The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Lucy Gordon

wonderful,’ she said firmly. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years. She actually thought I’d just cave in.’

      ‘How very foolish of her,’ he said, amused.

      ‘Another minute and I’d have lost control and done something we’d both have regretted.’

      ‘Not you. You were always in control, that was why you were impressive. Pure steel. Admirable.’

      ‘Thank you. But don’t tell me she just calmly left.’

      ‘I’ve told her how to contact me,’ he said. ‘And gave her my best advice. She won’t trouble you for long.’

      ‘I suppose it’s always possible that her son is Ben’s,’ Elise observed, not sounding greatly interested.

      ‘No. Last year her husband was featured in a magazine—great financier, devoted family man, et cetera. There was a picture of him and his son, with a strong likeness between them. She was trying it on with you because she needs money. Forget her.’

      Elise gave a soft choke of laughter. ‘You made her think you’re going to help her.’

      ‘It was the simplest way to get rid of her. Or are you so shocked at my methods that you won’t accept my help?’

      ‘No—oh, no—’

      The laughter was welling up in her now, uncontrollable. She’d endured the strains and tensions of the day, but having them suddenly removed was a shock that left her unsteady.

      ‘Signora—?’ His voice was gentle but he raised it when she didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Signora!’

      She managed to shut off the sound but her whole body still shook, though whether it was laughter or trembling he was no longer sure.

      ‘I’m all right—really,’ she managed to say.

      ‘You’re not. You’re far from all right. Come here.’

      He spoke brusquely and jerked her suddenly against him, holding her, not tenderly but firmly like iron, so that her flesh received a message of safety that infused her whole self, reaching her heart, making her relax.

      It was crazy, Elise thought. She didn’t know him but his grip had the power to steady her.

      She ought to push him away, not stand tamely in his arms. But the strangest feeling was creeping over her, as though here and only here was comfort and all would be well while he held her.

      When she spoke she could hear her voice shaking.

      ‘I’ll be all right when I’ve calmed down. Perhaps you should go now.’

      ‘No, I won’t leave you like this. You shouldn’t be alone. Sit down.’

      He guided her to a chair and left her for a moment, returning with a glass which he held out.

      ‘Drink this.’

      Another choke of laughter burst from her. ‘It’s champagne.’

      ‘It’s all I could find. They seem to have cleared everything else away.’

      ‘I can’t drink champagne at my husband’s funeral.’

      ‘Why not? You didn’t give a damn for him, did you?’

      She looked up and found him watching her with an inscrutable expression.

      ‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘I didn’t.’

      Elise took the glass, drained it and held it out for a refill.

      He obliged and watched her drink the second glass before saying, ‘Then I wonder why you’ve been crying so much.’

      ‘What do you mean? You haven’t seen me shed a tear today.’

      ‘Not today, no. But when you’re alone.’

      It was true. In the depths of the night she’d wept her heart out, not for Ben, but for her desolate life, her ruined hopes, above all for the laughing young man who’d come and gone so many years ago. There was nothing of him now but aching memories.

      It could all have been so different. If only—

      Desperately she shut that idea off, as she’d done so often before.

      But how had this man known?

      ‘It’s in your face,’ he said, answering her unspoken question.

      ‘You tried hard to conceal the truth, but make-up can only do so much.’

      ‘It fooled the others.’

      ‘But not me,’ he said softly.

      At any other time she might have thought she heard a warning. Now there was only relief that he seemed to understand so much.

      ‘Drink up,’ Vincente said suddenly, ‘and I’ll take you out for a meal.’

      His lordly assurance that she would follow his lead irritated her.

      ‘Thank you, but I’d rather stay here.’

      ‘No, you wouldn’t. You don’t want to be on your own in this empty place that’s much too big for you.’

      ‘Ben insisted on a huge suite,’ she said instinctively.

      ‘So I’d have expected. He had to show off, didn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, but—I won’t discuss him with you. He’s dead. Let that be an end.’

      ‘But death is never really the end,’ he pointed out. ‘Not for those left behind. Don’t stay here alone. Come out with me and say all the things you couldn’t say to anyone else. You’ll feel better for it.’

      Suddenly she longed to do as he suggested. After today she need never see him again, and in that was a kind of freedom.

      ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Why not? Yes, I’ll come,’ she repeated, as though trying to convince herself.

      ‘You’d better change out of that black first.’

      She’d been going to do just that, but again his cool way of dictating to her made her rebellious.

      ‘Don’t give me orders.’

      ‘I’m not. I’m only suggesting what you want to do anyway,’ he said, assuming a reasonable air that was almost as amusing as it was annoying.

      It was an act. Nothing about this man was reasonable.

      ‘Indeed? And have you any “suggestions” for what I should wear?’

      ‘Something outrageous.’

      ‘I don’t do “outrageous”.’

      ‘You should. A woman with your face and figure can be as outrageous as she likes, and it’s her duty to make use of her gifts. Because I’m sure Ben would have preferred that. I’ll bet money that somewhere in your wardrobe there’s a “flaunt” dress that he wanted people to see you in, with him,’ Vincente said with confidence.

      ‘But Ben isn’t here. And if I go out with you people will say, “She’s wearing that when she’s just buried him?’’’

      ‘So let them call you scandalous. What do you care?’

      ‘I ought to care,’ she said, trying to conceal how shockingly tempting was the picture.

      ‘But you don’t. Perhaps you never did. This is no time to start.’

      ‘You’ve got it all worked out.’

      ‘I always plan ahead. It’s a great help in covering every angle.’

      ‘You should be careful, covering too many angles. It looks suspicious,’ Elise replied.

      That checked him, she was glad to notice, and made him regard