The Echoes of Love (24 page)

‘I am not your Judd,
signorina,
for whom you tremble with such passion. In case you've forgotten, my name is Paolo,' he growled savagely, his words like the lash of a whip and, pushing past her without another word or a backward glance, he lunged into the dark and strode off, disappearing into the night.

Venetia stood beneath the stars shivering, hugging her trembling body, desire still beating deep inside her like a feverish pulse, her flesh crying out for a satisfaction it had not received, and a longing in her bones that was solidifying into actual pain.

Slowly the world returned, but her mind remained confused and uncertain. Judd… It was always Judd… she had to face the fact that she wasn't over him, and might never get over him. The echoes of the past would forever be there to haunt her. She walked back to the cottage. Once in her room, she flung herself on the bed and buried her head in her arms.

When Ernestina came over to call her for dinner half an hour later, the housekeeper found the young woman still lying there in the dark, staring at the star-studded sky through the open windows, the night air blowing in on her as she listened to the sound of whispering waves that mixed with her mournful thoughts.

‘
Signor
Barone is waiting for you to come to dinner,
signorina
.'

Oh no! Facing Paolo tonight was too much to ask, Venetia thought. She would brave the situation in the morning, once she had put some order in her bewildered brain. She had behaved appallingly, and confronting him tonight after what had just happened was more than she could bear.

‘Would you please send my apologies to
Signor
Barone. I have a bad headache. I'll feel better after a good night's sleep, I'm sure. I must have caught a touch of the sun, but I'll report for work tomorrow morning without fail.'

Ernestina gave her a quizzical frown and Venetia's cheeks flamed under the servant's keen eyes.

‘Shall I bring you a tray, or maybe just a cup of
brodo di pollo
?'

‘No, thank you. Really, it's been a long day and all I need is sleep. I'll be fine in the morning.'

‘As you wish,
signorina
. I'll let the
signore
know. I think he will be very disappointed.
Buonanotte, signorina, spero che vi sentirete meglio la mattina,
goodnight,
signorina
, I hope you feel better in the morning.'

‘
Grazie,
Ernestina.
Buonanotte,
and please convey my sincere apologies to
Signor
Barone.'

‘I shall do so,
signorina
. Sleep well.'

With Ernestina gone, the cottage sank back into silence. Venetia sighed. She got up and went over to the window looking out on to the stable yard. Paolo might be disappointed for a few moments, but he would soon forget his troubles in the arms of Antonio's beautiful niece, she reflected bitterly.

A deep-seated ache began somewhere inside her at the thought and she bit her bottom lip. What on earth was wrong with her? A few hours ago she had almost told Paolo to go to the Devil, then she had clung wantonly to him, dizzy with desire – was it only her sex-deprived body that was reacting to the novelty of a man's touch? No! She rejected that thought even as it crossed her mind. Paolo reminded her of Judd in so many ways that she was clearly transposing her love for her former fiancé on to the Italian tycoon. She closed her eyes against this frightening admission, which seemed the only answer to her erratic behaviour. Anyhow, it was irrelevant now, she concluded. She knew very well what Paolo must be thinking, and was scorched with shame from head to toe. She had made such a mess of things this evening; it would be he, now, who would draw back from her. And, even if she hadn't ruined everything, wasn't it now more dangerous than ever before to get involved with
l'Amante delle Quattro Stagioni?

Chapter 7

P
aolo poured a large measure of scotch into a heavy crystal tumbler, raised it to his lips and took a fiery gulp. Standing by his bedroom window, looking out to sea, the book he had been trying to read, unsuccessfully, was held against his chest and his blue eyes clouded over in sombre reflection.

The large room was unmistakably masculine, with its oak four-poster double bed and a magnificent Renaissance wardrobe, two comfortable armchairs covered in navy blue leather, and a big round table set in the middle. The walls were painted light blue and were hung with oils by local painters whom Paolo sponsored. A beautiful Murano glass vase with a tasteful flower arrangement had pride of place on a Renaissance chest of drawers, which matched the wardrobe and stood in between two tall windows. The gilded chandelier that hung from the white ceiling could be described as a piece of old-world charm with a dash of contemporary sophistication.

Paolo was brooding on the enigma of Venetia. To him she spelt intensity and contradiction. There was something about her that was both girlish and mature; she seemed innocent and at the same time experienced. Her eyes had a look of candour, but they held a certain secretiveness when she was thinking or judging. And he felt that judging was something she often did when it came to him. She appeared to Paolo much older in mind than her peers – he had the impression she had already seen a great deal of the world.

