The Count's Blackmail Bargain (18 page)

It had never occurred to her, she thought blankly, that losing her virginity would be anything but simple. She was a twenty-first-century girl, for God’s sake, not some Victorian miss. And it seemed to her bewildered mind as if Alessio, in spite of what he’d just said, had been gentle. Yet, it had still hurt her in a way that she’d found it impossible to disguise.

But that, she thought wretchedly, was nothing compared with the aching agony of his subsequent rejection of her, both physically and emotionally. Her body still burned from its unfulfilled arousal.

Worst of all, she had almost, but thankfully not quite, told him, ‘I love you.’

And in the morning she was going to have to face him somehow—

with this nightmare between them. And she couldn’t bear it—she couldn’t…

With a little inarticulate cry, she dived under the covers, dragging them up to her throat, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as the first white-hot tears began to spill down her ashen face.

Alessio stood, shoulders slumped, one hand braced against the tiled wall of the shower, and his head bent against the remorseless cascade of cold water.

If he could manage somehow to numb his body, he thought starkly, then maybe he could also subdue his mind. But he knew already that would not be easy.

How many cold showers would it take to erase the memory of her eager mouth, her warm, slim body stretched beneath him in a surrender that should never have been required of her?

How could you not see? he accused himself savagely. You blind, criminal fool. How could you not realise that she was not merely shy, but totally inexperienced, when everything you did—

everything she would not allow you to do—told you that more plainly than any words?

But that first sweet, awkward kiss offered of her own volition had wiped everything from his mind but the assuagement of his own need.

He paused and swore at himself. Was he actually daring to blame her, even marginally, when he had manoeuvred and manipulated her to a point when she had been no longer prepared to resist him?

The fact that his sense of honour had forced him to abandon the seduction in no way diminished his feelings of guilt.

He found himself remembering something his father had once said to him just as he’d been emerging from adolescence. ‘Like most young men, you will find enough unscrupulous women in the world, Alessio, to cater for your pleasures. So, treat innocent girls with nothing but respect.’ He’d added drily, ‘Or until your intentions are entirely honourable.’

It had seemed wise advice, and until now he had followed it. He had simply not dreamed that Laura could be still a virgin. At the same time, he was shamingly aware of a fierce, almost primitive joy to know that she had never given herself to Paolo.

But she did not belong to him either, he reminded himself with a kind of sick desolation. And, after that last act of necessary cruelty, she never would…

With a groan, he slid down the wall to the tiled floor of the shower, resting his forehead on his drawn-up knees, letting the water beat at him. He had done the right thing, he told himself. He had to believe that.

Yet, he had ignored his father’s other piece of worldly wisdom, he realised with a flash of weary cynicism—that a gentleman should never leave the lady in his bed unsatisfied.

Well, his punishment and his penance would be to drive her to Rome tomorrow, and watch her walk away from him at the airport, through the baggage check and passport control, and out of his life.

‘Laura,’ he whispered. ‘My Laura.’ He had not cried since his father’s funeral, but suddenly, at the sound of her name, he could taste tears, hot and acrid in his throat, and it took every scrap of control he possessed to stop him weeping like a child for his loss.

Swallowing, he lifted himself to his feet and turned off the shower.

It was time to pull his life together, he commanded himself grimly, deciding, among other things, how he should deal with his aunt on her return. And, if she made good her threats, how he should handle the aftermath of her revelations.

I should have stood up to her at the start, he thought, his mouth tightening in cold anger as he reached for a towel. Told her to do her worst, then dismissed her from my life, together with Paolo.

But that I can still do, and I will.

It is the wrong that I have done Laura that can never be put right.

And somehow I have to live with that for the rest of my days.

CHAPTER TEN

SHE’D cried herself to sleep, but Laura still found no rest. She spent the remainder of a troubled night, tossing and turning in the wide bed, looking for some sort of peace, but finding only wretchedness.

