Pride And The Italian's Proposal (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  ‘Liza and I met a few weeks ago,’ Fausto said smoothly, answering her silent question. ‘At a house party. She trounced me in chess.’

  ‘I thought I didn’t trounce you,’ she said before she could think better of it, and Fausto smiled faintly.

  ‘I must give credit where it is due. But we haven’t had our rematch.’

  Liza stared at him in confusion, unsure if he was flirting or not. His voice was so light, his expression so bland, it was impossible to tell, although she told herself as sensibly as she could that of course he wasn’t flirting. He couldn’t be. She was just misreading signals—again—because she wanted to. The realisation shamed her although she did her best to rally.

  ‘If you hadn’t had to leave early, perhaps we could have,’ she said after a pause, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Unfortunately, I really had no choice.’

  What was that supposed to mean? Liza’s head was spinning from the subtext, even as she wondered if she was reading too much into everything Fausto said. Discomfited, she reached for her teacup while Henry watched them both in smiling bemusement.

  ‘It’s always delightful,’ he pronounced, ‘when people I enjoy spending time with have already become acquainted with one another. Sandwich, Liza?’

  Liza nibbled a cucumber sandwich while Henry and Fausto caught up on all their mutual friends, thankful not to have to contribute to the conversation. She’d barely had that thought when Henry turned to her with a smile.

  ‘Have you ever been to Italy, Liza?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She hadn’t been anywhere. With four children and a large house, her childhood had been happy and full, but money had always been tight, trips abroad out of the question. ‘I haven’t really travelled,’ she admitted with a rather defiant look at Fausto. She had a sudden contrary urge to remind him of how different they were, before he did. ‘Or done much of anything. There hasn’t been the money or opportunity, I’m afraid, but I’ve never minded. I’ve lived a very quiet life, really.’

  ‘Perhaps that will change,’ Henry suggested, and Liza gave him a small smile.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed with another glance at Fausto’s inscrutable face. ‘Although I don’t think so.’

  The conversation moved on, thankfully, and Liza did her best to contribute as little as possible without seeming rude. Finally, after an hour, she rose from the table and made her apologies.

  ‘This has been so lovely, Henry, but Jenna and I have plans tonight and I really should get back. Thank you.’ She spared Fausto the briefest glance possible. ‘It was nice to see you again.’

  She barely listened to his murmured reply before she hurried out of the room, a breathy sigh of relief escaping her as soon as the door shut behind her.

  When she got back to the flat, Jenna was already dressed to go out.

  ‘Get your dancing shoes on,’ she told Liza gaily. ‘We’re meeting Chaz at a new bar in Soho, and it has live music.’

  ‘We are?’ Liza couldn’t help but sound unenthused. When Jenna had asked her to go out tonight she’d been hoping for a sisterly chat over a glass of wine at their local.

  ‘Yes, and I really do want you to come. You’ve been moping for the last two weeks, Liza. It’s time to have some fun.’

  ‘I haven’t been moping.’ At least, she thought she’d been doing a better job of hiding the fact.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Jenna insisted, and reluctantly Liza went to change. At least she didn’t think Fausto would be there. He hadn’t mentioned anything that afternoon and he’d made a point of saying how little he’d seen of Chaz, and how busy he was with work. She was safe on that score, even if the realisation brought its own treacherous flicker of disappointment.

  The bar was pulsing with music and people as Fausto pushed through the door, blinking in the neon-lit gloom of a place that was too trendy for its own good. He hadn’t wanted to come, telling Chaz he needed to work, but once again his friend had insisted and after keeping his nose to the grindstone for the last few weeks Fausto had decided it might be enjoyable to relax for one evening, even if it was in a place like this.

  The fact that Liza had mentioned she had plans and could very well be here tonight naturally had nothing whatsoever to do with his decision.

  He forced himself not to look around for her as he made his way to the bar and ordered a double whisky. The afternoon with Henry and Liza had been, to his own annoyance, both unbearable and invigorating.

