It was too late to wonder about anything.
CHAPTER FOUR
A MERCEDES. Of course, Caroline thought as she settled inside the car. It would have to be something like this, an expensive limousine with a uniformed chauf-feur and darkly tinted glass that guaranteed privacy. What other sort of automobile would a man like Nicolo Sabatini have?
The only trouble was that intelligent people didn’t willingly take a car into the heart of a city as busy as Milan on a weekday. Like every other city she could think of, this one was a mass of snarled traffic. Cars moved sluggishly while pedestrians, and, of course, Italy’s omnipresent, motos, scooted past them.
But the man beside her would no more have walked or ridden a motorcycle than he would have willingly been parted from this—this blatant symbol of money. Although, she thought, as she glanced at him, in truth she’d expected something other than this staid automobile. She could more easily picture him in a Maserati. No. In a Ferrari. To her eye, Ferraris were masterpieces of elegantly understated design, with fine lines and an innate animal grace. They were cars that spoke of power and masculinity—like Prince Sabatini himself.
Caroline shifted uneasily. What a ridiculous thing to think about a man she detested. But then, perhaps it wasn’t. She had an eye for the clean lines of a good design, didn’t she? Admitting that he was easy on the eyes was simple artistic honesty. It certainly didn’t change the fact that she disliked him intensely.
She glanced over at him, seated cross-legged beside her, watching as he tapped an impatient tattoo with his fingers against his thigh. They had joined a Gordian knot of vans, taxis, and automobiles that was inching forward at a pace that had set that little muscle in his jaw to knotting and unknotting.
It was no more than he deserved. Every now and then, a man like this one needed a reminder that he could not control everything in this world, despite all his money and his terribly blue blood.
What was even more satisfying was knowing that she had given him that same lesson, not once but twice, this morning when she’d stunned him by agreeing to see his grandmother on her own time, and last night, when she’d turned away his advances, and never mind all that pretense about his not being interested.
Of course he’d been interested. Men always were, especially men like this one. She’d have been like the Mercedes, another symbol of his wealth and authority.
A smile came to her face. She wondered how much Nicolo Sabatini would value her if he saw her as she preferred to be, wearing faded jeans, a cotton turtleneck pullover, and grungy running shoes, her hair loose and straight or, at the most, drawn back in a French braid. If she looked like that, he’d probably have walked right past her. He’d—
“Stupido!”
Caroline looked over at Nicolo. He’d given up trying to drum his fingers into his thigh. Instead, he was leaning forward, peering through the glass that separated them from the chauffeur and glaring furiously at the car in front of them.
“There was an opening,” he said, “but the fool ahead of us did not move quickly enough.”
Caroline gave him a cool look. “How unfortunate.”
Nicolo muttered under his breath, leaned forward, and slammed the privacy panel shut.
“It is better not to watch these imbeciles drive,” he said through his teeth.
“And better still not to be one of them. You should have known the streets would be impossible.”
“Thank you.” It was her turn to be on the receiving end of that angry glare. “If there is one thing I definitely need at this moment, it is a commentary on Italian traffic from a girl from the American Midwest.”
Caroline’s brows lifted in puzzlement. “Why would you think that?”
“Only one born to the insanity of Italian traffic should make observations about it,” he answered tersely.
“I meant, why would you think I’m from that part of America?” She looked at him. “For that matter, how would you even know about the Midwest?”
“I am not ignorant of your country, signorina. I have been there many times, both for business and for pleasure.”
“I’m sure you have. To New York. To San Francisco.” Caroline had to smile. “But to the Midwest?”
“One does not have to visit that section of America to know that it is famous for women with your look.”
“Really.” She shifted sideways in the seat and looked at him again. “And what look is that, Your Highness?”
“That look,” he said impatiently, slashing his hand in her general direction. “Tall. Blond-haired. Blue-eyed. That look of farm-girl innocence.” He threw her a sharp glance. “I am sure it earns you a great deal of money.”
There was an undertone to the words that set Caroline’s teeth on edge. She swung away from him and stared out the side window.
