The Platinum Collection: Claiming His Innocent. Lynne Graham

tenants of yours in the village, and my father and my brothers work for you here on the estate,’ Jess volunteered.

      ‘I was aware of those facts,’ Cesario countered with a wry smile. ‘My estate manager made the connection for me the first time I met you.’

      Jess lifted her chin and straightened her slight shoulders, wondering if that information had originally been given to emphasise that she hailed from working-class country stock, rather than the snobbish county set. If so, the news of her humble beginnings and lower social standing must have failed to dim his initial interest, for the dinner invitation had followed soon afterwards. Stubbornly refusing to meet those gorgeous dark eyes in a head-on collision and blocking her awareness to him as she had learnt to do to maintain her composure and show of indifference, she breathed in deep. ‘I have something to tell you and it relates to the robbery here…’

      With a sudden flashing frown, Cesario leant forward, any hint of relaxation instantly banished by her opening words. ‘The theft of my painting?’

      Beneath that daunting stare, the colour in her cheeks steadily drained away. ‘I’m afraid so.’

      ‘If you have information relating to the robbery, why haven’t you gone to the police with it?’

      Jess could feel her ever-rising tension turning her skin clammy with nervous perspiration. Suddenly aware that she was way too warm, she shrugged free of the heavy jacket she wore over her shirt and draped it clumsily over the seat of the chair beside her. ‘Because my father’s involved and I was keen to get the chance to speak to you first.’

      Cesario was not slow to grasp essential facts and his keen gaze glimmered as he instantly added two and two. As the estate handyman, who also acted as caretaker when the hall was unoccupied, Robert Martin had long been entrusted with the right to enter the hall at any time to perform maintenance checks and carry out repairs. ‘If your father helped the thieves, you’re wasting your time looking to me for sympathy—’

      ‘Let me explain what happened first. I only found out about this matter yesterday. Last year my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and it was a very stressful time for my family,’ Jess told him tightly.

      ‘While I am naturally sympathetic to anyone in your mother’s situation, I fail to see what her ill health has to do with me or the loss of my painting,’ Cesario asserted drily.

      ‘If you listen, I’ll tell you—’

      ‘No. I think I am much more inclined in this scenario to call in the police and leave them to ask the questions. It’s their job, not mine,’ Cesario cut across her to declare with derision, his lean, darkly handsome features forbidding as he straightened and began to reach for the phone with a lean, shapely hand. ‘I am not comfortable with this conversation.’

      ‘Please don’t phone the police yet!’ Jess exclaimed, grey eyes wide with urgency as she moved forward suddenly, appearing as if she was trying to physically impose her slight body between him and the telephone. ‘Please give me the chance to explain things first.’

      ‘Get on with the explanation, then,’ Cesario advised curtly, leaving the phone untouched, while surveying her with dark eyes flaming bronze with suspicion and anger. Even so, on a primitive masculine level he was already starting to get a kick out of her pleading with him. The tables had been turned with a vengeance, he savoured with satisfaction. She was no longer treating him to frozen silence or looking down that superior little nose of hers at him.

      ‘Dad was worried sick about Mum and he wanted to take her away for a holiday after she finished her treatment, but he had to borrow the money to do so. Unfortunately he borrowed it from my uncle at an extortionate rate of interest.’ Stumbling in her eagerness to tell the whole story, Jess outlined her father’s efforts to deal with being pressed for his debt, followed by the approach and the offer made by her cousins.

      ‘This is your family you’re talking about,’ Cesario reminded her dulcetly, marvelling at what she was willing to tell him about her less than scrupulous relations. For the first time it genuinely struck him that, for all her educational achievements, she truly was, unlike him, from the other side of the tracks.

      ‘My mother’s brother was in and out of prison for much of his life. He doesn’t much care how he makes his money as long as he makes it. But his sons have never been in serious trouble with the police.’ Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment as she filled in the disagreeable facts. ‘My father believed what he was told—that Jason and Mark only wanted to get into this house to take photos which they could sell.’

      Cesario dealt her a withering appraisal. ‘This property is full of valuable antiques and art works. Are you seriously expecting me to believe that any man could be that stupid?’

      ‘I don’t think my father’s stupid, I think he was simply desperate to do what they asked and be free of that debt. He was frantically trying to protect Mum from the distress of finding out how foolish he had been,’ Jess confided ruefully. ‘I don’t believe he thought beyond that and what he did was very wrong. I’m not trying to excuse his behaviour. He’s had access to this house for many years because he was a trusted employee and in acting as he did he betrayed your trust, but I’m convinced that my cousins intentionally targeted him.’

      His handsome mouth taut with angry constraint, Cesario studied her grimly. ‘It is immaterial to me whether your father was deliberately set-up or otherwise. Your mother’s illness, the debt that ensued…those are not my concerns. My sole interest is in the loss of my painting and unless you have information to offer about how it might be recovered and from whom…’

      ‘I’m afraid that I don’t know anything about that and nor, unfortunately, does my father. His only function that evening was handing over his key card and the codes for the alarm.’

      ‘Which makes him as guilty as any man who conspires with thieves and provides them with the means of entry to private property,’ Cesario pronounced without hesitation.

      ‘He honestly didn’t know that anything was going to be stolen! He’s an honest man, not a thief.’

      ‘An honest man would not have allowed the men you described into my home to do as they liked,’ Cesario derided. ‘Why did you make this approach to me? What response did you expect from me?’

      ‘I hoped that you would accept that Dad was entirely innocent of the knowledge that a crime was being planned.’

      His sardonic mouth curled. ‘I have only your word for that. After all, there was a robbery and it would not have happened had your father proved worthy of the responsibility he’d been given.’

      ‘Look, please listen to me,’ she urged with passionate vehemence, her pale grey eyes insistent. ‘He’s not a bad man, he’s not dishonest either, and he’s devastated by the loss that his foolishness caused you—’

      ‘Foolishness is far too kind a description of what I regard as a gross betrayal of trust,’ Cesario interrupted in flat dismissal of her argument and the terms she used. ‘I ask you again: what did you hope to achieve by coming to see me like this?’

      Jess settled deeply troubled eyes on him. ‘I wanted to be sure you heard the full facts of the case as they happened.’

      Regarding her with hard cynical eyes, Cesario loosed a harsh laugh. ‘And exactly what were you hoping to gain from this meeting? A full pardon for your father just because I find you attractive? Is that what this encounter is all about?’

      Her oval face flamed as though he had slapped her, colour running like a live flame below her skin as he made that statement. It had not even crossed her mind that, with the very many options he had, he might still find her attractive. ‘Of course, it’s not—’

      Cesario’s handsome mouth curled with scornful disbelief at that claim. ‘Maiala della miseria…at least tell it like it is! While I may lust after your shapely little body, I don’t do it to the extent that I would forgive a crime against me or write off a painting worth more than half a million pounds.