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And it was magnificent.
Truly, unmistakably extravagant.
If she had to guess, she’d say the recent acquisition of the property had led to extensive renovations and repairs. Everything gleamed with a shiny newness, despite the fact the home had been, in part, constructed under the reign of Henry the VIII.
“Signore Casacelli has undertaken the remodelling of the home. Where possible, the architect has retained original features, but much of the interior has been replaced. Though with the greatest sensitivity to the period and décor that is appropriate, of course.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed quietly, running her hand over the intricately carved timber banister at the base of the wide staircase.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Sanderson, I’ll go and advise the Signore that you’re here.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Elizabeth’s throat was parched, and she didn’t have anything with her. She swallowed, and realised that she was actually nervous. If this Signore Casacelli denied her request, then she’d really be in a spot. She ran her fingers down the white leather pencil skirt she was wearing and straightened her coat. She couldn’t resist fluffing her hair with her fingers, too. She wanted to look her best when meeting this man who held the future of this year’s Gala in his hands.
“Who are you?” She spun around, inexplicably guilty, at the sound of the deep, accented question.
It must have been the mysterious Signore Casacelli, if the hovering housekeeper’s look of pride and awe was anything to go by.
A tiny voice in Elizabeth’s head was telling her not to stare, but her eyes didn’t seem to heed its warning. This man was quite possibly the most devastatingly handsome person in the entire history of the world. Even if he hadn’t been standing half way up the staircase, he would have had a height and physical strength worth noting. The fact he was wearing only a pair of snugly fitted denim jeans did little to ease the rampant way her heart was beating against her breast. The jeans were low-slung, and sat on his body like a second skin, displaying his long, muscled legs, and a bulge in his crotch region that she had to drag her eyes away from. But it got worse from there! His chest wasn’t flat and pale, it was all bronzed and sculptured, defined pecs that made her fingers tingle with a desire to touch. It was completely, terrifyingly unexpected.
She cleared her throat and moved her attention to his face, but even that was breath taking. Strong, angled cheekbones, a chin with a perfect dimple, curved, full lips and even white teeth, and eyebrows that seemed to frame his amber coloured eyes, making him look both imposing and desirable at the same time. His hair, she had to guess, would have been shoulder length, and wavy. It was hard to tell as he wore it pulled up in a loose topknot.
“I…” She tried to speak but her body, so reliably disinterested in the opposite sex, was having some kind of sensual meltdown in response to this veritable Greek God come to life.
“I said,” he spoke slowly, only a hint of amusement in his eyes at her obvious discomfort. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” She frowned, running her fingers through her hair, combing it back from her face. The slightest hint of the fragrance of her shampoo travelled the distance to Antonio and he felt an odd kick of awareness at the scent of coconuts and limes.
“Yes. And, more importantly, what do you want?”
Elizabeth blinked, trying to take control of her wayward senses. “Is there somewhere we can speak? In private?”
Antonio was intrigued. He’d fled to Ravens Manor to lick his wounds. It was the last place his brothers would think to look for him, given his famous hatred for the British winter, and what he wanted most in the world was to be alone. The shock of discovering his mother’s depth of deception had left him reeling, and adrift. Yet it had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the pleasure of a beautiful woman. Over a month, at least, since the shocking revelation that Umberto Casacelli, who had loved and raised him, had not actually been his father. He could think of worse things than being alone with this rather sexy woman for a while.
He watched from narrowed eyes as her fingers unconsciously toyed with the enormous diamond bauble she wore on her ring finger. He got it. She was married. Attractive, and married. And attracted to him. Just the kind of woman he should avoid.
If he had to use one word to describe her, it would be expensive. Everything from the hairstyle that screamed, ‘Beauty Salon Dishevelled’, to the clothes that were obviously from a high-end designer, to the six inch spike heels that made him wonder about what her height would be without them. He was intrigued by her, despite the fact warning bells were sounding in his mind.
“I’m hungry. Come into the kitchen and we can speak privately.”
The housekeeper, Agnes, who had come with the house, was hovering behind him. Presumably she thought it a discreet distance, but her presence, always lingering, obsequiously waiting to be of service, was starting to wear thin.
“You’re not needed, thank you,” he addressed her coolly.
“Yes, sir.” She disappeared so swiftly and silently, he wondered if she was actually a little bit magical.
Antonio took the steps slowly, and Elizabeth watched. Her whole body was alert and energized, as though an electrical current was running just beneath her skin. Once he reached the hallway, he moved towards her. In fact, he stood so close that his naked torso was brushing against the expensive wool of her coat.
“I’m Antonio,” he said, and up c
lose, she saw that there was a fine dusting of freckles across his tanned nose. His eyes were lighter in colour than she’d appreciated, as well. More of a honey color than dark brown. He was holding his hand out for her to shake, she realised belatedly, extending her own hand and placing it in his.
The response was automatic. Her fingers seemed to throb with recognition, so strong that her eyes flew, startled, to his. Antonio’s reaction was unreadable, but how could he fail to feel what she felt?
A picture of Alastair came to mind, with his intelligent eyes and sweet smile, and she yanked her hand free, rubbing it against the back of her skirt to remove any hint of the treacherous and strange whirlpool of desire that had overtaken her.
Was he laughing at her? His eyes seemed to mock her reaction and Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
