The Italian Count s Defiant Bride Page 2

  Twin dimples flickered at the corners of her mouth. ‘Top of the list.’ Her smile faded as his eyes lit with the unsettling look again. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘I am not offended—I am charmed by the fossetti,’ he said softly.

  The word hadn’t come up in Alicia’s phrase book, but she was pretty sure he meant her freckles. ‘I hate them,’ she said passionately, then smiled as the waiter set her chocolate in front of her and thanked him with the one word of Italian she could remember.

  Francesco leaned nearer. ‘You should not hate them,’ he informed her. ‘They are enchanting.’

  Alicia sipped some of her chocolate. ‘Not to me,’ she said, resigned. ‘I’ve tried all sorts of things to get rid of them, but nothing works.’

  He frowned. ‘I think we have a language problem. Smile again for me, per favore.’

  Alicia obeyed, her smile widening as she realised he meant her dimples. Not that she was hugely keen on those, either. She brushed a finger over her cheekbones. ‘I thought you meant the freckles.’

  ‘They also are charming,’ he informed her gravely.

  Not sure how to answer that, Alicia took refuge in her chocolate, which went down like liquid gold as she marvelled at her wonderful luck. She was here at last in Florence, with all the world going by in the afternoon sun in this famous piazza full of statues and wonderful architecture. And to top that she was actually, unbelievably, doing all this in the company of Francesco da Luca.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked at last.

  ‘That you speak very good English, Signor da Luca.’ With a slight accent that sent shivers down her spine.

  ‘Grazie, but I am Francesco, please. And I speak English,’ he added, ‘because it is a great advantage in my business.’

  His sporting career had been so brief Alicia had never discovered anything about his private life. ‘What do you do?’ She flushed. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.’

  Francesco shook his head, amused. ‘What man does not like to talk about himself?’

  Alicia beamed. As far as she was concerned he could talk about himself as long as he liked.

  Francesco sat back in his seat, apparently happy to oblige her. ‘I studied law, but although the knowledge I gained is useful to me I do not practise it.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘For me life is wine, olives and marble. And responsibilities.’ He shot her a searching look. ‘And you, Miss Alicia; you are still in school?’

  ‘No. Though I was until last week,’ she added honestly. ‘I’ve just finished my exams. If my grades are good enough, I go on to university in October.’

  ‘Then you are not as young as I thought,’ he said, surprised, and leaned forward again. ‘So. How old are you, Alicia?’

  ‘Eighteen.’ She hesitated, then smiled, for once deliberately bringing her dimples into full play. ‘Today, in fact.’

  His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide and her heart skipped a beat as she saw they were a translucent shade somewhere between green and blue; improbable and unexpected in such a masculine face.

  ‘It is your birthday!’ Francesco exclaimed. ‘Buon compleanno!’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But instead of chocolate to celebrate you should have champagne, or a glass of our own prosecco. Now you are a grown-up lady this is allowed, no?’

  She smiled. ‘Will you laugh if I say I’m not very keen on champagne?’

  ‘No,’ he said very softly. ‘I will not laugh.’

  Silence fell between them as the spectacular eyes held hers. Alicia gazed at him, mesmerised, then blinked at last and braced herself to confess ‘Actually, I know who you are.’

  He nodded, smiling. ‘Because I told you my name.’

  ‘No. I mean that I once saw you play rugby.’

  ‘Davverro?’ he exclaimed, astonished.

  She nodded and named the tournament in which she’d seen him play.

  ‘Few people remember that! I was injured soon afterwards and never played at that level again.’ Francesco shook his head in wonder. ‘You were just a child—also a girl. I am amazed.’

  ‘That I remember you, or that I’m a girl who likes rugby?’

  ‘Both of these. Your father played?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him,’ she said, and could have bitten her tongue the moment the words were out.

  Francesco winced. ‘Mi dispiace!’

  She tried to make her shrug nonchalant. ‘I follow the game because my best friend’s father is a rugby fanatic, her brother too. I used to watch Gareth’s school matches with Meg, then his club matches later on. Once he even got us tickets for an international at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff.’

  ‘An impressive arena,’ he agreed. ‘I have been there to watch Italy play against Wales.’