  He’d done his best not to look at her, and yet even so his gaze had been drawn to her again and again, as helpless as a hapless moth to the habitual dangerous flame. With her hair pulled up, he hadn’t been able to help noticing how slender and delicate her neck was. He hadn’t been able to help imagining kissing the nape of it either.

  He’d barely been able to conduct a conversation with his godfather with Liza seated across from him; every time he drew a breath he’d inhaled her perfume, a light floral scent that teased his senses with its subtly sweet notes.

  Somehow, through it all, the conversation had got away from him. He’d intended to make some sort of apology to Liza for their kiss, but the words wouldn’t come, especially with Henry present. While he’d done his best to be friendly, she’d done her best to ignore him. The hour had been endless and yet when she’d left in such a hurry he’d felt a deep sense of disappointment as well as frustration. He wanted to make things right between them, but he was uncertain as to how—or if Liza would even let him.

  Perhaps tonight, if he saw her, he’d have a chance.

  ‘Danti!’ Chaz clapped him hard on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘You’re looking cheerful,’ Fausto remarked as he leaned against the bar and took a sip of his drink. Chaz grinned.

  ‘I am! You remember Jenna?’ He ushered forth Liza’s sister, who gave him a perfunctory smile.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Jenna has given me the brilliant idea of having a Christmas ball at Netherhall,’ Chaz declared. ‘Wouldn’t that be a laugh? Fancy dress, dancing, the works. We’ll all pretend we’re straight out of Charles Dickens or something.’

  ‘More like Jane Austen.’ Fausto glanced coolly at Jenna, who fidgeted and avoided his gaze. So she’d suggested Chaz host a ball? Already practising at playing Lady of the Manor, it seemed. The suspicions he hadn’t wanted to give voice to began to harden into certainty. He knew how women like this worked—was Liza one of them too? He didn’t like to think of it, and yet he’d been duped before.

  ‘You’ll come, won’t you?’ Chaz asked. ‘I’m inviting everyone. All of Jenna’s family too.’

  ‘All of them?’ Fausto glanced again at Jenna, who flushed. She really was shamelessly inserting herself into Chaz’s circle if she was asking him to invite her ridiculous mother and sister along with the rest of her relatives.

  ‘I’ll invite yours too,’ Chaz declared grandly. ‘What about that lovely little sister of yours, Francesca?’

  ‘She’s in Italy,’ Fausto stated coolly. ‘Thank you for the invitation, though.’

  ‘She could hop over on a flight...’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The last thing he needed was seventeen-year-old Francesca having her head turned by some useless lout she met at a ball. Again.

  ‘Well, you’ll come, at least,’ Chaz insisted, and Fausto gave a tight-lipped nod. He wouldn’t be so rude as to refuse, although he was tempted to, especially if he had to deal with the other members of the Benton family shamelessly promoting themselves as they had when he’d first met them. Chaz clapped him on the back again before moving on with Jenna, leaving Fausto to drink his whisky in peace.

  His gaze moved slowly, inexorably, over the crowded room, looking for those bright laughing eyes and that wild tumult of curly hair. He wasn’t going to bother with the paltry pretence of trying to convince himself he was
n’t looking for her; he was. He wanted to see her. He would apologise for the kiss, find a way to start afresh, as friends. She deserved that much. He did too. Liza Benton had caused him far too much aggravation and uncertainty. It was high time to put the whole thing to rest and prove to himself that he was master of his own mind, or at least his libido.

  He did another sweep of the room, fighting an alarmingly fierce sense of disappointment, only to have his heart skip and his stomach tighten when he suddenly caught a glimpse of her in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool. Her head was tilted to one side, her hair wild and loose, and even from across the crowded space Fausto could see the sparkle in her eyes, the teasing curve of her lips. She looked as if she was flirting.

  Instinctively, needing to know, he craned his neck to catch sight of whomever she was talking to, and then everything in him turned to incredulous ice when he saw the man in question—his smoothed-back blond hair, his easy manner, the open-necked polo shirt and expansive gestures so irritatingly familiar. Jack Wickley. What the hell was that bastard doing here? And why was he talking to Liza?

