Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure. Anne Mather

very little about him. His attendance at her wedding hardly constituted grounds for a friendship.

      And, despite the fact that he kept telling her she was going to love the area where his grandmother’s house was situated, the idea of being introduced to Lady Elinor Daniels as Cary’s fiancée left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. When he’d first broached the idea, he’d said he needed a girlfriend. Now it had metamorphosed into a fiancée, which was a whole different ball game.

      ‘Not long now,’ Cary said, taking her silence for tiredness. ‘We could still stop for lunch, if you like. That would give us a break.’

      Juliet, who didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him than was necessary, managed a faint smile. ‘We don’t want to be too late arriving,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Besides, didn’t you say your grandmother is expecting us for lunch?’

      Cary’s mouth compressed and Juliet got the feeling that he wasn’t looking forward to this visit any more than she was. Which was understandable, she supposed, if the old lady kept interfering in his private life. But, let’s face it, she thought, without Lady Elinor’s intervention he could be languishing in a South African prison. She’d read enough stories about rogue dealers who’d almost bankrupted the banks they’d worked for.

      ‘I suppose it is a bit late now,’ he conceded at last, and she realised he was responding to her question. Then, pointing away to the west, ‘Have you ever seen sea that colour before? In England, I mean. It’s almost tropical. It reminds me of a holiday I had in Mauritius. God, that was some hotel we stayed in. A whole floor given over to our suite.’

      ‘Expensive,’ murmured Juliet drily, and Cary turned to glance at her.

      ‘Yeah, I wish I had that kind of cash now,’ he agreed, without a trace of remorse. ‘That’s why I have to be so careful how I treat the old girl. Without her money, I’d be taking a package holiday in Spain every year.’

      Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘Does she know you spend the money she gives you on expensive holidays?’

      Cary frowned. ‘Hey, that information’s not for public consumption,’ he said. ‘Don’t you be discussing my financial arrangements with her. If she chooses to sub me sometimes, I’m not going to refuse it, am I? The old girl’s loaded! You might not think it to look at the house, but, believe me, I know she’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere.’

      Juliet was feeling less and less enthusiastic about her part in this deception. She told herself that if Cary had been totally honest with her from the beginning, she’d never have agreed to come. Or was she being totally honest with herself? she wondered. Damn it all, she was doing it for the money, too.

      ‘Tell me about your cousin,’ she said, trying to distract herself. ‘What’s he like? Does he look like you?’

      Cary scowled. ‘As if.’ And then, when she was obviously waiting for him to go on, he muttered irritably, ‘He looks like a gipsy, if you must know. Swarthy skin, greasy black hair and an attitude you could cut with a knife.’

      Juliet’s brows ascended. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

      Cary shrugged. ‘I’ve told you what he’s like. Always ingratiating himself with the old woman. I’ve no doubt she’ll sing his praises while you’re here. She does it just to wind me up.’

      ‘Oh, Cary—’

      ‘I mean it. I’ve got better things to do than mend light switches and plug leaks. I’m a banker, Jules, not a labourer. Or rather I was until the futures market stuffed up.’

      Juliet chose her words with care. ‘He probably only does these things to help your grandmother. I mean, it isn’t always easy to find a plumber or an electrician when you need one.’

      ‘Yeah, well, he needn’t think that doing all these things gives him some claim on the estate when the old lady snuffs it. As soon as the will’s read, I’m going to tell him I don’t want him trespassing on the place in future. Tregellin’s mine. I’m the only legitimate heir and he knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from hanging around, pretending he’s helping her out.’

      Juliet shook her head. ‘You’re so bitter!’

      ‘No.’ Cary wouldn’t have that. ‘Just practical. Anyway, we’re almost there. That’s the chimneys of the house you can see over the treetops. It’s set on a promontory overlooking the Eden estuary. The River Eden, I mean.’ He grimaced. ‘It may be a beautiful spot, but it’s no Garden of Eden.’

      They approached the house down a winding track between hedges of rhododendron and acacia. Juliet guessed that in late spring and early summer these same hedges would be a riot of colour. Right now, the glossy leaves hid the buds of any blossoms, and because there were lowering clouds overhead it was rather gloomy.

      The grounds of the house seemed quite extensive. A tennis court and a croquet lawn, a vegetable garden behind a lichen-covered stone wall. They circled the building and Juliet saw that it was the back of the house that faced the road. The front looked out across the river estuary, the water shallow now as the tide receded.

      There was a big SUV already parked on the forecourt and as Juliet thrust open her door and got out she heard Cary give a grunt of irritation. Turning to see what had caused his annoyance, she saw that a man had just appeared from around the side of the house. He was a big man, tall and powerfully built, wearing a worn leather jacket and jeans that clung to lean muscular thighs. Scuffed boots completed his attire and Juliet didn’t need a sixth sense to know that this must be the infamous Rafe Marchese.

      He looked across the width of the courtyard towards her and she felt a disturbing flutter of awareness in the pit of her stomach. But goodness, he was attractive, she thought, realising that Cary’s scornful description hadn’t done the man justice.

      His hair was dark, yes, and needed cutting, but it wasn’t greasy. His skin was darkly tanned and there was the stubble of a beard on his jawline, but she wouldn’t have called him swarthy either. He wasn’t handsome. His features were too hard, too masculine for that. And she’d bet her last penny that it wasn’t only for his technical skills that Lady Elinor liked having him around.

      ‘Cary,’ he said evenly, as the other man got out of the car, and Cary was obliged to acknowledge him in return.

      ‘Rafe.’ His voice was tight and he turned at once to take their luggage from the back of the car, making no attempt to introduce Juliet.

      Which really annoyed her. More than it should, probably, she admitted, but dammit, she was supposed to be his fiancée. Deciding she didn’t care what Cary thought, she walked around the bonnet of the car and held out her hand.

      ‘Hi,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m Juliet. Cary’s—girlfriend.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE lunch had been cold, but Juliet knew they couldn’t blame the housekeeper for that. They’d been expected at one; they’d actually arrived at a quarter-past two. However expert the cook, no one could have kept a mushroom risotto hot indefinitely.

      Not that she’d been particularly hungry. The encounter between Cary and Rafe Marchese had robbed her of her appetite somewhat. The two men obviously disliked one another, but Cary had behaved like a boor and she’d been sucked into his game.

      Perhaps some of the blame was hers. She’d initiated his anger when she’d introduced herself to his cousin. But, dammit, she’d been angry with Cary for ignoring her and she hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of her actions when she’d approached the other man.

      The truth, however unpalatable, was that she’d wanted Rafe Marchese to notice her. Which was weird, considering that since David had walked out on their marriage over a year ago she’d had no interest in other men.

      Not that she flattered