and admiration but nothing had come of it. Sad though it was in his view, his mother had remained impervious to male advances until Vittore came along.
‘I’m sorry to drop in on you without an invite. I would’ve phoned first but I didn’t know quite how to broach the subject,’ Jerome told him, a troubled look on his patrician face as he pushed an uneasy hand through his thick grey hair in a nervous gesture. ‘I’m afraid this is likely to be a rather embarrassing interview, but I’m fond of your mother and I felt I had to speak up and tell you what I know.’
Disconcerted as he was by that opening speech, Dante frowned at that reference to his parent and his light eyes narrowed with questioning intensity. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Jerome.’
‘It’s this...’ The older man settled a local newspaper down on the table beside the window.
Dante lifted it up and gazed down at a print photograph of his mother with Topsy standing in the background. The picture adorned an in-depth article about the charity to support women who had had miscarriages that his mother had started up about ten years earlier. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘That pretty brunette working for your mother—I’ve...er...met her before,’ Jerome divulged awkwardly. ‘In London. I spent an evening with her... I...er...paid for her time.’
His green eyes darkening and cooling by several degrees, Dante stared back at him in unconcealed disbelief. ‘Topsy? You paid for her time?’
Colour marking his cheekbones, the older man sighed. ‘It’s not quite as sordid as it sounds. She’s not—as far as I know—a prostitute, but when I spent time with her she was available for the right price as an escort. I took her out to dinner one evening. I enjoy young attractive female company now and again and very pleasant she was too,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘But what’s a girl like that doing working for your mother?’
‘Let me get this straight...’ Dante paused, his strong jaw line now set hard as granite, a tiny muscle tugging at the corner of his unsmiling mouth. ‘When you met Topsy Marshall, she was working as an escort? And you hired her?’
Jerome nodded. ‘We dined out. It was purely platonic. I had the pleasure of an attractive woman on my arm and she, of course, would’ve received a fee for her time.’
Dante gritted his even white teeth together, a combustible mix of anger and revulsion burning through him. Topsy was an escort; Topsy had worked as an escort! She had fooled him, he reflected rawly. Hadn’t he been falling for the vulnerable ditzy act she was putting on? He was not easily shocked but the news that she had worked as an escort did shock him. Nevertheless he had complete trust in the older man, whom he had known all his life. Even though Jerome was embarrassed to admit that he had hired an escort, his sense of honour and his concern for Dante’s mother had not allowed him to remain silent and Dante respected the sacrifice of dignity that the older man had made.
Jerome had barely departed before Dante received a call from his bodyguard telling him who Topsy had met up with in Florence. After what he had learned from Jerome he was just a little better prepared for that revelation. Mikhail Kusnirovich, the Russian oil oligarch, her ex-flame? Presumably, she was a former mistress, what else? Dante swallowed hard, knowing he no longer needed to wonder why she had been picked up by a limo or where her reputedly expensive diamond necklace had come from. Those expensive trappings told their own sleazy story. Such a dubious background did, however, make it seem highly unlikely that she had designs on Vittore, who had virtually no money of his own and no hope of any unless he got a divorce.
Had Topsy been summoned to the Russian’s hotel suite in Florence simply for sex? Dante, his heart pounding, his hands clenched into fists, green eyes ablaze, paced his study in an ever-deepening rage. What else would she have been doing in a hotel suite but laying herself down on a bed? Mikhail Kusnirovich had made a booty call and she had answered it without the smallest protest. It could not get much more basic than that.
Yet he recalled her dismay during that phone call, his original suspicion that she was alarmed. Certainly, Kusnirovich was a man few women would dare to reject, a man of unsavoury reputation. Che diavolo! Was he making excuses for her now? She was a whore; what else could she be from such a background as Jerome had given him? Jerome might not have taken advantage of the situation but other men assuredly would have expected, even demanded, something a good deal less innocent than her company. Under no circumstances should such a Jezebel be working for his mother!
* * *
In a reflective mood, Topsy mounted the steps to the castle. Mikhail had not leant on her as heavily as she had feared, his mood doubtless softened by the delightful and surprising news that he was to become a father again without the necessity of Kat having to undergo another gruelling round of IVF treatment. Mikhail had also recognised that it was ridiculous for Topsy’s sisters to fuss over her every move as much as they did and hopefully his more realistic attitude would eventually persuade Kat that her constant worrying about her youngest sibling was unnecessary.
Topsy was heading for the imposing main staircase when a door opened.
‘I want a word with you in private,’ Dante murmured curtly from the doorway.
‘Maybe later. I have some stuff to do for your mother,’ Topsy replied, shooting a lingering glance in his direction. Three mistresses, she was thinking helplessly. The surfeit of sex he was enjoying should surely have prevented him from demonstrating any interest in her. Yet it had not. His face was taut, faint colour edging his exotic cheekbones, his extraordinary eyes unusually bright below his winged brows. So beautiful, she reflected before she could suppress and kill that dangerous thought.
‘Now,’ Dante ground out like a feudal king demanding subservience.
Her chin lifting, Topsy stood her ground. ‘But—’
‘Now!’ Dante thundered back at her in full volume.
Topsy was so taken aback by the shattering charge of anger he radiated that her feet automatically made the turn for her and she moved towards him, her smooth brow furrowed with concern. ‘What’s happened?’
DANTE STEPPED BACK to allow her entry to the book-lined room and closed the door with an impatient hand. ‘I’ve received some disturbing information about you.’
Topsy backed away from him towards the window. ‘About...me?’ she exclaimed in astonishment at the claim. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Jerome St Charles,’ Dante shot back at her. ‘He’s an old friend and a neighbour.’
Topsy was aghast. That name struck her like a slap on the face for, of course, she hadn’t forgotten that unforgettable evening, indeed wouldn’t ever forget the indecent lengths she had been forced to go to before she could persuade her mother to give her the information she sought. It occurred to her at that moment that life could be very random and unjust. What were the odds of that man being an old friend and an actual neighbour of the Leonetti family? How could she possibly be so unlucky? On the other hand, she had done nothing to be ashamed of with Jerome and, unless the man had lied about the time they had spent together, she had no need to defend herself or make pointless excuses.
Dante strolled closer, his keen gaze sharp as a laser beam on her tense and anxious face. ‘I see you recognise the name... Care to give me an explanation?’
‘I don’t have to explain anything I do to you,’ Topsy countered without hesitation. ‘As I said before, you don’t employ me, your mother does.’
‘You will not distress my mother with any reference to this conversation,’ Dante informed her harshly, his contemptuous attitude patent. ‘You will make an excuse, possibly concerning a family problem, and tell her that you are sorry but that you have to return to London immediately.’
Amber-brown eyes wide with wonder at that demand,