  Fausto’s fingers tightened on his tumbler and he tossed down the last of his whisky, appreciating its burn all the way to his gut. He could hardly approach Liza now. He couldn’t come within ten feet of Wickley without wanting to punch the man. He turned back to the bar and ordered another double.

  An endless hour passed with Liza talking to Wickley for most of it, before she left the corner she’d been perched in and came to the bar with her empty wine glass. Fausto, who had been tracking her every move, saw when she caught sight of him—her eyes widened as her gaze locked with his and her step faltered before she determinedly started forward again, her gaze skimming over him as if he wasn’t there.

  As she approached the bar she angled herself away from him, and incredulous indignation fired through him. Was she actually going to ignore him?

  He leaned forward and he caught the scent of her perfume, which made him dizzy. ‘I thought you’d be here tonight.’ She gave a brief nod without looking at him, and resentment flared hotly. How dare she ignore him? ‘Have you been enjoying yourself?’ he asked, hearing the aggressive tone in his voice and wondering at it, but he felt too much to care.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am.’ Liza turned, and Fausto started at the obvious derision he saw in her eyes. Why was she looking at him as if she loathed him? She’d been sharp with him that afternoon, yes, but she hadn’t looked at him like that.

  She reached for the fresh glass of wine the bartender had poured for her. ‘I hope you are as well,’ she said in a final-sounding tone, clearly ending the conversation.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you.’ Liza raised her eyebrows, and Fausto struggled to find the right words, hardly able to believe that he—he—was being put at such a disadvantage. ‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘For what, exactly?’ she asked, looking distinctly unimpressed.

  ‘For kissing you. It shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘I trust we can move beyond it.’

  Her smile widened as she informed him with acid sweetness, ‘I already have.’

  And then, while Fausto could do nothing but gape and fume, she took her wine back to Jack Wickley, who was waiting for her with an all too smug smile.

  Fausto swore under his breath. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Liza Benton he had not been himself—acting on impulse, saying and doing things he continued to regret. Acting the way he had with Amy, or even worse, which was utterly appalling. No more. For the sake of his family, for the sake of his own pride, not to mention his sanity, it was time to finally forget Liza Benton ever existed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘LIZA, HURRY OR we’ll be late.’

  Liza glanced at her reflection one last time in the hotel room mirror as nerves zoomed around in her belly. Her family had taken temporary residence in a small hotel outside Hartington, for tonight was Chaz’s Christmas ball.

  Tonight she’d see Fausto Danti again and even though she’d come to despise the man she couldn’t deny some contrary part of her was looking forward to seeing him once more—and she definitely wanted to look her best when she did.

  Her unease around Fausto had deepened considerably over a month ago, when she’d met Jack Wickley at the evening out with Chaz and his friends. She’d been sitting in the corner of the bar sipping wine when he’d come in with Chaz’s group and, seeing she was alone, he’d approached her.

  Liza had been wary of him at first; he’d looked too slick and assured for her taste, and there was something a bit too brash about his manner. She’d learned not to trust men like that. Men like Andrew.

  Yet after a few minutes of chatting she’d thawed a bit; he had known Chaz from some party or other, and he was funny and charming and it was rather nice to talk to someone who wasn’t giving her coldly disapproving looks half the time.

  Then, after about twenty minutes of aimless chitchat, he’d stiffened, and Liza had followed his gaze to the sight of Fausto Danti glowering by the bar. Her heart had lurched towards her throat at the sight of him, even as an undeniable pleasure unfurled inside her like a flower.

  ‘Do you know him?’ she’d asked, and Jack had let out a humourless laugh.

  ‘Fausto Danti? I should say so.’ She’d waited for more, and he’d given it immediately. ‘I grew up with him. My father was his father’s office manager in Milan.’ He’d paused, his lips twisting. ‘We went to the same boarding school, in fact.’

  ‘Oh.’ She’d eyed him uncertainly for there could be no disguising the bitterness twisting his features. ‘I only met him recently.’

