Carol Marinelli – Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage (страница 13)

There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.

‘Grazie.’

It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.

Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.

The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.

Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.

But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.

‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’

‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’

‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’

‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’

Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’

‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’

‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’

Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’

Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a stranger here. She didn’t even know where the restrooms were. And she was supposed to be monitoring the girl’s reactions too. Did she know where her brother was or didn’t she?

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,’ Maria said at last, reaching for the jug of fruit juice and pouring some rather jerkily into an ice-filled glass. Her hand was shaking, however, and she spilled some of the orange juice onto the table. She only just managed to stifle her irritation as she snatched at a napkin to mop it up. Then, turning to Tess, she arched her brows. ‘Juice or coffee?

‘Juice is fine,’ said Tess, not wanting to risk the chance of getting hot coffee spilled over her, deliberately or otherwise. ‘Thanks.’

‘Papa?’

Castelli shifted in his seat and, although she was supposed to be concentrating on their exchange, Tess flinched at the bump of his thigh against her hip. Despite her determination not to get involved with him, she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to the contact. His thigh was hard and warm and masculine, and she felt the heat his body generated spread across her abdomen and down into the moistening cleft between her legs.

She doubted he’d noticed what had happened. After all, what had happened? Just a careless brush of his leg against hers. If she was absurdly sensitive, that was her problem. Castelli was totally focussed on his daughter. She might as well not have been there.

He made an eloquent gesture now, as if having to decide what he wanted to drink was an annoying distraction. ‘Chi-anti,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the bottle of wine the maid had left uncorked in the middle of the table. ‘But you will not divert me, Maria. Marco is missing. If I find out you know where he is, I shall not forgive you.’

Maria gasped. ‘What do you mean, Papa? Marco is missing? Has he run away?’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Maria. I suspect you know perfectly well what is going on. But in case you have any doubts, let me enlighten you, cara. Your brother has gone away with Ashley Daniels, Tess’s sister.’

Tess wasn’t sure what Maria’s reaction meant then. She was shocked, certainly, but whether that shock was the result of Marco’s behaviour or because her father had found her out, it was impossible to judge.

‘But—that cannot be,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘You are saying that Marco has some interest in the woman who runs the Medici Gallery? That is ludicrous. She is far too old for him.’

Tess decided not to take offence at Maria’s words. After all, she was right. Ashley was too old for Marco. They were all agreed on that. Of course, hearing the scorn in Maria’s voice did make her feel ancient. But what of it? It didn’t matter what Maria thought of her.

‘You knew he was seeing her, no?’

Castelli was relentless, and Maria sighed. ‘I knew he visited the gallery,’ she admitted. ‘But he visited a lot of galleries, Papa. He told me he was interested in art. Why should I suspect his visits to this woman’s gallery meant anything more than the rest?’

‘Because he told you?’ suggested her father grimly. ‘Vene, Maria, I am not a fool. Marco tells you everything. If he was interested in this woman, he could not have kept it a secret from you.’

Maria looked tearful now. ‘You have to believe me, Papa. Do you think I would have encouraged him to do something like this?’

‘I am not saying you encouraged him,’ retorted Castelli. ‘I believe you are far too sensible for that. But I do think he mentioned his interest in this woman to you. To—what shall we say?—to brag about it, force! Did he tell you the kind of relationship they had?’

Maria sniffed. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘What do you not believe? That Marco could be infatuated with an older woman? Or that he would hide his true feelings from you?’

‘That he could be so—so stupid!’ exclaimed Maria, looking at Tess as if she were in some way to blame for this fiasco. ‘Bene, Papa, I knew that he admired this woman. But she is old. I assumed she would have more sense than to take his advances seriously.’

‘Basta!’ Castelli threw himself back in his chair, his frustration evident, and Tess shifted uncertainly as he cast an impatient glance in her direction. ‘At last we have the truth. You knew of Marco’s affair and you chose not to tell me.’

Maria stifled a sob. ‘There was no affair, Papa. Solo—just a silly infatuation. If Marco has gone away, you have no reason to believe he has taken this woman with him.’

Castelli shook his head. ‘We know they went together, Maria. They boarded a plane to Milano several days ago—’

‘A plane!’

‘But when the plane landed in Milano, they were not on board,’ he continued. ‘We suspect they disembarked at Genova. I am still hoping you can tell us why.’

Maria’s lips parted. ‘Me, Papa?’

Castelli nodded. ‘If you have any information, any information at all, I advise you give it to me now.’

‘But I do not.’ Groping for one of the napkins, Maria broke down completely. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she exclaimed, ‘I have told you all I know, Papa. I am as unhappy with the situation as you are.’

‘Veramente ?’

Her father did not sound sympathetic and Tess wished again that she’d passed on this trip. This was a family matter and her involvement was an intrusion. All right, she wanted to know where Ashley was, but it wasn’t the matter of life and death it seemed to the Castellis.

With Rafe di Castelli seething beside her, she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air and, picking up her glass, she gently eased away from the table. Crossing to the low wall that marked the boundary of the patio, she took a sip of the fruit juice, wishing she possessed the sense of well-being that had seemed so attainable before she’d left England. Now she was on edge, embarrassed, conscious that she was in some small part responsible. If she hadn’t agreed to stand in for her, Ashley could never have planned this escapade.