Virgin: Wedded At The Italian's Convenience
Diana Hamilton
Innocent until her wedding night!Arrogant Italian Paolo Venini needs to marry. And English rose Lily Frome will make a perfect, convenient wife. As Lily struggles to adapt to Paolo's glamorous world, Paolo whisks her off to Italy's beautiful Amalfi coast to spend their wedding night.But Paolo expects more than just a marriage in name only–after their vows have been exchanged, Paolo intends to claim his virgin bride as his own. . . .
Summer’s here, and to get you in the mood we’ve got some sizzling reads for you this month!
So relax and enjoy…a scandalous proposal in Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure by Emma Darcy; a virgin bride in Virgin: Wedded at the Italian’s Convenience by Diana Hamilton; a billionaire’s bargain in The Billionaire’s Blackmailed Bride by Jacqueline Baird; a sexy Spaniard in Spanish Billionaire, Innocent Wife by Kate Walker; and an Italian’s marriage ultimatum in The Salvatore Marriage Deal by Natalie Rivers. And be sure to read The Greek Tycoon’s Baby Bargain, the first book in Sharon Kendrick’s brilliant new duet, GREEK BILLIONAIRES’ BRIDES.
Plus, two new authors bring you their dazzling debuts—Natalie Anderson with His Mistress by Arrangement, and Anne Oliver with Marriage at the Millionaire’s Command. Don’t miss out!
We’d love to hear what you think about Presents. E-mail us at Presents@hmb.co.uk or join in the discussions at www.iheartpresents.com and www.sensationalromance.blogspot.com, where you’ll also find more information about books and authors!
Wedded and bedded for the very first time
Classic romances from
your favorite Presents authors
Available this month:
Virgin: Wedded at the Italian’s Convenience
by Diana Hamilton
Available only from Harlequin Presents
Diana Hamilton
VIRGIN: WEDDED AT THE ITALIAN’S CONVENIENCE
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
All about the author…
Diana Hamilton
DIANA HAMILTON lives with her husband in a beautiful part of Shropshire, an idyll shared with two young Cavalier King Charles spaniels and a cat called Racketty-Cat. Her three children and their assorted offspring are frequent visitors. When she’s not writing Presents books she’s driving her natty sports car—and frightening the locals—pottering in the garden or lazing in the sun on the terrace beneath a ridiculous hat, reading.
Diana has been fascinated by the written word from an early age, and she firmly believes she was born with her nose in a book.
After leaving grammar school she studied fine art, but she put her real energies into gaining her advertising copywriting degree. She worked as a copywriter until she and her photographer husband moved to a remote part of Wales, where her third child was born. In Wales she enjoyed pony-trekking and walking in the mountains, but four years later they returned to Shropshire, where they have been ever since, gradually restoring the rambling Elizabethan manor that Diana gave her heart to on sight. In the midseventies Diana took up her pen again, and over the following ten years she combined writing thirty novels for Robert Hale of London with bringing up her children and the ongoing restoration work.
In 1987 Diana realized her dearest ambition—the publication of her first Harlequin romance. She had come home. And that warm feeling persists to this day as, more than forty-five Presents novels later, she is still in love with the genre.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
WITH a convulsive shiver Lily Frome wriggled her skinny frame deeper into the swamping fabric of her old dufflecoat. Saturday morning the High Street of the tiny market town was usually thronged with shoppers, but today the bitter late March wind and icy flurries of rain had kept all but the most hardy at home.
Even those who had gritted their teeth and popped to the shops for essentials scurried past her, heads downbent, studiously ignoring the bright yellow collecting tin adorned with the ‘Life Begins’ smiley face logo. Usually as generous as they could afford to be, because the small local charity was well known and approved of, today the good citizens of Market Hallow obviously weren’t turned on by the idea of stopping for a chat or fumbling in purses for the odd twenty pence piece—at least not in this inclement weather.
Ramming her woolly hat lower on her head, her generous mouth downturned, Lily was about to give up and head home to the cottage she shared with Great-Aunt Edith and report failure when the sight of a tall man emerging from the narrow doorway that led up a flight of twisty stairs to the local solicitor’s office above the chemist’s. He was about to head in the opposite direction, turning up the collar of his expensive-looking dark grey overcoat as he began to stride away.
She’d never seen him before, and Lily knew pretty much everyone in the area, but he looked well heeled—at least from what she could see of his impressive back view he did. Her wide, optimistic smile forming naturally, she sprinted after him, ready to spell out the charity’s aims and efforts, and neatly inserted herself in front of him, avoiding an undignified head-on collision by the skin of her teeth, waving the collecting tin and leaving the explanations until she’d got her breath back.
But, staring up at six feet plus of devastating masculine beauty, she felt that by some freak of nature her lungs and breath would for evermore be strangers. He was the most fantastically handsome man she had ever seen or was ever likely to. Slightly wind-rumpled and rain-spangled dark-as-midnight hair above a pair of penetrating golden eyes had what she could only describe as a totally mesmeric effect.
It was so strange to find herself completely tongue-tied. It had never happened before. Great-Aunt Edith always said she would be able to talk her way out of a prison cell, should she ever be so unfortunate as to find herself locked up in one.
Her smile wobbled and faded. Transfixed, she could only stare, her water-clear grey eyes sliding to his wide, sensual mouth as he spoke. His voice was very slightly accented, making her skin prickle and shivers take up what felt like permanent residence in her spine.
‘You appear to be young and relatively fit,’ he opined flatly. ‘I suggest you try working for a living.’
Sidestepping her after that quelling put-down, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, he walked away. Behind her, Lily heard someone say, ‘I heard that! Want me to go and give him a slapping?’
‘Meg!’ The spell broken, her wits returning, Lily swung round to face her old schoolfriend. At almost six foot—towering a good ten inches above Lily’s slight frame—Meg was a big girl in all directions. No one messed with her—especially when she was wearing an expression that promised retribution!
Her cheeks dimpling, Lily giggled. ‘Forget it. He obviously thought I was a beggar.’ A rueful glance at her worn old dufflecoat, shabby cord trousers and unlovely trainers confirmed that totally understandable conjecture. ‘All I lack is a cardboard box and a dog on a piece of string!’
‘All you lack,’ Meg asserted witheringly, ‘is some sense! Twenty-three years old, bright as a button, and still working for next to nothing!’