Venetia's looks were also a contradiction. Although energy and feminine force showed in her long limbs, he had seldom seen a woman as graceful, except in the world of ballet – the allure of a temptress and sometimes the still grace of a summer flower. Who was Judd – the man whom Paolo was now sure was the reason why Venetia blew hot and cold, one moment resisting his advances and the next trembling with wanton desire under his touch? Had he been foolish to pursue her, to allow himself to dream of love with a woman so headstrong, maddening, complicated, and so utterly beautiful that he believed he could lose himself completely in the intensity of her golden eyes? He had let himself believe that she could love him too, even with the dark burden he carried…

A surge of cold, hard anger rose inside him as he thought of the way Venetia had treated him since they had first met. And now she had even called him another man's name in the heat of passion. Then again, she was not a woman to give herself lightly; no doubt Judd had been an ex-boyfriend, but a boyfriend who had meant much more than just that. Maybe he had been a lover… a fiancé… or even a husband? The one thing he was sure of: this man had hurt her and the wound was still tender. He had to shake off his biting jealousy and move on. Already he had lost enough of his life to dwell on obstacles; he didn't want to lose Venetia too. Something more powerful than he recognised drew him to her, overshadowing everything else.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Avanti.'
Paolo put down the book on the table next to him but continued staring out of the window.

A beautiful young woman with lustrous dark eyes and a mass of raven-black hair covering her shoulders came into the room. She was clad in a revealing scarlet nightdress of shimmering soft silk, which clung to the fullness of her hips and to the sharp nipples outlined under the thin fabric.

‘I couldn't sleep,' she whispered, encircling her arms about his waist, pressing her curvaceous body against him and laying her cheek on his back.

Paolo pulled away, disentangling from the young woman's embrace. ‘What are you doing here, Allegra?'

Reproach clouded the fiery black eyes momentarily. ‘You never have time for me any more, Paolo.'

‘I have a lot on my mind at the moment.'

‘That's no reason to have dinner in your bedroom,' she huffed.

‘It's been a difficult twenty-four hours. I didn't get much sleep yesterday because I didn't bother booking into the airport hotel. The wreckage of the plane was supposed to be cleared last night, so I was hoping the airport would open, if not yesterday, then at least in the first hours of this morning.'

‘That's no excuse,' she went on relentlessly. ‘You could've had dinner with me and then gone to your room, as you usually do when you come back from your journeys.'

A quick glance at Allegra showed Paolo that she was in a reckless state of mind. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. ‘I'll make it up to you,
cara
,' he promised, trying to look contrite, ‘but tonight I'm in no fit mood for company.'

Planting her hands on her hips, Allegra probed Paolo's face with her dark eyes. ‘Who is this woman living at La Sirena? She says she's an architect working on some project of yours.'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘What project? You never told me that you were involved in a new project.' Allegra's tone was almost aggressive.

Paolo gave her a dry smile. ‘
Cara
, I don't tell you everything about my work.'

‘You never let me in on anything,' she seethed.

‘Must we have this conversation tonight,
cara
?'

‘Why are you pushing me away from you, Paolo?'

‘You've always known the score, Allegra. I haven't changed my mind. You're trying to alter the nature of our relationship. I've told you before, it's not an option.'

Allegra lifted her burning eyes to Paolo's austere face, and her arms dropped to her sides. ‘But I love you,
amore mio
.'

‘And I care for you very deeply.' He gave a reassuring smile.

‘But obviously not enough.'

‘
Dio mio,
Allegra… '

‘I know you well, Paolo, too well. It's not like you to bring your work to Miraggio, and it's certainly not like you to bring a woman to your home. This woman means much more to you than you're admitting.'

He turned from her and picked up a pack of cigarettes that lay on the night table next to his bed. ‘What's between
la Signorina
Aston-Montagu and myself is purely business.' He did not want the young woman to read the lie in his eyes.

‘She could have stayed at a hotel in Porto Santo Stefano, like the businessmen that you usually deal with.'

Paolo ripped the pack open and put the Zippo flame to his cigarette, then blew it out and replaced the lighter on the table. Smoke wreathed about his dark head.

‘La Sirena was there,' he gestured. ‘Sooner or later, I had to renovate that cottage. Besides, this is a long and difficult construction project which I'll be working on for months and I need an architect on hand.'

‘Does this mean that the
signorina
will be staying at Miraggio for months?' Allegra demanded, her eyes wide with indignation.

‘Not at Miraggio but at La Sirena, which neither impinges on your privacy nor on mine.
Dio mio
, the estate is large enough for us not to fall over each other, don't you think?'

‘I saw how much of your own time you've put into renovating La Sirena, and how much money too. More than one would expect for a small cottage.'

Paolo swung round to face her, a ribbon of smoke twisting from his lips. ‘Have I ever stinted on a project, or on anything else for that matter?'

‘No maybe not, but you usually leave these sort of things to your employees.' Allegra trailed a finger round the edge of the table next to her, pouting and glancing up at him. ‘Even Ernestina and Antonio were surprised at how pernickety you were about the planning of every detail before her arrival. Apparently, you insisted on picking the roses for the living room yourself.'

Paolo caught the rasp of jealousy in Allegra's voice. Silence fell on the vast room for a few seconds; he tossed off the remainder of the whisky in his glass.

‘Allegra, this jealous scene is totally out of place. You're acting like a spoilt child.'

‘She's beautiful,' the young woman remarked tonelessly.

Paolo gave her half a grin. ‘Next time I'll make sure to hire an ugly person.'

She glared at him. ‘Don't be flippant.'

‘And you stop being unreasonable and childish.'

