In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby. Catherine Spencer

for it, she acknowledged bitterly. Nor could she pretend otherwise for her own peace of mind. And she felt as guilty as if she and Paolo had been genuinely involved with each other.

      She’d stayed in her room as long as possible, pacing restlessly up and down, frankly dreading the moment when she would have to face Alessio again.

      She still seemed to feel his touch as if it were somehow ingrained in her. She’d been almost surprised, as she’d stood under the shower, not to find the actual marks of his fingers—the scar left by the graze of his lips on her skin.

      But, invisible or not, they were there, she knew, and she would carry them for ever.

      Guillermo was hovering almost anxiously in the hallway, emphasising how late she’d left her arrival, and he sprang forward, beaming, to open the carved double doors to admit her to the salotto.

      She squared her shoulders and walked in, braced—for what? Mockery—indifference? Or something infinitely more dangerous…

      And halted, her brows lifting in astonishment. Because she was not to be alone with Alessio as she’d feared after all. Paolo was there, reclining on a sofa, looking sullen, while the Signora occupied a high-backed armchair nearby, her lips compressed as if annoyed about something.

      And, alone by the open windows, looking out into the night, was Alessio, glass in hand.

      All heads turned as Laura came forward, and she was immediately aware of an odd atmosphere in the silent room—a kind of angry tension. But she ignored it and went straight to Paolo, who rose sulkily to his feet at her approach.

      ‘Darling,’ she said. She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t say you were getting up for dinner. What a wonderful surprise.’

      ‘Well, I shall not be able to take the time I need to recuperate, when you are in such a hurry to fly home,’ he returned peevishly, making her long to kick him.

      ‘Signorina Mason—at last you join us.’ The Signora’s smile glittered coldly at her. ‘We were just talking about you. We have a small predicament, you understand.’

      ‘I can’t see what that could be. Paolo’s well again.’ Laura slid a hand through his arm as she faced the older woman, chin up. ‘That’s all that really matters.’

      ‘Then I hope you are prepared to be gracious,’ said the Signora, her smile a little fixed. ‘Because tomorrow I must tear him away from you. We are to pay a visit to my dearest friend, and remain for lunch. She is not aware of your presence here, so I regret that you have not been included in her invitation. You will, I hope, forgive our absence.’

      She turned her head towards Alessio, who looked back, his face expressionless.

      ‘And now it seems that you will also be deserted by our host,’ she went on, her voice faintly metallic. ‘My nephew tells me he has business in Perugia tomorrow that cannot be postponed. We were—discussing the problem.’

      Laura found herself torn between relief and a sense of desolation so profound that she was ashamed of herself. She dared not risk a glance in the direction of the tall young man standing in silence by the window.

      Once again, it seemed, he was—letting her go.

      ‘It’s kind of you to be concerned, signora,’ she returned with total insincerity. ‘But I’m quite accustomed to my own company. Besides, His Excellency has already given me far too much of his time. And I have my packing to do. The time will pass in a flash.’

      The Signora gave her a long look, then addressed herself to her nephew. ‘Camilla tells me that her son, Fabrizio, will be joining us tomorrow, with his beautiful wife—I forget her name. Do you wish me to convey any message to them on your behalf?’

      There was another tingling silence. Then: ‘No,’ Alessio said icily. ‘I thank you.’

      ‘Then let us dine,’ said the Signora. ‘I have quite an appetite. Come, signorina.’

      On the way to the dining room, Alessio detained his cousin. ‘Why in the name of God have you agreed to go to Trasimeno tomorrow?’ he demanded in an undertone.

      Paolo shrugged. ‘Mamma has suddenly become more amenable on the subject of my marriage plans. I felt she deserved a small concession. Besides,’ he added, leering, ‘you heard her say that tasty little plum Vittoria Montecorvo was going to be there. I thought I might try my chances with her.’

      A single spark of unholy joy penetrated Alessio’s inner darkness. ‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘Rumour says the lady is—recep-tive.’ He paused. ‘Although there is an obstacle, of course.’

      ‘Obstacle?’ Paolo stared at him, then laughed. ‘You mean the husband? No problem there. He’s a total fool.’

      ‘I was thinking,’ Alessio said levelly, ‘of Signorina Mason.’

      ‘Ah—yes.’ Paolo looked shifty. ‘But we are not married yet, and a man should be allowed his bachelor pleasures.’

      ‘I could not agree more,’ Alessio told him softly. ‘I wish you luck, cousin.’

      If Laura had thought the presence of other people at the table would make the situation easier, she soon realised her mistake.

      Only the Signora, who seemed to have belatedly rediscovered the laws of hospitality and chattered almost vivaciously throughout dinner, appeared to enjoy the lengthy meal. Paolo was lost in some pleasant day-dream and hardly said a word, while Alessio’s responses to his aunt’s heavily playful remarks were crisp and monosyllabic.

      Altogether, the atmosphere was tricky, and Laura, to her shame, found herself remembering almost nostalgically the meals she’d eaten alone with Alessio.

      Don’t even go there, she adjured herself severely as the ordeal drew to a close.

      They returned to the salotto for coffee, and it occurred to her that she ought to talk to Paolo privately, and make certain that he’d taken seriously her insistence on going home. And that he intended to call the airline and change their flight as soon as he got back tomorrow.

      She said with feigned brightness, ‘Paolo, darling, why don’t we have our coffee on the terrace? It’s such a beautiful night and we can—enjoy the moonlight together.’

      For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, then comprehension dawned. ‘But of course,’ he said. ‘What a wonderful idea.’

      As she walked out through the windows she was aware of Alessio’s enigmatic stare following her. She paused, realising that she was breathing much too fast, and went to lean on the balustrade as she tried to regain her composure.

      If she was honest, she thought, looking up at the sky, it was far from being a lovely night. The air was hot and stifling, and there was a haze over the moon. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sign of bad weather to come?

      Then, as she waited she heard somewhere in the distance the long-drawn-out howl of an animal, an eerie sound that echoed round the hills, and made the fine hairs stand up on the nape of her neck.

      Gasping, she turned and almost cannoned into Alessio, who was standing just behind her.

      She recoiled violently. ‘Oh, God, you startled me.’ She swallowed. ‘That noise—did you hear it?’

      ‘It was a wolf, nothing more.’ He put the cup of coffee he was carrying on the balustrade. ‘They live in the forests, which is one of the reasons Fredo likes to stay up there too—to protect his goats. Didn’t Paolo warn you about them?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He mentioned them.’ She added coldly, ‘But he failed to tell me that they don’t all live in forests.’

      Alessio winced elaborately. ‘A little unjust, bella mia. According to the experts, wolves mate for life.’

      ‘The four-legged kind, maybe.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never heard any of