For nothing, these days, Lily silently corrected her friend’s assessment of her financial situation. ‘It’s worth it,’ she stated without hesitation. She might not have the most glamorous or financially rewarding job in the world, but it made up for that in spades in the satisfaction stakes.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Unconvinced, Meg took her arm in a grip only an all-in wrestler could hope to escape from. ‘Come on. Coffee. My treat.’
Five minutes later Lily had put the bad-tempered stranger and the weird effect he’d had on her out of her mind. She soaked in the welcome warmth of Ye Olde Copper Kettle at one of its tiny tables, cluttered with doilies, a menu penned in glorious copperplate, and a vase of unconvincing artificial tulips. She placed the collecting tin with its smiley face on the edge of the table and removed her sodden woolly hat, revealing flattened, dead straight caramel-coloured hair. Her triangular face lit up as the stout elderly waitress advanced with a burdened tray, and she sprang to her feet to help unload cups, sugar bowl, coffee pot and cream jug, asking, ‘How’s your grandson?’
‘On the mend, thanks. Out of hospital. His dad said that if he so much as looks at another motorbike he’ll skin him alive!’
‘Teach him to treat country lanes like a racetrack,’ Meg put in dourly, earning a sniff from the waitress, who otherwise ignored her, smiling at Lily, nudging the collecting tin a fraction away from the edge of the table.
‘Not good collecting weather! This place has been like a morgue all morning. But I’ll be at your jumble sale next week if I can get time off.’
Lily’s piquant face fell as she watched the older woman depart. The twice-yearly jumble sale, held to raise funds for Life Begins, looked like being a washout. She voiced her concern to Meg. ‘This is a small town, and there’s only so often you can recycle unwanted clothes, books and knick-knacks. So far donations have been poor—mostly stuff that everyone’s seen and left behind before.’
‘I might be able to help you there.’ Meg poured coffee into the dainty china cups. ‘You know Felton Hall’s just been sold?’
‘So?’ Lily took a sip of the excellent coffee. The Hall, situated a couple of miles further on from her great-aunt’s cottage, had been on the market since old Colonel Masters had died, six months earlier. It was the first she’d heard of the sale, but Meg ought to know, working as she did for a branch of a nationwide estate agents based in the nearest large town. ‘How does that help me?’
‘Depends if you’ve got the bottle to get up there before the house clearance people get their feet over the threshold.’ Meg grinned, vigorously stirring four spoonsful of sugar into her cup. ‘The contents were sold along with the property. The Colonel’s only son works in the City—probably owns a penthouse apartment, all functional minimalism, as befits a high-flying bachelor—so he had no interest in his dad’s heavy old-fashioned stuff. And the new owner will want rid of it. So if you smile sweetly you might get your hands on some half-decent bits and bobs for that jumble sale. Worst-case scenario is they shut the door in your face!’
Paolo Venini parked the Lexus in front of the latest addition to his personal property portfolio and eyed the Georgian façade of Felton Hall with satisfaction. Situated on ten acres of scenic, nicely wooded countryside, it was ideal for the ultra-exclusive country house hotel he had in mind.
All he had to do to start the ball rolling was get the county preservation people on side. The initial meeting was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. It should go his way. He had minutely detailed plans for the interior conversion to hand, drawn up by the best listed building architect in the country. Only he wouldn’t be around to head the meeting himself.
His sensual mouth compressed he let himself in through the imposing main door. He was edgy. Not a state of mind he allowed, as a rule. His adored mother was the only living soul who could breach his iron control, and late last night her doctor had phoned to tell him that she had collapsed. Hospitalised, she was undergoing tests, and he would be kept closely informed. The moment his PA from his central London office arrived he’d head back to Florence to be with his frail parent.
Never lacking for life’s luxuries, nevertheless she’d had a rough ride. Losing her husband, father of her two sons, ten years ago had left her bereft. Losing her eldest son and her daughter-in-law Rosa in a tragic road accident a year ago had almost finished her. Antonio had been thirty-six, two years Paolo’s senior. Eschewing the family merchant bank, he’d been a brilliant lawyer with a glittering career in front of him—and what had made it even worse was the fact that Rosa had been eight weeks pregnant with the grandchild his mother had longed for.
Madre’s talk—once she’d got over the initial shock of the tragedy—was now centred around Paolo’s need to marry and provide an heir. Her desire to see him married. His duty to provide her with grandchildren to carry on the name and inherit the vast family estates.
Much as he aimed to please her, giving her his attention, his care, his filial love, it was a duty he had no wish to fulfil. Been there, done that. One embarrassingly disastrous engagement, from which he’d emerged with egg on his face, and one marriage that had lasted a mere ten months. One month of blinkered honeymoon bliss followed by nine of increasingly bitter disillusionment.
He would like to give his parent what she wanted, see her sad eyes light with happiness, watch the smile he knew the news of his imminent marriage would bring, but everything in him rebelled against going down that road again.
Unconsciously his frown deepened, lines slashing between the golden glitter of his eyes as he entered the vast kitchen regions, searching for the makings of a scratch lunch. Penny Fleming should have been here by now. He’d phoned his London PA first thing, instructing her to set out for Felton Hall immediately, having packed enough for a few days. He couldn’t leave until he knew she was here and fully briefed about tomorrow’s meeting.
Aware that an ear-blistering tirade was building on the tip of his tongue, ready to be launched at Miss Fleming’s head the moment she crossed the threshold, he scotched the idea of lunch and took a carton of orange juice from the haphazardly stocked fridge. After he’d left the solicitor’s this morning he should have hit the shops for something more appealing than the pack of dodgy-looking tomatoes and a lump of pale, plastic-wrapped cheese that looked as unappetising as it undoubtedly was, which he’d misguidedly purchased from a service station on the drive up here yesterday evening.
Well, Penny Fleming would just have to shop for her own needs—if she ever got her butt up here! He slammed the fridge door closed with a force which would have sent the thing through the wall in a house less solidly built, then expelled a long breath.
Edginess brought about by his frail parent’s collapse, his need to be with her, his frustration at having to hang around, had already made him even more cutting then was usual when that beggar had jumped in front of him. He’d have to make an effort not to read the full riot act to his PA when she finally turned up.
Trouble was, his temper was never sweetened by delay, by less than immediate and superhuman effort in those he employed, or by fools and layabouts!
It was worth a try. As Meg had said, the new owner could only shut the door in her face!
