A Scandal Made At Midnight

CHAPTER NINE

‘SOWHERESHALL we go first?’ Alessandro asked as he joined Liane in the lobby the next morning for a day of sightseeing. ‘Or are you going to surprise me?’

‘I’m afraid you might be disappointed,’ she told him with a little laugh. ‘The sights I’m showing you are, I fear, somewhat ordinary.’

‘But it’s still Paris,’ he said, smiling as he took her arm. Liane tried not to react to the feel of his strong forearm twined with hers. Since she’d turned down Alessandro’s offer, she was doing her best to act unfazed. Cheerful, even, and certainly unaffected, although it felt like the performance of a lifetime. Still, they both knew where they stood. That had to be a good thing. She kept telling herself it was, even as she’d lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to imagine Alessandro taking her into his arms, his mouth on hers, his hands on her body...

At least this felt like a good thing, to walk out into the summer sunshine of her favourite city in the world, the pavements sparkling with dew, the sky a fresh, breezy blue, the Eiffel Tower piercing its brightness in the distance.

‘I’ve become rather used to spending my nights in a penthouse suite,’ she remarked teasingly as they headed down the Champ de Mars. Alessandro had offered the use of his limo and chauffeur but Liane had insisted they walk, in order to experience the city better. ‘It’s going to be a shock when I return home.’

‘You live with Ella in New York, yes?’

‘Yes, in a townhouse by Central Park. It’s lovely, so I can’t really complain.’

‘But?’ Alessandro filled in, his crinkled gaze scanning her face with a half-smile.

‘But it’s not mine. Ella’s father, my stepfather, left it to her, with the proviso that my mother and sister and I could all live there as long as we wanted.’ She shrugged. ‘And considering the astronomical rents in Manhattan, it makes sense to stay there, especially on my teacher’s salary. But one day...’ She paused, embarrassed, unsure whether to continue, but then Alessandro prompted her again.

‘One day?’

Why shouldn’t she tell him? She’d made it clear, and so had he, where they both stood. That could give them a certain freedom to be honest, to be real, and she suddenly found that she wanted to be so. ‘One day I’d like a house in the country,’ she told him with a smile and a purposeful swing in her step. ‘It would need to be old, a rambling kind of place with hidden corners and twisting stairs and funny, poky rooms.’

‘Poky rooms?’ He raised his eyebrows and she laughed.

‘Not in a bad way. Just...the kind of house that has a personality, feels alive. One that keeps surprising you with its secrets.’ They’d turned onto the wide, sunny avenue of Rue de l’Université, the chestnut trees that lined the boulevard providing some welcome shade from the bright summer sun.

‘And what would you do in this house?’ Alessandro asked, and once again Liane hesitated. Did she really want to share her dreams, private and precious as they were? But why shouldn’t she? They were friends, after all. They’d both made that so abundantly clear. Surely that freed her to tell him her fairy tale, the one she’d dreamed of since she’d been a little girl, the one she was still waiting for. She knew, with a deep, certain instinct, that he wouldn’t laugh at her for it.

‘I’d have cats and dogs and children,’ she informed him with blithe determination. ‘Several of each, preferably. And a garden. A big vegetable garden, and pots of herbs, lavender and thyme and sage, and flowers too. Big, blowsy roses and lilac bushes... I love the smell of lilac. It was at the house where I lived as a child, in Lyon—it makes me feel sad and happy at the same time, somehow. I want a house that smells of lilac the whole spring long.’ She glanced at him uncertainly, realising she was babbling, but Alessandro, gratifyingly, looked arrested.

‘Tell me more,’ he said.

‘And there’ll be a big kitchen, but cosy too, with a range and a big, square oak table and a sofa somewhere, the squashy kind you curl up on with a dog or a cat or...or a lovely little toddler.’ She looked away, blushing, because she realised she was imagining a serious, dark-eyed boy a lot like Alessandro, one who had that same glinting smile. ‘And it would have a wood burner too, for winter nights or frosty mornings...’

‘It sounds as if you’ve imagined this house in detail,’ he remarked dryly.

‘Oh, I have.’ She let out a wobbly little laugh. Embroidering her dream house, her dream life, with all of its wonderful threads had been a very pleasant pastime over the sometimes lonely years, from when she’d been a little girl to far more recently.

‘And what about the man in this scenario?’ Alessandro asked mildly, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he sauntered along. ‘I assume, with the children you mentioned, there is a man of some description?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her cheeks warmed and she kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘There’s a man.’

‘And what is he like?’

Alessandro’s tone was neutral, but Liane’s skin still prickled and her lips tingled as she remembered their kiss. The house was one thing, but did she really want to talk about this with him? The man she hoped she would love one day. Well, she thought with sudden, heady recklessness, why not? He’d made it clear it would never be him. That didn’t mean her fairy tale prince wasn’t real, or at least wouldn’t be one day.

‘I don’t have as many preconceived notions about him,’ she told him. ‘I don’t mind what he looks like or does for a job, or anything like that. What matters is that he is kind, and honest, and loyal. And he must have a sense of humour. That’s very important.’

‘And like cats and dogs, I presume. And children.’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Well, yes.’

‘And of course he must want to live in this pastoral paradise with you.’

‘That, too.’ She slid him a sideways glance, uncertain of his dry tone. Was he mocking her? Or merely cataloguing her rather ridiculously long list of requirements? ‘It is just a dream,’ she reminded him quietly, and he stopped right there on the street, laying a warm, sure hand on her arm.

‘Dreams are important.’ His silvery gaze blazed down at her as his hand tightened briefly on her arm. ‘Don’t give up your dream, Liane.’

Why, she wondered, did that feel like some sort of warning? ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘What are your dreams?’

He removed his hand, shaking his head as he kept walking. ‘I don’t have dreams. Not like that, anyway.’

‘Too jaded?’ she teased softly, although his words made her feel sad. ‘Too cynical for daydreams?’

He gave a small, rueful laugh of acknowledgement. ‘Perhaps.’

‘And what made you so?’ she asked as she fell into step alongside him. ‘Was it your parents, their difficult marriage?’

‘That was certainly the start of it.’

‘Tell me about them.’ She longed to know more about him, but she also wondered if, for Alessandro, speaking of them would be similar to lancing a wound. That prized restraint, that all-important self-control, she suspected, hid a depth of emotion he was afraid to feel or even acknowledge to himself. Perhaps she was being fanciful, but she felt it all the same.

Alessandro didn’t speak for a long moment, and Liane began to wonder if she’d pushed too hard. Maybe they should have stuck to daydreams. Then, finally, the words emerged slowly, chosen with care, offered with reluctance.

‘They were the fairy tale, at the start. Italian nobility and a movie starlet, their wedding was covered by all the European newspapers. Everyone thought they were perfect together.’ He paused, his mouth tightening. ‘All I remember is the fighting—and the tears.’

‘Oh, Alessandro...’