The Colorado Countess. Stephanie Howard

had listened without a word and now he shrugged as though in agreement. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need my assistance.’ And, to Carrie’s immense relief, he stood up.

      Carrie jumped to her feet too. What joy! He was finally leaving! She couldn’t wait to wave him down the stairs to his car.

      But, just as he was about to head for those very same stairs, he paused and turned round to face her again. ‘I take it, then,’ he said with an inquisitorial lift of one eyebrow, ‘that you’re unaware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service?’

      Carrie had very nearly gone walking into him when he had turned round so suddenly, and she’d been about to deliver him a fierce scowl as she stepped back. But now she forgot about scowling and blinked at him instead.

      ‘On the contrary,’ she informed him. ‘I’m very much aware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service.’

      Anyone who was even remotely interested in Castello porcelain couldn’t help but know about the fabulous dinner service that had been made to mark the wedding of the first Duke back at the end of the seventeenth century.

      She looked at Leone now, wondering what he was getting at. ‘It’s in the Duke’s private collection that’s kept locked up in the Palazzo Verde.’ As she said it she couldn’t disguise the note of longing in her voice, for she had applied to the palace press office for permission to include it in her book and had been greeted with an immediate and categorical refusal.

      ‘But no one’s allowed to see it, let alone photograph it,’ she added now. For at least there had been that much consolation—that no other member of the public had ever been allowed anywhere near it either.

      She kept her eyes fixed on Leone, suddenly curious. ‘Why do you mention it?’ she wanted to know.

      ‘I just wondered if you’d be interested. . .’

      ‘Interested? How do you mean, interested?’

      ‘Interested in including it in this book of yours.’

      Carrie’s heart almost stopped. That look in his eyes was the look of someone holding out a bar of candy to a baby. And this was one bar of candy Carrie desperately wanted.

      She swallowed and held her breath. ‘But I just told you no one’s allowed to see it. I already tried and they turned me down.’

      ‘Ah, yes.’ Leone smiled. ‘But you didn’t have me backing you then.’

      Carrie was still holding her breath. ‘Meaning?’ she croaked.

      ‘Meaning that if you had me backing you you might have a different response.’

      ‘And why should you back me?’

      ‘Do I need an ulterior motive?’ His smile was pure innocence, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’d simply like to help you,’ he suggested.

      Yes, and cats might kiss canaries. She didn’t believe that for a second. But for now his motives were a separate issue. The issue that concerned Carrie now was much more immediate.

      She let out her breath and put to him, ‘Do you really mean it? Would you help me?’

      ‘I might. And if I do there’s a good chance that I’ll succeed. I have a fair amount of influence with my brother.’

      ‘If you could, that would be wonderful.’ Carrie wasn’t sure she should be saying this. She had the feeling that some silken noose was about to close around her neck. But how could she respond otherwise? He was offering her a prize she’d dreamed of. ‘I’d really be grateful,’ she heard herself add.

      ‘Would you? That’s nice to know.’ Leone was still standing over her, looking down at her with eyes as tempting as Satan’s. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he added, his blue gaze sweeping over her. ‘A woman’s gratitude, I find, is always a most generous thing. And I’m sure I’ll think of a suitable way for you to express yours when the time comes.’

      Carrie was about to step back. Suddenly, danger signs were flashing. And she was tempted to blurt out, Forget it! I’ve changed my mind! She could almost feel the silken strands of the noose biting into her neck already.

      But, before she could utter a word, Leone was stepping away from her. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he was saying. ‘Thanks for the peach.’

      Then he was turning away and hurrying down the stone steps. And Carrie was still standing there, wondering what on earth she’d let herself in for, when a moment later she heard his car drive away.

      

      

      Four days passed and there was no further word from him.

      He’s forgotten, Carrie decided, or else he was never serious in the first place. All of which was to be expected and was probably for the best anyway. Count Leone, she had decided, was as dangerous as a ticking time bomb.

      So it looked as though the only reason he’d come to her house was in order to amuse himself for half an hour. How odd, she thought, when he could have been somewhere more exciting, posing for the paparazzi and making headlines for the papers. Well, perhaps he’d just felt like a quiet interlude. No doubt such were the ways of the idle aristocracy!

      It was disappointing, of course, about the Montecrespi dinner service. To have been able to include that in her book would have been a major coup and she’d already been picturing it adorning the front cover! Too bad, she thought philosophically; it had been nice to dream for a while—though it had occurred to her that it might be worth having another go herself at trying to get the Duke’s permission.

      If I don’t hear from Leone within the week I’ll contact the palace press office again, she told herself. It was worth a try and she had nothing to lose.

      At the same time, if she didn’t hear from him she’d send off the money she owed him—for the other day, to her chagrin, it had completely slipped her mind. She’d get a money order from the bank and send it to the palace.

      In the meantime she was being kept busy with her work at the Castello factory. Dr Lamberti, who had given her her own little office there, was proving to be enormously helpful and she had already taken a couple of rolls of photographs. Even without the fabulous dinner service she had the makings of a firstclass book.

      But the following day she was in for a small shock.

      She got home from the factory to find her landlady waiting for her. ‘This is for you,’ Signora Rossi told her, handing her a letter. ‘It was delivered this afternoon by private messenger.’ She pointed to a finely embossed emblem in the corner and gave Carrie a look of bemused admiration. ‘It looks as though it’s come from the Palazzo Verde.’

      Carrie hurried up to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed before tearing the envelope open with curious fingers. Then she pulled out the single sheet of cream-coloured vellum, unfolded it carefully and began to read the message, written in a clear, plain hand.

      Dear Carrie,

      I’ve spoken to my brother on the subject we discussed. Please come to the palace on Friday evening if you wish to pursue the matter further. If not, phone the number at the top of this letter. If I don’t hear from you I shall send a car to pick you up at eight-thirty.

      The letter was signed quite simply, ‘Leone.’

      Well, how about that? She felt her heart flip over. The playboy count had kept his promise, after all, and it looked as though she was on the point of achieving her goal to include the fabulous Montecrespi dinner service in her book!

      She jumped from the bed and let out a whoop of delight. I’ve done it! she told herself. The scoop of a lifetime!

      But through her excitement there was another emotion taking hold of her. A very strong sense of apprehension. For she was remembering what Leone had said about the gratitude of