Passion and the Prince (12 page)

She did, it was true, but Lily suspected his suggestion sprang more from his wish not to have to endure any more of her company than he had to rather than any concern for her.

‘There’s no need for you to do that. Being involved with the villa owners is part of my job. Besides, I imagine that the Duchess has some fascinating stories to tell about her family history and the villa. However, if that is a polite way of telling me that you don’t want me there …?’ she challenged Marco, determined to let him know that she had guessed the real reason behind his offer.

‘It isn’t,’ he denied. ‘I merely thought you might wish to have some time to yourself.’

‘I’m here to work. And that work includes listening to what those connected with the villas have to say,’ Lily told him firmly.

It was a little later than Marco had allowed for on their schedule before they were able to leave the third villa. It had been in the same family for several generations, having originally been built for one of Napoleon’s favourite generals, and in addition to agreeing to loan the trust several valuable pieces for its exhibition the owner, an elderly Italian who spoke impeccable English, had allowed Lily to take photographs of the interior of the villa, which would also be put on display—a coup indeed, as she was fully aware.

Watching Lily with her camera, Marco could see her professionalism—but instead of admiring it, as did the Visconte, whom she had charmed completely with her interest in his family history, her expertise brought back all Marco’s doubts about her and his disdain for what he believed she was.

He would be glad when this task was over and he could return to his normal life and put Dr Lillian Wrightington out of his mind for ever. And out of his heart? The sneaky little question was slid under his guard so dextrously by that taunting inner voice he literally stopped in midstride as he fought to deny the unjustifiable allegation. She meant nothing to him. Nothing, that was, apart from the fact that he didn’t trust her and last night she had aroused him to the point where nothing had been more important than possessing her. So he had desired her? Physical desire alone meant nothing. His emotions weren’t engaged with her. That was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Then how did he explain away his anger and jealousy?

Marco welcomed the distraction from his inner
thoughts provided by the necessary formalities involved in taking their leave of the Visconte and thanking him for his kindness.

As their chauffeur-driven car purred up the drive to the Duchess’s home, through the most beautiful formal Italianate gardens, Lily was uncomfortably conscious of Marco’s silence. He had barely spoken to her since they had left the previous villa, and she had felt too aware of coldness of the stone wall of his silence to want to break it.

The front of the elegant Palladian-style villa was basking in the last of the early October sunshine beneath a clear blue sky, and as always when she was in the presence of a beauty that stirred her senses Lily felt her emotions rise up in humble awe. It didn’t make any difference to her reaction if it was nature that was responsible for that beauty or the skill of a human artist—the effect on her was the same.

Unable to stop herself, she murmured more to herself than Marco, ‘This is just so beautiful.’

Somehow the emotion in Lily’s voice managed to find a faint hairline crack in Marco’s defences that he hadn’t known was there. The moisture he could see glinting in her eyes couldn’t possibly have been faked, he knew, even though he wanted to believe that it was. A fresh surge of jealousy spiked through him—but not over another man this time. ‘Both the setting and the villa do please the eye,’ he told her in a dry voice. ‘But I like to think that my family’s
castello
can rival the villa for catching at the heart. You’ll have to give me your opinion when you’ve seen it.’

The di Lucchesi
castello.
The place from which Marco’s family sprang. The place where his ancestors would have taken their wives and sired their children. Children. Lily’s heart rocked perilously inside her chest, pierced by an agonised ache of pure female longing and envy. One day Marco would take a bride to his
castello,
and one day she would give birth to his child, his children there. But that woman would not be her. What was she doing, allowing herself to accept thoughts and feelings that could only cause her pain and make her suffer? That mattered to her? Then that must mean.

Lily didn’t want to think about what it could mean. It was a relief when the car came to a halt and she knew that she’d soon be able to escape from Marco’s presence and the effect he was having on her.

The Duchess herself came down the stone steps leading up to the villa to greet them, welcoming them with warm smile before telling the chauffeur that her housekeeper had a meal ready for him, if he wanted to drive round to the courtyard at the back of the villa.

Such kindness and concern was not always displayed by those in the Duchess’s elevated social and financial position, Lily knew, and her heart warmed even further to their hostess as she slipped her arms through both Lily’s and Marco’s, telling them as they headed for the steps, ‘There’s no need for the two of you to be bashful or feel you have to be discreet.’ She pulled a face and laughed. ‘All that creeping around in the middle of the night, terrified that one might step on a creaking floorboard and be discovered. I remember it well. But times have changed, and I like to think that I have changed with them. So, once my housekeeper informed me that
her sister—who works at Ville d’Este—had told her the two of you had been sharing a room there, I instructed her to make up my favourite guest suite for the two of you.’

L
ILY
couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even think properly. She couldn’t do anything other than look at the Duchess in mute disbelief as she continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll like it. It has the most wonderful view over the lake. My late husband and I used to stay in it when we came to visit before my father died. When I inherited it my husband insisted that we replace the rather small double bed with something larger and more comfortable.’ The Duchess gave a fond sigh. ‘I have so many happy memories of being young here. New love—it is so special. I well remember the first time I saw my late husband. I fell in love with him the minute I set eyes on him. He, though, I’m afraid to say, did not return my feelings for a full twenty-four hours after we had met,’ she told them drolly, adding, ‘I hope that your brief stay here will give you both some memories that you too will come to cherish.’

All the time she had been talking them they had been climbing the steps. Now they had reached the top, and Lily’s heart was pounding—but not because of any exertion involved. Had she understood the Duchess correctly? Had she instructed her housekeeper that she and Marco were to share a bedroom—and a bed? Lily tried
to look at Marco, but the Duchess was linked between them, beaming first at Marco and then at Lily, obviously very proud of what she had done and no doubt thinking she was doing them both a favour.

