Tall, Dark and Italian

Her eyes widened for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘I think you’re teasing me, signore. It’s kind of you, but I wish you wouldn’t. I know my own limitations better than anyone.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And they are?’

Her colour deepened. With her face free of any obvious make-up and her hair blowing wildly about her head, she looked little more than a teenager, and he marvelled anew that she was older than her sister. From Verdicci’s description, he knew Ashley Daniels was far more sophisticated—and comparably more worldly. She knew what she wanted and went after it, no matter who got hurt in the process. Including her own sister, he acknowledged as Tess moved a little uneasily in her seat.

‘They’re too many to mention,’ she said at last, shifting her attention to the view. ‘Oh, is that a monastery over there?’

Rafe decided to let her divert him, taking his eyes briefly from the twisting road ahead of them. A green rolling landscape, dotted with pine and olive groves, rose steadily inland. There were isolated farms, some of them with their own vineyards, and small villages visible among the trees. Some farmers grew vines between the olive trees, providing a much-needed boost to their economy in years when the grape harvest was poor.

Each village sported its own spire or campanile, and, hearing the distant sound of bells, Rafe guessed that was what Tess had heard, too. ‘I think it is a church,’ he said, returning his attention to the road. ‘There are few monasteries surviving in this area. There are ruins, naturalmente, if you are interested. But I fear the thought of the noble priests does not inspire any enthusiasm in me.’

Tess frowned. ‘Because you are divorced?’ she asked innocently, and he smiled.

‘No.’ He cast a fleeting glance her way, once again amused by her refreshing candour. ‘I do not think I can blame them for that.’

‘Then why—?’

‘I was taught by the Jesuits,’ he said. ‘Who as you may know are not known for their misericordia—their mercy, no?’ He paused reminiscently. ‘It is a long time ago, but I have not forgotten.’

Tess seemed interested. ‘You went to school here, in Tuscany?’

‘No.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘I went to school in Rome.’ He grimaced. ‘My mother’s greatest wish was that I should enter the priesthood.’

Her lips parted. ‘The priesthood?’

‘Unlikely, is it not? Is that what you are thinking? That this man who has been married and divorced should have been considered worthy of such an office?’

‘No.’ She spread her hands. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. I’ve never met a would-be priest before.’

‘And I was never a would-be priest,’ he assured her drily. ‘That was my mother’s dream, not mine. Fortunately my father was of a more practical persuasion. While he indulged her to the extent of allowing her to choose my source of education, I was his only son. It was necessary that I should inherit the vineyard, that I was able to take over from him when his health began to fail’

‘Is your father still alive?’

‘No.’ He spoke regretfully. ‘He died almost twenty years ago.’

‘He must have been very young.’

‘He was fifty,’ acknowledged Rafe ruefully. ‘But he had always been a heavy smoker, cara. He knew the risks he was taking, but he could not shake the habit.’

Tess nodded. ‘My father’s dead, too,’ she said, confirming something he had already suspected. ‘He died of a heart attack last year.’

‘Ah.’ Rafe was silent for a moment and then he said, ‘Do you miss him?’

‘Not as much as I would have done if we’d lived together,’ she admitted honestly. ‘As I believe I told you before, I was brought up by my aunt when my mother died. Then, after college when I started teaching, I moved to another part of the country. Dad and I used to see each other from time to time, but it was never the same.’

‘I get the feeling that your stepmother has a lot to answer for,’ said Rafe drily. ‘I suspect she is more like her daughter than you thought.’

‘Oh, Andrea’s all right.’ Tess was instantly defensive of her family and he had to admire her for it. ‘She only ever wanted one child. She hadn’t bargained for two.’

‘But she must have known your father was a single parent before she married him,’ Rafe pointed out reasonably as Tess made a play of examining an insect that had landed on her bare leg.

‘Is this a mosquito?’ she asked, deliberately creating a diversion, and Rafe had stretched across and flicked it away before he gave himself time to think.

It wasn’t until his hand was safely back on the steering wheel and his fingertips were registering the soft brush of her flesh that he realised what he had done. This wasn’t his daughter, he reminded himself. She wasn’t even his cousin. Tess was a virtual stranger and he was treating her like a friend. Or more than a friend, he conceded, his skin burning where he had touched her. And he wanted to touch her again, he thought, in places that were hot and wet and definitely forbidden.

