everything in their path.
She’d never thought she’d be glad to see the house again, but, after nearly twenty minutes of driving, half-deafened, through the equivalent of a river, Casa Lupo’s solid bulk seemed, absurdly, like a beacon of hope instead of a prison.
High iron gates swung open on to a short drive leading to the main entrance where Eustacio waited anxiously in the shelter of a huge black umbrella.
He rushed forward as the jeep halted, holding the umbrella over Maddie as he escorted her into the house, bombarding her with a stream of Italian which left her floundering.
‘He is glad you are safe,’ the Count supplied drily as he followed her into a massive hallway with a wide marble staircase at the far end.
‘Oh,’ said Maddie, forcing a smile. ‘Grazie, Eustacio.’
‘He says too that Alfredo kisses your hands,’ he added.
‘Am I supposed to know who Alfredo is, or why he should want to do such a thing?’ she inquired tautly.
‘He is the father of Jolanda, now recovering at home. In the eyes of her parents, you are a heroine, Maddalena.’
‘Hardly that.’ She flushed.
‘Perhaps not,’ he returned silkily. ‘But let us leave them their illusions, mia cara.’ He beckoned and a sheepish Luisa came forward, and took charge of Maddie’s travel bag. ‘She will escort you to your new accommodation.’
‘Where this time? A dungeon?’ She extended her wrists. ‘Won’t I need handcuffs?’
‘A delicious thought which we might discuss in more detail later,’ he said softly and unpardonably, and her flush deepened hectically.
‘The only thing I wish to discuss with you, Count Valieri,’ she said between her teeth, ‘is the time of my flight back to London.’
And with all the dignity she could muster, she followed Luisa up the marble staircase, instinct telling her that he was watching her every step of the way. And warning her at the same time not to look back.
CHAPTER TEN
MADDIE FOLLOWED LUISA along the broad gallery, quivering with what she told herself was sheer temper, and nothing else.
Because he was not irresistible. That was what she had to keep telling herself. That was why she had to banish from her brain every one of those dangerous, intrusive memories, reminding her how his hands and mouth had swept her away to that endless moment of sweet, pulsating rapture.
She took a deep breath, clenching her hands in the pockets of her cut-offs. Yes, she’d behaved stupidly—in fact, unforgivably—earlier that day, but she was not about to disgrace herself a second time. And she had to stop beating herself up about it. Transfer her anger to him instead.
From now on, she told herself angrily, he could keep his questionable remarks, along with the smile in his eyes and its unspoken promise of future delight for the girl in Viareggio, or whatever other floozie might happen to take his fancy, as he seemed incapable of being faithful for even twenty-four hours.
And that was the end of it.
Her dungeon reference had not been serious, but after her escape, she’d expected to find herself shut up somewhere even more remote and twice as secure as the room with the doors had been.
Yet halfway along the gallery, Luisa had turned into a wide corridor and was briskly leading the way to a room at its end.
Maddie desperately tried to recall the Italian for ‘Where are we going?’ but without success. She really needed someone, she thought, to explain what was happening, even if it was in dodgy English with attitude.
‘Dov’e Domenica?’ she inquired. ‘Is she still...?’ She mimed someone throwing up.
Luisa shrugged and burst into a flood of incomprehensible speech, leaving Maddie none the wiser.
By this time they had reached the doors, and the girl flung them open and stood aside for Maddie to precede her into the room beyond.
She paused, catching her breath as she looked around her at a small but charming sitting room furnished with delicate sofas and chairs, all brocade-covered in blue, green and gold, grouped round a pretty marble fireplace, and a few elegant pieces of furniture including a writing desk at least two centuries old.
The walls were panelled in silk, and a cushioned seat ran the length of the long window.
I suppose this is more trompe l’oeil, and I’m really standing in a cupboard, Maddie thought, taking an uncertain step forward.
But the window, when she touched it, was the genuine article, looking down on to a formal garden, its geometric beds and gravelled paths now lit by a watery sun, making the stones and leaves sparkle.
She turned.