‘I have to say, Marco,’ the Duchess continued blithely, ‘I think that Lily is the perfect girl for you. You both feel so passionately about Italian art and history, and my late husband always used to say that shared interests remain a strong bond between a couple long after the first flush of romance has faded. Ah, good—here we are. Do come in and admire my ancestors, Lily. I hope I may call you Lily? After all we are practically family already, since Marco and I are distantly related.’

The villa’s hall was round, with a wonderful balustrade stairway rising exactly opposite the front door then branching off to form a round gallery landing. The design was repeated on each of the three floors, so that it was possible to look up from the ground floor and see the stained glass dome of the cupola several floors above them.

‘When the sun is overhead, the light from the stained glass makes the most magical patterns. When we were children my brother invented a game whereby we had to chase the moving pattern of a certain colour all the way up and down the stairs. He was older than me, and he always won. He should have inherited the villa, of course, but he was killed during the Second World War. He was only nineteen.’

Lily was listening to the Duchess, but at the same time she was tense with inner anxiety as she waited for Marco to explain to her that there had been a mistake and they were not a couple. Only he said nothing,
and now the duchess was exclaiming, ‘Ah, here is my housekeeper, Berenice. She will show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind, but I have taken the liberty of organising a small reception here tonight. Just some old friends I know will enjoy meeting you, Lily. They all have connections with the area and its villas, so don’t be shy about asking them any questions you may have. We’ll meet again in the main salon.’

Their room.

Lily gave Marco an imploring look but still he said nothing, and continued to say nothing until they were alone in the villa’s best guest suite. Lily asked him anxiously why he had not corrected the Duchess’s misapprehension about their relationship.

‘If you had not come to my room last night we would not be in this situation.’

Marco’s uncompromising statement couldn’t be denied, but Lily still shook her head as she paced the elegant suite. Marco stood in front of one of the room’s long sash windows, his head turned so that he was half looking out across the lake and half looking back into the room.

‘I know why the Duchess thinks that we are a couple, but you could have told her the truth. You could have explained to her …’

‘I could have explained what? That you came to my room seeking to use me—either to protect you from your ex or to make him jealous? Is that really what you would have wanted me to say to her? ‘

Without giving her the chance to answer, Marco gave a dismissive shake of his head, telling her grimly, ‘Anyway, she likes you. She wouldn’t believe me.’

He didn’t have to say that he neither understand nor shared the Duchess’s feelings. The tone of his voice said it for him.

She mustn’t allow herself to feel hurt yet again, Lily warned herself. But it was too late. The pain was already flooding through her.

‘She’s a romantic,’ Marco continued. ‘She would simply think that I was trying to hide our relationship from her.’

‘We haven’t
got
a relationship,’ Lily told him. Tears were threatening to clog her throat.

‘The Duchess believes that we have. And not just a sexual relationship. She’s managed to convince herself that we’ve fallen in love with one another.’ The derision in Marco’s voice made Lily’s face burn. ‘If she knew you rather better, of course, she’d know that was impossible.’

Lily swallowed on the misery his caustic comment brought her.

‘No. We can’t say anything to her,’ Marco told her. ‘For her own sake. Were we to insist to her now that there isn’t a relationship it would result in either her not believing us or in her embarrassment for misjudging the situation if she does believe us. Neither of those situations is acceptable to me. It will make things easier all round if we simply accept the situation as it is. After all, we’re only here for two nights.’

‘Two nights!’ She couldn’t share a room and a bed with him for two nights, feeling the way she did about him. ‘What if sharing a room with you isn’t acceptable to
me?
‘ she demanded.

Marco turned round fully to look at her.

‘Do you really expect me to believe that after last night?’ he challenged her. ‘After all, you didn’t have any objection then—in fact it was what you wanted.’

Lily’s heart missed a beat. Was Marco hinting that he knew there had been a time last night when what she had wanted from him had been much more personal and intimate than merely the protection of his presence? She hoped not. It was humiliating enough that
she
knew how she felt about him, without the added humiliation of having to deal with the fact that he knew as well.

‘That was different,’ she defended herself, adding emotionally in her growing panic, ‘I don’t
want
to share a room with you.’

‘Do you think I want to share one with you?’ Marco asked her grimly. ‘You are the one who is primarily responsible for the situation we now find ourselves in, not me. I suppose I should have expected this kind of selfishness from you. After all, a woman who tries to use one man to make another jealous has to be innately selfish.’

She could tell him the truth. She could make him feel thoroughly ashamed of himself for the way he was misjudging her, Lily knew. But it was clear he only wanted to believe the worst of her, and she was not about to tell him her darkest, most painful secret only to have him coldly dismiss her as an accomplished liar.

How could she have allowed herself to become entangled—trapped—in this situation? She knew where her vulnerabilities lay. She knew where she was weak. If she’d thought more carefully and clinically about the way he had made her feel that first time she had seen him at the studio, she could have … She could have
what? Walked away from the work she had been paid to come here and do when she’d recognised him at the reception? When she prided herself on her professionalism? Hardly.

‘I will not have the Duchess embarrassed or upset by you causing a dramatic fuss about something that, after all, means very little in this day and age,’ Marco warned her. ‘And who knows? If your ex gets to hear about it perhaps it will have the desired effect and bring him back—although as a man I’d have to caution you against encouraging a man to be jealous. It makes for a relationship based on distrust, and no man who values himself can or should compromise where trust is concerned. That can be very dangerous.’

‘You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.’ The words were out before Lily had time to think about what she was saying.

Their effect on Marco was immediate. What was it about her that led to him revealing things about himself to her—private, fiercely guarded things he would never normally dream of revealing to anyone. His face hardening, his voice chilling, he told her, ‘I’ve certainly got enough experience to know not to trust
you.’