As if she sensed his guilty attraction, Tess turned away from him now, pressing against the door beside her, keeping her eyes on the view. But only after they’d exchanged one searing look of raw intimacy that left Rafe at least stunned by the strength of his own response.

They were silent then, each of them occupied with their own thoughts, pretending an interest in their surroundings that Rafe was sure neither of them really felt. Or perhaps he was only imagining it, he thought irritably. Whatever, he was much too old to play these childish games.

Only there was nothing childish about the way he was feeling and, realising he had to normalise the situation, he was relieved when a cluster of villas strung out along the coastline came into view. ‘This is Viali,’ he said, trying to recover his earlier optimism. ‘It is really just an extension of Viareggio these days. The port has expanded so much. But Viali is pretty. It has its own personality. And, although it cannot boast the art nouveau architecture for which Viareggio is famous, many people prefer it to the larger resort.’

‘Is this where your daughter lives?’ asked Tess, apparently prepared to meet him halfway, and he agreed that it was.

‘Their albergo is situated just outside Viali on the way to Viareggio. They will not have too many guests at this time of the year. Maria should have plenty of time to speak with us.’

The Villa Puccini looked chic and elegant dreaming in the noonday sun. Lush vegetation provided a colourful backdrop to the warm cream walls of the villa, and the blue waters of a kidney-shaped swimming pool vied with the vast expanse of the Gulf of Genoa that lapped at the sandy shore below the gardens. Glancing at Tess’s face, Rafe suspected it was far more attractive than she had expected, and he felt his own spirits lifting at more than the prospect of seeing his daughter again.

‘Is this it?’ Tess asked as he drove between the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the drive, and Rafe blew out a breath. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, slowing to avoid a group of holiday-makers who were heading into town. ‘Carlo’s family is heavily involved in the leisure industry. This is one of their smaller properties and the first one Carlo has managed alone.’

‘One of the smaller properties,’ echoed Tess disbelievingly. ‘It’s much larger than I expected. I thought an albergo was something like a bed-and-breakfast back home.’

Rafe gave her a brief smile. ‘I think you are thinking of a French auberge, Tess,’ he said, his use of her name coming far too easily. ‘An albergo is a hotel. Sometimes large, sometimes small. The Villa Puccini falls some way between the two.’

Tess shook her head as they rounded a flowering trellis and a cluster of orange-tiled buildings came into view. It was obvious that the villa had been added to over the years. Some extensions were taller than others. But the overall effect was charming, set as it was beside the breathtaking beauty of the bay.

‘It looks very impressive to me,’ she said doubtfully, and he saw her give another anxious glance towards her bare legs.

‘It is a holiday hotel,’ he assured her gently. ‘And you look exactly like one of the visitors.’ He switched off the engine of the Ferrari and unfastened his seat belt. ‘I intend to get rid of this jacket as soon as I am out of the car.’

She didn’t look entirely convinced and, now they were here, Rafe had to admit to feeling a little apprehensive himself. It was the first time he had brought a young woman to his daughter’s home, and, no matter how often he assured himself that his motives were innocent, the fact remained there had been no need for him to bring Tess along.

She unfastened her own seat belt now, and before he could forestall her she had pushed open her door and got out of the car. With the sunlight blazing down on her bare head and the flush of heat in her cheeks, she looked absurdly young and beautiful. As he shed his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder, he had to accept that Maria would be suspicious. It was not that she hadn’t been urging him to find someone else for the past six years. It was just that this gamine slip of an English girl was unlikely to have been what she meant.

But, before he could marshal any arguments in his own defence, he heard his daughter calling to him. She was coming from the direction of the gardens, a flat basket containing long stems of white and yellow blossoms draped across her arm. Maria’s hair, which was as dark as his own but much longer, was confined in a single braid, and her chemise dress of simple white organza complemented the warm tan of her bare arms.

She looked as elegant as her surroundings, he thought, with a rueful sigh. A product of his mother’s policy that a woman should always look her best, whatever the circumstances. Even if she’d been gardening, which was highly unlikely in Maria’s case. His daughter might enjoy arranging flowers, but she left the planting and the picking of them to someone else.

The contrast between her and Tess was marked. And it was obvious that neither of them appreciated the comparison. As she drew nearer he saw Maria’s dark brows arch in polite inquiry, but Rafe could tell from her expression that, however pleased she might be to see him, she didn’t care for him bringing a strange woman here without forewarning.