Easing the ancient Mini out onto the lane, Lily waved to her Great-Aunt Edith, who was watching from the window, and set off down the tangle of narrow country lanes for Felton Hall.
Concern for her elderly relative wiped the cheery smile from her face as she steered into the first bend. Many years ago Edith had started the charity—just a small local concern—organising bring and buys, jumble sales, writing begging letters to local bigwigs, setting out her aims. She had relied on volunteers—especially Alice Dunstan, who had meticulously kept their accounts. Now Alice had left the area, which meant the accounts were in a mess and funds were dismally low. The people carrier—bought second hand, courtesy of a legacy from a well-wisher—was due for a major service and MOT, and the Mini was clapped out. The insurance bill was due—they couldn’t operate without that—and she simply didn’t know where the money was coming from.
And, worse than that, for the first time in her eighty years Edith had admitted she was feeling her age. The indefatigable spirit was fading. She was even talking of being forced into closing the operation down.
Lily set her jaw. Not if she could help it! She owed her great-aunt everything. It was she who had taken her in after her mother had died when her father, claiming that he couldn’t cope with a fractious eighteen-month-old, had handed her over to his departed wife’s only living relative and done a bunk, never to be heard of again. The old lady who had legally adopted her, given her love and a happy, secure, if rather old-fashioned childhood was owed her very best efforts.
If the Hall offered rich pickings next Saturday’s event would be a success, and the hurdle of the insurance bill could be jumped. Lily’s natural optimism took over, and she put her foot down, but had to stamp on the brakes as she rounded the bend, sliding in the mud to avoid running into the back of a shiny new Ford that was all but blocking the narrow lane.
Clutching the wheel with white-knuckled hands, Lily watched the driver’s door open. A smartly suited thirty-something woman emerged and hurried towards her, her beautifully made-up face a mixture of hope and anxiety.
Anxiety won as Lily wound down her window. ‘Oh—I hoped—I’ve been here for ages. My boss will be waiting and he doesn’t do waiting! Roadworks on the motorway, then I got lost—took the wrong turn out of Market Hallow—and then I got this wretched puncture! And, to cap it all, I left in such a hurry I forgot my mobile, so I can’t let him know what’s happening. He’ll kill me!’
The poor woman looked on the verge of hysterics, and her boss—whoever he was—sounded foul! Hiding a grin, Lily scrambled out of her old car. This elegantly clad secretary-type had obviously hoped for a burly man to happen along. Her hopes must have taken a nosedive when she was confronted by a short skinny female!
‘No worries.’ Lily let her grin show. ‘I’ll soon get you going again.’
‘Oh—are you sure?’ she asked, not sounding too convinced.
‘Open the boot,’ Lily offered firmly. To save on garage bills she did most of the vehicle maintenance herself, and had gone to evening classes to learn how.
Ten minutes later the wheel had been replaced with the spare, and the front of her relatively smart belted raincoat was covered in mud—ditto her hands and best shoes.
The morning’s driving rain had been replaced by a miserable drizzle, so she wasn’t soaked to the skin as she had been earlier. But her hair was hanging in rats’ tails and she must look as if she’d been mud-wrestling! And she’d been at such pains to smarten herself up for her encounter with the new owner of the Hall!
But it was worth it when she was on the receiving end of a huge grin of gratitude. ‘I can’t thank you enough! You’ve saved my life! All I can say is I hope someone comes to your rescue if you ever need it!’
Finding her slight shoulders grasped, and a kiss planted on both cheeks, Lily could only grin as the woman drove away, then returned to her own car to scrub as much of the mud as she could from her hands and shoes with the few tissues left in the box. But there was nothing she could do about the awful state of her raincoat.
Hopefully, her unlovely appearance wouldn’t have the new owner slamming the door in her face. On the whole people were responsive to good causes. On which strengthening thought, she turned into the long, tree-lined driveway to Felton Hall, her spirits rising when she saw the stranded woman’s car parked beside a top-of-the-range Lexus, then wobbling as she recalled how the distraught female had said things that made her boss sound like a monster!
But she wasn’t going to back away now. She grasped the iron bell-pull and gave a decisive tug.
Having waved aside Penny Fleming’s excuses, Paolo Venini had handed her the architect’s folder and the other papers she needed to review before the next day’s meeting. He had almost finished succinctly briefing her when the ancient doorbell clanged discordantly. ‘See who that is and get rid of them!’
Pacing the book-lined study, he glanced at his watch. The bank’s private jet was on standby. It would take him roughly an hour to reach the airport—less if he really put his foot down. What was keeping the woman? How long could it take to open a door and tell whoever was standing there to go away?
He had all the instincts of a high-achiever, and aggression in the face of tardiness and delay was one of them. It drew his dark brows down in a frown, which deepened as a conciliatory-looking Penny Fleming emerged from the doorway with that grubby beggar-girl in tow!
Exasperated, Paolo drew in a deep breath, about to tell his usually robotically efficient PA that unless she got her act together she would be fired, and to remember that he didn’t give that warning twice. But, no doubt to forestall the expected verbal onslaught, she rushed in.
‘This is Lily. She works for a local charity. Is there anything she could take for a jumble sale?’
Madonna diavola! He was beset by fools! And the creature he’d clearly mistaken for a beggar this morning looked like a charity case herself!
But he was not an ungenerous man. He gave handsomely to many worthy causes.
He addressed the scrawny, mud-stained female. ‘What is the charity?’
Lily swallowed. This was the drop-dead gorgeous guy who had had such a weird effect on her this morning. He might be fantastic to look at, but, boy, did those eyes turn into shards of gold ice as he looked at her! He probably had a heart of pure ice to match!
When Penny, as she’d named herself, had opened the door and listened to her request with evident sympathy, Lily’s confidence had soared. Especially when Penny informed her in a whisper that she believed her boss was indeed unlikely to want to keep the contents of the house, and one good turn deserved another so she’d see what she could do.
Lily could see he was impatient. That sensual mouth had compressed above a rock-solid jaw. He probably didn’t do patience either!
She answered belatedly, but as firmly as she could. ‘My great-aunt started Life Begins ten years ago. I help.’ Encouraged by the way Penny gave her elbow a squeeze, she ploughed on. ‘We help old people locally. Practical stuff, like shopping, cleaning, helping them stay in their own homes if they fall outside the social security net, driving—’
‘Basta! Enough.’ He slashed through the increasingly confident spiel. She had amazing eyes. Clear. Innocent. Honest. And the quickest way to get back to serious matters was to just let her have what she wanted. ‘Wait in the hall. When she is free, Miss Fleming will help you decide what’s suitable.’
