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Her whole body ached with shock. She felt slightly sick from the hot beat of the strong Florentine sunshine on her exposed head, and from what had happened. But there was no way she was going to show any sign of weakness in front of this man!
Had it not been for Louise and the plight of the baby she would certainly never have allowed him to dominate her like this. He was everything she hated in a man. Everything she despised and loathed.
Too arrogant, too sure of himself, too wrapped up in his own self-importance and too damn sexy by far. Oh, yes he was certainly that all right, she acknowledged, unable to resist the impulse to give him a quick sidelong look. And then wishing she had not given in to such temptation as he caught her betraying glance, faultlessly returning it with a smooth, knowing response that made her face flame and her heart thud in denial of what she was feeling.
But even by turning away from him she wasn’t able to escape; all she found was their reflections in the shop window. It seemed there was no way she could escape from him—nor from the shockingly intimate feelings he was making her experience.
Fiercely she tried to concentrate on realities, rather than feelings. He was much taller than her, imposingly so, his whole bearing proud and autocratic, his expression hardening the chiselled perfection of his features.
She in contrast looked small and pale, overwhelmed by him. He could have been a rapacious Roman centurion and she his captive. A long, dangerous shiver of an emotion she wasn’t prepared to name shocked through her.
CHAPTER THREE
ALICE woke immediately at the first soft whimper of baby Angelina’s cry despite the fact that it was almost three o’clock in the morning and she had had barely two hours’ sleep.
They had arrived at the palazzo the previous afternoon, just as the full lazy heat of the June sunshine had been bathing the creamy walls of the huge Palladian building in hot golden light. Set as it was against a magnificent backdrop of the surrounding Tuscan countryside, the effect on Alice’s finely tuned senses had almost overpowered her, affecting her as headily as too much indulgence in strong wine.
It was almost too perfect, had been her verdict as they had driven up the Lombardy-pine-guarded private road that led to the palazzo, and then in through the delicate high wrought-iron gates past imposingly formal gardens and finally into an enclosed courtyard at the rear of the palazzo which had immediately seemed to enclose her, shutting her off from the outside world and reality.
A small, gnarled man of about sixty had hurried out to the car, engaging in a low-voiced conversation with the conte, of which Alice could only hear the sharp, autocratic questions that her new employer was throwing at him.
‘Yes, the doctor has been called,’ Alice heard the older man replying in Italian. ‘but there has been an emergency at the hospital and so he has not as yet arrived.’
‘You have left the car in Florence?’ Alice heard the older man asking the conte, in an incredulous tone that immediately raised Alice’s hackles.
How typical of what she already knew of the conte that even his employees should know that he would be more concerned about the future of his car than that of his baby!
‘There was an accident,’ she heard him replying grimly, shaking his head immediately as the other man instantly expressed concern for his health.
‘No. It is all right, Pietro, I am fine,’ the conte was assuring him.
Grittily, Alice watched him. At no point during their hair-raising drive to the palazzo had the conte expressed either interest or concern in whether or not she had been hurt in the accident, and she was certainly not going to tell him just how queasy and uncomfortable she had felt during the drive, she decided proudly.
She still felt rather weak, though, and she was relieved to be ushered into the cool interior of the palazzo, which was, as she had somehow known it would be, decorated in an elegant and very formal style, and furnished with what she suspected were priceless antiques.
How on earth could a young child ever feel at home in a place like this? she wondered ruefully, as she followed the conte and his housekeeper, Pietro’s wife, Maddalena, who had now joined them, through several reception rooms and into a huge formal entrance hall from which a flight of gleaming marble stairs rose imposingly upward.
The baby’s suite of rooms—there was in Alice’s opinion no other way to describe the quarters that had been set aside for the little girl; certainly they were far too grand to qualify for the word ‘nursery’ as she understood it—was at one end of a long corridor, and furnished equally imposingly as the salons she had already seen.
A nervous and very flustered young girl who was quite plainly terrified of the conte appeared from one of the other rooms in response to the conte’s voice. She was inexpertly clutching the baby, who was quite plainly in discomfort and crying.
Immediately Alice’s training and instincts took over, and without waiting for anyone’s permission she stepped forward and firmly removed the baby from the girl’s anxious grip.
The baby smelled of vomit and quite plainly needed a nappy change. Her face was red and blotchy from distress and as Alice gently brushed her cool fingers against her skin, whilst reassuringly comforting her, she suspected that she probably had a temperature.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the move the conte made towards her as she took control and cradled the baby against her shoulder. Automatically she turned towards him, only just managing to suppress a small smile of grim contempt as she saw him glance from the baby to his own immaculate clothes.
A truly loving father seeing his motherless child in such distress should have instinctively placed the baby’s need for the security of his arms above those of his immaculate suit, especially when she suspected that the conte was more than wealthy enough to buy a whole wardrobe of designer suits.
A baby, though, could never be replaced; nor, in Alice’s opinion, could a baby ever be given too much love or security. And she immediately made a silent but vehement vow that, just so long as it was within her power to do so, she would ensure that little Angelina never, ever lacked for love.
As she and the baby made eye contact Alice felt a soft, small tug of emotion pulling on her heartstrings, her feelings reflecting openly in her eyes and quite plain for the man watching her to see and comprehend.
He had heard of love at first sight, Marco acknowledged wryly, and now had witnessed it taking place.
Quickly he veiled his own gaze to prevent Alice from seeing what he was thinking.
Almost as soon as she held her, little Angelina stopped crying as though she had instinctively recognised the sure, knowing touch of someone who knew what she was doing.
Alice could hear the conte speaking to the nursemaid in Italian. Alice wondered why a man as wealthy as the conte might choose to employ an untrained na
Alice had already made her own professional diagnosis of what she suspected was wrong. Quietly but determinedly she walked towards the communicating door through which the nursemaid had appeared.
The room beyond it, whilst as elegantly furnished as the one she had been in, was in total chaos, and Alice grimaced as she saw the pile of soiled baby things heaped up on the floor, and the general untidiness of the room. It was plain to her that the girl whom the conte had left in charge of his baby daughter had no professional skills and very probably very little experience with babies.