‘Papa,’ she greeted him warmly as he stepped forward to meet her, reaching up and bestowing light air kisses beside each of his cheeks in turn. But then, with a lightening turn of mood, she began reprovingly, ‘Avresti dovuto dirmelo che—’

‘Inglese, Maria, per favore,’ he interrupted her smoothly, turning to beckon Tess to join them. His eyes met hers briefly, and then he turned back to his daughter. ‘Tess, this is my daughter, Maria. Maria, this is Tess Daniels. You may recall, her sister is at present looking after the Galleria Medici in San Michele.’

There was a moment when he thought Maria looked almost guilty. She obviously recognised the name, though she tried to hide her reaction from him. ‘Buongiorno, signorina,’ she said, forgetting in her confusion that he had asked her to speak English. And then, rescuing herself, ‘Scusi, Papa. Non ricordo. How do you do, Miss Daniels? Are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Tess is not on holiday,’ Rafe asserted, before Tess could explain herself. After Maria’s telling little response to his question, the last thing he wanted was for Tess to warn her of why they were here. ‘She is standing in at the gallery while her sister is away,’ he continued smoothly. He put a cautioning hand on Tess’s shoulder, trying to ignore how aware of her he was. ‘I hope you don’t mind, cara. I invited her to come see a little more of the area.’

Maria’s lips definitely tightened. ‘You should have told us you were coming, Papa,’ she declared, offering Tess a limp hand. She regarded the other woman warily now as she added, ‘Is this your first visit to Italy, Miss Daniels?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Tess was not without perception and Rafe knew she must be blaming him for bringing her here. ‘And, please, call me Tess.’ She glanced about her, her gaze flicking over Rafe’s as she did so. And over his hand on her shoulder. ‘This is a beautiful spot. Your father didn’t tell me how delightful it would be.’

Maria softened, but she was watching them closely and Rafe was reluctantly obliged to remove his hand. ‘SI, it is beautiful,’ she agreed, with a momentary air of satisfaction. Then she looked at her father again. ‘Are you staying for lunch, Papa, or is this just a brief visit?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘We are not in any hurry, cara,’ he said. ‘But we are both hot and thirsty and a cool soda would be welcome. We can decide about lunch later, no?’

Maria looked as if she would have preferred some kind of explanation as to why they were here before she offered them any refreshment. He doubted she had bought his story about giving Tess a guided tour of the area. But courtesy demanded that she play the generous hostess and a thin smile appeared as she said, ‘Ma certo, Papa. Please, come with me. We can have drinks on the patio.’

Chapter Six

CASTELLI’S daughter led them along a path between a clump of oak and cypress trees. There was the scent of pine and the unmistakable tang of the sea. And when they emerged onto a private sun terrace, Tess could see a handful of guests basking on the beach below the hotel. There were striped chairs and tilted awnings, pedalos lying dormant in the noonday heat. Some children were paddling in the shallows, searching for shells, while their parents stretched out on towels on the sand.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Maria it was a beautiful place. The small town of Viali occupied a curving headland and the cliffs that rose above it were thick with pine and spruce. The beach was deep, stretching out some distance towards the water, with gently rising dunes studded with flowering cactus and prickly pear.

The terrace Maria took them to was separated from the public areas by a trellis totally covered with flowering vines. A teak table and chairs were set beneath a pale green umbrella, and as they approached a girl of perhaps eighteen, dressed in the uniform of a maid, bustled out to see if there was anything she could get them.

Maria ordered refreshments, consulting her father before adding a bottle of Chianti to her request. Then, after handing the basket of flowers to the girl, she gestured to Tess to take a seat.

It was all very polite, very civilised, but Tess knew that Castelli’s daughter had not been pleased to see her. Oh, she’d hid it well, due no doubt to her father’s influence, but Maria obviously considered Tess’s presence an intrusion.

And it was, thought Tess unhappily. She should never have agreed to come with him. It wasn’t as if this trip was going to achieve anything except highlight the immense gulf between his—and Marco’s—lifestyle and that of herself and Ashley.

Unless that was what he had intended to do, she reflected, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. Though what influence he thought she might have on her sister, she couldn’t imagine. The whole situation just got more and more bizarre and this had to be the last time she let him make her decisions for her.

