Secretary Mistress, Convenient Wife. Maggie Cox

are not holding me up, and I did not mean to cause offence by offering my help. However, I am surprised to see you doing domestic work when I naturally expected Carmela to be occupying you with the organisation of the concert.’

      She blushed even pinker than before. ‘I was just trying to make myself useful while she did some last-minute checking of the plan before showing me the ropes. I’d best take this to the kitchen and get back there, to see if she’s ready for me now.’

      ‘Signorina Greenwood?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Do not forget that at midday we all stop for si esta…no matter how busy we are! The sun is far too hot to work then.’

      ‘Thank you for the reminder,’ she replied diffidently, before hurrying away from him.

      ‘Piccolo fiocco di neve…little snowflake.’ Giving quiet voice to the whimsical observation that had crept into his mind, Fabian broodingly watched her as she negotiated her way gracefully across the shimmering sunlit lawns towards the house.

      Taking a further moment to remind himself of where he had been heading and why, he realised her appearance had drawn his attention as emphatically as an elegant hovering butterfly ensnared the gaze in an unexpected moment of quiet, contemplative delight.

      * * *

      At her friend’s behest at the end of the day’s work, Laura accompanied Carmela to the piazza in the village to have dinner with her and her husband in one of the bustling atmospheric restaurants there. Eager to experience some of the vivid flavours of Tuscan cuisine, as well as to meet Vincente, she was only too pleased to join them. Carmela’s husband was as charming as she’d guessed he would be, with smouldering good-looks and an engaging sense of humour, and she took to him immediately.

      Afterwards, while the newlyweds lingered over their coffee—their eyes clearly only for each other— Laura made her way from the covered eating area of the restaurant into the balmy piazza itself. Leaning against a wide stone wall, with her light stole loosely around her shoulders over her pale lemon summer dress, she observed with interest the parade of beautifully attired men and women who strolled casually by. This, she’d learned, was the passeggiata—a nightly event that took place in many towns and villages all across Italy. It was an opportunity for both sexes to openly admire each other and cast a glance over someone special who had caught their eye. Italians worshipped beauty in all its forms, Carmela had told her friend, and welcomed every chance to display and celebrate it.

      Feeling pleasantly tired after her exertions of the day at the Villa de Rosa, Laura experienced no guilt at taking a few moments out simply to enjoy the warm magnolia-scented evening and to join the rest of the onlookers in the piazza. There were some stunning-looking individuals populating the square, but none in her opinion that could hold a candle to the frighteningly attractive Fabian Moritzzoni. Surprised at such an out-of-the-blue and definitely disturbing thought, Laura felt a little flutter of unease in the pit of her stomach.

      ‘Buonasera, signorina.’

      A young man with flashing dark eyes and a dazzlingly white shirt passing by with a friend stopped deliberately in front of her and smiled. Taken aback at his interest, Laura knew the same debilitating sense of panic that she always experienced whenever a man glanced her way. Her scar made her extra- sensitive over her looks, despite her determination to try and ignore it. But she was definitely the odd one out in this outwardly harmless parade of beauty, and she’d best not forget it.

      Briefly dipping her head in acknowledgement of the unknown man, and starting to withdraw, she was suddenly aware of something of a commotion not far from where she stood. Laura’s gaze, along with that of the young men beside her, turned towards the tall, broad-shouldered owner of tarnished gold hair, who seemed to be heading their way. His progress was being impeded by several enthusiastic compatriots, eager to shake his hand and acknowledge him. It struck her then that Fabian Moritzzoni must be an important man in this community. His handsome face was wearing a patient smile as he returned the effusive greetings that came his way, and he seemed to command the equivalent adulation of a much admired celebrity, but for some inexplicable reason Laura sensed that all was not well beneath the smile that appeared so natural and sincere. Was it the concert that was troubling him?

      Finally, he arrived in front of her.

      ‘Signorina Greenwood.’

      His glance made a desert of her mouth with its piercing directness. For a moment all thoughts were suspended as she bathed in that captivating sea of Mediterranean blue. After a deferential ‘buonasera’, her uninvited companions politely made themselves scarce.

      ‘Hello,’ she breathed.

      ‘I knew it was you. Your bright hair and equally bright dress singled you out. What have you done with Carmela and Vincente?’

      ‘They’re still at the restaurant, enjoying their coffee.’

      ‘But of course… They are newlyweds and, I suppose, anxious to be alone together. I regret that my poor assistant has had to wait so long for the privilege. My schedule is clearly too insane if it has come to this and she cannot take leave even to go away on honeymoon!’

      ‘Can you not do something about it?’ Laura enquired.

      ‘What do you mean?’ His gaze narrowed.

      ‘Well…sometimes it’s good to have a review of things, don’t you think? Might it not be possible for you to lessen some of your commitments and perhaps think about making your schedule a little less demanding?’

      Fabian was still mulling over her surprising response when a gentle breeze lifted the edges of her fringe. Immediately her hand went up to pat it down again, and a shadow seemed to move across eyes the hue and colour of palest moonlight.

      ‘I think I’d better go…’ She tugged the edges of her stole closer together across the bodice of her lovely yellow dress, her smile uncertain and defensive. ‘Carmela might be looking for me.’

      Aware that she was obviously self-conscious about the scar marring her otherwise perfectly unblemished skin, Fabian wondered how she had acquired it. Then he told himself not to be concerned. She was only working for him, and other than affecting her ability to do the job she’d been hired for her personal business was just that…personal.

      ‘If she was going to give you a lift back to the villa, why not let me take you?’ he heard himself suggest. ‘I am going back there myself shortly. We will go and find her and tell her.’

      ‘I don’t want to impose.’

      ‘Nonsense! How could you possibly be imposing when you are working for me as well as sleeping under my roof?’

      ‘In that case then I accept your offer…grazie.’

      The night was inky dark, and roads like treacherous narrow ribbons were illuminated by the car headlights as Fabian smoothly confronted each one as if he regularly negotiated far trickier terrain—in even poorer light and with equal impressive ease. His hands were fascinating to watch. Lean, yet powerful, with flawless tanned skin—they would draw a woman’s eye whether he were sculpting clay, digging in the earth or holding a child…

      Laura cut off the thought abruptly, even though the picture it conjured up was almost too tantalising for words.

      ‘Am I driving too fast for you?’

      Both amusement and mockery wove through his compelling voice, and Laura glanced at his smiling profile with no little agitation. ‘I have no doubt that you are perfectly in control, Signor Moritzzoni, but I’d be a liar if I told you that the minuscule width of these roads plus the speed we are travelling at didn’t scare me! Would you mind slowing down just a little?’

      The impressive Maserati responded to the lightest touch from