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CHAPTER ONE
THE last time Tina Henderson saw Luca Barbarigo, he was naked. Gloriously, unashamedly, heart-stoppingly naked. A specimen of virile masculine perfection—if you discounted the violent slash of red across his rigid jaw.
As for what had come afterwards...
Oh God. It was bad enough to remember the last time she’d seen him. She didn’t want to remember anything that came after that. She must have misheard. Her mother could not mean that man. Life could not be that cruel. She clenched a slippery hand harder around the receiver, trying to get a better grip on what her mother was asking.
‘Who...who did you say again?’
‘Are you listening to me, Valentina? I need you to talk to Luca Barbarigo. I need you to make him see reason.’
Impossible. She’d told herself she’d never see him again.
More than that. She’d promised herself.
‘Valentina! You have to come. I need you here. Now!’
Tina pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers trying to block the conflicting memories—the images that were seared on her brain from the most amazing night of her life, the sight of him naked as he’d risen from the bed, all long powerful legs, a back that could have been sculpted in marble, right down to the twin dimples at the base of his spine—and then the mix master of emotions, the anger and turmoil—the anguish and despair—for what had come afterwards.
She pinched harder, seeking to blot out the dull ache in her womb, trying to direct her shocked emotions into anger. And she was angry, and not just about what had happened in the past. Because how typical was it that the first time her mother actually called her in more than a year, it wasn’t to wish her a belated happy birthday, as she’d foolishly imagined, but because Lily needed something.
When did Lily not need something, whether it was attention, or money or adulation from a long and seemingly endless line of husbands and lovers?
And now she foolishly imagined Tina would drop everything and take off for Venice to reason with the likes of Luca Barbarigo?
Not a chance.
Besides, it was impossible. Venice was half a world away from the family farm in Australia where she was also needed right now. No, whatever disagreement her mother had with Luca Barbarigo, she was just going to have to sort it out for herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began, casting a reassuring glance towards her father across the room to signal everything was under control. A call from Lily put everyone on edge. ‘But there’s no way I can—’
‘But you have to do something!’ her mother shrieked down the telephone line, so loud that she had to hold the receiver away from her ear. ‘He’s threatening to throw me out of my home! Don’t you understand?’ she insisted. ‘You have to come!’ before following it with a torrent of French, despite the fact that Lily D’Areincourt Beauchamp was English born and bred. The language switch came as no surprise—her mother often employed that tactic when she wanted to sound more impassioned. Neither was the melodrama. As long as she had known Lily, there was always melodrama.
Tina rolled her eyes as the tirade continued, not bothering to keep up and tired of whatever game her mother was playing, suddenly bone weary. A long day helping her father bring in the sheep in preparation for shearing wasn’t about to end any time soon. There was still a stack of washing up waiting for her in the kitchen sink and that was before she could make a start on the piles of accounts that had to be settled before her trip to town tomorrow to see the bank manager. She rubbed her brow where the start of a headache niggled. She always hated meetings with their bank manager. She hated the power imbalance, the feeling that she was at a disadvantage from the get go.
Though right now the bank manager was the least of her problems...
Across the room Tina’s father put down his stock journal on the arm of his chair where he’d been pretending to read and threw her a sympathetic smile before disappearing into the large country kitchen, no real help at all. But then, he’d broken ties with Lily almost twenty-five years ago now. It might not have been a long marriage but, knowing her mother, he’d more than served his time.
She was aware of the banging of the old water pipes as her father turned on the tap, followed by the thump of the kettle on the gas cooker and still her mother wasn’t through with pleading her case. ‘Okay, Lily,’ she managed while her mother drew breath. ‘So what makes you think Luca Barbarigo is trying to throw you out of the palazzo? He’s Eduardo’s nephew after all. Why would he threaten such a thing? And in English, please, if you don’t mind. You know my French is rusty.’
