told me your little friend was an artist and had painted a portrait of your brother—how sweet. And she looks very sweet in that vintage dress. But secondhand clothes have never appealed to me—I prefer new.’
He looked at the tall brunette hanging on his arm. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t you know? The Contessa gave Lucy the dress she is wearing. Teresa Lanza overheard them talking, and apparently the Contessa wore it the first time she met her husband. Heaven knows how many years ago that was, but at least it saved you having to buy one for your mother’s little protégée. She probably had nothing suitable for an occasion like this.’
Olivia really was a bitch, Lorenzo finally realised, and from now on Fedrico was going to have to look after his own business affairs. Disabled or not, there was nothing wrong with the man’s brain.
Shrugging off her arm, he said, ‘Excuse me,’ and strode into the lounge.
He spotted Lucy with the Contessa, sitting on a sofa with a group of people standing around them. Lucy was laughing at something young Paolo Paglia had said. Lorenzo took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked over to the group.
‘Champagne, Lucy?’
Lucy heard Lorenzo’s voice, though she had not seen him approach, and her smile dimmed as she looked up at him and took the glass he offered. If his interest in her had been genuine, and he’d seen her as more than just a body in his bed, he might have noticed she never drank the stuff.
She listened as he effortlessly joined the conversation. But his very presence so close was affecting her hard-won poise—and it was getting worse.
For a man who could hardly wait to get rid of her, and was prepared to pay to do so, he had an odd way of showing it, Lucy thought two hours later. Lorenzo had insisted on sticking with the Contessa and Lucy. He had totally charmed the Contessa, and kept touching Lucy—her arm, her waist. She knew it was just for show, but by the time he escorted them to the buffet laid out in the dining room she was beginning to wonder.
The Contessa left after the buffet, and the band began to play.
Lorenzo led Lucy on to the dance floor and took her in his arms. For a moment it was like the first time they’d danced together—a perfect fit. Held close against his long body, Lucy stopped wondering, and her soft heart began to hope.
Then Lorenzo burst her bubble by speaking.
‘Did you hope to insult me by wearing the gown the Contessa gave you?’
It was like a douche of ice water over her head.
‘Did I succeed?’ Lucy asked, stiffening in his arms.
His dark eyes clashed with hers, something moving in the inky depths. ‘Not really—it looks beautiful. But if you wanted a new dress you had only to ask. I would have bought you as many as you like.’
‘I think you have paid quite enough already to get me here,’ she said. ‘As have I. And isn’t it time you mingled with your other guests?’
‘You are right,’ he agreed. ‘Maybe I have been a little neglectful.’ And he led her off the dance floor and through into the lounge, where Anna sat with a few friends.
‘Watch what you say,’ Lorenzo murmured as he led her over and she sat down beside Anna on the sofa.
The doctor made way for her with a smile and, perching on the cushioned arm. Lorenzo said a few words to the small group which made them smile.
Lucy managed not to flinch as he finally glanced down at her and she recognised the familiar ruthlessness in the tight line of his mouth.
‘I’ll see you later, cara.’
The indifference in his eyes chilled her to the bone. She watched as he walked back into the hall and saw he was quickly surrounded by a crowd of sophisticated friends, all laughing and talking—including Olivia Paglia, competing with the rest for Lorenzo’s attention. She looked as if she was winning.
Lucy turned her head away and, pinning a smile on her face, listened as Anna introduced her to Luigi, a small dark man, obviously Italian, but whose English was faultless—as was almost everyone’s here, she thought. But then at this level of society that was probably to be expected.
‘My congratulations, Lucy. Your portrait of Antonio is amazing—especially for someone so young,’ said Luigi.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, and when he said he was an art historian the conversation flowed.
For the remainder of the evening Lucy stayed where she was, only moving after Luigi rose to take his leave, kissing both Lucy and Anna goodnight. Then Anna excused herself, as it was nearly midnight and time for her to retire. The rest of the group stood up.
Anna kissed Lucy on the cheek. ‘It was good of you, my dear, to spend so much time with us oldies. Now, come—I will find that formidable son of mine and tell him he has played host long enough. I will say goodnight, then you two can enjoy yourselves.’
Lucy didn’t think so, but she had no choice but to follow Anna into the grand hall. Lorenzo’s dark head bent towards his mother as they said goodnight and then Anna moved towards the stairs.
Lucy was left standing like a lemon, wishing she was anywhere else but here. She could feel Lorenzo looking down at her, and reluctantly glanced up.
‘Are you enjoying the party, Lucy?’ he asked, but his eyes were still dark pools, no glimmer of interest in their depths. ‘You seem to have been a big hit with everyone—especially Luigi … a good man to know in your line of work.’
Then just behind her she heard a young man’s voice.
‘At last the lovely Lucy has joined the dance.’
She felt an arm slip around her waist, and quickly pulled away. Another arm wrapped around her—this time Lorenzo’s—and she heard the laughter of the people around, and a mocking, ‘Well held, Lorenzo.’
‘Careful, cara.’ He smiled. ‘Paolo is only a boy.’
But there was no amusement in the dark eyes staring coldly down into hers.
‘I can see that,’ said Lucy, her cheeks burning and her green eyes sparkling up at him ‘Excuse me a moment.’
She spun out of Lorenzo’s grasp and swiftly moved through the crowd, making her way upstairs without a backward glance. She had been ignored, laughed at and mocked, and she had finally had enough of the injustice of it all.
Kicking off her shoes, she picked them up and made her way to the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and washed her face and unpinned her hair. Then, wrapping a towel around her body, she crossed to the dressing room and found her suitcase. She began to pack.
Carefully she wrapped the dress she had worn for the party in tissue. It was a beautiful gift from a lovely lady, though Lucy doubted she would ever wear it again. She left out jeans and a sweater to wear when she left. She wanted nothing and no one to delay her departure, and if she didn’t meet the usual designer-clad elegant standard of the ladies Lorenzo usually transported in his private jet, she didn’t give a damn!
She walked back into the bedroom and, switching on the bedside light clicked off the main one. Dropping the towel, she climbed wearily onto the big bed. She pulled the satin and lace cover over her and laid her head down on the plump pillows. It was comfortable, and she heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. This time tomorrow she would be at home in her own bed, all her problems solved, financially solvent, and free …
She should be ecstatic, so why did she feel so hurt, so defeated? She knew the answer. After Lorenzo’s outburst this afternoon she had recognised at last the implacability of his contempt for her. Was it possible to desire someone and hate them at the same time? Yes, she thought bitterly. Lorenzo could.
From the very beginning when she had felt they’d made love Lorenzo had felt … nothing … She moved her