Susan Stephens – Undressed by the Billionaire: The Ruthless Billionaire's Virgin / The Billionaire's Defiant Wife / The British Billionaire's Innocent Bride (страница 19)

She’d expected that too, and asked if it would be possible to open more windows. ‘And I’d like to pick some flowers, if that’s all right. I’d love to fill the palazzo with flowers—if I’m allowed to.’

‘ Signorina, we have a hothouse full of flowers—and that’s before you even start on the garden—but no one ever picks them.’

‘Oh, perhaps I shouldn’t.’ It wasn’t her house, after all, and she’d made enough changes.

‘Perhaps you should,’ the housekeeper encouraged. ‘Why don’t I show you where the vases are kept?’

‘Are you sure Signore Alexander won’t mind?’

‘I’m sure the palazzo can only benefit from your attentions, signorina.’

With her fresh flowers newly arranged in the centre of the table, Savannah settled herself at the breakfast table on the terrace to wait for Ethan. Last night was still framed in a rosy glow. Her world had been turned upside down over the past twenty-four hours, and it was a very beautiful world indeed, Savannah thought as she gazed across the emerald parkland. There was a lake at the palazzo, as well as formal gardens, and with wooden shutters framing the sparkling windows and vivid bougainvillea tumbling down the walls, the ancient palace was like something out of her most romantic fantasy.

Savannah’s gaze returned to the floral arrangement on the table. She had picked the flowers herself and had placed them in a vase. It wasn’t much of a gift, on the scale of the things Ethan owned, but it was a love token given with sincerity.

‘It’s good to see you’ve made yourself at home.’

‘Ethan!’ In her euphoric state it seemed to Savannah she only had to think of Ethan for him to appear. ‘You startled me,’ she admitted, still clutching her chest. She sank down in her chair again, not wanting him to think her too excitable—or, worst-case scenario, too much in love with him. If he thought that it might prompt the unwanted opinion that she was too young to know what she wanted yet.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you. Perhaps you were daydreaming?’

‘Perhaps I was,’ she admitted shyly.

‘No reason why you shouldn’t. I want you to enjoy your short stay here.’

Savannah paled at Ethan’s mention of a short stay. So last night had meant nothing to him. Of course it hadn’t meant anything to him, Savannah realised, breaking up inside. Ethan was a sophisticated man, and she was …

What? A fool?

She was a farm girl from the depths of the country. And perhaps that was where she should have stayed.

She had jumped to so many conclusions, and all of them wrong. This man was not the tender lover from last night, but a stern and formidable stranger who was currently staring back at her as if she were a visitor he barely knew, and whom he was kindly putting up for the night.

‘Do you have everything you need?’ he said.

Not nearly, Savannah thought, following Ethan’s gaze to her empty plate. ‘I was waiting for you.’

‘There’s no need.’ He appeared restless, as if he didn’t even want to sit down.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked him.

‘I need to speak to you.’ His voice, his manner, was a return to their former, professional relationship.

‘It’s not my parents, is it?’ That at least would make a horrible sort of sense.

‘No. They’re both well,’ he reassured her. He reached out a hand that didn’t quite make it to her shoulder. ‘Do you mind if I sit down, Savannah?’

Did she mind? It was the wrong question from the right mouth. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Her heart squeezed tight. She was tense all over. ‘Would you like some tea? Can I pour it for you?’

‘I don’t want anything, thank you.’

Normal, everyday things should make a crisis manageable, shouldn’t they? It didn’t work for her. Ethan hadn’t even glanced at the flowers she’d picked for him. and now she braced herself, certain there was worse to come.

‘The paparazzi are at the gates, Savannah.’

How right she was! ‘Here at the palazzo?’ She couldn’t believe it. The stab of distress she felt at the thought that Ethan’s privacy had been breached, and that it was all her fault, was terrible.

‘You mustn’t be alarmed,’ he said, misreading her expression.

‘Alarmed? I’m concerned for you.’

Ethan wasn’t listening. ‘If you stay in the grounds and let me handle them, you’ll be safe. Savannah,’ he said, staring at her intently, ‘Trust me. I won’t let them near you.’

