Wife By Arrangement. Lucy Gordon

Arab, Italian, French, Spanish, Celtic—were mixed in its inhabitants. There was something Greek in Lorenzo’s fine looks, blue eyes and light brown curly hair. Despite his size his movements were graceful.

      She guessed Renato was one of those men who had come to manhood in his early teens. It was hard to picture him as a boy. Perhaps an Italian ancestor had given him those vivid looks, but the air of haughty pride came from a Spaniard, and there was something Celtic in the mobility of his face, the sensuality of his wide mouth.

      His features were fierce and irregular, and at first sight he was put in the shade by his beautiful younger brother. But there was a dark glitter in his eyes that compelled attention, and he had an extra something that made looks irrelevant. In a room full of handsome men, Renato Martelli would be the one women looked at, and wondered about.

      He was powerfully built, with a massiveness about him that reminded Heather of a bull. Yet he carried no extra weight. His body was hard and athletic, the heavy muscles pressing against the expensive cloth of his suit, as though formal clothes didn’t come naturally to him. He was a man made for the outdoor life, riding a horse, surveying his acres, or anything he could do in shirtsleeves.

      The champagne was served in tall crystal glasses. Renato raised his in salute. ‘To the pleasure of meeting you,’ he told Heather.

      ‘To our meeting,’ she replied, significantly changing the words. There was the briefest flicker on Renato’s face that might have been acknowledgement.

      Over cream of cauliflower soup with ribbons of smoked salmon, he talked about Lorenzo and his lengthened visit to England.

      ‘He should have left two weeks ago, but always there are excuses, and I start to understand that some great power is holding him here. And that power comes from a woman. For the first time he is talking about marriage—’

      ‘Renato—’ Lorenzo groaned.

      ‘Ignore him,’ Heather said. ‘He’s trying to disconcert you.’

      ‘You seem to understand me by instinct, signorina,’ Renato said, impressed.

      ‘I don’t need instinct. Experience will do. You spent the afternoon trying to disconcert me. You like to wrong-foot people.’

      He raised his champagne glass in ironic salute, but his eyes, over the rim, were suddenly harder, alert. ‘Touché!’ he said. ‘I see I shall have to beware of you.’

      ‘What a good idea,’ she agreed sweetly. ‘Do go on. Lorenzo was talking about marriage and you rushed to England to see if I was good enough.’

      ‘I came to discover if you were as wonderful as he says,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘And I find that you are.’

      It was charmingly said but she wasn’t fooled. This was a man who did nothing except for his own reasons. But if he thought she was going to make it easy for him he had another think coming.

      ‘Let’s be frank,’ she said with a challenging smile. ‘Lorenzo is a Martelli. He could marry an heiress. When you found him paying attention to a humble shop assistant it set your alarm bells ringing. That, Signor Martelli, is the truth. The rest is just fancy talk.’

      Lorenzo groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Renato reddened slightly. ‘Now it is you who are trying to disconcert me.’

      ‘And I’m not doing too badly either,’ she murmured.

      His response was a grin that blazed out suddenly, taking her by surprise. It was brilliant, intensely masculine, and it came from a fire deep within him.

      ‘Then I too will be frank,’ he told her. ‘Humble shop assistant! That is nonsense. You feel no more humble than I do. You’re a strong woman, even an arrogant one, who thinks she could take on the world, and win. You certainly believe you could get the better of me. You might even be right.’

      ‘Always assuming that I’ll need to fight you,’ she said lightly. ‘But will I?’

      ‘I don’t know. I haven’t finally decided.’

      ‘I await your decision in fear and trembling,’ she told him in an ironic tone that conveyed just the opposite.

      He raised his glass in salute. Heather raised hers in return, but she was still on her guard.

      ‘That’s the spirit, darling,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Don’t let him scare you.’

      ‘Let her fight her own battles,’ Renato told him. ‘She’s more than capable of it. You see,’ he added to Heather, ‘I know a lot about you. You left school at sixteen and got a job in a paper shop. For the next four years you went from job to job, always behind a counter, always climbing a little higher, until three years ago you came to work at Gossways.

      ‘You sought a place on their training programme that leads to management, but Gossways refused, saying they take only college graduates. So you set out to prove them wrong. You worked hard, studied languages, badgered them. At last, impressed by your persistence and your splendid sales figures, they gave in, and offered you a place on the next programme. Humble shop assistant! You’re a formidable woman.’

      ‘Hey, I didn’t know all that,’ Lorenzo said.

      ‘Your brother has been asking Gossways Head Office about me,’ Heather explained. ‘Snooping.’

      ‘Gathering intelligence,’ Renato suggested.

      ‘Snooping,’ she said firmly. ‘And it was very rude.’

      ‘Yes, it was,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You don’t think I did anything like that, do you, darling?’

      ‘You didn’t think of it,’ Renato informed him scathingly.

      Heather felt a sudden need to get away from the two men, so that she could breathe freely. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ she said, rising.

      She found the powder room and sat gazing at her own reflection in an ornate gilt mirror, wondering why the world always seemed to be the wrong way up. She was being wined and dined at the Ritz, by two attractive men who were giving her their whole attention. That should have made her a woman to be envied, and if she’d been alone with Lorenzo she would have thought so too.

      But Renato Martelli made her very, very suspicious.

      CHAPTER TWO

      WHEN Heather was out of earshot Renato said, ‘My compliments. She’s charming.’

      ‘You really like her?’ Lorenzo asked.

      ‘Yes, I think she’s admirable. I admit that I expected a floozy, but she’s a lady, which must be a first for you. It’s time you settled down.’

      ‘Now wait,’ Lorenzo said hastily. ‘You’re rushing me. Why did you tell her I mentioned marriage?’

      ‘Because you did.’

      ‘I said if I was thinking about marriage it would be to someone like her. It’s a very big step.’

      ‘All the more reason to take it while you’re young enough to be influenced by a good woman.’

      ‘You didn’t.’

      Renato gave a wolfish grin. ‘Apart from our mother no woman has ever influenced me.’

      ‘That’s not what I heard. Wasn’t her name Magdalena—? All right, all right,’ he finished hastily, looking at his brother’s expression.

      ‘Magdalena Conti didn’t influence me,’ Renato said coldly. ‘She merely taught me that permanent relationships are not for me. But it’s different with you. Beneath your irresponsible ways you have the makings of an excellent husband.’

      ‘Oh, no! I see your game. One of us has to marry and provide a Martelli heir, and you’ve cast me as the sacrificial lamb. Well, to hell with you, brother! You’re the eldest. You do it.’

      ‘Forget