Dismissed from The Presence. Heartfelt words of thanks tripped from her widely smiling mouth as she backed out of the room. But he wasn’t listening—was already turning to answer the phone that had begun to ring. Telling herself that she didn’t care, didn’t mind being got rid of as if she were a really insignificant and annoying irritant, Lily waited as directed. She had got what she’d come for. His permission to walk away with the sort of stuff that would persuade the punters to part with their hard-earned cash and put Life Begins in a slightly more viable financial position.
His eyes haunted, Paolo ended the call, ignored Penny Fleming’s ‘Are you all right, sir?’ and strode from the study, his mind made up.
There was only one thing to do. As always, when presented with a problem, his agile brain came up with the solution at the speed of light.
The consultant’s call had confirmed his worst fears—fears that gripped his heart in an icy fist. His mother didn’t have long to live. That had been the underlying message he’d picked up from behind the medical jargon. He would make her last hours on this earth happy. It was the least he could do.
And that scruffy charity worker would be stupid to turn down a decent donation in return for helping him out.
CHAPTER TWO
HAD he changed his mind? Lily questioned uneasily as, with her elbow held in a grip of steel, she was as good as frogmarched back into the study.
Had he suddenly decided she was up to no good, intent on emptying his house and making off with the proceeds in the name of some fictitious charity?
She certainly felt uncomfortably like a criminal as he curtly dismissed his PA and commanded her to ‘Sit!’ as if he were training a disobedient dog.
Lily’s face flushed scarlet. Who did he think he was? ‘Now, look here—’
But one killing flash of those golden eyes silenced her, had her obeying, perching on the edge of the chair in front of the huge desk. As if satisfied by her compliance, he strode to the other side, but didn’t sit. Just loomed.
He was looking at her as if she were some previously undiscovered life form. Lily squirmed.
‘Are you trustworthy?’
Taken aback, Lily gaped. So she was right—he thought she was a conwoman!
‘Well?’
Of all the nasty, ill-tempered, suspicious—! Affronted now, she lifted her pointed chin, her eyes cooling to glacial grey, and gave him a dignified reply. ‘Of course I’m trustworthy. I’ll only take what Penny says I may. And if you want to check my credentials—’
A slashing movement of one lean, long-fingered hand effectively silenced her again. ‘Take what you like. This isn’t about that. I want to know if, in return for a sizeable donation to your charity, you will allow me to use your name and keep silent about the transaction—now and in the future.’
Lily’s eyes widened in astonishment, her soft mouth dropping open. ‘Use my name?’ Staring at the forceful set of his jaw, those mesmerisingly beautiful eyes, the harsh slant of his cheekbones and the way his sensual mouth was clamped in irritation, she could only imagine he’d either gone mad or was embroiled in some dodgy scheme or other.
Whichever, she wanted no part of it! ‘What on earth for?’ she demanded, unconsciously aping her great-aunt’s stentorian tone—the tone used to great effect on the rare occasions when the forthright old lady was displeased.
One sable eyebrow rose in amazement that such imperious volume could issue from such a scrawny scrap of a thing. A disarming hint of a smile appeared, and two hands were expressively spread.
‘I don’t have time to go into detail. But last night my mother collapsed. Hospital tests reveal she has a brain tumour. The operation takes place the day after tomorrow. The prognosis isn’t good. In fact, it couldn’t be much worse,’ he announced heavily, the glittering gold of his magnificent eyes now shadowed by thickly fringed black lashes, deep lines scored on either side of his handsome mouth.
Lily got to her feet, instinctively leaning towards him, her voice soft, her huge eyes brimming with sympathy, seeking his. ‘Oh—poor you! You must be so worried! No wonder you’re in such a bad mood,’ she declared forgivingly. ‘But it’s amazing what surgeons can do these days. You mustn’t give up hope! Really you mustn’t!’
‘Spare me the platitudes.’ He shot her a look of brusque impatience. ‘Let’s cut to the chase.’
So he couldn’t take sympathy, Lily decided. That figured. He probably couldn’t give it, either. And that reminded her that she still didn’t have a clue what he’d been on about when he’d offered a donation in return for the use of her name. She flopped down again. Why her name, for pity’s sake?
‘My mother’s dearest wish is to see me married and producing an heir to the family wealth. That I show no signs of doing so is a source of deep distress to her and I regret that,’ he supplied flatly, ‘but for reasons which are none of your business marriage is a state I have no desire to enter. However, to make what might well be her last days happy I intend to tell her I’ve fallen in love and am engaged to a woman I met in England.’
For a long moment Lily couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You’d lie to your own mother! How immoral can you get?’
He shot her a look of withering contempt. ‘It doesn’t please me to do it, but it would please her. That, and only that, is the point.’
Those stunning features were riven with pain, and Lily’s soft heart melted. ‘I suppose I can see why you think a white lie’s forgivable in the circumstances,’ she offered falteringly, not quite sure she totally agreed. But the poor man was hurting. He clearly thought the world of his very ill mother, and the awful news had shaken him. He wasn’t thinking straight, hence his crazy plan.
‘Listen, have you considered the possibility that the operation might well be a success?’ she asked softly, pointing out something she was sure couldn’t have occurred to him. ‘Then you’d have to tell more lies, say you’d broken the engagement. She’d want to know why—and she’d be even more upset.’ She noted the ferocious frown line between his eyes, but continued understandingly, ‘I expect you’re in shock after that news, and that’s stopping you from thinking logically.’
Paolo gritted his strong teeth. She was seriously irritating him. Obviously a creature with the attention span of a gad-fly—veering from bristling moral outrage to saccharine triteness in the flicker of her impressively long eyelashes.
When he put forward a proposition he expected the recipient to sit quietly, hear him out and reach a conclusion based on the facts as offered. Most typically his conclusion.
A slash of colour washed his strong cheekbones as he spelled out through gritted teeth, ‘Without the operation she will die. Fact. With it, the chances of her pulling through are slim. Fact. She is seventy years old and not strong at the best of times,’ he imparted grimly. ‘My mind’s made up. All you have to do is agree to my request.’
‘I’m not comfortable with it,’ Lily confided earnestly. ‘If you really do intend to do this couldn’t you invent a name? Any name?’
