He took it, stuffing it into his trouser pocket. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said abruptly. ‘The Duchessa will understand—’
Lana raised her eyebrows. ‘So soon? Won’t it look as if we’ve cut and run? Better surely to go back and show everyone how little it all meant?’
She spoke instinctively, forgetting for a moment that she was really no more than an employee of Salvatore Luchesi, and that she was there to do as she was told, not have ideas of her own, let alone express something contrary to him.
‘Can you face it?’ he asked, a frown on his face.
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. ‘If you had ever been backstage at a fashion show, you would know that Giavanna Fabrizzi’s little outburst back there was a mere pinprick! I have seen full-blown hissy fits that would have given Mount Etna a run for its money when it comes to volcanic eruptions!’
She felt herself take Salvatore’s arm, draping her hand over its smooth sleeve.
‘Come on,’ she said lightly. ‘Show some backbone! I know men hate scenes—even Italian men, I dare say, though they probably see a lot more of them than Englishmen are subjected to in high society—but you can do this!’
Unconsciously—instinctively, even—she made her tone humorous. There was a darkness in Salvatore’s eyes that might have been forbidding, but she would not let it be. And now the darkness changed to a glint.
‘Stiff upper lip?’ he contributed sardonically, but she could hear humour, reluctant though it was, in his voice.
‘I’m sure the Duchessa will insist!’ she answered, still lightly.
They walked back into the throng. It felt slightly odd not to have Salvatore’s insistently guiding hand cupping her elbow, and instead feel the muscle of his forearm beneath her hand. And as they walked the Duchessa herself was gliding towards them, very much a ship in full sail, guests parting on either side to allow her approach.
‘My dear, are you all right?’ she asked concernedly.
‘Perfectly, I promise you,’ Lana assured her.
‘Bene, bene...’intoned the Duchessa. She bestowed an approving smile upon Lana. ‘Well done!’ The look she threw at Salvatore was less approving. ‘Your bride should not have been subject to that kind of thing!’ she said tartly.
Lana intervened. ‘Young love is so very painful, Duchessa,’ she said. ‘Salvatore’s marriage must have come as a deep shock to the poor girl.’ Her voice became sympathetic. ‘She has such a huge teenage crush on Salva!’
‘You are too kind to her,’ came the Duchessa’s still tart reply. ‘She’s been over-indulged and spoilt!’
‘I’m sure she’ll improve as she grows up,’ Lana said temporisingly. She wanted the subject changed. ‘This is the most spectacular villa, Duchessa—it is a privilege to be here. The ceiling alone...’
She gazed upwards. As if on cue the Duchessagave the name of the artist, and told her what the opulent scenes depicted by way of pagan gods and goddesses disporting themselves. Then she smiled at Lana.
‘Come and lunch with me here one day, my dear, and I will be able to give you far more time than I can now.’ The Duchess smiled benignly upon Lana, included Salvatore within it, and then she was sailing off again to attend to her other guests.
Lana felt Salvatore’s hand fold over hers on his sleeve. ‘You’ve found favour,’ he said in a low voice. She could hear approval in it. Then something changed in his expression. ‘I’ve announced you to the world—and to Giavanna and Roberto—as my bride. But perhaps...’ Now his voice was changing as well. ‘Perhaps I should give them a tangible demonstration of that fact.’
Before she realised what was happening—before she could even register his intention—Lana felt his hand catch her chin. He took a step towards her, closed the distance between them. His long fingers tilted up her face towards him, and her eyes, uplifted also, met his full-on.
Met them—and reeled.
They were dark, long-lashed, and drowningly deep...
And she was drowning in them...she absolutely was... Helpless to break his gaze, helpless to step away, helpless to do anything at all except know, with every female instinct in her, what was coming next.
And come it did.
As if in slow motion, Salvatore’s sculpted mouth lowered to hers. His long fingers grazed the line of her jaw as his mouth touched hers. Lana’s eyes fluttered shut, and sensation took over from vision.
Like velvet, like silk, like satin...
The sheer, blissful sensuousness of his mouth moving slowly, lingeringly on hers weakened every bone in her body. Did a sigh escape her? She did not know...could not tell. Could tell only that she did not want his kiss to stop. Did not want it ever to stop—
And yet it did. He was drawing away from her, his fingers releasing her, his hand dropping away. He was still close to her, though, so very close... The scent of his expensive aftershave was catching at her, making her feel faint.
Or something was...