An Engagement of Convenience Read online

  “Can you deny that you respond to me?”

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Copyright

  “Can you deny that you respond to me?”

  “That’s not the point,” said Harriet desperately, and tried to pull away, but Leo laughed softly, and pulled her closer.

  “If you prefer, we could just pretend to be engaged, just to give Nonna pleasure.”

  “Nonna would expect us to marry—you can’t marry someone just to please your grandmother.”

  He bent his head and kissed her hungrily. “It would please me, also, believe me. And,” he added, his voice deepening to a note that played havoc with Harriet’s defenses, “I will take great pleasure in demonstrating how much it will please you.”

  CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and very early on developed a passion for reading, which eventually fueled her compulsion to write. marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romances. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antiques stores and walk the Labrador dog.

  Catherine George makes a welcome return to Harlequin Presents, with romance of the highest quality. Catherine loves to write about attractive characters, intriguing situations and emotionally intense relationships. Enjoy!

  CATHERINE GEORGE

  An Engagement of Convenience

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  To Lilias, with love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHEN THE BORROWED SUITCASE came trundling into view Harriet felt a sudden, wild desire to snatch it from the carousel and fly straight back from Pisa to Heathrow. But as the bag drew near a male hand reached out for it and thwarted any rash idea of escape.

  ‘Rosa,’ said a deep, unmistakably Italian voice.

  Harriet turned, resigned, to confront a man whose face had become as familiar as her own. But the photographs she’d pored over had failed to do him justice. Leonardo Fortinari, dressed in a casually elegant suit, was taller than expected. His eyes and hair were as dark as her own, and in the photographs taken several years back he’d been striking rather than handsome. But older, with the gloss and arrogance of maturity, he was formidable.

  ‘Why, Leo, I’m honoured,’ she returned, her smile deliberately mocking to cover her panic. ‘I was about to catch a train. I didn’t expect anyone to meet me.’ Leo Fortinari least of all.

  He shrugged negligently. ‘I had business in Piza.’ Ignoring the crowds jostling them, he stood still, looking her up and down with a frowning gaze so intent she felt it, tactile, on her skin. ‘You have grown into a beautiful woman, Rosa.’

  Harriet’s heart thumped under her expensive borrowed jacket. ‘Thank you,’ she returned with determined composure. ‘How is Nonna?’

  ‘Delighted, naturally, by her prodigal’s return. Come. I will drive you to the Villa Castiglione. She is impatient to see you.’

  They were speeding along the autostrada before Leo Fortinari resorted to anything personal. ‘I trust you have recovered, Rosa?’

  Harriet shot a startled glance at him.

  ‘From the tragedy of losing your parents,’ he said gravely.

  She bit her lip, taking refuge in silence.

  His face softened slightly. ‘I was sorry to miss the funeral.’

  ‘Thank you for your letter,’ she said. ‘It was very kind.’ And very stilted. As though he’d felt forced to write it.

  The rest of the journey continued in far from comfortable silence. Leo Fortinari was courteous but distant, and by his manner obviously not of a mind to forgive the youthful Rosa. Good! In the present circumstances this disturbing man was best kept at a distance. It had never occurred to Harriet that she would have to face him so soon, that the great man himself would meet her at the airport. His younger brother Dante, possibly, or one of the Fortinari minions, never the great Leonardo himself. But on the plus side, it was a relief to get the encounter over with right away. Because as far as Harriet could tell she’d cleared one of the two most difficult hurdles. Now there was only Nonna, otherwise Signora Vittoria Fortinari, tonight. The meeting with the rest of the family, including Rosa’s other cousins Dante and Mirella, was to be at the family party next day. If she survived that long. Harriet’s tension mounted as the car bore her nearer and nearer the acid test of meeting Signora Fortinari. The journey led through undulating countryside dotted with ancient farms and grand country houses, with churches and bell towers here and there against a backdrop of vines and silver olive trees and dark, pointing figures of cypress. But Harriet had no eyes for it. As the car ate up the kilometres her sole thought was how to get through the weekend with no harm done to anyone. Herself included. She had always longed to return to Italy, it was true. But not desperately enough to embark on this present harebrained escapade. At least not until an offer had been made she was powerless, in the end, to refuse.

  Harriet cast a look at her companion’s forceful profile, relieved that Leo Fortinari had no inclination to talk to the passenger he believed was his cousin Rosa. Harriet sank lower in her seat as she thought of the moment at the Chesterton Hotel when Rosa Mostyn had sauntered into a private room full of women talking at the tops of their voices about the careers and husbands acquired since they’d left Roedale, the prestigious school for girls situated in beautiful Cotswold surroundings a few miles outside Pennington.

  Harriet was an Old Rœdalian herself. She’d won a scholarship at the age of ten, for one of the handful of day places in a school largely given over to boarders. A few days earlier the headmistress had rung Harriet to ask her to attend the reunion to praise the school’s modern improvements to the contemporaries who had young daughters. And because Harriet was returning to Roedale to teach Modern Languages the following term she’d agreed. After a round of greetings and chitchat she’d been sipping a spritzer, wondering how soon she could get away, when Rosa Mostyn appeared, the very last person Harriet had expected to see.