  He’d turned to her with an ugly sort of smile. ‘And what did you think of him?’

  Liza had hesitated. ‘He can be a bit cold, I suppose,’ she’d said, and then felt oddly disloyal for the remark.

  ‘Cold?’ Jack had sounded as if he wanted to say much more. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘Why do you sound as if you don’t like him?’

  Jack had thrown back the rest of his drink, and then shrugged. ‘I don’t. I don’t want to bias you against the man, but you sound as if you already dislike him.’

  ‘I do,’ Liza had said, and then felt even worse.

  ‘Not as much as I do,’ Jack had stated grimly. ‘Fausto Danti cheated me out of my inheritance. Our fathers were great friends—mine died, and then his did, and it had always been an understanding between them that I would inherit part of the estate, and be given a senior position with Danti Investments. I staked my future on it—and Fausto refused to honour either agreement, even though he knew, as I did, that his father wanted nothing more than to see me take over at least part of the family firm.’ He put his glass down with a final-sounding clink. ‘He’s also bad-mouthed me to everyone he knows, so I haven’t been able to be hired by anyone decent, even in an introductory role.’

  Liza had stared at him, horrified. ‘But why?’ She might have disliked the man, but she’d thought he possessed a fundamental core of honour, even if it was of his own particular brand.

  Jack had shrugged. ‘Because he was always jealous of the way his father preferred me. They never had a close relationship. And because he’s petty and mean-spirited, but I’m sure you can find that out for yourself.’ He’d smiled at her, shrugging aside all the bitter words. ‘But never mind about all that. He’s the last person I want to talk or even think about. Another drink?’

  Liza had insisted she’d get it herself, mainly because she wanted to see Fausto up close, even if she didn’t speak to him, and judge for herself what sort of man he was, after all that Jack had told her. She’d faltered when they’d locked gazes and he’d glowered at her, but then she’d continued on.

  To her surprise, he’d apologised for their kiss, which had both irritated and gratified her. She suppo
sed he thought he was being kind, but was a kiss something to apologise for, especially when they’d both so clearly enjoyed it? Or was he apologising because he regretted it so much, since she was so clearly not the sort of woman he’d ever kiss, never mind actually date or marry? He’d certainly made that obvious.

  In any case, she’d chosen to end the conversation; Jack’s words were still echoing in her ears and she’d realised that everything he had said had confirmed her own instinct about Fausto Danti—he was a thoroughly arrogant and unpleasant man.

  ‘Liza? Come on!’

  Taking a deep breath, Liza turned away from the mirror. She was worried her dress was a bit over-the-top, but her mother had taken everyone to Hereford for a shopping trip, and all her sisters had insisted she try this one on. Crimson in colour, it had a bodice of ruched satin before it fanned out in a full-length skirt that made her feel like Cinderella at the ball. But if every other woman was wearing a cocktail dress she’d feel a bit ridiculous.

  As Liza joined them in the hallway she tried not to let her alarm show at her mother’s dress—a perfectly nice evening gown in royal blue, except Yvonne had insisted she was still a size fourteen when she hadn’t been for at least twenty years. She looked like a tube of toothpaste that had been well and truly squeezed.

  Lindsay’s dress was even more alarming—a long slinky skirt of silver lamé with a double slit nearly up to her crotch and a matching bikini top. She’d insisted it was the latest fashion, and that her favourite YouTuber had worn something similar, but to Liza it just looked inappropriate.

  As she gazed at them both she realised she was thinking like Fausto Danti, all coldly disapproving—and of her family! Who cared if her mother’s dress was too tight, or Lindsay’s too sexy? They thought they looked beautiful, and so did Liza. She hated how Fausto had somehow wormed his way into her thoughts, changed the way she looked at her family, even for a moment.

  ‘And now to the ball!’ Yvonne declared grandly. She’d been so thrilled to have the invitation from Chaz that she’d talked about nothing but the ball since. When Liza had come home for Christmas she’d listened to her mother’s plans for dresses, hotel rooms, and her hopes that every single one of her daughters might find true love in Netherhall’s ballroom.