The Count's Prize. Christina Hollis

‘As I said before, I’d rather work here than gossip with the beautiful people of Rimini.’

      He raised his eyebrows again. ‘It’s a rare woman who would choose that.’

      ‘Not rare, just honest,’ she countered.

      Dario tipped his head in salute. ‘That quality is in short supply in the circles I move in. I can see why you would have difficulty fitting in.’

      She shrugged. ‘Research demands honesty, and it gets to be a habit. That’s all.’

      ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Dario said as he left, wondering what it would take to make Dr Josephine Street loosen up.

      Josie couldn’t wait to plunge out into the estate and start exploring. She unpacked as fast as she could, intending to get busy straight away, but her suite was as distracting as Count Dario di Sirena himself. It seemed odd to hang up her cheap white T-shirts on beautiful hand-made padded hangers filled with lavender. The marble wet room that was part of her en suite bathroom was an irresistible temptation as the sun climbed higher outside. Tearing off her shoes and tights, she padded around in it barefoot for a while.

      By the time she had changed and finished exploring the three floors of her hideaway in the tower, Dario’s other guests were in a holding pattern down in the courtyard. Watching all those chauffeur-driven limousines and prestige sports cars jockeying for position was an entertainment in itself. Josie spent much more time than she meant to with her elbows on her windowsill, staring down at the magnificent procession.

      It was only when the Count himself came into view that she dodged back from the window. She moved as though she had been burned, not wanting Dario to think that her claim to be busy was just empty waffle.

      Work first, play later, she kept reminding herself, although, for her, later never quite seemed to arrive.

      Antonia was always joking that no one would ever catch Josie idling. Josie wasn’t sure she liked what that said about her, but she really did have a lot of work that had to be done before the new academic year started.

      Italy and its history had fascinated Josie since she was a child. Pottering about in her back garden, she was always unearthing things and taking them in to school. One piece had turned out to be a broken Roman brooch, lost by a woman over two thousand years ago. That single piece, and an inspirational teacher, had really fired Josie’s imagination. Now, twenty years later, she was here in the land of the Romans preparing to inspire others, allowed to design a whole new course! She was acutely conscious of her luck, and grateful for the sacrifices her mother had made. The downside was the extra pressure she felt to make the best of all her chances.

      That was why watching Dario walk across the courtyard was bound to disrupt her plans. Something about him drew her back to the window again like a flower to sunlight. He had swapped his tennis kit for taupe jodhpurs, a white shirt and a pair of highly polished riding boots. The pale clothes showed off his exotic colouring perfectly. Josie could hardly believe her luck. Hard work had brought her here to Italy, and now she was staring down at a drop-dead gorgeous guy from a tower that would have made Rapunzel sick with envy. Dario strolled across the forecourt, heading for the shade of the lime avenue like an emperor inspecting his lands. His leisurely strides were deceptive. They ate up the distance so quickly that soon the canopy of lush green leaves would hide him from view.

      Then Count Dario di Sirena stopped, turned and looked quite deliberately straight up at where Josie was watching him from her window. She was transfixed. Something made her raise her right hand to wave, but another impulse snapped it straight back down to her side. She could imagine how her mother would sigh if she knew about this little tableau. Mrs Street would go all misty-eyed and lose herself again in the story of how she had met Josie’s father. Josie hated that. Her mother was the sad proof of how easy it was to misjudge a man, and it always dragged her own personal error of judgement out into the light again.

      Dario continued to look up at her thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded a salute and turned to disappear into the trees. In a burst of embarrassment, Josie ducked away from the window and scrabbled around to find her notebooks and camera. This was a working trip, with a lot to do and not much time in which to do it. She had to build her reputation as a serious academic. Gawping at Dario di Sirena wouldn’t help that at all! Packing her things into a messenger bag, she slung it over her shoulder and headed down to the castle’s entrance hall.

      Once out in the sunshine again with a map provided by the resident housekeeper, Josie was careful to turn her back on the lime avenue. She set off in an entirely different direction from Dario, in case he got the impression she was following him. Heading out to the far side of the estate, she passed through shady groves of ancient olive trees and fragrant citrus, soaking up the sun. She wanted to reach the point where the di Sirena estate’s grand gated drive met the twisting country road that idled past on its way to Florence.

      She had spotted two men working on a stone wall there. In her experience, boundary walls were magical things. All through history, people had haggled over them and changed them, climbed over them and dropped things in the process, or hidden special little items in between their stones or under their foundations. She set off towards the workmen in a hurry, but the intense heat soon sapped her energy. Strolling along was the only way to travel on a beautiful day like this. A skylark lifted off from right under her feet, while corn buntings and yellowhammers rattled away from every thicket she passed.

      She had drunk almost a whole bottle of water by the time she’d toiled all the way over to the workmen. One of them had already left in search of his dinner. The other was clearing up ready to disappear, too. Luckily he was a fund of stories, with a keen eye for what he called ‘little bits of something and nothing’. She was listening to him intently when she felt, rather than heard, a drumming sound reverberating through the parched grassland beneath her feet.

      It was Dario. Mounted on a magnificent bay horse, he was cantering towards where she stood.

      Josie planned to call out a casual, carefree hello, as though his appearance didn’t make her pulse immediately speed up. However, as she watched him ride towards her like a prince, come out of a storybook to claim her for his own, the words somehow caught in her throat and she was silent as he drew up in front of her.

      He grinned. ‘I’ve had friendlier greetings!’

      Josie swallowed and managed to force words out of her suddenly dry mouth. ‘Oh … I’m sorry, Dario. I was engrossed in what Signor Costa had to say, and you caught me by surprise.’

      ‘As I see. What’s keeping you so busy?’ Bringing his horse to a halt, he circled it around while sharing a few words with his estate worker.

      ‘You want to know about the history of this boundary wall?’ he asked Josie when he had finished his conversation.

      She nodded, but looking at Dario made it difficult to remember what she did want. He looked magnificent, mounted high above her, the reins of his horse in one hand while the other rested loosely on the muscular plane of his thigh.

      ‘Yes—can you help?’

      He laughed. ‘Not directly. I came over to see if you needed a translator.’

      Josie’s heart turned a somersault, but she managed to keep her voice under control.

      ‘Thank you, but I can manage,’ she replied confidently. Then, afraid of sounding rude, she added, ‘I find I can concentrate better without distractions. I … I mean on my own …’

      ‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to watching you at work. It makes a refreshing change. People don’t normally come here to do anything constructive. It’s a place built for pleasure.’

      Josie stifled an involuntary moan. The chances of getting any work done with Count Dario around were minimal. She would be spending all her time trying not to look at the scenery—and she wasn’t thinking about the Tuscan hills.

      What’s the matter with me? She struggled with her conscience. It won in the end—but only just.

      ‘Th