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Beth sucked in air. She wanted to kill him, but she couldn’t even trust herself to speak.
‘We will marry in two weeks, as I said, and I will fly back with you to London on Sunday and introduce you to my mother as my wife. Then we will return to your cottage in time for the builders’ arrival on Monday...agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Beth murmured, her face expressionless. She opened her bag, withdrew her passport and handed it to Dante. Her fingers brushed his and she flinched. For the first time since Helen had died Beth felt like crying. Hormones, she told herself, and took a deep breath.
‘Are you all right?’ Dante queried, dark brown eyes narrowing on her face. ‘You look tired.’
‘Yes. You heard the doctor—I’m fine. But it is good of you to be concerned.’ If he noticed the sarcasm in her voice she didn’t care. All she cared for was the baby.
The rest of the journey was conducted in almost complete silence. Beth was simmering with resentment at the position Dante had put her in, which was not helped by the self-satisfied look on his handsome face....
‘Beth, wake up—we have arrived.’
Her eyes fluttered open and she realised she was held in the protective curve of Dante’s arm, her head on his chest. Then she shot up and smoothed the skirt of her dress over her thighs, mortified that she had fallen asleep on him, and—worse—that she had enjoyed the comforting feeling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BETH STEPPED OUT of the car and glanced around. It was dark, but she had a brief glimpse of the façade of the house, and large double doors standing open, sending a broad beam of light into the night as Dante took her arm and led her inside.
Dante introduced her to Sophie, his housekeeper, and her husband, Carlo, and three more staff whose names she didn’t register as he walked her across the marble floor to a grand staircase.
‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘You have forty-five minutes to settle in. Sophie insists on serving dinner no later than nine, and as she has worked here since before I was born I don’t dare argue with her.’
‘That’s good of you,’ Beth said with a surprised smile, and her smile broadened when Dante ushered her into her room. It was unmistakably feminine, all white and pastel pink, with painted antique furniture, and definitely not the master bedroom—which was a huge relief to her.
‘Thank you. This is a lovely room.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank Sophie. It was her choice. I told her a female friend was staying for a couple of weeks and obviously she is trying to impress you.’
‘I will,’ Beth murmured as he left.
Carlo arrived with her luggage and a maid, who showed her the dressing room and bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, feeling refreshed and slightly more relaxed, Beth stepped out of the shower and wrapped a soft white towel around her before walking into the dressing room. The staff were gone and her luggage was unpacked, and she quickly found the drawer that contained her lingerie, withdrawing matching white lace briefs and bra and slipping them on.
Sitting at the dressing table, she brushed her hair and applied moisturiser to her face. With a flick of mascara to her long lashes and a touch of tinted gloss to her lips she was ready.
After exactly forty-five minutes Beth descended the staircase to the hall, wearing a knee-length wraparound green jersey silk dress that tied in a bow at the side, and black kitten-heeled shoes.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she looked around the huge reception hall. She tried the first of two doors on the left and was relieved to see it was the dining room. She walked in and paused.
Standing by a marble fireplace, a glass in his hand, was Dante.
‘Drinking already!’ she blurted, insanely disturbed by the sight of Dante in a black lounge suit. His stunning physical presence was almost overwhelming, and suddenly she was no longer relaxed but tense.
‘I could say you are enough to drive any man to drink in that dress,’ he responded, his dark eyes roaming appreciatively over her as he crossed to where she stood and took her arm. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. The warmth of his strong hand on her arm was sending her pulse haywire. She was just about holding herself together, but if he didn’t let go of her soon she was liable to melt in a puddle at his feet—or strangle him. Dante infuriated her and fascinated her in equal measure. He was like a force of nature—magnificent but sometimes deadly....
Minutes later, with Dante seated at the top of a long dining table and Beth to his right, Sophie appeared with the first course. Carlo followed with the wine and offered to fill her glass.
Beth said water would be fine for her.
Dante’s dark brows rose, but as realisation hit him an approving smile curved his firm lips. ‘Which would you prefer, Beth? Sparkling or still?’
‘Still water, please.’ Shaking out her napkin, she put it on her lap.
Sophie served the meal—a plate of delicious antipasta, followed by a tasty mushroom risotto and then perfectly seasoned sea bass.
