the palazzo. I should be delighted to take you on a little tour of the ground floor now.’
Seeing her hesitation, Carlotta got the wrong end of the stick. ‘You might as well. Dinner is not for another thirty minutes at least and I am still awaiting Alexandra. Be sure to show her the fresco in the gran salone, Pietro. Lilian is a huge lover of art. Something you both have in common, no?’ Or perhaps she had completely the right end of the stick and was matchmaking as Pietro had suspected. Yet either way, she had been pushed into a corner. Refusing would be impolite and would cast an atmosphere over the entire holiday.
He offered his arm and she took it, pasting what she hoped was a polite and indifferent smile on her face. At least this unwelcome time alone with him would give her the opportunity to clarify his misapprehensions about their kiss and her presence in his house. She might well be at a metaphorical crossroads, but not one of the paths ahead of her included a man!
He led her out of the cosy family room and along a long hallway filled with gilt panelling and a marble floor. As soon as they turned a corner he stopped dead and sighed.
‘I cannot move another step until I have apologised for my disgraceful behaviour earlier. I have no defence of it, other than you caught me off guard after a taxing day and I wrongly assumed that you were complicit in my sister’s incessant matchmaking. I realise that is no excuse for my ungentlemanly behaviour and I apologise unreservedly for insulting you. It was not my finest hour and I was certainly not behaving as myself. I beg of you to forgive me.’
Entirely disarmed, because he had completely taken the outraged wind out of her sails, all Lilian could do was accept his pretty apology in the manner it was given. ‘You are forgiven. Because I also suspect Alexandra had a hand in it. She likes to meddle, too, and seems to have made me a bit of a project, as you can see.’ She gestured to the bold gown and then regretted it when his eyes swept her body again at the invitation. There was something about the way he did it which played havoc with her insides. ‘I really had no clue there was any connection between you and the Contessa until tonight.’
‘I realised that the moment you rightly slammed your door in my face at my gross impertinence.’ His voice was like melted chocolate and his accent made normally curt English words like ‘impertinence’ sound positively sinful. Or at least the goose pimples on the back of her neck found it sinful. And the least said about his intense dark eyes the better. The way they looked at her, boldly locked with hers… Gracious, he was lovely! And she had plainly taken leave of her senses to be thinking such nonsense after just one pretty apology and a foolhardy kiss in a carriage.
‘It would appear we are equally reluctant to be toyed with, both the innocent victims of two scheming women. I am only relieved we discovered their machinations in time before it created any irreversible awkwardness between us. I would hate to be the reason you did not enjoy your visit to Rome.’
‘Forewarned is forearmed, as we say in my country. I am glad we cleared the air.’ However, there was no point in shying away from the difficult bit of the conversation. The bit which would thoroughly clear the air. ‘I feel I also owe you an apology for what occurred at Christmas.’ She hoped ignoring the blush which threatened to bloom might make it subside, but the ugly heat crept up her neck regardless. ‘December was a particularly trying time for me and, fortified with more wine than I am used to, I might have given you the wrong impression. What I mean is…er…the…er…kiss…was a mistake.’
‘And there I was, thinking it was my charm, the moonlight and the magic of the moment.’ He was smiling at her, his dark eyes dancing, as he clutched at his heart as if she had wounded him. ‘Have you no sympathy for my delicate male pride?’ Then his eyes seemed to darken further and his deep voice became positively naughty as it dropped an octave. ‘But mistake or no, it was a spectacular kiss, was it not? At least credit me with that, signora.’
She couldn’t help smiling in response. The combination of his mischievous dark eyes, seductive voice and his knowing expression conspired to bring out the worst in her. ‘It was pleasant enough, I suppose.’ Good grief! Was she flirting? After twenty-five years she’d assumed she had forgotten how.
‘Only pleasant? Oh, signora, that will not do and it is not wise to confide it. Such a lacklustre compliment might only spur me to do better, as a matter of honour. For both the noble house of Venturi and my wounded male pride… Unless that is what you want?’ He was most definitely flirting again, but more the way he had at Christmas. Witty, playful, thoroughly charming and disarming. Exactly as she so fondly remembered him. ‘In which case, I shall be forced to accept the gauntlet you have thrown down. We Venturis never shy away from a challenge.’
Inside her chest, her sighing heart was doing somersaults. ‘All right, then…it was quite lovely.’
‘Better—but still not spectacular…’
‘If I tell you it was spectacular, but still very much a mistake I have no intention of repeating, will you take me to see the fresco, Your Grace…is it correct to say Your Grace? My knowledge of your language is limited.’ To around ten words, give or take a cappuccino.
‘As, by your own admission, we have shared a spectacular if reckless and unwise kiss, and as you are my guest, you should call me Pietro. And, yes, I shall take you to see my fresco.’ He offered his arm again and she took it, trying not to feel the obvious muscle in his bicep or the gentle heat coming through his sleeve and warming her suddenly inquisitive palm. ‘Might I be so bold as to call you Lilian, now that we are doomed to be nothing beyond merely platonic friends?’
‘You may.’ Aside from the peculiar and girlish palpitations, bouncing nerves and wholly inappropriate goose pimples, this had all gone so much better than she had expected. ‘Thank you for arranging to have the correct trunk brought to my bedchamber.’
‘You needed your soap and it was the least I could do after my shameful behaviour when we collided. Are your accommodations to your satisfaction?’
‘They have exceeded them, your Gra—I mean, Pietro.’ How lovely that name felt on her tongue. ‘You have a wonderful house.’
‘It pleases me to hear that. When I inherited the palazzo, it was showing its age. I have made it my mission to bring it back to its former glory. I only recently had the east wing—the wing where your rooms are situated—renovated. Thankfully now, after twenty years of work, it is finally back to its former glory.’
‘Your noble ancestors would be proud of the job you have done.’ They reached a pair of ornate double doors and he paused before them, clearly in no hurry to move.
‘The fresco is my pride and joy, Lilian. My favourite part of this old house. However, before you see it, you must first allow me to bore you with some history to give it some context. My great-great-great-great-grandfather, Amedeo Venturi, inspired by the great Palazzo Barberini, right here in Rome, commissioned several artists to paint the ceiling of his new house. Except, he was too poor or too miserly to pay one of the established masters of the time and instead paid legions of struggling apprentices to do it instead. However, and I must confess we have no actual proof of this beyond the family legend, the finished ceiling apparently bears the brushwork of both the young Raphael and Michelangelo.’
‘Good gracious!’
‘Although which piece of the fresco is theirs, nobody can hazard a guess. Not even I, who considers himself a great expert on art, can say with any certainty. But it is a good story, no?’
‘A very good story.’
‘And I am
