At Her Latin Lover's Command. Susan Stephens

all intents and purposes the count’s wife. La contessa!

      Her eyes closed in dismay. Acting out a charade would be hard enough, but to be isolated in a foreign country…

      ‘Heaven help me!’ she whispered. ‘Give me strength, for Carlo’s sake!’

      She quailed at the daunting prospect. To enable her to cope she would negotiate her own rules with Dante. Invite friends over. Make a life of her own.

      Dante would not rule her with an iron fist. Carlo must see at first hand that marriage was a partnership. The last thing she wanted was for her own son to see her as inferior—or for him to grow up with the same attitude to women as his father.

      She vowed that Carlo would learn that women were to be treated with respect. That they must be loved for their individuality and not treated as a convenience.

      She made a wry face. What was she doing? He was only just three years old! And yet, she thought more soberly, he would undoubtedly pick up his future attitudes from the cradle.

      Her teeth snagged at her lip. When Carlo had been spirited away, he’d had a sweet and loving nature. She prayed that he hadn’t suffered any long-term damage and that they could rebuild any feelings of abandonment and insecurity.

      Given Dante’s total commitment, they probably could. She would talk to Dante and they’d draw a line under the past two weeks. In Carlo they had a combined interest. They could live a civilised life. They must, for their son’s emotional wellbeing.

      Thinking of her son’s small, sunny face, she gave a blissful smile. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she whispered passionately. ‘See you soon, very soon!’ And with her nerves calmed by this reassuring thought, she drifted off to sleep.

      It was dark when she woke. A small glow of light from the moon silvered the gleaming marble floor so that it looked like a vast lake.

      Immediately she sat up in alarm. Night? The luminous dial on her watch told her it was ten o’clock.

      Her entire body froze. She’d slept for four hours. And Dante had not kept his promise to bring Carlo to her! She let out a wail of dismay.

      Without stopping to put on her shoes, she ran through the faintly lit room and into the corridor that led to the hall, her hair falling from its pins and flying loose around her frantic face like a silky white curtain.

      ‘Dante!’ she yelled in fury and panic. ‘Dante!’

      There came the sound of a man’s feet, running. The door to a brightly lit room burst open and Dante came hurrying out, frowning deeply.

      ‘Miranda! Hush! What is it?’ he demanded, coming to a sudden halt a foot away from her.

      ‘Carlo!’ she jerked brokenly and could say nothing else.

      At the mention of his son’s name, his features softened. ‘Asleep. Do you want to see him?’ he asked in an almost gentle tone.

      Emotion had claimed her vocal cords. Mutely she nodded, her eyes huge and misty.

      ‘I thought… I thought…’ she said, sounding strangled.

      ‘I know,’ he said tightly. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

      ‘If you’re playing a trick on me, I’ll make you sorry you were born!’ she muttered.

      He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you would.’

      ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she demanded fretfully as he led her to the grand staircase.

      ‘There was no point,’ Dante explained stiffly. ‘After the hours of activity and excitement, he fell asleep in my mother’s car on the way back.’

      ‘That’s no reason not to wake me! I wouldn’t have cared! Just to see his face…’

      The words became choked with disappointment and she had to stop.

      ‘I did come in to tell you he was home,’ he said quietly. ‘But you looked very peaceful in your sleep. You were—’ he frowned ‘—smiling. And yet you had an air of exhaustion. I did not have the heart to wake you. I’m sorry if it was the wrong decision, but my mother agreed that another night wouldn’t make much difference, and that both of you needed to rest.’

      ‘Because of my illness,’ Miranda muttered mutinously, sweeping her hair behind her ears.

      She trembled a little. It gave her an odd feeling to know that he’d watched her sleeping.

      ‘I’m sorry about that, I should have warned you about the story I’d invented to cover your absence, but I wasn’t expecting Mama to turn up,’ he explained. ‘When I left England so unexpectedly with Carlo I didn’t know what to tell her—or anyone else for that matter. I couldn’t bring myself to reveal the truth.’ His face darkened. ‘Whatever happened, I didn’t want our child to discover one day how badly you had behaved. So I lied while I worked out what to do for the best.’

      ‘You didn’t lie to your chauffeur.’ She looked him directly in the eye.

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘The way he treated me. Without respect.’

      ‘I will speak to Luca. My chauffeur,’ Dante said quietly.

      ‘Do that. What exactly did you tell him?’ she demanded.

      ‘The bare minimum. Luca drove Carlo and me from Malpensa—Milan Airport—after…after I found you that evening,’ Dante replied in a low tone. ‘He knew I was in a terrible state. Kept Carlo amused with songs and stories. Fed me coffee and brandy, bought a toy for Carlo at the service station on the Autostrada to entertain him. Somehow I let slip that you’d been unfaithful.’

      ‘Dante! How could you?’ she cried in dismay.

      He frowned. ‘He is one of the few I trust—apart from Guido, of course—who wouldn’t dream of tarnishing the family honour with any revelations. As far as Luca is concerned, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut, but I wasn’t in full possession of my senses,’ he said tightly. ‘But he’ll say nothing, for my sake. His father worked for mine. Luca has been my European driver since he left school and is totally loyal and reliable. He won’t even have said anything to his wife. You can be sure of that.’

      And she’d speak to Luca, too, she vowed. Put her side of the story.

      Dante opened a massive carved door at the top of the stairs and politely stood to one side in a gesture that still made her feel cherished. Luca forgotten, Miranda smiled in anticipation, her eyes searching the darkened room within as she stepped breathlessly into the room. Dante softly closed the door behind them.

      A small lamp glowed by the bed, its soft light illuminating…

      She frowned, staring at the vast canopied four-poster, elaborately decorated. Rich brocade hangings.

      Her senses alerted, she quickly scanned the bedroom. It was very masculine, despite the elegant eighteenth-century furniture. Seeing Dante’s honey-coloured silk robe on a chair, she stopped breathing.

      No sign of Carlo. This wasn’t a child’s room at all. Almost certainly it belonged to Dante himself. And why would he bring her to his bedroom…?

      In a fury she whirled around. ‘You rat! Let me out—!’

      She didn’t finish the sentence. Dante had caught her arms in warning.

      ‘Be quiet!’ he whispered fiercely. ‘You’ll wake him!’

      Before she could gather her wits, she found herself being pushed towards the bed. Her head whirled. She felt strangely dizzy. It was as if she were in a time warp; those hands holding her—though she remembered them as being more brutal—and a sense of being trapped and helpless…

      ‘There! Now will you believe me?’ Dante muttered.

      Despite the rising terror, she blinked away