All the ground she’d gained had been lost. Ethan thought she couldn’t handle it. He was going to mop up the mess she’d created without her help. No wonder he’d cooled towards her. He’d had time to think, and had concluded she was a liability. A man who guarded his privacy as Ethan did must be eager to be rid of her. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

‘Sorry?’ he cut across her. ‘Please don’t be. You have nothing to apologise for, Savannah. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

Other than to fall in love with him. Ethan was all concern for her—not because he loved her, but because she was under his protection—and he would do anything it took to keep her safe. Savannah knew she shouldn’t want more than that, but she did. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Stay out of the way?’ Ethan suggested.

So she was to be compliant, invisible and ineffectual? She had never longed for the farm more. At least there she could have shown Ethan another side of her. It seemed now that was a side of her he would never see.

‘The only problem, as I see it,’ he observed, thoughtfully thumbing his stubble, ‘Is that you’ll have to stay here a little longer.’

He couldn’t have made it clearer. There never had been any long-term plans where Ethan was concerned. That was the price she must pay for playing the game of love without the necessary credentials. ‘But I can’t just sit here. I have to do something.’

‘The best thing you can do,’ he said, ‘is stay out of my way.’

Ethan was right; what did she know? Life on a working farm was great, but it wasn’t the best apprenticeship for this world of celebrity. Whatever Ethan did now would be swift and decisive. He’d deal with the press and then he’d come back for her, by which time she must be ready to leave.

He returned to his office where he immediately contacted his legal team. He wanted them to draft an injunction to keep Savannah safe and free from harassment by the press when she left him, which must be soon now. She preoccupied his thoughts, and he missed her already. He’d noticed the softening touches she’d made—the dust sheets had all been removed and the palazzo had been thoroughly aired. There were flower arrangements in many of the rooms, punctuating the ancient artefacts and imbuing the palazzo with fresh life, he reflected, tapping his pen on the table top as he waited for his call to connect.

He had to stop this! He was relieved when his call connected, and he heard the cool, impersonal voice of his lawyer on the other end. Savannah was a real danger to the status quo in his life. She had made him look at things that had never mattered to him before—frescoes, carvings, and all the incredible paintings he’d inherited when he’d bought the palazzo. She was a Salome of the arts, he concluded, whilst firing instructions at his lawyer. Savannah had beguiled him with her voice, and then enchanted him with her innocence and naivety, tempting him beyond the logical and factual to appreciate the beauty and emotional wealth locked in the treasures he owned. Raking his hair into a worse state of disorder than before, he signed off, determined that Savannah’s qualities would never be compromised. Thank goodness he’d recognised in time the imperative of putting a stop to this fantasy of loving her, and had brought cool legal minds to bear on the problem instead.

A few short words and his lawyer had got the picture. In fact, his lawyer had seen all the pictures. As he stowed the phone, he relaxed. Back in a familiar world without emotion, he could focus on the facts. Savannah’s welfare meant everything to him. His feelings towards her might have muddied the water for a short time, but that was over now.

Over …

He still had her music. Picking up the remote-control, he turned on her CD. As Savannah’s voice floated around him he found it impossible to remain tense—impossible to forget how very special she was, and how at all costs he must protect her.

At all costs, he reminded himself, as he left the room to make sure that Savannah had the chance to live her dream.

She wasn’t good with make-up. In fact, she was useless, Savannah concluded as she peered into the mirror. She was back in her room and, having packed, she supposed putting on make-up before she left was all about pride. She was going to leave the palazzo with her head held high, and not looking like some washed-out waif. But a good technique with make-up took more skill than she had. Professional make-up artists had worked on her for the photo shoot for her album, though when she appeared on stage she could pile on the slap with the best of them; no subtlety required. But she hardly ever wore make-up off-duty. It would frighten the animals, she concluded wryly.

Well, she would just have to do, Savannah decided, having pulled her face this way and that. With no outfits to choose from, she was wearing jeans and flip-flops. But at least she had combed her hair, and she was wearing the pretty, lacy cardigan she always packed to wear over her evening gown to keep her warm in the wings while she was waiting to sing.