‘You didn't breathe a word about this to me – you were underhand, which proves what I have said before, this woman means much more to you than you're admitting.'

‘You can read what you wish into this,
cara
, it's your pre-rogative, but I'm afraid I don't owe you any explanation,' Paolo stated firmly.

Allegra came to him. With an air of possessiveness, and catlike movements, she let her nightdress fall off her shoulders and slip to the floor, and brought her arms up around Paolo's neck, plastering her flawless frame to his length. ‘I wasn't aware you went for the stiff, cold Nordic type,' she purred. ‘I was under the impression...'

‘Come now, this conversation is ridiculous and you know it,' Paolo disengaged himself firmly from her, picked up the nightgown and gave it to her. ‘Allegra, this is embarrassing for both of us. You need to have some pride; think of your self-respect.'

There was a void of silence between them, with only the sound of the sighing sea coming in from the open window. Allegra's face was flushed and Paolo could see that she was fighting back tears as she put her nightdress back on with trembling fingers.

His face softened. ‘I didn't intend to hurt you,
cara
. Contrary to what you may think, you mean a lot to me.' Slowly but firmly he led her towards the door.

Allegra pushed away from him. Her perfect breasts lifted with a deep inhalation as her chin came up proudly and she looked him straight in the face, singeing him with the little flames that shone deep in her eyes.

‘You'll regret this, Paolo,' she muttered, her lower lip still trembling with the effort of controlling herself. ‘You might be used to treating other women with contempt, but I'm made of sterner stuff! This Englishwoman doesn't know you the way I do. I promise you that I will make sure you eat the words you've said to me tonight,' she flared.

Wariness flickered in Paolo's eyes. ‘Too bad,
cara,
if you insist on taking it that way. I have nothing to reproach myself about. You can threaten all you like, but the last thing I need tonight is a melodramatic scene from a hysterical girl.'

Allegra gave him a last vitriolic look before swanning out of the room, her head high.

Paolo sighed and returned to the window. What was he going to do with Allegra? He was used to her antics. It happened every time he came back from a business trip; but tonight she had gone too far. She was beginning to get out of hand, and he was concerned at the manipulativeness she had shown of late.

‘Women!' he muttered.

His thoughts turned back to Venetia. His earlier anger towards her had evaporated and now his eyes reflected love, the love that he had finally allowed to flood his heart; and yet their cobalt depths were troubled –
the first love of my short life,
since I've no memory of any other,
he thought with a self-mocking smile. But was it an impossible love? He was filled with panic for a few seconds at this prospect. For so long he had thought no woman could love someone like him, a man with no life, a shadow man; but he had snapped out of it. He had to resist such pessimism; after all he was lucky to be given a chance at love at the age of thirty-eight, he reasoned.

He wondered whether Venetia was asleep. Ernestina had said that she was in bed with a headache when she had called her for dinner. It wasn't surprising she wanted to avoid him after he had stormed off earlier, the rage of jealousy and rejection searing inside him. Paolo wanted Venetia more than he had wanted any other woman before – and he'd had women: plenty of women, of every creed and race, to furnish the void the amnesia had created in his life.

His fantasy took him to the bedroom appointed with Venetia in mind. He imagined her outstretched on the bed, and it was as if his gaze roamed over her near-naked, exquisite length, while he ran his fingers through the silken mass of her hair, something he now knew would make her tremble with delight. He imagined her mouth, parted, tempting him to sin, letting him bend her to his will and at the same time making him surrender to the erotic power she wielded. His lips wanted to trace the curve of Venetia's cheek, the line of her neck and the sensuous hollow below that beautiful throat that was made for a man's mouth. And he wanted to go beyond, to explore every secret part of her body, his tongue sliding into the depths of her aching desire.

He yearned to linger on the curves of her breasts that he had imagined beneath the flimsy dress she had worn tonight. He had wanted to peel off that dress as soon as he laid eyes on her. That dress, through which he had felt her nipples harden wantonly against his chest, almost driving him insane with an aching urge to rip it off her and take her there and then, burying himself in her softness, releasing the torrent of what they both wanted, what they both needed.

The fantasy was almost enough to let loose the primitive lust quivering beneath his skin. Now there was passion and hunger in his midnight-blue eyes. The fire in them spoke of unrealised dreams and the hopes he still nurtured. Images and thoughts skidded through his mind, reckless and wild; but they were only thoughts, and tonight he would be sleeping all alone in his bed.

* * *

When Ernestina brought breakfast to the cottage next morning, Venetia was already dressed and ready, wearing a lightweight, stretch twill, straw-coloured trouser suit. The few hours she had spent sketching in the sun the day before had given her skin a warm, apricot glow that was enhanced by the pale yellow shade of the ensemble.

‘
Buongiorno, signorina
. I hope you're feeling better this morning. Did you sleep well?'

‘Yes, I'm feeling fine, thank you. The air here clearly has an effect on me, and the sound of the sea lulls you to sleep. I had a very restful night.'
Liar
, a voice at the back of Venetia's mind whispered – she was ruefully aware that she had hardly slept. It had been a hot night, and a restless one; she had spent most of it sitting on the veranda, contemplating dark thoughts.