  ‘Do you miss playing rugby?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugged impressive shoulders. ‘But I have no time for sport in my life now, except to watch on television. Will such an ardent rugby-fan look at me in disgust if I confess I also follow Fiorentino, the local soccer-team here?’

  Alicia shook her head, smiling. Then she glanced at her watch and saw that they’d been sitting there far longer than she’d thought. With a sigh she replaced her dark glasses and pulled her hat down low over them. ‘It’s time I got back to my friend. Thank you for the chocolate—and for being so kind.’

  Francesco rose quickly. ‘Where are you staying?’

  She gave him the name of a small hotel in a quiet residential area well away from the town centre. ‘It was recommended by one of my mother’s friends.’

  ‘Bene. I shall escort you back.’ He bent his head to smile under the green-lined brim of her hat as they left the table. ‘I must make sure you return to your friend safely on your special day, Miss Alicia Cross.’

  On her own earlier the route to the Piazza della Signoria had seemed quite long while she was finding her way, but the walk back with Francesco was far too short for Alicia, as she talked about her plans for the holiday as though she’d known him for years. Which in one way she had. When they arrived at the hotel she held out her hand.

  ‘Thank you again. It was an amazing coincidence to meet you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘And such a pleasure.’

  To her delight Francesco kissed her hand. ‘It was a great pleasure for me also, Miss Alicia Cross. I hope you find your friend recovered. Arrivederci.’

  Alicia went up in the lift in a daze, gazing at the back of her hand as though Francesco’s kiss was engraved on it. She came back to earth as the doors opened and hurried to knock on the door of their room, calling softly, ‘Sorry to get you out of bed. It’s me.’

  Megan Davies blinked owlishly when she finally opened the door. ‘You’re back soon. I thought you’d be ages yet.’

  ‘I was worried about you.’ Alicia eyed her critically. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Feeble, but not throwing up any more. I’ll be fine tomorrow.’ Meg sighed despondently. ‘Which isn’t much use. Your birthday’s today.’

  ‘We’ll celebrate it tomorrow. In the meantime, lie down again; you still look peaky.’ Alicia plumped her friend’s pillows up invitingly.

  ‘So come on then, Lally,’ demanded Meg as she subsided against them. ‘Tell me what you’ve seen!’

  ‘I found the Piazza della Signoria quite easily. It’s not far, and just as amazing as expected, like a great outdoor sculpture-gallery. I had a look at the Palazzo Vecchio, though I didn’t go inside, then I went past the crowds round the Neptune fountain to look at the replica of David and the statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi. The Rape of the Sabines is pretty realistic,’ added Alicia with relish. ‘But my favourite is Perseus holding the severed head of Medusa.’

  ‘Can’t wait! Did you splurge on a birthday hot chocolate at Rivoire afterwards?’

  ‘Sort of, yes.’

  ‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’

  Alicia took in a deep breath, her eyes blazing with excitement. ‘
You’ll never guess who I ran into.’

  Megan’s eyes widened. ‘The minute you’re let loose in Florence? Who?’

  With drama, Alicia described the incident with her bag and the man who came to her rescue.

  Meg snorted. ‘You mean that after all my dire warnings you let someone pick you up?’

  ‘Yes, Mother Hen! Literally. Otherwise I would have fallen on my nose.’

  ‘This rescuer—was he Italian?’

  ‘What did you expect, someone from Cardiff?’ Alicia’s dimples flashed wickedly. ‘Are you sitting comfortably, Megan dear? Because here’s the bit you won’t believe. It was Francesco da Luca.’

  Meg stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘The Italian winger from your rugby gallery?’

  ‘The man himself.’ Alicia laid a hand on her heart. ‘The object of my girlish adoration.’

  ‘Did you tell him that?’

  ‘Of course not. But I did say I was a rugby fan.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘He insisted on buying me a cold drink to get over my little shock—only I asked for chocolate—and we sat at one of the outside Rivoire tables. We talked for ages, then he walked back here with me.’ Alicia smiled rapturously. ‘It must have been fate that sent me tumbling in front of him.’

