Passion and the Prince Page 5

  What went on inside the head of a woman like her to enable her to live a double life without guilt, to tell her lies with such passionate conviction?

  Against his will Marco found that his gaze was drawn to Lily’s averted profile, as though by studying it he might somehow find the answer. Very quickly he realised his mistake. His brain might only seek to study and analyse the facts, but his body was reacting to her on a very different and very dangerous level indeed. And was that reaction outside his control? Of course not, he denied. But he still had to move discreetly in his seat, in order to ease the pressure of his unwanted arousal. And whilst he did so his gaze insisted on remaining fixed on her.

  Why? He tried to look away, but a few small wisps had escaped from the soft knot of her hair, catching his attention and sending his senses down a dangerous course at such high speed that to stop them was impossible.

  She was looking downwards, that he could see the dark fan of her lashes and the shadows they threw across her face. The downbent angle of her neck revealed the vulnerability of its exposed nape. She had a small beauty spot just to one side of the top bone of her spine, just where a lover would be unable to resist the temptation to kiss it and then work his way along her slender throat to her ear, and then back down again to her collarbone. Her skin would smell and taste of the scent that surrounded her, which reminded him vaguely of roses and lavender. Her bare arms were slender and toned, and lightly tanned. Her wristwatch was slightly loose on her wrist. Her dress might not cling to her body, but he had watched her earlier at the reception as she mingled with the other guests. She must know that the way it subtly hinted at the swell of her breasts and the curves of her waist and hips was far, far more sensually alluring than something tight would have been.

  Marco tried to control his wayward thoughts, but doing so was like trying to swim a river at full tide—every effort he made to reach the safety of logic only resulted in him being swept further into the dangerous current of his senses.

  The very fact that her dress obscured rather than revealed her body aroused the hunter him, made him want to confirm for himself that the secrets of her body were every bit as pleasurable to his gaze and his touch as he suspected. She was temptation in a dozen different ways. Deliberate temptation, Marco warned himself, remembering the manner in which she walked, her posture upright, her head held proudly on the slender stem of her neck, whilst at the same time being so careful not to sway her hips, not to attract attention to her femininity. It only served to build a man’s appetite to know more of her. The ache in his body intensified. He needed to think of something else, of someone else, but somehow he couldn’t. He couldn’t think of anything other than her.

  And it wasn’t just his own sex she had won over at the reception. The women there had liked her as well. She had seen the approving looks they had given her, and the way in which even the most regal of them had unbent whilst talking with her. The Duchess’s invitation was proof of that.

  No, he couldn’t deny that she was well versed in her subject, and also able to share her own obvious love for it with others, so that they too became enthused.

  If he hadn’t known about her other life, her other self, Marco suspected that he too might have become an admirer of her familiarity with her subject. And an admirer of her too?

  No!

  He had never believed in mixing work with pleasure, Marco reminded himself. It always led to complications and problems. But his role within this project was a voluntary one, taken on because of his own pleasure and pride in his own heritage.

  No! His answer to his own question was still the same.

  He did not want her. He could not want her. But neither could he deny the fact that his body found something physically compelling about her. It was an awkward reality he could well have done without.

  Marco forced his thoughts back into the channels where they belonged. They had reached the airport, and the driver was turning off for the private part of the airfield, where expensive-looking executive jets awaited their passengers and owners. He checked his watch. They were running slightly late, but he had e-mailed ahead to warn the helicopter pilot to alter their departure slot. He could see the chopper up ahead of them on the runway, the pilot already on board. The driver brought the limousine to a smooth halt a mere handful of yards away from the helicopter and then got out to open the rear passenger door for Lily, whilst one of the waiting attendants removed their cases from the boot.

  After a few words with the waiting concierge whilst she stood to one side, Marco indicated that she should board the helicopter. When she hesitated, Marco frowned. He could see her hand was gripping the handrail to the steps, her bones showing through her delicate skin. Her face had lost some of its colour, and she looked like someone screwing up every last bit of her courage to make herself do something that terrified her. Her fear had somehow stripped her features of their maturity, so that instead of a grown woman Marco felt he was looking at a terrified child. A terrified child who was staring blindly into space as though locked away—trapped—in a world of dreadful fear.

  Reluctantly, trying to check himself but unable to do so, and against all the urgings of his brain, as though some deep-rooted recognition was overriding his logic, he felt the most extraordinary and unexpected feeling of concern and compassion for that child fill him.

  ‘You don’t like flying?’ he guessed. ‘There is nothing to worry about if you haven’t flown in a helicopter before. Come …’ Why was he behaving like this? Treating her as though … Before he could stop himself, Marco was holding out his hand to her.

  Without thinking Lily placed her own hand within Marco’s. She felt slightly sick and light-headed, and the warmth of his hand wrapping round her own was a reassuring comfort she could feel at a distance, as though she was standing outside herself, observing her own reactions.