Resisting the impulse to pick her up and throw her out, he confessed austerely, ‘I deal in facts and figures, not make-believe. A real woman’s name I would remember. A name I made up might slip my memory in the grip of emotion.’ Not something he was overjoyed to admit to even to himself, let alone this hugely annoying creature. He shot a dark look at his watch and demanded lethally, ‘Well?’
Lily took a deep breath. He was clearly set on going through with it. Nothing she’d said had stood a chance of changing his mind. And it had touched her deeply when he’d made that remark about worrying he’d forget a made-up name if he got emotional. His conversations with his mother prior to her operation would be highly emotional for both of them.
Shrugging her slim shoulders resignedly, she gave in. ‘OK. I agree.’
‘And total secrecy?’
‘Of course.’ How could he ask that? ‘It’s not something I’d remotely want to have known!’
‘And?’ Irritated beyond endurance by her holier-than-thou attitude towards what was, after all, a kindness to a desperately ill woman, he grated. ‘Your name? Lily what?’
‘Oh!’ Her face flamed. He must think she was an idiot! ‘It’s Frome. Lily Frome. Shouldn’t you write that down?’ she suggested, as he just stared at her, making her feel ridiculously squirmy inside.
‘No need. As I told you, I never forget facts. How tall are you?’
‘Why?’
‘Because Madre will ask what you look like,’ he grated through his teeth, as if talking to a child with the IQ of a snail.
‘Five foot one and a half,’ Lily muttered, as he withdrew a chequebook from one of the desk drawers and began to write.
He slid the cheque over the desktop, his eyes lifting as he enumerated, ‘Big grey eyes, small nose…’ he drew the line at voicing that, come to think of it, she had a totally luscious pink mouth. ‘Hair the colour of—caramella.’ He almost smiled before inborn practicality and self-possession kicked in. ‘Arrivederci, Lily Frome.’ He extracted car keys from the pocket of his beautifully tailored suit trousers. ‘I have a flight to catch. Miss Fleming’s somewhere around. She will look after you.’
And he was gone. Leaving Lily staring at his cheque for five thousand pounds and wallowing in the sense of unreality which was swamping her, because the happenings of the last twenty minutes were totally weird.
Two weeks later, at just after ten o’clock, Lily gave her last passenger a cheery ‘Goodnight!’ after seeing her safely inside her home—one of a pair of former labourer’s cottages—and clambered back into the people carrier, expelling a sigh of exhaustion.
It had been a long day, following a long night spent trying to put the accounts in order. She started the engine and set off through the dark lanes for home. The usual sort of day. Organising the two willing volunteers, visiting the housebound, doing chores they couldn’t manage themselves, drinking tea and chatting, driving old Mr Jenkins to his doctor’s appointment.
It was worth it, though. Even if ferrying eleven senior citizens with no transport of their own to the monthly whist drive in Market Hallow’s sports centre and back to their homes again was time consuming, the pleasure the old people got from the outing, from socialising with friends over tea and biscuits, made every minute special. After all, one of the charity’s main aims was to alleviate loneliness and isolation.
And thanks to Paolo Venini’s generous cheque—plus the jumble sale, which had raised a record level of funds—they were managing to carry on. At least the financial crisis was over for the time being. But they would have to advertise for more volunteers in the parish magazine. She and their two part-time volunteers couldn’t do everything.
Shelving that downbeat observation, she wondered how Paolo’s mother was, if the operation had been a success, and immediately conjured up an image of his spectacular, totally unforgettable features. He often occupied her thoughts—which was natural, she excused herself. Without that strange encounter the charity would probably have folded.
And it was not, definitely not because she fancied him, as Penny Fleming had dryly commented when, driven by something more than mere nosiness, Lily had bombarded her with questions about her boss.
‘Females have a habit of going weak at the knees around him,’ Penny had cautioned. ‘But there’s no mileage in it. He’s the take ’em and leave ’em type. With one broken engagement behind him he upped and married a French actress, but got rid of her before their first anniversary. I don’t know the ins and outs, but my guess is he was bored. That’s my opinion anyway, because no woman’s lasted more than a few weeks since then. His dumped wife died of an overdose a couple of months later, poor thing. If you fancy him you’re on a hiding to nothing, believe me!’
‘I don’t fancy him!’ Chilled by that last revelation, Lily had protested tartly. ‘In any case, I’ll never set eyes on him again!’
The obvious truth of that state of affairs had left her feeling oddly regretful—a feeling that stubbornly persisted. Which was why when, yawning widely, she finally let herself into the cottage and found Paolo Venini sitting with Great-Aunt Edith in front of the parlour fire, her heart felt as if it was exploding within her under-endowed breast.
‘Miss Frome—’ He rose to his feet, spectacular in a beautifully tailored pale grey suit, crisp white shirt and dark grey tie, the image of the highly successful merchant banker detailed on the internet. Handsome, powerful, charismatic. And heartless?
Her knees weakening shamefully, swamped by the effect he always seemed to have on her, she got out thinly, ‘What are you doing here?’ and received her great-aunt’s curt rebuke.
‘Manners, Lily. Manners! Our benefactor has introduced himself to me and has been waiting for you.’ She heaved her solid tweed and twin-setted bulk out of the armchair. ‘Signor Venini has a proposal which, in my firm opinion, is the generous answer to all Life Begin’s future difficulties. Listen to what he has to say. It will mean changes.’ She smiled at the tall Italian. ‘But then nothing stays the same. Onward and forward—or stagnate!’
On which typical rallying cry the old lady excused herself and retired for the night, leaving Lily wondering what the strictly principled lady would say if she knew exactly why their ‘benefactor’ had made that hefty donation.
And his new proposal—whatever it was—would have heavy strings attached. Strings her upright great-aunt would have no knowledge of! If the hard-nosed banker gave he would undoubtedly want something in return.
‘So?’ Suspicion glinted in her eyes, and her slender frame was rigid—until he smiled. It was like a bolt of lightning, setting up a tidal wave of tingling reaction. His impossible sexiness, sinful sexiness, took her breath away, and made her deeply ashamed of reacting like all those other gullible females Penny had talked about.
‘We shall sit,’ he announced, with infuriatingly cool calm, looking incredibly exotic against the old-fashioned background of the shabby parlour with its Victorian clutter.
