the fury in her heart. ‘I came back for Liliana’s funeral, and only that, and if your ego can’t cope with that truth then I’ll get on the next plane home.’
“Oh, I think my ego can survive—just,’ he drawled grimly, ‘in spite of being pierced through.’
For a strange moment she thought there was an inflexion in his voice that spoke of pain, misery even, but the hard, handsome face was as implacable as always when her eyes searched the sculptured features. Nevertheless the brief second of uncertainty was enough to drain her rage and leave her pale and shaking as she fought for control, her red-gold curls throwing her pallor into even more stark relief.
How could people end up like this? How could they, she asked herself tensely, when they had shared the intimacies of marriage, the birth of a child? Oh, Paolo, Paolo.
‘I loved him too; you know.’ It was as though she had spoken her thoughts out loud and she started violently as Donato’s deep voice cut into her pain, but she could read nothing from his dark face. What was he thinking—really thinking? she asked herself wildly as she stared into the beautiful dark eyes that were like liquid onyx.
Once she had been able to tell, even teasing him on occasion that he could fool everyone else but her with his cold ice-man image, but now? Now she didn’t know—didn’t want to know, she qualified fiercely. If she didn’t let him get near her again he couldn’t hurt her again. Simple. What wasn’t so simple was the seductive need his touch had induced, the sweet, potent ache between her legs and the ripening of her breasts from their contact against his hard chest. But that was physical, just an instinctive response of her body to his as it had recognised the feel and taste of him, and as such it could be controlled. It could.
‘I know you loved Paolo, Donato.’ She didn’t try to prevaricate but it was only as she spoke her son’s name that she realised she had come a long way from the first devastating weeks of grief. Then the sound of his name had been like a sword piercing her through; now it produced a sad, tender yearning but without the raw, blinding pain. ‘We both did; we always will.’
‘Then for his sake could we not try to make the next few weeks as easy as possible?’ Donato asked quietly. ‘You have seen how things are with Lorenzo, you acknowledge he needs you here?’ She nodded silently. Yes, she could see the heartbroken little boy needed unconditional love and companionship in the immediate future. ‘Bianca has offered to take him into her home for the time being but he does not want that and I agree it would not be good for him. He needs to be in his own home, with things familiar. Benito for one,’ he added wryly.
She nodded again, guessing rightly that Bianca had refused to take the parrot; the two had always loathed each other but Benito’s dislike took the form of a verbal assault whenever Bianca was present, and although it was impossible it always seemed that Benito had planned exactly what he was going to say for maximum effect, proving himself a worthy adversary against Bianca’s caustic tongue. Perversely, the parrot adored Romano, Bianca’s husband, screeching with delight whenever he saw him and nuzzling his hand when Romano stroked him.
‘I shall need to let the surgery know as soon as possible,’ she said stiffly. ‘They may need to find a replacement.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they will keep the position open for you.’ His tone was smooth, but with that edge running underneath which she had recognised before. She ignored it; her nerves were shot to pieces as it was and she really couldn’t take much more. ‘Would you like to telephone now?’ he asked with suspect helpfulness.
‘I... Yes, I suppose I could.’ She stared at him warily. ‘Or after lunch; there’s no rush.’
‘There is also no time like the present; is that not what you English say?’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach the ebony eyes. ‘Use the phone in my study; you will not be interrupted there.’
He took her arm as he spoke, moving her out of the room and into the lower hall before she could reply, and although she wanted to speak the touch of his fingers was burning her through her thin cotton blouse and the delicious smell of him was sending all lucid thought from her head.
Why, oh, why did he have to affect her like this? she asked herself angrily as she trotted along at his side into the main part of the house. She didn’t want it—in the circumstances nothing could be more humiliating—so why did her senses go into overdrive at no more than a lift of those sardonic black eyebrows? It was over, finished. Her brain knew that, so why wasn’t it sending the message to her hormones? she thought testily.
‘Here we are.’ He opened the door to his study, standing aside for her to enter first with his normal courtesy and then following her into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him.
‘Would you like me to get the number for you?’ he asked silkily, walking across the beautifully furnished room to his large, gleaming walnut desk and picking up the phone before she could demur, his face impassive.
She stared at him, a little taken back without knowing why, but feeling even more certain that there was something running under the cool, controlled façade that was anything but cool and controlled. Following her into the room for what was obviously a private phone call was not Donato’s style; his manners were always impeccable,
