The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
side.
‘By a taxi driver who decided to take advantage of the obvious fact we weren’t residents, and drove us via a few scenic routes that lost us twenty minutes and gained him twenty extra dollars,’ Georgeanne declared in explanation.
‘Stop complaining,’ Charles chastised with a broad smile. ‘We enjoyed a pleasant ride, we’re here, and I doubt anyone has missed us.’
‘I need a drink,’ his daughter vowed, her eyes settling deliberately on Stefano. ‘Would you mind?’ The smile she bestowed was nothing short of total bewitchment. ‘I’m thirsty.’
Not just for a drink, Carly surmised wryly, for Georgeanne’s behaviour fell just short of being blatant, and she watched with faint bemusement as Stefano elicited Georgeanne’s preference.
‘Why, there’s Angelica,’ Charles’s daughter announced, and her eyes flew towards Carly with a very good imitation of expressed concern. ‘Oh, dear, how—awkward.’
This could, Carly decided, become one of those evenings where Murphy’s Law prevailed, and she wondered what on earth she could have done to upset some mythical evil spirit who clearly felt impelled to provide her with such an emotional minefield.
With detached fascination she watched Angelica locate Stefano’s tall frame at the bar, then cross leisurely to join him. She saw the beautiful brunette lift a manicured hand and touch his arm, saw him turn, and caught his smile in greeting. Angelica’s expression was revealingly warm. Loving, Carly added, feeling as if she’d just been kicked in the stomach.
A confrontation was inevitable, and when they were seated for dinner Carly cursed the unkind hand of fate as she saw Georgeanne opposite at the large dining-table, with Angelica slightly to Georgeanne’s right.
Wonderful, she groaned silently as she sipped a small quantity of white wine in the hope that it would provide a measure of necessary courage with which to get through the evening.
Their hosts provided a sumptuous meal comprising no fewer than five courses if one counted the fresh fruit and cheeseboard that followed dessert. The presentation of the food was impressive, and Carly dutifully forked morsels into her mouth without tasting a thing.
Conversation flowed, and she was aware of an increasing tension as she waited for the moment Angelica would unsheathe her claws.
‘How is your daughter?’
Again, the faint emphasis didn’t go unnoticed, and Carly turned slightly to meet the brunette’s seemingly innocent gaze as she summoned a polite smile. ‘Ann-Marie is improving steadily.’ She aimed for a subtle emphasis of her own. ‘We’re hopeful it won’t be long before she’s released from hospital.’
Angelica picked up her wine glass and fingered the long crystal stem with studied deliberation. ‘Stefano appears to delight in playing the role of devoted Papà.’
Carly effected a negligible shrug. ‘You, more than anyone, should appreciate that Italian men are renowned for their love of family.’
Carefully shaped eyebrows rose a fraction in unison with the faint moue of evinced surprise that was quickly camouflaged with a smile. ‘Proud of their sons, protective of their daughters.’
Carly couldn’t resist the dig. ‘And their wives.’
‘Well, of course.’ The voice resembled a husky purr, infinitely feline. ‘And their mistresses.’ Her eyes assumed a warm intimacy that was deliberate. ‘What female of any age could resist Stefano?’
Carly felt like screaming, but she forced her mouth to curve into a soft smile, and her beautiful eyes assumed a misty expression that was deliberately contrived as she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrugging gesture that she tempered with a light musing laugh. ‘None, I imagine.’
Stefano, damn him, was seemingly engrossed in conversation with Charles, and appeared oblivious to the content of her conversation with Angelica.
What on earth did he imagine they had to discuss, for heaven’s sake? The weather? The state of the nation?
It seemed forever before their host suggested adjourning to the lounge for coffee, and she felt strangely vulnerable as the men gravitated together on the pretext of sharing an after-dinner port while the women sought comfortable chairs at the opposite end of the large room—with the exception of Angelica, who stood at Stefano’s side, a blatant disparity among men, yet totally at ease with their conversation. It was carrying feminism and equality among the sexes a little too far, surely? Carly couldn’t help wondering if the men felt entirely comfortable. Yet she knew Angelica didn’t give a fig what her male colleagues thought. Her main motivation in joining the men was to clarify the contrast between two women—herself and Stefano’s wife.
The difference was quite marked in every way, from physical appearance to business qualifications. Seven years ago it had seemed important, the chasm too wide for Carly to imagine she would ever bridge. Except that in her own way she had, for there was now a diploma, experience and added qualifications in her field, as well as respect from her peers. There wasn’t a thing she needed to prove, and if she so chose she could join Stefano’s associates and discuss any topic relating to corporate accounting and tax legislation.
The coffee was liquid ambrosia, and Carly sipped it appreciatively, wondering just how long it would be before they left.
‘You must visit when Stefano brings you to the states.’
Carly smiled, then thanked Charles’s wife for the invitation. ‘It’s quite a few years since I was last there.’
‘The house is large,’ Kathy-Lee pursued. ‘We’d be delighted if you’d stay. We love having guests.’
Carly could only admire Kathy-Lee for keeping pace with Charles’s high-flying existence, and playing stepmother—a masterly feat in keeping the peace, for Charles adored his precocious daughter.
‘I’ll leave the decision to Stefano,’ she said gently, indulging in inconsequential conversation for almost thirty minutes before Kathy-Lee had her cup refilled and was drawn by their hostess to join another guest who had professed an interest in Kathy-Lee’s preoccupation with interior design.
Carly let her gaze wander round the room, settling on the broad frame of her husband as he stood idolently at ease and deep in conversation with two of his associates—one of whom was Angelica.
Carly forced herself to study them with impartial eyes—difficult when she wanted physically to tear Stefano and Angelica apart.
Angelica was a seductive temptress beneath the designer gown, leaning imperceptibly towards Stefano, her eyes, hands, body receptive to the man at her side, whereas Stefano stood totally at ease, his stance relaying relaxed confidence, an assurance that wasn’t contrived. And, try as she might, Carly could find no visible sign of any implied intimacy—on his part.
Almost as if he was aware of her scrutiny, he turned slightly and met her gaze. For a moment everything else faded into obscurity, and she watched in bemused fascination as he excused himself and crossed the room to settle his length comfortably on the padded arm of her chair.
His proximity put her at an immediate disadvantage, for she was extremely aware of the clean smell of his clothes, the faint aroma of soap intermingling with his chosen aftershave, an exclusive mixture of spices combined with muted musk that seemed to heighten the essence of the man himself.
Within minutes his associates followed his actions in joining their wives, and Carly wasn’t sure which she preferred…being alone with a clutch of curious women, or having to contend with Stefano’s calculated attention.
‘Almost ready to leave, cara?’
His voice was a soft caress, and if anyone was in any doubt as to his affection for his wife he lifted a hand and swept back a swath of curls that had fallen forward, letting his fingers rest far too long at the edge of her throat.
There