Sinking into the armchair her elderly relative had recently vacated—not because he’d told her to but because in his vicinity her legs felt disgracefully wobbly—she found her breath hard to catch, because his sheer presence seemed to suck all the air out of the room. His gaze held her mesmerised as he took the chair on the opposite side of the dying fire, leaning back, elbows on the arms, lean hands steepled in front of his handsome mouth, those golden eyes still smiling with speech-stealing warmth at her.
‘Your great-aunt has quite the reputation,’ he stated. ‘A formidable woman with admirable charitable ethics, yes? Tirelessly working for the benefit of others over the years. She now deserves to rest. Yes, again?’
The softly accented flow of words reached a pause. He was obviously waiting for her response, her full agreement. Lily pressed her lips together. She would be a fool to trust a purring tiger!
Paolo lowered his hands, dropped them loosely between his knees and leaned forward. His slow smile was decidedly dangerous.
Lily’s tension level racked up a few more notches. He didn’t have the look of a recently bereaved loving son. Her suspicions hardened.
‘Nothing to say? As I recall, on our previous encounter you were—to put it politely—remarkably chatty.’
Gabby, he had mentally named her. In less fraught circumstances he might even have found her chatter amusing. But now she was as animated as a stone, her small triangular face pale, dark smudges of fatigue beneath wary grey eyes, her slight body, clad in well-worn denims and a tired-looking fleece, tensely held. Her hair, scraped back in an unflattering ponytail, made her look younger than what he now knew to be her twenty-three years.
He gave her an encouraging smile, confident that, as always, he had reached the right decision and that, having done so, his strength of character and dominant will would prevail.
In receipt of another of those nerve-tingling smiles, Lily felt her mouth run dry, but she finally managed, ‘Why are you here?’
‘Of course—the proposal I put to your great-aunt,’ he slid in smoothly. ‘You may not know it, but I, both personally and corporately, donate huge sums to worthwhile charities. Now, Life Begins is worthwhile, but it is seriously underfunded and understaffed. You stagger from one financial crisis to another, and your great-aunt is no longer young enough to do much. You rely on two part-time volunteers. The rest you somehow manage yourself—cleaning, shopping, driving the old and infirm to hospital appointments, organising outings. Need I go on?’
Lily’s chin firmed. Penny must have told him all this stuff. In the short time that the older woman had been at Felton Hall they’d become very friendly, and she’d told her a lot about the charity.
‘You’ve been talking to Penny,’ she stated flatly.
Was he about to offer to make another donation? Her nerves skittered. What would he ask of her in return? Or was her tiredness making her paranoid? Perhaps he genuinely wanted to help and there would be no unpleasant strings—like making her agree to be part of a lie. He’d already said he donated generously to many worthwhile charities…
He agreed. ‘Yes, I talked to Miss Fleming on my return to London a couple of days ago. Briefly. She was highly impressed with what you do. But in the interim I’ve been camping out at the Hall and making enquiries locally of my own.’
She began to relax and feel sorry that she’d misjudged him. Especially when he went on, ‘You need proper funding to pay a reasonable salary to a locally based fundraiser and organiser whose job would include recruiting volunteers. And you need a small local office where this administrative work—which I would fund on an annual basis—would be done. Run properly, the charity could even begin to expand its area of operation. This is the proposal I put to your aunt. She couldn’t have been more grateful.’
‘It would be the answer to her prayers!’ Lily confessed, forgiving him entirely for metaphorically twisting her arm when he’d offered that first donation.
It would be the answer to her own prayers, too. She loved the work, but hated the never-ending anxiety about funding and fitting everything in, the constant fear that they’d have to stop operations and let all those sweet oldies down.
‘You’re very generous,’ Lily said fervently, her huge eyes glittering with emotion-fuelled moisture. Then she reminded herself that she should be generous, too, and make belated enquiries about his sick mother—even gently ask if he had spoken to her about his fake engagement or whether he’d thought better of it.
‘Generosity has its price, unfortunately,’ Paolo drawled levelly, getting to his feet.
Suddenly he wasn’t comfortable about this, but needs must. He had always been protective of his mother—even more so since the death of Antonio and her visibly increasing frailty. And his mother’s needs came before his own.
‘Why am I not surprised?’ Her heart sinking, Lily curled her legs beneath her and shuffled back in the chair as far as she could go, distancing herself from his smothering, dominant presence. ‘I might have known you operate on the maxim that there’s no such thing as a free lunch—so what’s your price?’ she muttered disparagingly.
‘Two weeks of your life,’ he came back, smooth as silk. ‘As I’d hoped, the news of my engagement gave my mother great happiness. Enough, indeed, to give her a new lease on life. She’s made steady progress since the operation that her consultant warned had only a slight chance of success. I firmly believe that the news of my engagement enabled her to pull through. Now, naturally, she is insistent that she meet my fiancée.’
‘And you want me to—’ Appalled by what he was suggesting, Lily planted her feet on the floor and sprang to attention. ‘No way! Look, I’m truly glad your mother’s doing well, but I did warn you what could happen if you lied!’ And then she wished she’d stayed scrunched up in the armchair, because he was suddenly close. Far too close. He was so beautiful he made her feel giddy. How unfair that such a prize specimen of Mediterranean manhood should be so devious. And have such an effect on her!
She was an adult—a grounded adult—not some silly teenager drooling over some unattainable pop star, for goodness’ sake!
Viewing her flushed features, the over-bright eyes, Paolo responded wryly, ‘You gave warning of an outcome that fills me with joy. I am not about to regret it. Now—’ His hands parted his suit jacket and slid into the side pockets of his elegant trousers, drawing Lily’s fascinated attention to the sleek narrowness of his hips. She swallowed roughly and he continued, ‘You know what I have proposed regarding the future well-being of Life Begins. In return I shall want you to spend a couple of days in London while I set the ball in motion. Then accompany me to Florence, where you will act the part of a newly engaged woman, satisfy my mother, and then return here.’
‘Get one of your leggy model-types to do it!’ Lily shot back at him, recalling with ire the serial simpering arm-candy blondes pictured clinging to him when she’d avidly scoured the internet for information about him, driven by a curiosity she hadn’t been able to control.
His fascinatingly sexy mouth indented slightly, fabulous lashes lowering over the golden impact of his eyes. ‘What a short memory you have,’ he drawled, adding insult to injury when he added, ‘No way does a leggy blonde fit the description of a vertically challenged toffee-head. I described Lily Frome, my brand-new fiancée, down to her small nose—remember?’