Alessio’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and his voice telling her curtly to wake up just seemed part of another bad dream, until she opened unwilling eyes and saw him there, standing over her in the pallid daylight.

She snatched at the disarranged covers, dragging them almost frantically to the base of her throat, and saw a dark flush tinge his cheekbones and his mouth tighten to hardness as he registered what she was doing.

He was fully dressed, wearing jeans and a black polo shirt, but, as one swift glance under her lashes revealed, he was also unshaven and heavy-eyed, as if he too had found sleep elusive.

‘What—what do you want?’ She kept her voice as brusque as his own.

‘There has been a serious problem,’ he said. ‘That noise we heard last night was, in fact, a landslip. Guillermo tried to get down to Besavoro earlier, and found the road to the valley completely blocked with rocks, trees and mud.’

‘Blocked?’ Laura repeated, her heart missing a beat. ‘You mean—

we can’t get out?’

‘Unfortunately, no.’ He shrugged. ‘But the emergency generator is now working, so you will have hot water, and electric light, which should make your stay more comfortable.’

‘But how long am I to be kept here? I—I must get to the airport…’

‘Heavy lifting equipment has been requested from Perugia,’ he told her expressionlessly, ‘but it may not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest.’

‘Not until then?’ She digested the news with dismay. ‘And how long will it take to clear the road after that?’

Alessio shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

‘You don’t seem very concerned that we’re practically imprisoned here,’ she accused, her voice unsteady.

‘I regret the inconvenience,’ he said icily, ‘but at the moment I find Fredo a much greater worry. He is missing, and it is thought that his hut was in the path of the landslide.’ He paused. ‘I am going down to give what help I can.’

She bit her lip. ‘I see—of course.’ And as he turned away:

‘Alessio, I—I’m really sorry.’

‘Why?’ At the door, he halted. The backward glance he sent her was unreadable. ‘You do not know him.’

‘No, but he’s your friend, and he obviously means a great deal to you.’ She added swiftly, ‘I’d be sorry for anyone under the circumstances.’ She hesitated. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

His smile was faint and brief. ‘Perhaps—if you know how to pray.’

And was gone.

She lay, staring across the room at the closed door, her instinctive,

‘Please take care,’ still trembling, unspoken, on her lips. And quite rightly so, she told herself. To have indicated in any way that his well-being mattered to her would be dangerous madness.

So—it had happened, she thought. She had seen him, spoken to him, and somehow survived. She supposed the fact that he’d come to tell her there was an emergency had eased their meeting to a certain extent. It had had a purpose and an urgency that an embarrassed encounter across the breakfast table would have lacked.

But it also meant that she’d been deprived of her only shred of comfort in the entire situation—the knowledge that she was leaving. That she would not have to spend time alone with him, or pass another night in the vain pursuit of sleep under his roof.

All she wanted, quite simply, was to go far away, and try to forget the appalling humiliation of the past twelve hours. If that was, indeed, possible.

Yet now the trap had closed on her again, and she was caught. And there was literally nothing she could do about it except—endure.

It was a very small consolation to know that he would be equally reluctant to have her around after last night’s wretched debacle.

Somehow, she reflected painfully, she must have given the impression that she possessed a level of sophistication that was beyond her. A willing female body ready to provide Alessio with the level of entertainment he expected from his sexual partners.

Discarded when he realised the truth.

She would carry the stark cruelty of that for the rest of her life, like a scar, she thought.

She turned onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. So, when she’d opened her eyes just now and seen him there beside the bed, how was it possible that her body had stirred for one infinitesimal moment in hope and desire?

Because it had done so, she admitted painfully. It might be pathetic and shameful, but it was also quite undeniable.

Which meant that, even now, and in spite of everything, she—

wanted him.

Dear God, she thought in angry self-derision, had the totality of his rejection taught her nothing?

Yet it might have been even worse if he’d persuaded her to go away with him. Made what amounted to a public statement of his desire for her, and then, almost in the next breath, dismissed her.