  It was crazy to let the thought of flying in a helicopter affect her like this just because once before someone had taken her hand, urged her up the steps to a similar machine. Once before a man had smiled at her and reassured her that she would be perfectly safe—before his smile had disappeared in an explosion of anger and a fierce tug on her arm that had dragged her up into the dark interior of a helicopter.

  The hand Marco was holding started to tremble, the small vibrations seizing her arm and then her whole body. Perspiration broke out on her skin, bathing her in an uncomfortable wash of anxious heat.

  People were waiting … watching … She must get a grip.

  ‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ Marco repeated. ‘But if you prefer—if it makes you feel more comfortable—we can travel by road.’

  His voice was calm, his grip on her hand loosening slightly as he stroked his thumb over her frantically racing pulse.

  Lily turned her head and looked at him. His eyes were topaz-gold, not pale blue, and nor were they filled with a look of greedy desire that filled her with fear and revulsion. His stance was still and patient, his manner towards her soothingly reassuring, as though … as though he understood. She took a deep breath.

  ‘No. It’s all right. I’ll be all right now.’

  A small tug of her hand freed it from his grip, and an equally small nod of his head gave her the courage to make her way up the steps, to be helped into the machine by the uniformed co-pilot who introduced himself to her and then escorted her to her seat, showing her how to fasten herself properly into it before telling her cheerfully. ‘We’ll have you up at Lake Como and Villa d’Este in no time at all.’

  When the man then fastened himself into the seat next to her, Lily was surprised—until he explained with another smile, ‘The boss will be taking the co-pilot’s seat up-front. He’s a fully qualified pilot, although on this trip he’ll just be playing a watching role.’

  Somehow she wasn’t surprised that Marco was a pilot. He had all the necessary skills, and she could easily imagine him remaining calm and focused, no matter what kind of crisis he was obliged to face.


  The last time she had flown in a helicopter she had been fourteen years old. Lily’s stomach muscles clenched. It was memories of that trip that had sparked off her reaction to boarding this machine now, but somehow or other Marco had found a way to break through her fear and bring her back to the present. Lily suspected that he would be anything but pleased to know that her senses had decided to recognise him as their protector and saviour. She found it hard to understand herself, given his hostility towards her.

  When the shape of his body briefly obscured the light coming in through the glass nose of the machine Lily’s heart jerked as though someone had deliberately pulled on its strings. She recognised that seeing him there now, on board the helicopter, was somehow extraordinarily comforting. How could that be when there was such conflict between them? Lily didn’t know. She only knew that something deep inside her followed its own path and saw something in him that represented a safe haven.

  A safe haven. For so many years of her life she had longed for that—for a presence, a person, who would take her side and protect her. But she had learned then that for her there was no such presence or person, and that she would have to provide her own protection and places of safety.

  Now, cruelly, there was every bit as much danger for her in listening to that insistent instinct that was filling her subconscious with powerful images of safety and protection in the form of Marco di Lucchesi. That was because another instinct, every bit as powerful and demanding, was filling her senses and her body with a very different kind of awareness—the awareness of Marco as a man with the power to arouse her sexuality.

  Safety and danger forged together in a complete and exact reversal of what she normally thought of as safety and danger.

  Until now, until Marco, for her safety had been her own determined separation of herself from her sexuality, her sacrifice of it in order to protect herself from the danger of repeating the errors of her parents’ hedonistic lifestyles. Until now and Marco she had been the one who was in charge of her security. Now without her being able to do a thing about it, control of her sexuality and her security had transferred itself from her into the hold of a man who despised and disliked her. How could that be? Lily didn’t know. What she did know, though, was that she was not likely to be in any danger from her growing sensual and sexual responsiveness to Marco—at least not from him. She might not have known him for very long, but she knew instinctively that he would not allow himself to give in to any desire he felt for a woman he did not like.

  She looked out of the window and down at the land beneath them. It was too dark for her to see anything other than the lights from the homes and roads below them.

  ‘Soon be there now.’ The co-pilot’s voice was kind, but it lacked Marco’s note of authority and safety which struck such a strong deep chord inside her. Just being held by him, even when he was angry with her, made her feel. Lily could feel her face beginning to burn as she felt a sudden fierce ache of pure female sexual desire stab through her. She wanted Marco. Oh, the irony of that! An irony that only she would ever know and understand.

  They were coming in to land. Lily had imposed a steel band of rejection over what she was feeling, but it melted like snow in the full glare of a midsummer sun when Marco turned round to look at her. If only things were different. If only they were coming here as lovers. If only …

  How could such preposterously foolish thoughts have managed to put down roots inside her emotions? Lily didn’t know. She was just thankful that Marco di Lucchesi couldn’t see them. Very thankful indeed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEIR flight had been smooth and uneventful—and, given both that and the nature of his perfectly understandable feelings of distrust and contempt for Lily Wrightington, Marco was at a loss to explain to himself just why he found it necessary to hang back now that they could disembark from the helicopter, just so that he could keep a watch over her. Just as hard to explain was the concern he had felt for her during the short flight—to the point where he had had to actively restrain himself from turning round in his seat to check that she was all right.

