stop me, but, as I told them, I couldn't have affairs with other men if I didn't much like my husband, could I? Cesare hasn't any money, and he isn't the sort of person we usually mix with socially, but I love him and he dotes on me! When Domenico said I could marry him after all, I thought I'd burst with joy. That's really why I don't want him to be landed with Alessandra. He deserves better than that!' She grinned happily at Deborah. C I couldn't be more pleased about your arrival!' she added with relish. That's better than anything!'
Deborah smoothed the bedclothes over her knees. 'I already have a boy-friend,' she informed the other girl. 'His name is Michael Doyle. We're going to share a studio one day. He makes stained-glass windows '
'You mean you're going to marry him?'
'Probably.'
'Does Domenico know?' asked Gianetta.
'I think so.'
'You only think so? He can't know he's important to you or he wouldn't have taken you shopping to buy clothes!'
'My—my father is paying for them,' Deborah explained.
'But it was Domenico's name on the cheque! Among our friends that's tantamount to a declaration of intent. You must have known that!'
'I didn't have much choice!' Deborah began hotly. She might have been even more indiscreet, but a knock on the door made both girls look round to see Domenico himself standing in the doorway.
His sister greeted him with a single-minded purpose that made Deborah shut her eyes, wishing they would both go away.
'Did you know Deborah is going to marry this Michael Doyle person?' Gianetta demanded.
'I doubt it will come to that,' Domenico returned with a calm Deborah could only despise.
'Why shouldn't it?' she threw at him, glowering at him across the room. 'I'm very fond of Michael!'
'Exactly.'
'And just what do you mean by that?' she insisted, throwing all caution to the winds.
His eyes were bright with laughter. 'I mean,' he said deliberately, 'that Michael is no more than a red herring ! Fondness is a long way from love—and you are a long way from loving Michael! Isn't that the truth, piccina?'
Deborah stared at him. 'And how would you know that?' she asked him sweetly.
He didn't take the bait. 'One day I'll explain it to you,' he answered her. 'When we are alone and you have no one's skirts to hide behind.' He pulled his sister unceremoniously to her feet and pointed towards the door. 'It's time we left Deborah to catch up on her beauty sleep. She's had a busy day.' He came back to the bed and stood for a moment looking down at her. 'Is that one of the nightdresses we bought today?'
'Yes.' She couldn't have said anything else to save her life. She pursed up her lips into a prim line and studiously avoided his eyes.
'Very nice too!' he commented. He wound one of her curls around his finger and smiled at her. 'Sweet dreams, little one. You have nothing to worry about now if you will only trust me.'
She clenched her fists beneath the bedclothes, fighting a grim battle against the effect he had on her. She muttered a stormy goodnight and turned her back on him, listening intently as he switched out the light by the door and shut it after him. She expelled her breath on a sigh, and then she heard it, she distinctly heard him turn the lock in her door.
She lay for a long rime in the darkness wondering what she should do. It was, she admitted to herself, a temptation to stay exactly where she was. There were many attractions in being Domenico's prisoner, but none of them were likely to bode well for her in the long run. Yet how could she run away? She couldn't with honour take any of the clothes he had bought for her and she was reluctant, for reasons she wouldn't put a name to, to don her jeans and shirt again, leaving all her new possessions behind her.
It took her fully an hour to make up her mind that she really had no choice in the matter. She struggled out of bed and opened the shutters at the windows to admit the moonlight, then, moving as quietly as she could, she
Deborah smoothed the bedclothes over her knees. 'I already have a boy-friend,' she informed the other girl. 'His name is Michael Doyle. We're going to share a studio one day. He makes stained-glass windows '
'You mean you're going to marry him?'
'Probably.'
'Does Domenico know?' asked Gianetta.
'I think so.'
'You only think so? He can't know he's important to you or he wouldn't have taken you shopping to buy clothes!'
'My—my father is paying for them,' Deborah explained.
'But it was Domenico's name on the cheque! Among our friends that's tantamount to a declaration of intent. You must have known that!'
'I didn't have much choice!' Deborah began hotly. She might have been even more indiscreet, but a knock on the door made both girls look round to see Domenico himself standing in the doorway.
His sister greeted him with a single-minded purpose that made Deborah shut her eyes, wishing they would both go away.
'Did you know Deborah is going to marry this Michael Doyle person?' Gianetta demanded.
'I doubt it will come to that,' Domenico returned with a calm Deborah could only despise.
'Why shouldn't it?' she threw at him, glowering at him across the room. 'I'm very fond of Michael!'
'Exactly.'
'And just what do you mean by that?' she insisted, throwing all caution to the winds.
His eyes were bright with laughter. 'I mean,' he said deliberately, 'that Michael is no more than a red herring ! Fondness is a long way from love—and you are a long way from loving Michael! Isn't that the truth, piccina?'
Deborah stared at him. 'And how would you know that?' she asked him sweetly.
He didn't take the bait. 'One day I'll explain it to you,' he answered her. 'When we are alone and you have no one's skirts to hide behind.' He pulled his sister unceremoniously to her feet and pointed towards the door. 'It's time we left Deborah to catch up on her beauty sleep. She's had a busy day.' He came back to the bed and stood for a moment looking down at her. 'Is that one of the nightdresses we bought today?'
'Yes.' She couldn't have said anything else to save her life. She pursed up her lips into a prim line and studiously avoided his eyes.
'Very nice too!' he commented. He wound one of her curls around his finger and smiled at her. 'Sweet dreams, little one. You have nothing to worry about now if you will only trust me.'
She clenched her fists beneath the bedclothes, fighting a grim battle against the effect he had on her. She muttered a stormy goodnight and turned her back on him, listening intently as he switched out the light by the door and shut it after him. She expelled her breath on a sigh, and then she heard it, she distinctly heard him turn the lock in her door.
She lay for a long rime in the darkness wondering what she should do. It was, she admitted to herself, a temptation to stay exactly where she was. There were many attractions in being Domenico's prisoner, but none of them were likely to bode well for her in the long run. Yet how could she run away? She couldn't with honour take any of the clothes he had bought for her and she was reluctant, for reasons she wouldn't put a name to, to don her jeans and shirt again, leaving all her new possessions behind her.
It took her fully an hour to make up her mind that she really had no choice in the matter. She struggled out of bed and opened the shutters at the windows to admit the moonlight, then, moving as quietly as she could, she
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