At least, hidden away here at the Villa Diana, no one else would know of her humiliation.

She sat up, with sudden determination, pushing her hair back from her face. If she continued thinking along those lines, she could end up feeling grateful to him. And she wasn’t.

But lying here, brooding, was no answer either. She had to get up and prepare for the rest of her life. Something that never had included Alessio Ramontella, and never would.

Somehow, she had to put this brief madness behind her, and become sane again.

And I can, she promised herself, lifting her chin with renewed pride. I can, and I will.

It was a strange day. The sky was still heavy with cloud, revealing the sun only in fitful bursts, yet at the same time it was stiflingly hot. The heavy air was filled with the almost jungle smell of wet earth and vegetation, and, although Guillermo had gone down and patiently cleaned out the pool, Laura was not tempted to spend much time out of doors.

In spite of her brave resolution, she found herself prowling round the house, restless and ill-at-ease, as if she were a caged animal.

Alessio did not return, and when Guillermo came back from taking midday food and wine down to those trying to clear some part of the landslide he could only say that Fredo had not yet been found, and the search was continuing.

She wanted to ask, ‘Is the Count all right?’ but bit back the words.

This was not a question she had any reason or any right to ask.

She read the rest of her book and returned it, but did not allow herself to choose another, although Emma tempted her. On the one hand, she didn’t want to think she might be around long enough to finish it. On the other, she hated the idea of leaving it half unread.

She spent some of her time exploring the house in greater detail, especially the older parts, examining the restoration work that had taken place on frescoed walls and painted ceilings. With a building of this age, careful renovation would always be needed, she thought. A labour of love that would last a lifetime.

And she could understand its attraction. The remoteness that aggravated Paolo had an appeal all its own. She could see how Alessio would regard it as a sanctuary—a much-needed retreat.

What she couldn’t figure so well was why someone, so very much of the world, should require such a place. Why he should ever want to escape.

But then the entire way the Count conducted his life was an enigma, she thought, or as far as she was concerned anyway. A mystery that had already caused her too much unhappiness, and which she could not afford to probe.

I have to begin to forget, she told herself. However hard that is.

However long it takes.

As always, music was her solace. She had no idea when, if ever, she would have access to such a wonderful piano, but she was determined to make the most of it.

She found the book of Beethoven sonatas again, and glanced through them looking for those she’d learned to play in her younger days. She realised for the first time that there was an inscription inside the collection’s embossed cover, and that even she could translate this brief message—‘To my dearest Valentina from the husband who adores her. My love now and for ever.’

She turned the page swiftly, feeling with embarrassment that she should not have read the message—that she had somehow intruded on something private and precious.

She chose a page number totally at random, and, after loosening up with a few preliminary scales, began to practise.

It was only Emilia’s quiet entry with another batch of candles that alerted her to the passage of time since she’d first sat down to play.

‘Heavens.’ Laura looked almost guiltily at her watch. ‘It’s nearly time to change for dinner. I didn’t realise.’ She paused. ‘Has—has His Excellency come back yet?’

Emilia pursed her lips. ‘No, signorina. But do not concern yourself,’ she added encouragingly. ‘He will return to you very soon.’

Laura was infuriated to find she was blushing again, and hotly, too.

‘I just meant that we should maybe—hold dinner until he arrives.’

‘But of course, signorina.’ Emilia’s smile was serene but also openly sceptical. Pull the other one, it seemed to advise drily. We are not blind, or deaf, Guillermo and I, and we have known Count Alessio all his life. So you cannot fool us—either of you.

But this time you’re wrong, Laura wanted passionately to tell her.

And I’m the one who was fooled.

Instead, she bent her head and concentrated on the passage she’d just stumbled over.

Alessio came home half an hour later, walking straight into the salotto. Laura glanced up, her hands stilling on the keys as she looked at him. His face was grey with weariness, and his clothes were heavily stained with mud and damp.