  After eight years it was still a shock to come face-to-face with someone who could have been her twin. Rosa stood still in the doorway, her huge dark eyes gazing round the sea of animated faces. Her hair hung smooth, like black satin, to the shoulders of a suit cut by some inspired, and probably Italian, designer, a chunky gold ring on the hand she raised in salute as she caught Harriet’s eye. Sheer perfection, thought Harriet, as she watched Rosa glide through the chattering throng, greeting some people vivaciously, smiling politely at others she very obviously couldn’t remember from Adam. She came to a stop at last beside Harriet, smiling warily.

  ‘Hello. Remember me?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ Harriet’s answering smile was wry when a ripple ran through the room as the resemblance was spotted, remembered, and remarked on. ‘The waiter mistook me for you when I arrived.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Rosa hesitated. ‘Are you with anyone?’

  Harriet shook her head. ‘None of my set deigned to turn up.’

  ‘Mind if I tag along then?’

 
‘Not in the least.’

  Rosa gave her an expectedly grateful smile, then tapped Harriet’s left hand. ‘No ring. Which doesn’t mean anything, of course. What do you do with yourself these days, Harriet?’

  Wishing passionately she could say she was head of a successful company, or some playboy billionaire’s mistress, Harriet told Rosa the truth. ‘I teach. In fact I’m going back to Roedale to teach French and Italian next term. But at the moment I’m doing translations for a local firm which exports to Europe.’

  Rosa nodded. ‘You were always a whiz at languages.’ She signalled to the barman. ‘Vodka and tonic, please, and a refill for my friend.’

  Harriet felt surprised. Rosa Mostyn and Harriet Foster had been anything but soul mates in the old days. Quite apart from the accidental resemblance, which both of them found deeply embarrassing, Harriet was a scholarship girl who travelled to school daily by bus, and worst of all, clever. Whereas Rosa was a boarder, more concerned with push-up bras than straight A’s, and lived for the day when she could leave.

  Harriet accepted the drink and raised it to Rosa in thanks. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’

  Rosa shrugged. ‘I had no intention of coming. But I got a phone call at the last minute to say my date for the evening had fallen through. I was all dressed up with nowhere to go, so I thought, why not? My family owns the Chesterton Hotel and I could show my Mostyn nose to the staff here, and at the same time see how everyone’s changed—or not,’ she added, looking round the room.

  ‘None of your cronies here, either,’ commented Harriet. ‘In school you could never move for them.’

  Rosa smiled cynically. ‘The Mostyn money, dear, not my charm and personality.’

  They sipped in silence for a moment.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your parents,’ said Harriet after a while.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rosa quietly. ‘They’d never flown on the same plane before the crash.’ She downed her drink. ‘Pity I’m driving, or I’d have another. How about your family? I remember your sister Kitty, tall, blonde and great at games—a lofty prefect when we were small fry.’

  Harriet nodded. ‘She’s married now. My mother still lives in Pennington, but my father died when I was at University.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know how that feels.’ Rosa eyed Harriet curiously. ‘You’re still single, then. No boyfriend? ’ She laughed suddenly. ‘With your—or rather our looks—there must surely be men in your life?’

  ‘None at the moment,’ said Harriet lightly. ‘How about you?’

  Rosa’s eyes lit up like lamps. ‘I’ve actually met a man who couldn’t care less about my money, for a change. After an early disaster I swore I’d leave the falling in love bit to the other sex. Then I met Pascal a few weeks ago and wham. Flat on my face. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Hilarious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Does he feel the same way?’

  Rosa sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I met him when he was at the Hermitage covering a conference for a few days, but since then our encounters are few and far between. He’s a foreign correspondent with a French newspaper.’

  ‘Ah. Is that why the date fell through tonight?’

  ‘Yes. He had to take off to cover some story half a world away, and couldn’t make it. If not,’ said Rosa with brutal honesty, ‘I wouldn’t be here in a roomful of squawking women. Present company excepted,’ she added, grinning. ‘You never squawked—too frighteningly composed, always.’

  Harriet grimaced. ‘Moody, you mean. I was a hugely difficult teenager. My family must have heaved a sigh of relief when I went away to college. After I qualified I got a teaching job in Birmingham. But my mother hasn’t been well lately, so I’ve come back home for a while. And we’re both enjoying the arrangement.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, Rosa, but I promised the Head I’d do some networking—convince all the young marrieds that Roedale is the school for their daughters present and future.’

  Rosa pulled a face. ‘Rather you than me.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy having supper with me somewhere afterwards?’

  Taken aback for a moment, Harriet found she rather liked the idea. ‘Why not? Give me half an hour.’

  Which had been the beginning of it all. Harriet sighed heavily enough to attract a quizzical look from Leo Fortinari.

  ‘Am I going too fast, Rosa? Are you nervous?’

  Harriet smiled brightly. ‘Yes. But not about your driving. I’m just wondering how Nonna will react to the sight of me.’ Which was the truth as far as it went. Though sitting at close quarters with this self-assured Italian male was no help to relaxation, either. But Leo Fortinari would expect that. According to Rosa their parting years ago had been anything but cordial.