Outraged by his unflattering description of her, Lily fought to restrain the impulse to hit him. The words blistered her tongue as she got out, ‘I won’t do it! Go—and don’t come back!’ Adding, in case he wasn’t fully on message, ‘And take your funding offer with you—I won’t be paid to act out a lie to a trusting old lady!’
‘As you wish.’ Paolo dipped his dark head just briefly, his strong features giving nothing away. He knew precisely when to press a point and when to stand back and wait until, inevitably, his will prevailed.
He walked towards the door, turned. ‘If you’re happy to disappoint your great-aunt and let down the people who rely on your help, so be it.’ And he left her.
The now fuming bundle of scrawny womanhood needed time to cool down.
CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD taken only one restless night for her to reluctantly recognise that by turning down Paolo Venini’s offer of funding because of her principles she was being pretty selfish. An uncomfortable reality that had made sleep impossible.
When she had arrived down for breakfast, drained and bleary-eyed, her great-aunt had clinched the matter by asking, with the eager chirpiness that had been missing for many months, ‘So, what did you think of Signor Venini’s proposal of funding? I told him that I, personally, was overwhelmed with gratitude, but that the final decision had to be yours, because of late I’ve been something of a passenger.’
‘Nonsense! Without you, and the need you saw, Life Begins wouldn’t even exist.’
Lily had been worried over her elderly relative’s recent decline into a state of fretful anxiety. She’d tried to keep their financial problems from her, but the old lady was anything but a fool.
‘And without you it would have ceased to exist,’ Edith pointed out, forecasting, ‘Even with all the hard work you put in it still wouldn’t have been too long before we would have had to concede defeat—I may be ancient but I’m not senile!’ Sitting at the breakfast table, she poured tea and unfolded her linen napkin briskly. ‘Don’t hover, child. Eat your toast. I hope you were properly grateful to Signor Venini—with him as a benefactor we can go from strength to strength. I haven’t felt less troubled for many months. I feel ten years younger this morning.’
So that meant two old ladies had been given reinvigorating hope—Signora Venini and Great-Aunt Edith—and Life Begins would continue to help those unable to help themselves. All courtesy of Paolo Venini’s blackmailing tactics!
Driving to the Hall, swallowing her pride along with her conscience, was the hardest thing Lily had ever had to do. But stay on the high moral ground, as everything in her prompted, and she’d be letting so many people down.
Opening the main door before she’d even had time to cut the engine—almost as if he’d been waiting for her—Paolo received her change of tune without the merest hint of surprise—as if he’d fully expected that, too—and only the very slightest dip of his sleek dark head informed her that he had actually registered her words.
‘Come. There is much to be done.’ Moving ahead of her, his stride long and loose, he led the way to the study. Dressed this morning in beautifully cut chinos and a midnight-blue cashmere sweater that hugged the impressive width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist like a second skin, he was super-spectacular, and—contrarily—made her wish she’d taken some trouble with her own appearance. Not rushed out barefaced, dressed in her badly fitting cords and shabby fleece that she usually wore when working.
Vastly annoyed with herself for that unwelcome and foolish thought, she sat herself down when his abrupt hand gesture indicated the seat in front of the desk. She was beneath his notice. If she was dressed in jewel-encrusted satin with a crown on her head he still wouldn’t see her.
And why the heck should she want him to notice her? Stupid! He might be gorgeous to look at, but he was rotten inside. A man who would lie to his own mother, a blackmailer, a womaniser, with a chunk of ice where his heart was supposed to be. Any woman who fell in love with him was doomed to bitter heartbreak or worse—as proven by what had happened to the wife who had begun to bore him!
Seated, his hand near his cellphone, his tone was clipped as he told her, ‘The previous owner’s housekeeper and handyman husband occupied a spacious conversion in what used to be a stable block here. It will provide adequate living and office space for the fundraiser/organiser I intend to put in place. I’m interviewing two possibles tomorrow.’
‘You arranged that before you knew I’d agree to be blackmailed?’ Her face an outraged pink, Lily could have slapped him for his out-and-out arrogance—for the wealth and clout that ensured he could make things happen just because he wanted them to.
A slight upward drift of one strong ebony brow dismissed her outburst, and he continued blandly. ‘You will give me the relevant details of your part-time volunteers—names, addresses, phone numbers—and I’ll persuade them to work full-time while you’re away. Make your diary available to me. I’ll drop by and convince your great-aunt that you need a short break. A chauffeur will pick you up at five to drive you to my London apartment, where I will join you in two days’ time—the night before we fly to Florence. I suggest you go home and pack.’
‘Can’t.’
Everything was happening at breakneck speed. Lily felt as if she were being dragged by wild horses over un-charted territory, so it came as a powerful relief to find herself able to put a stop to his dictatorial handling of the situation. She met his eyes, iced-over gold, then tilted her small pointed chin at a stubborn angle.
‘I’m due at Maisie Watkins’ house. She’s recently had a hip replacement operation, so I walk her dog every morning and do a bit of cleaning for her. Then there’s other stuff. I’ll be working all day. There’s absolutely no need for me to kick my heels in your London pad when I could be here doing something useful!’ She almost added So there! but thought better of it, because he was looking at her as if she were an irritating fly that needed swatting.
‘There’s every need,’ he countered grimly, penetrating eyes sweeping with barely veiled distaste over her scraped-back hair and down to her scruffy trainers.
‘Madre is not simple-minded. She would never believe I plan to marry a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp,’ he condemned toughly, determined not to be swayed by the momentary flash of hurt in those clear grey eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped, as if she were trying to hide herself in that awful thing she wore above a pair of trousers that wouldn’t look out of place on a farm labourer.
‘I don’t mean to be unkind.’ The words, softly spoken, came out of nowhere. Took him by surprise. He breathed in deeply, got himself back on track and continued with chilling bite. ‘I do know what I’m doing—believe me. To that end I’ve arranged for a personal shopper to call for you at my London address at ten tomorrow morning. She has carte blanche to kit you out in the kind of clothes Madre will expect to see on the woman I’ve chosen to be my wife. Similarly, an appointment has been made for you with a top hairstylist.’ He swept up the phone, dismissing her. ‘Whatever else you have to do today, be ready to leave at five. You can see yourself out.’ And he began to key in numbers.
