The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage. Marguerite Kaye

watched her anxiously as they were seated in the rustic, verging on basic osteria, the proprietor raising his brows theatrically when he saw Estelle preceding him into the cool of the dark little room, silently mouthing Bella.

      ‘As I said, it’s an unpretentious eatery.’

      To his relief, she saw the charm in the old-fashioned inn. ‘I love it. It’s the sort of place where you just know the food is going to be excellent.’

      ‘There’s not much choice. Not any choice, really. We eat whatever Signora Giordano has concocted from what was fresh in the market today. And we drink the wine from Signor Giordano’s father’s vineyard,’ Aidan added, as the proprietor approached with a terracotta jug and two thick glasses. ‘How are you, signor?’ he asked, in Italian.

      ‘God has spared me for another day,’ Signor Giordano replied in his usual lugubrious manner, his attention fixed on Aidan’s guest. ‘Signorina, you have brought the sunshine into our dining room this afternoon.’

      He flicked a cloth over the already clean-scrubbed wooden table, before pouring the wine and rattling off the day’s menu, beaming when Estelle asked for clarification, beaming even more widely when she smiled her approval.

      ‘Your command of Italian is a great deal better than you led me to believe,’ Aidan said when they were finally left alone with a basket of crusty bread, a dish of Tuscan olive oil and a platter of pinzimonio, raw vegetables which today included red peppers, cucumbers, radish and chicory.

      Surveying the platter hungrily, Estelle merely shrugged. ‘In essence Italian, French and Spanish are very similar.’ She picked up a baton of peeled cucumber, salted it and dipped it in the olive oil before biting into it. ‘Everything here tastes of sunshine.’

      The oil glistened on her mouth. Fascinated, Aidan watched as she picked up her wine glass, took a sip, licked her full bottom lip, then carefully selected a slice of pepper, repeating the process. It had been so long since he’d experienced any sort of desire, it took him a moment to recognise it for what it was. Her kisses would taste of olive oil and wine. Making love to her would be a feast of sensation, a long, lingering delight of soft, giving flesh and hot, hungry lips and caressing hands. Not a duty. Not a means to a desperate end. A pleasure, pure and simple.

      ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

      Appalled by the carnal turn his thoughts had taken, Aidan grabbed a piece of bread and tore it in half, sweat prickling his back, the physical proof of his desire pressing uncomfortably against his leg. ‘Pacing myself,’ he muttered, taking a swig of wine.

      ‘Affettati misti.’ Signor Giordano presented the next platter with a flourish. ‘Buon appetite.’

      ‘Salami with fennel,’ Aidan deduced, inspecting the platter. ‘More salami, that one with green peppercorns. Prosciutto, naturally, and some bresaola, which is smoked beef—signora is serving us some real delicacies. May I help you to some?’

      ‘You may help me to a little of all of it, thank you. How on earth did you discover this place? I would never have found it. Do you think they will mind if I come back alone?’

      ‘Judging by Signor Giordano’s reaction to you, I’d wager he’d happily keep the best table in the house free each and every day in the hope that you might turn up. It’s the same in Café Piccioli where you have your breakfast. Did you know that the waiter reserves your seat for you? I saw him yesterday, before you arrived, shooing someone away who dared to sit down at your preferred table.’

      ‘I didn’t realise. I expect I over-tip hugely.’

      ‘I expect that they would give you your coffee and pastry for free, simply to have you gracing the premises.’

      Estelle coloured. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. Do you think I play on my appearance to get preferential treatment?’

      ‘Of course not.’

      She took a draught of her wine, placing the glass carefully on the table before fixing him with a firm gaze. ‘I am not a piece of art to be stared and gawked at, you know.’

      Wondering what particular nerve he had inadvertently hit, Aidan was surprised into a bark of laughter. ‘I meant it as a compliment.’ Seeing her unconvinced, he risked covering her hands with his own, across the table. ‘You’re right to reprimand me, though I stand by what I said. Your beauty is quite dazzling, and whether you like it or not, people will be drawn to—to gawk at you. But I didn’t invite you to lunch because I wanted to bask in your shadow. I was enjoying our conversation, and I wanted to get to know you better. It’s the truth, Estelle, and if you don’t believe me, ask yourself why I brought you here and not shown you off in one of the ristorante where the great and the good eat. Look around you. You will attract a few fleeting glances, but once the food is on the table, that’s all people here are interested in.’

      She smiled reluctantly. ‘In that case, I shall eat here every day.’

      ‘Don’t you mind eating alone?’

      ‘I’d become accustomed to it at Elmswood Manor. That is—was—my home in England.’

      ‘It sounds very grand.’

      ‘Some of it dates back to the reign of William and Mary, though it’s been much adapted and altered over the years.’

      ‘Have you lived in England long, then?’

      Estelle, who had been staring down at her plate, frowning, stared at him blankly, so that he repeated his question. ‘Since I was fifteen. I don’t mind,’ she added, ‘eating alone—that’s what you asked me—I don’t mind it. I much prefer it, in fact, to eating with strangers.’

      ‘And once again,’ he said, wondering what she’d really being thinking about, ‘that’s put me in my place.’

      Estelle’s frown cleared. ‘I don’t mean you—though you are undeniably a stranger to me. Isn’t it odd, I feel as if I’ve known you for far longer than an hour or so. But then that’s most likely because I’ve talked more to you in this last hour or so than to anyone since I left England—made conversation, I mean, proper conversation, as opposed to the usual pleasantries about the weather.’

      ‘Would you believe me if I told you I feel the same?’

      ‘Surely you have made some friends here, after all this time?’

      ‘Some of my fellow mathematicians are amenable enough. But I’ve preferred my own company, by and large,’ Aidan confessed, surprising himself. ‘Until now.’

      ‘So have I,’ Estelle said. ‘Until now.’

      A tense little silence ensued, as they smiled awkwardly, their hands resting on the table, just a few inches from each other. He wanted to touch her. Just to cover her hand with his, as he’d done a moment ago. It was almost as if he was compelled to touch her, drawn to her, as he had been from the moment he’d first set eyes on her.

       ‘Finito?’

      Estelle started at the proprietor’s interruption, snatching her hands from the table. As Signor Giordano whipped away the empty plates with a flourish, she tried to collect her thoughts. What had just happened there? She realised it wasn’t just Aidan’s conversation she was enjoying, it was him. She hadn’t ever felt like this before, but there was no mistaking it for what it was—attraction, and a very visceral, intense one at that, which was unmistakably reciprocated.

      ‘Stracciatella,’ Signor Giordan announced, setting the bowls down. ‘Egg soup made with beef stock and thickened with ground almonds.’

      Estelle picked up her spoon. ‘It smells delicious.’

      ‘Delicious,’ Aidan echoed.

      He