her, and after the tragedy that had taken his brother, his sister-in-law and their unborn child, he would do anything to make her remaining years contented. And, hey, bedding a virgin would be a novel experience. He could teach her everything he knew about sexual pleasure. Until he grew bored!
Thanks, but no thanks! She might love him, warts and all, and lust after him until it became a burning ache she could barely contain, but she had too much self-respect to allow herself to accept his insulting proposal.
And he was now close. Too close. Even so, she found the will to jerk her chin up at a defiant angle and meet his eyes.
Big mistake!
The smouldering mesmeric quality, the glittering golden lights, made her feel light-headed. He always had that effect on her, she mourned in silent self-contempt. And when he took one of her hands and uncurled her fingers she could do nothing to stop him.
Stroking her palm with one lean finger, he cracked down on the urgency of his desire to carry her over to the couch, strip her, reveal again the tantalising all-woman nakedness that had already been open to his avid view. To slide eager, questing hands over every delightful curve and hollow of her small but exquisitely proportioned body, discover the secret heart of her femininity and pleasure her until she was begging for release. To make her his.
But she was to be his wife. He was determined on that. And as his future wife she commanded his respect. Thrusting aside the erotic fantasies, promising himself that they would be played out in full on their wedding night, he said thickly, ‘No one needs to be disappointed, cara mia. Our marriage will make everyone happy.’
Such rampant sex appeal was dangerous. She felt hot, restless, her breasts tight, the nipples pushing against the thin camisole top she was wearing beneath an elegant linen suit, and her mind had been reduced to a fuzzy blank—apart from the tiny voice that was urging her to give in, do anything he wanted her to do, admit she loved him. Then the realisation that he was manipulating her again brought her to her senses as effectively as if he’d tossed a bucket of icy water over her.
Snatching back her hand, she took a step away, a pulse beating furiously at her temples. He was working on her soft nature. Clever enough to understand that she would hate hurting anyone she loved. He knew how fond she and Fiora were of each other. Knew she cared deeply for her great-aunt, valued all she’d done for her, the sacrifices she’d made when she’d adopted her, brought her up as if she were her own child.
Well, she’d show him she wasn’t as soft as he obviously thought she was. Her chin high, she got out, ‘You forgot me when you listed the people who would find happiness through our marriage. Or was I supposed to be included in “everyone”?’
Scorn for his methods, when all he had to do was say he loved her and mean it, which she knew would never happen, gave her the strength to walk out, telling him, ‘I won’t marry you. I’ll leave you to break the bad news in your own time and carry the results on your own conscience—if you have one!’
Lily gazed at her reflection with no enthusiasm. She was wearing the smoky blue backless designer gown—minus underwear—hoping it would make her feel more like a grown woman with a mind of her own rather than a doll in the hands of an expert puppet-master.
It wasn’t working. Her mind, what was left of it, was being jerked every which way. Her adamant decision to reject Paolo’s proposal out of hand was wavering, then veering back on track again, until something else happened to swing it right back in the other direction.
The latest being the shattering conversation she’d had with her great-aunt a couple of hours ago.
‘I want to talk to you.’ The old lady’s whisper had been loud enough to singe her ears. ‘It’s not necessary, but I’d like your agreement.’
Wondering what Edith was on about, Lily had found herself in the small salon that overlooked the gardens at the rear of the villa, the door closed firmly behind them, the old lady peering round to make sure they were alone. ‘You know Fiora and her companion plan to move back to her home in Florence immediately following the wedding? Well, what do you think of this?’ She’d pulled in a big breath, then added on a rush, ‘I’m invited to move here to Italy—make my home in Florence with them! Such a lovely city, I believe. I’ve always wanted to see it, but never could afford the time or the pennies to do it!’
Speechless at that heart-sinking announcement, Lily could only stare into her beloved great-aunt’s glowing eyes.
‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘I—’ Struggling to get her head around this latest development, Lily didn’t know where to start. ‘What about your cottage—the charity?’ But she knew what the answer would be.
It came as expected. ‘The charity’s fine—more part-time volunteers than ever, splendid fundraising activities planned, Paolo’s support. And as for the cottage—it goes to you in my will. But married to Paolo you won’t need it. So I shall sell it and pay my way in Florence with the proceeds.’
Her heart some miles beneath her feet, Lily said, ‘So you’ve made your mind up?’
‘As good as. Fiora and I get on like a house on fire. I wouldn’t consider the move if we didn’t. Apparently her apartment is enormous, fully staffed. And we’d be company for each other. Carla’s splendid, but Fiora says she often longs for someone nearer her own age to talk with. And of course I’d be near to you—not that I’d be forever visiting and being a nuisance, but I’d be near.’
And, as if Lily’s wide-eyed stare was not the enthusiastic reception she’d expected, the old lady had added confidently, ‘Paolo’s opinion has been sought. He thinks it’s a splendid idea!’
I just bet he does! Lily thought now, heartily sick of everything being ‘splendid’, and turning from the mirror. Outmanoeuvred again! If she persisted in her refusal to marry Paolo those happy plans would bite the dust.
Great-Aunt Edith had a strong, unshakable sense of duty. She would no more go ahead with her plans to move to Florence, sell the cottage to fund her life here and in the process see her, Lily, homeless or living in a bedsit, than sprout wings and fly. They would move back to England and take up the life they had left.
Could she be selfish enough to deny the old lady the luxury and ease she deserved in her declining years?
Edith had never married. A teacher for many years, she had founded the small local charity and adopted her great-niece on her retirement from full-time employment at the age of sixty, having worked hard all her life with precious few of life’s small luxuries. Didn’t she deserve something much better now?
And, to make everything so much worse, Paolo had been so warm, so attentive—respectful, even—during the last couple of days. The perfect Italian fiancé. On the one hand it had made her fall more deeply in love with him, and on the other it made her feel decidedly murderous!
Looking forward to this evening’s engagement party with as much pleasure as she would if faced with an appointment with her dentist for root canal work, she heaved a heartfelt sigh and slipped her feet into high-heeled mules.
The guests would be waiting for the happy couple to put in an appearance. Her stomach gave a violent lurch. Apparently a handful of Paolo’s closest friends had been invited and, ominously, the village priest. And the cousins, of course. Three males and a female. They’d arrived an hour ago, but she’d only had time to smile wanly, register the males with sharp suits and indolent attitudes,
