The Venetian Playboy's Bride
Шрифт:
‘You wear it,’ he called. ‘The sun is hot.’
She rammed it onto her head and leaned back, taking pleasure in the way the light illuminated his throat and the strong column of his neck, and touched off a hint of red in his hair. How intensely blue his eyes were, she thought, and how naturally they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. And he smiled easily. He was doing so now, his head on one side as though inviting her to share a joke, so that she couldn’t help joining in with his laughter.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked.
‘There?’ he asked with beguiling innocence. ‘Where?’
‘At my hotel.’
‘But you didn’t tell me which hotel.’
‘And you didn’t ask me. So how do we know we’re going in the right direction?’
His shrug was a masterpiece, asking if it really mattered. And it didn’t.
Dulcie pulled herself together. She was supposed to toss the hotel name at him, advertising her ‘wealth’. Instead she’d revelled in the magic of his company for—good heavens, an hour?
‘The Hotel Vittorio,’ she said firmly.
He didn’t react, but of course, he wouldn’t, she reasoned. A practised seducer would know better than to seem impressed.
‘It’s an excellent hotel, signorina,’ he said. ‘I hope you are enjoying it.’
‘Well, the Empress Suite is a little overwhelming,’ she said casually, just to drive the point home.
‘And very sad, for a lady alone,’ he pointed out. ‘But perhaps you have friends who’ll soon move into the second bedroom.’
‘You know the Empress Suite?’
‘I’ve seen the inside,’ Guido said vaguely. It was true. His friends from America regularly stayed there, and he’d downed many a convivial glass in those luxurious surroundings.
I’ll bet you’ve seen the inside, Dulcie thought, getting her cynicism back safely into place.
‘When your friends arrive you’ll feel better,’ he said.
‘There are no friends. I’m spending this vacation on my own.’ They were pulling in to the Vittorio’s landing stage, and he reached out to help her onto land. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘But of course I must pay you. I’ve had an hour of your time.’
‘Nothing,’ he repeated, and she felt his hand tighten on her wrist. ‘Please don’t insult me with money.’ His eyes were very blue, holding hers, commanding her to do what he wished.
‘I didn’t mean to insult you,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s just that—’
‘It’s just that money pays for everything,’ he finished. ‘But only if it is for sale.’ He spoke with sudden intensity. ‘Don’t be alone in Venice. That’s bad.’
‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘But you do. Let me show you my city.’
‘Your city?’
‘Mine because I love it and know its ways as no stranger can. I would like you to love it too.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to make one of the flirtatious replies she’d been practising for just this moment, but the words wouldn’t come. She had a sense of being at the point of no return. To go on was risky and there would be no way back. But to withdraw was to spend a lifetime wondering ‘what if?’
‘I don’t think—’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I should.’
‘I think you should,’ he said urgently.
‘But—’
His hand tightened on hers. ‘You must. Don’t you know that you must?’
The glow of his eyes was almost fierce in its intensity. She drew a sharp breath. She didn’t come from a long line of gamblers for nothing.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I must.’
‘I’ll meet you at seven o’clock at Antonio’s. It’s just around the corner. And wear walking shoes.’
She watched as he glided away, then hurried up to her suite, glad of the time alone to gather her thoughts.
It wasn’t easy. In a few blazing moments he’d taken her ideas and tossed them into the air, so that they’d fallen about her in disorder. It took some stern concentration to reclaim her mind from his influence, but at last she felt she’d managed it.
Stage one completed successfully. Quarry identified, contact made. Ground laid for stage two. Professional detachment. Never forget that.
Guido got away from the hotel as fast as he could before he was spotted by someone who knew his true identity. In a few minutes he’d left the city centre behind and was heading for the little back ‘streets’ in the northern part of town, where the gondolier families lived, and their boatyards flourished.
At the Lucci house he found Federico at home watching a football match on television. Without a word he took a beer from the fridge and joined him, neither speaking until half time. Then, as he always did, Guido put the money he’d earned on the table, nearly doubling it with extra from his own pocket.
‘I had a good day, didn’t I?’ Fede said appreciatively, pocketing the money with a yawn.
‘Excellent. You’re an example to us all.’
‘At this rate I think I’ve earned a holiday.’
‘I know I have.’ Guido rubbed his arms, which were aching.
‘Perhaps it’s time you got back to the souvenir trade.’
Guido had established his independence of the Calvani family by setting up his own business, catering to tourists. He owned two factories on the outlying island of Murano, one of which made glass, and the other trinkets and souvenirs.
‘I suppose it is,’ he said now, unenthusiastically. ‘It’s just that—Fede, have you ever found yourself doing something you never meant to do—just a word, a choice to be made in a split second? And suddenly your whole life has changed?’