  ‘And kindly made me sick so you were on your own,’ said Meg darkly, then grinned. ‘But I’m glad you had some excitement on your birthday, love.’

  ‘My mother will never believe me!’

  ‘Nor mine!’ Meg yawned widely. ‘Look, I’m not up to eating yet, but you must be hungry.’

  ‘Not really, after the hot chocolate. And you still look tired, so get your head down again. I’ll read for a while outside on the terrace.’ Alicia waved a paperback with anticipation. ‘What a treat! Fiction to wallow in instead of endless text-books. Try to sleep. I’ll see you later.’

  But when she finally settled under an umbrella Alicia was too wired to concentrate on her novel. Instead she leaned back, eyes closed, reliving every moment of the meeting with Francesco. Eventually she gave up even pretending to read and went inside to see if Meg felt like eating something.

  ‘Great—I was just about to text you! Those just arrived.’ Meg yanked Alicia into the room to show her the flowers on the dressing table. ‘The receptionist brought them up. The posy of carnations is for me, because the card wishes me a swift recovery, but the roses are for Miss Alicia Cross.’

  Alicia gazed in delight at the creamy, half-open blooms. The message on the card wished her a happy birthday, and asked Miss Alicia Cross and her friend to give Francesco da Luca the pleasure of dining with him that evening. He would call for them at eight to see if this was agreeable.

  ‘Agreeable? It’s fantastic! Sorry I was nosy, but I just had to see what he said.’ Meg’s eyes glittered in her pallid face. ‘So get your party dress on, girl. This is your night!’

  ‘It most certainly is not! I’m not leaving you on your own again, Megan,’ said Alicia indignantly. ‘When Francesco comes I’ll tell him you’re not well enough, and thank him nicely and say maybe some other time.’

  ‘Are you nuts? There won’t be another time.’ Meg pulled Alicia down on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘Look, this is a one-off, Lally. Go for it. If you’re in doubt ring your mother again first and see what she says.’

  Alicia grinned ruefully. ‘If I do that, Bron will say no.’

  ‘And you really want to go out with your Francesco?’

  ‘Of course I do. But I wish you were well enough to go too.’

  ‘So do I, but as I look totally gruesome and can’t face the thought of food it’s just not on. Give Francesco my regrets.’ Meg patted Alicia’s hand. ‘Ring down for some tea for me, then hit the shower, deck yourself in some of your birthday gear, and get ready to party!’

  There was soon a lot more argument while Alicia hassled the invalid into eating some of the toast ordered with the tea. But in the end she gave in to Meg’s urging and began to get ready.

  ‘Bron insisted I pack the dress she bought as part of my present, so do you think I’d better wear it tonight?’ Alicia asked, holding it against her.

  ‘Of course! That coffee-cream shade looks good on you. Subtle but pretty.’

  ‘I wanted black and strapless, not pretty,’ sighed Alicia. ‘But Bron vetoed that.’ She shivered suddenly and hung the dress back in the wardrobe. ‘Look, I’m not sure this evening’s a good idea—I’ll stay here with you.’

  ‘Rubbish. If you don’t keep your date with Signor Dreamboat, you’ll never stop kicking yourself afterwards. Now, move. Get into the underwear I gave you, and I’ll lend a hand with your hair after you do your face.’

  All her life Alicia had longed for straight, dark hair like Meg’s. To tame her curly, coppery mane she usually wove it into a thick braid, but because this was a one-off special occasion Meg insisted on wielding the hair dryer and created looser waves that she ordered Alicia to leave down for once.

  ‘Looks great like that. Now, put your frock on and I’ll fall in a heap while you add the finishing touches.’ She crawled back into bed with a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh Meg!’ said Alicia in remorse. ‘Now look at you.’

  ‘I’m fine. Hurry up. Put the new heels on and give me a twirl.’

  Alicia pulled a face as she obeyed. ‘I hope I don’t have to walk far in these.’ She transferred a few belongings to a small clutch-bag and fastened on the gold chain-bracelet Meg’s parents had given her. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I’ve got my posh new phone if you need me.’

  ‘I won’t need you. I’ll read or watch telly.’ Meg smiled encouragingly. ‘For heaven’s sake go, girl. Enjoy your birthday!’