  He turned his attention back to the road. ‘You are different now, Rosa. At one time you had no nerves at all. But have no fear, Nonna forgave you long ago. We shall be with her in half an hour.’

  Half an hour!

  The supper with Rosa after the school reunion had been surprisingly enjoyable for Harriet. As schoolgirls they’d had nothing in common, but as adults they found a rapport totally unexpected to both of them. After that first night they began going out together regularly, and when Rosa was even more blue than usual over Pascal’s continued absence she would appear on the Foster doorstep, in need of sympathy both Harriet and her mother found easy to provide.

  ‘Quite extraordinary,’ said Claire Foster, the first time Harriet brought Rosa to the house. ‘I saw you in school once or twice, of course. But the likeness is even more marked now you’re older.’

  ‘Only Harriet’s smaller, and her hair curls,’ said Rosa enviously, and coaxed Claire Foster to go out for a meal with them.

  And when Claire protested she was too tired after a day of caring for her bedridden mother, Rosa, dressed to the nines, went off in her Alfa Romeo and bought fish and chips they ate straight from the packages at the kitchen table, the three of them giggling together like schoolgirls.

  Before long all three of them were on close terms. Childhood friends had married and moved away, and Harriet’s college friends were London based and she rarely saw any of them other than at a party or a wedding. Rosa filled a void Harriet hadn’t even realised was there until the night of the reunion. And it was a relief to confess her worries to someone sympathetic. Claire Foster was on a hospital waiting list for a minor operation, and the rambling old family house was in desperate need of repairs Harriet’s earnings as a translator couldn’t begin to cover.

  ‘Mother’s forced to sell the house,’ said Harriet one evening, over a meal in a wine bar.

  ‘What a hassle for her, especially if she’s not feeling well,’ said Rosa, frowning. ‘Does she mind?’

  ‘Yes. Desperately. It’s been the family home for generations. She adores it.’ Harriet leaned forward suddenly. ‘Those men over there, staring at us. Do you know them?’

  Rosa favoured the riveted males with a basilisk stare, then turned back to Harriet, winking. ‘Just a couple of Romeos turned on by the resemblance.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ retorted Harriet. ‘We’re hardly a perfect match—me in my office gear, and you in those jeans. How you can breathe beats me, let alone sit down.’

  ‘It’s the cut, darling, they cost a fortune.’ Rosa flushed suddenly. ‘Sorry—tact was never my strong point.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Harriet, unperturbed.

  Rosa looked at her steadily. ‘Actually, Harriet, I do. I worry a lot.’

  ‘About Pascal?’

  ‘All the time,’ admitted Rosa, sighing. ‘But in this instance I mean Claire, and you. What happens to your grandmother if you get a smaller place?’

  ‘She comes with us. At the moment she’s got selfcontained quarters upstairs, and we use the rest. But the idea of three of us cooped up together in some poky flat gives me nightmares!’ Harriet shrugged, depressed. ‘For some reason I’ve never been a favourite with Grandma. Kitty was her pet. But I’ve always felt un
happy—and guilty—because I find it so hard to love my grandmother, or even like her. Frankly, Rosa, she’s a difficult lady. Which is nothing to do with age—she always was. And now she’s bedridden and in pain quite a lot, poor dear, her fuse is even shorter.’

  ‘I suppose she hates the thought of a nursing home?’

  ‘Mother won’t hear of it.’

  ‘Your mother’s a saint!’ said Rosa emphatically.

  ‘More than you know. Heaven knows how she had patience with me when I was a teenager.’

  ‘I was no angel myself,’ said Rosa soberly. ‘But what was your problem?’

  Harriet pulled a face. ‘It makes me embarrassed to think of it now. I’ve never told anyone—not even Guy.’

  ‘Who’s Guy?’ pounced Rosa.

  ‘Ex-boyfriend.’

  ‘Why ex?’

  ‘He’s Deputy Head at the school I taught at in Birmingham. When I left at the end of my first year to help Mother he objected, said I should put him first.’

  ‘So exit Guy! Any regrets?’

  Harriet shrugged. ‘I missed him at first. Or maybe I just missed the social side and so on.’

  ‘Was he good at the ‘so on’?’ asked Rosa, smiling wickedly.

  Harriet grinned back. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Which means he wasn’t.’

  ‘If anyone was lacking in that department it was me, Rosa.’

  ‘No way,’ said Rosa emphatically, her big eyes sparkling. ‘Definitely Guy’s fault if he couldn’t ring your bell. Anyway, what were you going to tell me that you couldn’t tell him?’

  Harriet pulled a face. ‘In my teens I got this bee in my bonnet, a fantasy about being adopted. I developed a real attitude—made my parents’ life a misery.’

  Harriet’s youthful angst had been aggravated by her sister’s teasing. Their father, Alan Foster, had been large and fair, like a throwback to some Viking invader—and Kitty was his image—while their tall, willowy mother had the chestnut hair and pale complexion of her own father.