So here she was, in the guestroom of Paolo’s spacious London penthouse apartment, ears pinned back for the sound of his arrival, with her hair expertly styled into a sleek jaw-length bob, two horrendously expensive suitcases packed with horrendously expensive designer gear which had been virtually forced on her at the side of the bed, and his jibe about her looking like a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp still rankling.
What woman would go out made-up to the nines and wearing her best gear to walk a big unruly dog, wash floors and clean windows and stuff? Or were the women who entered the rarefied atmosphere of his life always perfectly groomed, elegantly attired—looking decorative their only justification for taking up space on the planet? Probably!
Her heart jumped as her straining ears caught the sound of footfalls. He’d arrived.
It was a big apartment, all polished hardwood floors, stark white walls and the minimum of furniture. Leather and steel stuff, nothing in the way of softness. Not at all homey—like the man himself.
Her heart-rate quickened as she heard him draw closer. He was pausing outside her room now.
A tap on the door.
She resisted the impulse to scramble beneath the feather-light duvet and pretend to be asleep, because she wasn’t a coward and he was only human.
She watched him enter. Formidably handsome, dressed in a dark grey business suit, he was every inch the incredibly wealthy banker—one of the world’s movers and shakers. She had to remind herself he was also a heartless womaniser who only had to flick a finger to have the world’s most beautiful females flocking, each and every one of them believing she could hold his interest for longer than the last, each and every one of them getting the elbow when coming up against his low boredom threshold. And his boredom was utterly inevitable according to Penny Fleming, who should know.
‘Madonna diavola! Do you have to look like a terrified rabbit?’ Broad shoulders rigid, he strode into the room. If his supposed future wife was going to look as if the devil himself had come to get her every time she saw him, then the deception that was necessary to his mother’s continued good progress was dead in the water!
She’d wondered if he would notice her new hairstyle and comment. Of course he hadn’t. All he’d noticed about her was her resemblance to a rabbit! ‘You spook me!’ she confessed on a mumble, pulling the edges of the swamping bathrobe she’d found in the en suite bathroom closer together.
‘I? In what way?’
He looked genuinely puzzled, brows drawing together above those spectacular golden eyes, so she told him. ‘You’re like a steamroller squashing an ant. You want something. You get it. Never mind the objections of lesser beings! Feeling like an ant in your way is not fun.’
His expressive mouth twisted wryly. ‘I see.’
Not used to tiptoeing around the finer feelings of his employees, because they were paid handsomely to perform their duties and were well used to jumping when he said jump, he had seen no reason to treat Lily Frome any differently.
She—or her charity—was being paid to act the part of his fiancée for a short while, which, logically, made her his employee. But her reaction to him told him he was going to have to tread more carefully in what he could now see was a delicate situation. He must get her on board or the deception would fall flat on its face.
‘I’ll have to take care to make a detour around any ant that gets in my way.’
His slow smile was pure magic. Lily shivered. She hated the way he could affect her but, annoyingly, she didn’t seem able to do anything about it.
On the whole it was better for her equilibrium when he simply barked out his orders and dismissed her, she decided wretchedly. And when he asked, ‘Have you eaten?’ all she could do was dumbly shake her head.
‘Good.’ That heartbreaker smile flashed again. ‘I’ve ordered takeaway.’ He advanced, held out his hand. ‘Come.’
Looking pointedly away from that outstretched hand, because the temptation to slide her own into its lean, strong warmth was really intense, Lily muttered, ‘Not hungry,’ just as her empty stomach gave a betraying growl of protest. ‘And I’m not dressed,’ she added for good measure.
Carefully holding onto his patience, Paolo countered, smooth as cream, ‘Come as you are. It’s not a party! Besides, we need to talk. We’ve an early start, so it’s now or never, because I shall have to work on the flight out.’
He would think she was behaving ridiculously, Lily conceded. And she was. Ignoring his hand, she slid her legs out of the bed and made sure she was decently covered by the huge bathrobe. Lifting the skirts so she didn’t trip over the trailing length, she followed him out of the room and gave herself a pep talk.
Theirs was a business arrangement—a shady business arrangement, she reminded herself forcefully. She’d agreed to go along with it despite her reservations, so it was time she started to behave like an adult around him. They would have to talk things over—she certainly needed to know if the part-timers had proven willing to take over her work while she was away—and she was going to have to make herself stop having these attacks of juvenile silliness every time she looked at him.
Trouble was, he had the sort of magnetic sex appeal she had never encountered before, and that, combined with his staggering male beauty, was potent stuff. But she could discount that. Of course she could. Hormones and lust. What she knew of his character was more than enough to put those two evils back in their boxes.
As they approached the glass-topped table in the dining area, a uniformed waiter appeared from the clinically sterile kitchen. Another followed, pushing a trolley, and the table was already laid with silverware and sparkling crystal.
Lily’s eyes widened. This was Paolo’s idea of a takeaway?
The sudden and hastily suppressed urge to giggle made her feel as if her lungs were about to burst. For her, a takeaway was a rare treat consisting of cod and chips in a warm, greasy package, or foil cartons of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice from the local Chinese restaurant.
This—giant prawns with a delicate lemon sauce, slices of meltingly tender venison on a bed of wild mushrooms, a syllabub to die for—was obviously a wealthy man’s idea of a takeaway!
Too busy enjoying every mouthful, and reflecting on how the other half lived, Lily forgot the deceitful part she was expected to play during the coming two weeks for long enough to relax and ask, ‘Why champagne?’ She’d only tasted it once before, at a friend’s wedding, and hadn’t liked it. So this had to be something special because she’d already got through two glasses.
‘To celebrate the start of—’ He’d been about to say Our hopefully brief association but, recalling her rather thin skin, substituted ‘Of our mutually satisfactory business arrangement.’
He was leaning back in his seat and his eyes were gleaming in an almost sultry way, she registered, with a strange and unwelcome inner flutter, coming straight back down to earth with a thump.
She put her champagne flute down on the table with a clatter. ‘I don’t feel like celebrating. Not when our so-called business arrangement is based on a whopping lie.’
‘A white lie aimed to please a frail elderly lady,’ he reminded her, careful not to snap, as was his inclination when his judgement was questioned. ‘And you might be interested to hear that a certain Kate Johnson will be in place at the charity by the end of the month. She will take care of fundraising and day-to-day organisation. She has impeccable references, having worked as a fundraiser for a well-known charity based in Birmingham. Also, substantial funds have been placed in the charity’s account,’ he completed with cool precision.
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