  But Alicia suffered a bad attack of cold feet as she went down in the lift. Francesco might get entirely the wrong idea when she turned up alone. He knew nothing about her or her background. He might think she did this kind of thing all the time, whereas Meg’s brother Gareth and his friends were the only boys she knew. And to them she was just a freckle-faced kid.

  When she reached the foyer Alicia’s heart leapt as Francesco walked through the door. Elegant in a superb linen suit, he was so much her every dream come true she pinched herself surreptitiously to make sure this was really happening.

  ‘Buona sera,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You look delightful, Miss Alicia Cross.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Meg and I both thank you very much for the flowers, too, but I’m afraid there’s a problem—’

  ‘You cannot dine with me?’ he said quickly, his smile fading.

  ‘Meg’s not well enough to come.’ Alicia eyed him uncertainly. ‘Is it all right if I come with you on my own?’

  Francesco’s eyes lit with a look which set her pulse racing. ‘It is perfect. I am most honoured to help you celebrate your birthday.’ He took a phone from his pocket. ‘I will ring the restaurant.’ After a short, rapid-fire conversation he led Alicia outside into the balmy, starlit night. ‘We are dining in Santa Croce. Can you walk that far in those shoes?’

  She nodded fervently. Even if she had blisters tomorrow.

  Florence after dark was so vibrant with noise and life, and the constant background noise of traffic and inevitable motor scooters. Alicia took in a deep, relishing breath, drinking it in like nectar as Francesco led her through the still-crowded Piazza della Signoria where at outside tables couples were drinking cocktails and people-watching in the balmy evening. Neptune loomed in his fountain, sleek and silvery-pale in the floodlights with his attendant water-nymphs, but Alicia’s eyes went straight to the Loggia dei Lanzi where Perseus held his gruesome trophy aloft.

  ‘You like that statue?’ asked Francesco, watching, and she nodded happily.

  ‘But I love everything here. I’ve looked forward to the holiday for so long, I was afraid I might be disappointed.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But your city is even more wonderful than I’d imagined.’

  ‘It is beautiful,’ he agree
d as they left the piazza behind to make for Santa Croce. ‘But it is not my city. I am here for a few days on business. I do not live here. My home is in Montedaluca.’

  As they passed the floodlit façade of the great Santa Croce church, it suddenly struck Alicia that in the town that had his name in it he might well have a wife and family. Something she should have checked on long before now.

  Francesco came to a halt soon afterwards outside the ancient palazzo which housed the restaurant. ‘Something worries you,’ he said in the slow, careful English which had surprised her from the first. She would have expected an Italian to talk quickly, with a lot of hand waving. But there was an inner stillness to Francesco da Luca she found deeply fascinating. ‘What troubles you, Alicia?’

  She braced herself. ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Ah, I see! What would you do if I say yes?’ he asked, amused, sending her heart plummeting down to the new shoes.

  ‘Go straight back to the hotel,’ she said promptly. And cry into her pillow.

  ‘Without your birthday dinner?’ He smiled. ‘Then it is a good thing, cara, that I am not married.’ He threw out a hand. ‘No wife, no fidanzata.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A fiancée, Miss Alicia.’ He looked suddenly stern. ‘If I had possessed either I would not have requested your company tonight.’

  Her chin lifted defiantly. ‘I had to ask.’

  ‘Naturalmente.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘Now, let us eat.’

  An elegant woman at the reception desk led them through the crowded restaurant to a small group of tables for two on a raised dais at the back of the room. Alicia gazed at her surroundings in delight as Francesco held her chair for her. Faded haughty faces of mediaeval knights looked down on them from frescoed walls, their rearing horses and lean hunting-dogs given the illusion of movement by the flickering candles on the tables. Alicia was suddenly grateful for her mother’s faultless taste. Her simple little sheath-dress, for all its simplicity—or because of it—felt exactly right here. As Francesco held her chair for her Alicia’s eyes widened. On her plate lay a single, creamy rose. She gazed up at him in delight as she thanked him, thinking how aristocratic he looked, so very obviously at home in surroundings like this.