Rinaldo's Inherited Bride. Lucy Gordon

something about having ‘necessary discussions’ later.

      Alex nodded agreement, and the group moved off. But behind them was a middle-aged man of large proportions and an oily manner. He introduced himself as Leo Montelli, and said that the sooner they talked the better.

      After him came another local landowner, and after him came the representative of a bank. Alex began to feel dizzy. One thing was clear. The message about who she was and why she was here had gone out loud and clear to everyone in the room.

      It had certainly reached Rinaldo Farnese, who was watching her steadily. His face was inscrutable, but Alex had the feeling that he was mentally taking notes.

      ‘Isidoro, I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘This shouldn’t be happening here. It isn’t seemly.’

      ‘Shall I fix appointments with them for you?’

      ‘Not yet,’ she said quickly. ‘I must talk to the Farneses first. For now I’ll just slip away.’

      ‘Look,’ Isidoro said.

      Rinaldo was cutting his way through the crowd until he reached her and said very softly, ‘I want you to leave, right now. Your behaviour is unseemly.’

      ‘Hey, now look—’

      ‘How dare you dance on my father’s grave! Leave right this moment or I’ll put you out myself.’

      ‘Signore—’ Isidoro was vainly trying to claim his attention.

      ‘I was about to leave anyway,’ Alex said.

      ‘To be sure, signorina, I believe you.’

      ‘You’d better,’ she said losing her temper. ‘Signor Farnese, I dislike you at least as much as you dislike me, and I won’t stand for being called a liar. If this wasn’t a solemn occasion I would take the greatest pleasure in losing my temper in a way you wouldn’t forget.’

      She stormed out without giving him the chance to answer. If she could have sold the entire farm out from under him she would have done so at that moment.

      The Hotel Favello was in the Piazza della Republica, in the medieval heart of Florence. Here Alex was close to the great buildings, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Duomo, whose huge bulk dominated the Florence skyline, the fascinating Ponte Vecchio over the River Arno, and many other places she had promised herself that she would visit before she left.

      On the evening of the funeral she decided to eat out, preferably in a restaurant where she could gain a floodlit view of the buildings.

      She’d had a shower as soon as she left the reception, but before getting dressed she had another one under cold water. Thankfully the onset of evening was making temperatures fall, and the room had good air-conditioning, but she felt as though the heat had penetrated down to the core of her.

      She started to put on a pair of tights, but discarded them almost at once, disliking the suffocating sensation of anything clinging to her flesh. She rejected a bra for the same reason.

      When she finally slipped on a white silk dress she wore only a slip and brief panties beneath, because that was the only way she felt her body could breathe.

      Just as she was about to leave there was a knock on her door.

      She opened it to find Rinaldo Farnese standing there.

      He had removed the jacket of his smart black suit, and was holding it hooked over the shoulder of his white shirt, which had been pulled open at the throat. His hair was untidy, his face weary, and he looked as though he had discarded the strait-laced persona of the funeral with as much relief as she had discarded her coat.

      ‘This won’t take long,’ he said, pushing the door further open and walking into the room.

      ‘Hey, I didn’t invite you in,’ she protested.

      ‘I didn’t invite you either, but here you are,’ he responded.

      ‘And I’m just going out to dinner,’ she said.

      At this point a gentleman would have at least offered her a drink. Rinaldo’s only response was a shrug.

      ‘Then I’ll be brief,’ he said.

      ‘Please do,’ she replied crisply.

      ‘First, I suppose I owe you an apology for my behaviour this afternoon.’

      She gaped at him, totally taken aback. The last thing she had expected from this man was an apology.

      ‘After you left I spoke to Isidoro who confirmed that you’d been about to depart of your own accord, and that you too had used the word unseemly.’ He took a deep breath and spoke as though the words were jerked from him. ‘I apologise for doubting your truthfulness.’

      ‘I appreciate that,’ she said, ‘all the more because it half killed you to say it.’

      ‘I’m not known for my social skills,’ he agreed wryly.

      ‘I’d never have guessed.’

      ‘You think to disconcert me with irony? Don’t bother.’

      She nodded.

      ‘You’re right. You don’t care enough about other people’s opinions to mind whether you have social skills or not,’ she said gravely. ‘I’m sure rudeness has its advantages, besides being less trouble.’

      This time there was no doubt that she got to him. He eyed her narrowly. Alex looked straight back at him.

      ‘May I remind you that I only came to that reception on your brother’s invitation?’ she said. ‘It wasn’t my idea, and I certainly wouldn’t have come if I’d known what would happen. Perhaps it’s I who owe you an apology for my clumsiness.’

      They regarded each other warily, neither of them in the least mollified by the other’s conciliatory words.

      Despite her exasperation Alex was curious about him. After the sleek, smooth men she knew in London, meeting Rinaldo was like encountering a wild animal. The feelings that drove him were so powerful that she could almost feel them radiating from him. He was controlling them, but only just.

      She thought of David, who never did anything that hadn’t been planned beforehand. She couldn’t imagine him losing control, but with Rinaldo Farnese she could imagine it only too easily.

      Strangely the thought did not alarm her, but only increased her curiosity.

      He began to stride impatiently about the room in a way that told her he was happier outdoors, and rooms suffocated him. Now she appreciated how tall he was, over six foot, broad-shouldered but lean. He was lithe, not graceful like his brother, but athletic, like a tightly coiled spring.

      ‘So now you’ve seen them all,’ he said. ‘All the vultures who are lining up to swoop. They’ve calculated that your only interest is money. Are they wrong?’

      ‘I—well, you’re certainly direct.’

      ‘I came here to know what your plans are. Is that direct enough for you?’

      ‘My plans are fluid at the moment. I’m waiting to see what develops.’

      ‘Do you fancy yourself as a farmer?’

      ‘No, I’m not a farmer, nor do I have any ambitions to be one.’

      ‘That is a wise decision. You would find us two to one against you.’

      She surveyed him with her head a little on one side. ‘You don’t believe in sugar coating it, do you?’

      ‘No,’ he said simply, ‘there’s no point. What are your plans?’

      ‘To discuss the situation with you. The vultures can think what they like. You get the first chance to redeem the loan. Look, I’m not a monster. I know money can be difficult. In my own country I’m an accountant—’

      ‘I