eyes who masqueraded as a showgirl by night…To say the contrast intrigued him was putting it mildly. But what the hell was he getting himself into? Taking another look at Emily, he found he could not look away. He would have carried right on staring, too, had it not been for her sister’s protestation providing him with a distraction.
‘Oh, Mother, really,’ Miranda said now, looking at Emily to back her up.’ Signor Bussoni doesn’t want to hear about all that—Emily, say something.’
Emily, Alessandro mused, running the name over and over in his mind and loving its undulating form, its perfect proportions, its old English charm…Emily, Emily—Her mother fractured his musings with terrier-like determination.
‘Emily won’t stop me telling Signor Ferara all about your wonderful talent, Miranda. If no one speaks of it, how will you ever play that violin you so loved in Heidelberg?’
‘Mother, please,’ Emily cut in gently. ‘I imagine Signor Bussoni’s time is very precious. He’s come here to talk about recording contracts for Miranda’s band. I’m sure there will be other occasions when he can hear her play the violin.’
‘Oh…’ Mrs Weston hesitated, looking from one to the other in frustration.
‘That would give me the greatest pleasure,’ Alessandro agreed. ‘But it was you I heard singing last night,’ he stated confidently, turning to Emily, his bold gaze drenching her in the sort of heat she had only read about in novels.
‘Emily took over for me because I caught a cold and lost my voice,’ Miranda confessed self-consciously. ‘As a rule, no one can tell us apart.’
‘I see,’ Alessandro said, nodding thoughtfully as he studied Emily’s face. He would have known her anywhere…even if there had been five more identical sisters lined up for his perusal.
Emily tried hard to meet his stare, but he disturbed her equilibrium in a profound and unsettling way.
‘Singing is just a hobby for me,’ she started to explain. ‘You would have signed up the band right away if Miranda had been onstage—’
‘Possibly,’ Alessandro murmured, confining himself to that single word while his eyes spoke volumes about his doubt. He couldn’t have cared less if Emily had a voice like a corncrake…and beauty was in the millimetre, he realised, as he filled his eyes, his mind and his soul with the face and form of a woman he desired like no other. Emily Weston was everything he wanted…everything he needed to set his plan in motion. No, much more than that, he realised, and only managed to drag his gaze away from her when the telephone shrilled and everyone but he made a beeline for the door.
‘Let me,’ Emily’s father insisted calmly, easing his way through the scrum.
‘Won’t you sit down, Signor Bussoni?’ Mrs Weston said awkwardly.’ Miranda, go and fetch the tea tray.’
‘Do you mind if I—?’ Swaying a little, Miranda stopped mid-sentence and passed a hand over her forehead.
‘You’ve still got a fever. You really should go to bed,’ Emily observed, taking hold of her twin’s arm. ‘You’ll never get better if you don’t rest. I’ll see her upstairs,’ she said, turning to her mother. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Signor Ferara?’ she added to Alessandro. ‘I’ll come down and serve the tea,’ she promised, ushering her sister out of the door. ‘Just as soon as I see Miranda settled.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Alessandro’s voice stopped Emily dead in her tracks.
‘You’re not going—’ she said quickly…far too quickly, she realised immediately, noting the spark of interest in his eyes. Her heart thundered as he shot her an amused, quizzical look. ‘Well, we haven’t discussed the contract yet,’ she said, attempting to make light of her eagerness for him to stay.
‘Emily,’ Miranda murmured weakly, ‘I really think I should…’
‘Of course,’ Emily said, welcoming the distraction as she looped an arm around her sister’s waist. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
‘Can I help?’ Alessandro offered.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Emily said, urging her sister forward.
‘Emily’s right, Signor Bussoni,’ Miranda murmured faintly. ‘I’ll feel better after a short rest. My sister has my full confidence. I am quite content for you to put your proposition to her.’
Alessandro answered with a brief dip of his head. ‘I feel equally confident that your sister will find my proposal irresistible, Miss Weston.’
‘I’m very grateful to you, Signor Bussoni,’ Miranda replied as she stood for a moment, framed by the door, her carefully made-up face illuminated by an oblique shaft of late-after-noon sunlight.
Beautiful, Alessandro thought dispassionately, and if you stripped away the paint and glitter almost a carbon copy of her sister. But there was no attraction there. None at all. Not for him, at least.
‘You will sort it out for me, won’t you, Emily?’ Miranda said anxiously as they left the room together.
‘When have I ever let you down?’ Emily teased gently as they started up the stairs.
‘Never,’ Miranda said softly, turning to give her sister a kiss.
Emily came back into the room to find Alessandro comfortably ensconced on the chintz-covered sofa, with her mother beside him chatting animatedly. But the moment she arrived his focus switched abruptly.
‘Do you handle all your sister’s business affairs?’
Emily prided herself on her ability to recognise exceptional adversaries on sight. And she was facing one right now, she warned herself. ‘Not all,’ she said carefully. She saw his eyes warm with amusement and knew he had her measure, too.
‘Just contracts?’ he pressed.
Emily’s heart gave a wild little flutter, like a bird trapped in an enclosed space.
‘We’re not here to talk about me, Signor Bussoni—’
‘Alessandro, please,’ he said, embellishing the instruction with a small shrug intended to disarm, Emily guessed, as she watched her mother’s eyes round in approval at what she clearly imagined was an enchanting display of Latin charm. But her mother had missed the shrewd calculation going on behind that stunning dark gold gaze, Emily thought, feeling her own body respond to the unmistakable masculine challenge.
‘I’m sure you’re very busy, Signor Bussoni,’ she said, struggling to sound matter-of-fact with a heart that insisted on performing cartwheels in her chest. ‘And it’s the contract for Miranda’s band you’ve come to discuss after all.’
‘Correct,’ he agreed.
His voice streamed over Emily’s senses like melted fudge. How could a voice affect you like that? she wondered. Surely the cosy little room with its neatly papered walls had never housed such a dangerous sound as Alessandro Bussoni’s deep, sexy drawl.
‘It seems you and I have rather a lot to discuss, Miss Weston,’
