‘No, no.’ Guido Bartaldi made a dismissive gesture. ‘That would be futile, even degrading. No, I want a companion for Paola that she can like and trust. Someone she can confide in.’ He looked at her unsmilingly, and she wished she could see what was in his eyes. ‘She talked to you. You seem the obvious choice.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Clare shook her head vigorously. ‘Apart from anything else, I’m a language teacher, not a chaperon.’
‘That is all to the good. I have an international business. I travel extensively.’ He paused. ‘My wife will need to be fluent in other languages than her own.’
Clare tried to collect her flurried thoughts. ‘You want me to teach Paola English?’ She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. That he had the unadulterated nerve—the sheer arrogance—to make such a request of her.
‘Together with some French.’ He nodded, almost casually. ‘I presume you are capable of this?’
She said between her teeth, ‘Capable, yes. Willing, no.’
‘I see. Have your recent experiences given you a distaste for Paola’s company?’
‘Paola,’ she said, ‘is not my main consideration.’
He said quietly, ‘Then may I ask that she becomes so? She—needs you.’
Her lips parted in a gasp of astonishment. She said, ‘Oh, this is ridiculous.’
‘What is so laughable?’
‘The entire situation.’ She looked down at the towel she was clutching. ‘And this in particular.’
She lay down again, gingerly tugging the towel from beneath her and discarding it. She fitted her bikini top into place, and held it with one hand while she reached behind her back with the other to secure the little metal clip. But, however she struggled, it evaded her best efforts and remained determinedly undone.
‘Allow me.’ There was a ghost of laughter in his voice as he rose unhurriedly to his feet.
‘I can manage,’ she said with breathless haste, aware that she was blushing again.
Guido Bartaldi clicked his tongue reprovingly as he strolled to her side. ‘You must learn not to fib, Chiara.’
Clare tensed uncontrollably as he bent over her, expecting to feel the brush of his fingers against her skin. Terrified at her own possible reaction.
But his fingers were brisk, almost clinical, as he dealt with the fastening, and stood up.
‘Relax,’ he advised. ‘Your ordeal is at an end.’
‘Thank you,’ Clare said in a wooden voice, and he laughed openly as he returned to his chair.
‘Do not strain civility too far, mia bella. You’d like to tell me to go to hell.’
She had to fight hard not to smile. ‘That’s the least of it, signore.’
‘But, just the same,’ he said. ‘I would like you to consider my offer of employment.’
Clare looked back at him in silence, then swung herself off the lounger, picked up her wrap, slid her arms into the sleeves and tied the sash tightly round her waist, with ostentatious care.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that you are making some point.’
‘How clever of you to notice.’
‘It was not particularly difficult. Has anyone ever told you, Chiara, that subtlety is not your chief asset?’ He crossed his legs. ‘I infer you think you might find yourself in some kind of danger under my roof.’
‘You’re implying that I’m not?’ She didn’t disguise the scepticism in her voice, or in the look she sent him. ‘You may not lack subtlety yourself, signore, but some of your behaviour towards me could be described as sexual harassment.’
‘How clever of you to notice.’ A smile played round the corners of his mouth. ‘But you would have nothing further to fear on that score. Entering my household would act as an immediate safeguard. I am not in the habit of—harassing my employees.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ she said. ‘But I’m still not tempted.’
‘You have not asked how much I would be prepared to pay to secure your services.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ she said sharply.
‘As you have already made clear,’ he murmured.
‘I mean I can’t be bought.’
‘And I am not looking for a slave.’ His tone was equable. ‘Or is that another reference to my wholesale corruption of public servants?’
Clare bit her lip. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But you see how it is, signore. There’s no way that we could co-exist—you and I.’ And I—I couldn’t take the risk, she added silently.
‘We would not have to co-exist,’ he said shortly. ‘I am hiring you to stay with Paola, not myself. My business interests cause me to be away a great deal. We would seldom meet.’
Clare sat down rather limply on the lounger. ‘And how will Paola feel about that? She asked. ‘It’s hardly the ideal way to court your future wife.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You do not think that my absence will make her heart any fonder?’
She said bluntly, ‘I’d say it would convince her that you don’t give a damn about her.’
‘Then she would be wrong.’ He was unruffled. ‘I care for her very deeply. But I am aware that she does not return my feelings. Or not yet.’ He paused. ‘I hope that you can, perhaps, change that.’
‘I?’ Clare echoed. ‘How can I do that?’
‘By bringing her to a more suitable frame of mind. By getting her to recognise that I can make her happy.’
Clare drew a deep breath. ‘Let me understand this,’ she demanded in outrage. ‘You want me to turn a hostile, unruly girl into a submissive bride for you?’
He smiled at her. ‘Exactly.’
There was a brief, fulminating silence, then she said shortly, ‘It can’t be done.’
‘I think it altogether possible—if you try. Just bend that formidable will of yours to the problem, Chiara mia, and who knows what miracle might not ensue?’
‘Perhaps it’s not a problem I particularly wish to address.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘Just why do you want this marriage, signore?’
‘I have a house,’ he said. ‘But it is not a home. I have a great name, but no heir. I have relationships, but not with a woman who can fill my heart to the exclusion of all others. Are those good enough reasons?’
Clare looked down her nose. ‘It all sounds a little cold-blooded to me.’
‘But you are so wrong,’ he said softly. ‘As my wife will discover for herself once her nights are spent in my arms.’
She looked down at the tiles at her feet, feeling the sudden startled colour flood her face. Aware of the urgent necessity to veil her eyes from him. Feeling some unfamiliar, confused emotion composed of envy and a kind of regret tremble inside her. And trying desperately to crush it down…
She said in a low voice, ‘Maybe you should start convincing her of that now.’
‘That would not be appropriate,’ he told her coolly. ‘We are not even officially engaged to each other.’
Back under control, she looked up, lifting her brows satirically. ‘I did not think you were so conventional, Marchese.’
‘But then you know so little about me, Chiara,’ he came back at her, sardonically.