to admit. He is always right.’
She sounded tired and Milly wondered if she was brooding over his comment that she was not to be trusted to look where she was going. In her weakened state his snapped comment would have been upsetting.
‘He adores you,’ Milly was quick to console. ‘He was only grumpy with you because you’d given him such a fright. It’s a natural reaction.’
Had that first hot, savage kiss been born out of anger at the danger she’d unknowingly put herself in? Had it been a question of kiss her or shake her until her teeth fell out? Probably. And, as for what had happened next, well, he believed she was her sister, his ex-lover, and the progression had also been completely natural, that first punishing kiss rekindling old flames.
Nothing to do with her, Milly. Nothing personal.
Thankfully, Rosa appeared with a tray, taking her mind off such dejecting, demoralising thoughts. Settling it on the old lady’s knees, murmuring in her own language, the housekeeper finally addressed Milly. ‘Would you also like tray? Keep the Signora company?’
Breaking the soft bread roll that accompanied the broth and, buttering it, earning herself a smile of gratitude from her charge, Milly seized the offer. ‘Thank you, Rosa. I think I’ll take all my meals with the Signora, if it’s no trouble.’ That way she could avoid eating with Cesare. The less she could manage to see of him the better.
‘Di niente!’ The housekeeper beamed. ‘Much good plan!’
In the event Milly saw hardly anything of Cesare except when he visited his grandmother at around ten each morning and again at ten in the evenings, or whenever the doctor appeared to check up on his patient. And on every occasion Milly made her excuses and left the room, only returning when she was sure the coast was clear. For the rest of the time Cesare was closeted in his first floor office, commanding his empire or occasionally visiting headquarters in Florence.
She wasn’t being cowardly in avoiding him as much as possible, she assured herself. Just being sensible. She was in grave danger of believing herself in love with him. It was bad enough having him haunt her dreams at night—dreams so erotic she woke with a feeling of deep shame—without having to be in his company during waking hours.
It had been four weeks since Filomena’s accident and the old lady was making great strides and Cesare had been away on business—Hong Kong and somewhere in the Far East, according to the patient—for the past ten days, apparently comfortable about leaving her in charge which, she supposed, was progress!
On the whole Milly was much easier than she’d been when she’d first arrived. Her duties were satisfying. She and Filomena were growing fonder of each other as each day passed and life here at the villa had settled into a pleasant routine.
But.
Her deception was really bugging her now. Deceiving a kind, trusting old lady was despicable—there was no other word for it and she was no nearer tracing her sister than she had been back in Ashton Lacey. And deceiving Cesare was every bit as distasteful.
She was going to have to come clean and take the flak, she decided with a sickening lurch of her stomach. Let Cesare with his wealth and clout find her sister and then they could finally get the misunderstanding cleared up and she could go home—providing Cesare didn’t decide to prosecute her as well which, she decided miserably, was a high probability!
And, not nearly as important but still troublesome, she was heartily sick of having to wear Jilly’s cast-offs. Everything was either too tight-fitting, too short, too low cut, too brashly in-your-face, or a mixture of all four! Whatever she wore she felt uncomfortable.
Putting her sour mood down to the cream leather miniskirt and matching sleeveless top—surely one of Jilly’s impulse buys because it didn’t seem to have been worn before—she collected secateurs from the garden room and headed across the cobbled courtyard on the spindly heels that were de rigueur as far as Jilly was concerned, apart from the weird sandals that had finally fallen to pieces during that last hurried scramble over the island to the helicopter.
Rosa was sitting with her mistress for a couple of hours, as she did each afternoon, and Milly would cut fresh roses for Filomena’s room. She knew how much she enjoyed them, especially as she couldn’t get out in the garden herself yet.
Soothed by the prospect of an hour in the beautiful gardens, she made her way through the formal box parterre, theatrical with its stone urns and magnifient central carved fountain, through the perfumed lemon grove and on to the path that led to what Filomena called her English garden, a yew enclosed area that was filled with her precious roses in generous beds edged with aromatic lavender.
After looking in on Nonna briefly and, having a word with Rosa to make sure his grandmother’s steady progress was continuing, Cesare headed for his office and dumped his bulging briefcase. Loosening his tie, he allowed that he was more than glad to be home.
For the past few months he’d worked from home, or when necessary from the Florence office, feeling trapped, missing the dynamism of covering all the corners of his business empire in his private jet, the hands-on troubleshooting he thrived on.
It had been necessary, initially because of what he had seen as Nonna’s worrying lack of interest in staying alive, and then because, although the young companion he’d hired had kept her amused, seemingly giving her a new lease of life, something had told him Jilly Lee couldn’t be trusted.
And so he’d stayed home, his decision validated when he’d been left to pick up the pieces after the thieving little tramp had disappeared.
A problem to be solved at the Far East refinery followed by his unavoidable presence at the opening of the opulent retail outlet for the breathtakingly expensive Saracino gems had necessitated a stop-over in Hong Kong. Once a regular part of his focused—some said driven—working life, jetting between the various arms of his empire, making sure everything was working smoothly.
But instead of feeling free, enjoying doing what he did best, he had been itching to get back home.
Facing facts as he prided himself on doing, he wandered to the tall window that overlooked the courtyard, shedding his suit jacket on the way, ignoring the clatter of the fax machine.
Concern for his grandmother wasn’t the reason—daily reports from Rosa had assured him that she was doing splendidly, that the companion, Signorina Jilly, was amazing all the staff by showing her gentler side, so much good humour and patience.
So even his staff had noted the startling change in character!
Put simply, he hadn’t been able to get the bewitching little imposter out of his head. Remembering how her practically naked, perfectly lovely body had felt in his arms, her passionate, generous response, had been responsible for more sleepless nights than he wanted to think about.
And the way she had avoided him since they’d returned to the villa had had him wanting to punch holes in walls. He had to discover why she was pretending to be her much harder twin sister. Every time he’d decided to make her come clean something had happened to stop him. It was as if fate was conspiring against him. And the need to know was assuming monumental proportions.
Thrusting his hands into the side pockets of his narrow fitting suit trousers, he rocked back on his heels and told himself that her deliberate avoidance had forced a necessary and sensible patience on his behalf.
Have the
