The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

to be exploited—for money. A woman who was selfish enough to think nothing of using other people to pursue her own desires.

       ‘Yes, it is the villa,’ he confirmed as the craft headed for the landing stage. ‘I’ve arranged for the car to pick us up from here after we’ve viewed the collection. I don’t think there’ll be time for us to visit a silk mill today. The Duchess will be expecting us, and like most people of her generation punctuality is important to her. She loves entertaining, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s made arrangements to that effect for this evening—probably for a dinner party. However, if you’d rather not be involved, I’ll have a word with her and tell her that you have work you want to catch up on. I expect you will have reports you want to file with the trust.’

       She did, it was true, but Lily suspected his suggestion sprang more from his wish not to have to endure any more of her company than he had to rather than any concern for her.

       ‘There’s no need for you to do that. Being involved with the villa owners is part of my job. Besides, I imagine that the Duchess has some fascinating stories to tell about her family history and the villa. However, if that is a polite way of telling me that you don’t want me there…?’ she challenged Marco, determined to let him know that she had guessed the real reason behind his offer.

       ‘It isn’t,’ he denied. ‘I merely thought you might wish to have some time to yourself.’

       ‘I’m here to work. And that work includes listening to what those connected with the villas have to say,’ Lily told him firmly.

      It was a little later than Marco had allowed for on their schedule before they were able to leave the third villa. It had been in the same family for several generations, having originally been built for one of Napoleon’s favourite generals, and in addition to agreeing to loan the trust several valuable pieces for its exhibition the owner, an elderly Italian who spoke impeccable English, had allowed Lily to take photographs of the interior of the villa, which would also be put on display—a coup indeed, as she was fully aware.

       Watching Lily with her camera, Marco could see her professionalism—but instead of admiring it, as did the Visconte, whom she had charmed completely with her interest in his family history, her expertise brought back all Marco’s doubts about her and his disdain for what he believed she was.

       He would be glad when this task was over and he could return to his normal life and put Dr Lillian Wrightington out of his mind for ever. And out of his heart? The sneaky little question was slid under his guard so dextrously by that taunting inner voice he literally stopped in midstride as he fought to deny the unjustifiable allegation. She meant nothing to him. Nothing, that was, apart from the fact that he didn’t trust her and last night she had aroused him to the point where nothing had been more important than possessing her. So he had desired her? Physical desire alone meant nothing. His emotions weren’t engaged with her. That was impossible. Wasn’t it?

       Then how did he explain away his anger and jealousy?

       Marco welcomed the distraction from his inner thoughts provided by the necessary formalities involved in taking their leave of the Visconte and thanking him for his kindness.

      As their chauffeur-driven car purred up the drive to the Duchess’s home, through the most beautiful formal Italianate gardens, Lily was uncomfortably conscious of Marco’s silence. He had barely spoken to her since they had left the previous villa, and she had felt too aware of coldness of the stone wall of his silence to want to break it.

       The front of the elegant Palladian-style villa was basking in the last of the early October sunshine beneath a clear blue sky, and as always when she was in the presence of a beauty that stirred her senses Lily felt her emotions rise up in humble awe. It didn’t make any difference to her reaction if it was nature that was responsible for that beauty or the skill of a human artist—the effect on her was the same.

       Unable to stop herself, she murmured more to herself than Marco, ‘This is just so beautiful.’

       Somehow the emotion in Lily’s voice managed to find a faint hairline crack in Marco’s defences that he hadn’t known was there. The moisture he could see glinting in her eyes couldn’t possibly have been faked, he knew, even though he wanted to believe that it was. A fresh surge of jealousy spiked through him—but not over another man this time. ‘Both the setting and the villa do please the eye,’ he told her in a dry voice. ‘But I like to think that my family’s castello can rival the villa for catching at the heart. You’ll have to give me your opinion when you’ve seen it.’

       The di Lucchesi castello. The place from which Marco’s family sprang. The place where his ancestors would have taken their wives and sired their children. Children. Lily’s heart rocked perilously inside her chest, pierced by an agonised ache of pure female longing and envy. One day Marco would take a bride to his castello, and one day she would give birth to his child, his children there. But that woman would not be her. What was she doing, allowing herself to accept thoughts and feelings that could only cause her pain and make her suffer? That mattered to her? Then that must mean…

       Lily didn’t want to think about what it could mean. It was a relief when the car came to a halt and she knew that she’d soon be able to escape from Marco’s presence and the effect he was having on her.

       The Duchess herself came down the stone steps leading up to the villa to greet them, welcoming them with warm smile before telling the chauffeur that her housekeeper had a meal ready for him, if he wanted to drive round to the courtyard at the back of the villa.

       Such kindness and concern was not always displayed by those in the Duchess’s elevated social and financial position, Lily knew, and her heart warmed even further to their hostess as she slipped her arms through both Lily’s and Marco’s, telling them as they headed for the steps, ‘There’s no need for the two of you to be bashful or feel you have to be discreet.’ She pulled a face and laughed. ‘All that creeping around in the middle of the night, terrified that one might step on a creaking floorboard and be discovered. I remember it well. But times have changed, and I like to think that I have changed with them. So, once my housekeeper informed me that her sister—who works at Ville d’Este—had told her the two of you had been sharing a room there, I instructed her to make up my favourite guest suite for the two of you.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      LILY couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even think properly. She couldn’t do anything other than look at the Duchess in mute disbelief as she continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll like it. It has the most wonderful view over the lake. My late husband and I used to stay in it when we came to visit before my father died. When I inherited it my husband insisted that we replace the rather small double bed with something larger and more comfortable.’ The Duchess gave a fond sigh. ‘I have so many happy memories of being young here. New love—it is so special. I well remember the first time I saw my late husband. I fell in love with him the minute I set eyes on him. He, though, I’m afraid to say, did not return my feelings for a full twenty-four hours after we had met,’ she told them drolly, adding, ‘I hope that your brief stay here will give you both some memories that you too will come to cherish.’

       All the time she had been talking them they had been climbing the steps. Now they had reached the top, and Lily’s heart was pounding—but not because of any exertion involved. Had she understood the Duchess correctly? Had she instructed her housekeeper that she and Marco were to share a bedroom—and a bed? Lily tried to look at Marco, but the Duchess was linked between them, beaming first at Marco and then at Lily, obviously very proud of what she had done and no doubt thinking she was doing them both a favour.

       ‘I have to say, Marco,’ the Duchess continued blithely, ‘I think that Lily is the perfect girl for you. You both feel so passionately about Italian art and history, and my late husband always used to say that shared interests remain a strong bond between a couple long after the first flush of romance has faded. Ah, good—here we are. Do come in and admire my ancestors, Lily. I hope I may call you Lily?