He had seated himself beside her now, dropping his jacket over the back of his chair and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms. A lean brown-skinned arm, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, rested on the table only inches from her elbow and she quickly withdrew back into her chair.

She hadn’t forgotten the brush of his fingers against her thigh or the disturbing weight of the hand that had rested so briefly on her shoulder moments before. It was stupid to think it, she knew, but there’d been something almost possessive about the way he’d gripped her bones. He’d probably only done it to stop her from blurting out why they were really here, but that hadn’t prevented the unsettling feeling it had given her in her stomach.

Had Maria noticed? She had certainly observed Castelli’s hand resting on her shoulder and she was bound to be speculating about the kind of relationship they had. No relationship, Tess tried to communicate silently. This visit was far more innocent than it appeared. Maria didn’t have to worry that her father was having a midlife crisis over her.

The maid returned wheeling a trolley. From within its chilled cabinet she took a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, another of what looked like lemonade, and a squat jug of fresh cream. Riding on top of the trolley was a pot of coffee and some hand-painted cups and saucers, as well as a dish of almond biscuits and the bottle of wine Castelli had requested.

There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.

‘Grazie.’

It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.

Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.

The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.

Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.

But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.

‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’

‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’

‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’

‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’

Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’

‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’

‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’

Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’

Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a stranger here. She didn’t even know where the restrooms were. And she was supposed to be monitoring the girl’s reactions too. Did she know where her brother was or didn’t she?

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,’ Maria said at last, reaching for the jug of fruit juice and pouring some rather jerkily into an ice-filled glass. Her hand was shaking, however, and she spilled some of the orange juice onto the table. She only just managed to stifle her irritation as she snatched at a napkin to mop it up. Then, turning to Tess, she arched her brows. ‘Juice or coffee?

‘Juice is fine,’ said Tess, not wanting to risk the chance of getting hot coffee spilled over her, deliberately or otherwise. ‘Thanks.’

‘Papa?’

Castelli shifted in his seat and, although she was supposed to be concentrating on their exchange, Tess flinched at the bump of his thigh against her hip. Despite her determination not to get involved with him, she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to the contact. His thigh was hard and warm and masculine, and she felt the heat his body generated spread across her abdomen and down into the moistening cleft between her legs.

She doubted he’d noticed what had happened. After all, what had happened? Just a careless brush of his leg against hers. If she was absurdly sensitive, that was her problem. Castelli was totally focussed on his daughter. She might as well not have been there.

He made an eloquent gesture now, as if having to decide what he wanted to drink was an annoying distraction. ‘Chi-anti,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the bottle of wine the maid had left uncorked in the middle of the table. ‘But you will not divert me, Maria. Marco is missing. If I find out you know where he is, I shall not forgive you.’

Maria gasped. ‘What do you mean, Papa? Marco is missing? Has he run away?’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Maria. I suspect you know perfectly well what is going on. But in case you have any doubts, let me enlighten you, cara. Your brother has gone away with Ashley Daniels, Tess’s sister.’

Tess wasn’t sure what Maria’s reaction meant then. She was shocked, certainly, but whether that shock was the result of Marco’s behaviour or because her father had found her out, it was impossible to judge.

‘But—that cannot be,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘You are saying that Marco has some interest in the woman who runs the Medici Gallery? That is ludicrous. She is far too old for him.’

Tess decided not to take offence at Maria’s words. After all, she was right. Ashley was too old for Marco. They were all agreed on that. Of course, hearing the scorn in Maria’s voice did make her feel ancient. But what of it? It didn’t matter what Maria thought of her.

‘You knew he was seeing her, no?’

Castelli was relentless, and Maria sighed. ‘I knew he visited the gallery,’ she admitted. ‘But he visited a lot of galleries, Papa. He told me he was interested in art. Why should I suspect his visits to this woman’s gallery meant anything more than the rest?’

‘Because he told you?’ suggested her father grimly. ‘Vene, Maria, I am not a fool. Marco tells you everything. If he was interested in this woman, he could not have kept it a secret from you.’

Maria looked tearful now. ‘You have to believe me, Papa. Do you think I would have encouraged him to do something like this?’

‘I am not saying you encouraged him,’ retorted Castelli. ‘I believe you are far too sensible for that. But I do think he mentioned his interest in this woman to you. To—what shall we say?—to brag about it, force! Did he tell you the kind of relationship they had?’