“You’re very sure of everything,” she said coldly. “And very wrong. I’m from New England, not the Midwest. And you don’t need to be Italian to know that insisting on bringing a car in this mess isn’t very bright. If you’d put aside that—that conceited arrogance of yours, you’d have figured that out and taken public transportation. I know that would have meant mingling with the masses, but—”
Her outburst only made him laugh. “You accuse me of being conceited and arrogant? You should listen to yourself, Caroline, and then you would know how readily—and foolishly—you make assumptions.”
“I’m simply pointing out that there were better ways to have made this trip today.”
“I think not.”
The simple statement was delivered with such smug certainty that it made Caroline’s blood heat. But she clamped her lips together and didn’t rise to the bait. He had done a good enough job of getting her to do that already, and she’d be damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of letting it happen again. She could manage that. All she had to do was keep reminding herself that she wouldn’t have to bear his company much longer. Soon, she’d be sitting opposite la Principessa. And, as far as she was concerned, the sooner the—
Caroline swayed as the car made a sudden move. Her body brushed against Nicolo’s. The contact was quick, no more than an instant, but it was unnerving. It was like—like being brushed with fire.
She pulled away and scrambled back to her side of the seat, but not before he gave her a knowing little smile. The man was beneath contempt, she thought, and she gave him her most innocent smile in return.
“So, what are you the prince of, anyway? Italy? Europe?” Her smile grew even sweeter. “The world?”
As she’d expected, that smug look of his gave way to a scowl.
“Nothing so grand, signorina. I am only the Prince of Cordia.”
“Cordia. Cordia…” She sighed. “Can’t say that I’ve heard of it.”
“No. You would not have, unless you were a student of history. Cordia was a principality that vanished more than two hundred years ago.”
“Fascinating,” Caroline said, in a tone that made it clear the topic was anything but. “It must be interesting, owning a useless title in this day and age.”
Nicolo’s scowl darkened. “One does not ‘own’ a title. It is a responsibility passed on through the generations.”
“And what a responsibility,” she said, running her hand over the glove leather seat of the Mercedes. “What an awful burden to—”
The car made another sharp maneuver
and she fell against him again. This time, the hint of flame was even stronger.
“Must your driver go so fast?” she demanded.
Nicolo shrugged. “He is trying to make up time.”
“For what? We can’t have very far to go now. And we’re not entered in a road rally.”
He sighed. “Sit back and relax, Caroline. It will make our hours together easier.”
“Only a miracle could manage that!” She folded her hands tightly in her lap and stared straight ahead. “Where is your apartment, anyway?”
“I do not have an apartment in Milano.”
“Your house, then. I don’t care what you call it. All I want to know is why it’s taking us so long to get there!”
“I am not Milanese,” he said, his tone implying that such a thing should have been obvious, even to an American.
“No?”
“No. I am Roman. I brought la Principessa to Milano only so she could attend last night’s showing. The Children’s Aid Fund is her favorite charity.”
“Yes, she told me.” Caroline frowned as she glanced out the window. Traffic had lessened and the Mercedes was picking up speed, but the streets were unfamiliar. “What hotel is she at? It seems we’ve passed—”
“Why would she be at a hotel?”
“Look, have I missed something? If your grandmother’s not waiting for us at a hotel, then where—”
“She is waiting for us at home.” He gave her a cool smile just as the car gave a throaty growl and leaped forward. “In Roma.”
Caroline’s mouth went dry. “In Rome?”
“Of course.”
“But—that’s hundreds of miles from here!”
He gave a negligent shrug. “We will fly it in less than—”
“Fly? You mean, we’re going to the airport?”
“Certainly. It would take hours to drive the distance.”
Caroline swung around and faced him. “Wait a minute! Wait just a damned minute—”
“You will not use vulgarity in my presence,” he said, giving her a look of absolute coldness. “Such language may be suitable in the world you inhabit. But in mine—and in my grandmother’s—a woman knows what it means to be a lady.”