  She wasn’t a vulnerable child, no matter what emotive mental images his head had produced to that effect. She was a fully grown woman. A deceitful, amoral, not-to-be trusted woman, who preyed on the vulnerabilities of others. But still he descended from the helicopter behind her, silently checking her safety. It was because of the mess it would make of all his carefully constructed plans should she for any reason become unable to complete her part in their planned tour. This concern for her welfare had nothing whatsoever to do with her in any personal sense. Nothing at all.

  A chauffeur-driven car was waiting to drive them the short distance from the helicopter landing pad to the hotel.

  Naturally Lily had read up on the place, knowing that they would be staying there, but there were no words or photographs that could do real justice to the sparkling elegance of the rich interior of the hotel foyer, with its crystal chandelier, smooth marble surfaces and gilt furniture that seemed to give everything within it a rich golden glow.

  There was no necessity for them to check in. An immaculately dressed receptionist wearing a uniform that looked to Lily as though it might have been tailored by one of Italy’s foremost designers asked them to follow her, whisking them upwards and then along several corridors, faithfully decorated in keeping with the villa’s history, before coming to a halt outside one of several doors in the corridor.

  ‘We have given your guest a suite overlooking the lake, just as you requested, Your Highness,’ the receptionist told Marco, opening the door and then turning back to him to ask, ‘If you would like to see the suite.’

  Marco shook his head, and then told Lily, ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the bar in half an hour. We can run through tomorrow’s schedule over dinner.’

  Lily nodded her head.

  ‘The porter will be here shortly with your luggage,’ the receptionist informed Lily. ‘If you require any information about anything, please ask him.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The girl had switched on the lights in the room, and although she stepped into it, Lily stayed in the open doorway, watching as the receptionist led Marco to another door at the far end of the corridor. It was crazy of her to feel so alone and abandoned—as though for some reason she needed to know where Marco di Lucchesi was in case she needed him.

  She heard the click of his door closing as Marco stepped into his own room. The receptionist disappeared through a pair of doors that led to the stairs. There was nothing to keep her standing in the entrance to her own room now.

  No, not merely a room, Lily reminded herself as she closed the door and went to explore her surroundings. Her suite was the size of a small apartment, and consisted of a large bedroom, a sitting room and two bathrooms. The furniture was reproduction Georgian, and the suite was decorated in toning shades of dark plum and pale grey-blue, with the bed dressed in the current boutique hotel fashion with neat piles of cushions and a carefully folded deep plum silk throw at the bottom of a padded cream bedcover. Tall glass doors opened from both the bedroom and the sitting room onto a narrow balcony just wide enough for a table and two chairs. Although she couldn’t see it now that it was dark, Lily guessed that the view over the lake would be stupendous. As it was, the sight of the moonlight reflecting on the dark waters, and the myriad dancing lights from craft on the lake and buildings on its banks created an almost magical picture.

  A discreet ring on the bell to her room announced the arrival of the porter with her small case. After thanking him and tipping him, Lily lifted her case onto the bed and opened it. She’d packed very carefully for this tour. For the evening she’d brought with her a fine black jersey tube-shaped skirt, which could be worn long from the waist, ruched up to make a shorter skirt, or worn as a short strapless dress. To go with it she’d brought a matching black jersey body, with three-quarter sleeves and a boat-shaped neckline, a softly draped long-line black cardigan, and a cream silk blo
use. Between them she hoped that these items and the costume jewellery she had also brought with her would cover every kind of event she would be expected to attend.

  For daytime she had a pair of slimline black Capri pants, a pair of jeans, and several interchangeable tops—along with her trench coat just in case.

  For dinner tonight she intended to put the caramel-coloured dress back on and wear it with a black pash-mina. Since her hair had already started to escape from its knot, and given the fact that she only had half an hour before she had to meet Marco, it made sense to simply leave it down on her shoulders.

  In the bar Marco was just about to sit down to check through their itinerary for the first day of their tour, when he saw Lily approaching the entrance to the room.

  She was wearing the same caramel-coloured dress she had worn for the reception, and a black wrap caught up on one shoulder with a gold Maltese cross that picked out the colour of her dress. She looked effortlessly elegant, Marco acknowledged, her hair framing the delicate bone structure of her face in softly styled natural-looking waves.

  He wasn’t surprised to see so many of the other occupants of the bar, both male and female, turning to give her a second look. What did surprise him, though, was that she seemed oblivious to their admiration, her manner more hesitant than confident—until she saw him, and then she straightened her back and came towards him with her chin tilted challengingly, like someone ready to do battle, he recognised grimly. No one looking at her now would associate her with that seedy studio and her even more dubious reason for being there.

  Marco pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Would you like a drink or would you prefer to go straight in for dinner?’