Contracted to the Italian Prince

“Nicolo, don’t!”

“It is all right, cara, Signor Calder will understand.” He touched his mouth to her hair in a way that was clearly possessive. “Caroline and I had a little quarrel last evening, signore.” He shrugged and gave a little laugh. “You know how it can be, yes? Sometimes a man and his woman say things they should not…”

“That’s not true! You and I—”

“I must accept some of the blame, I am afraid,” he said with a smile that was clearly meant to signify one man would understand the foibles of another. “I made matters worse by—how do you say it?—not kissing and making up before bedtime.”

Calder’s face was turning an incredible shade of pink—but it could not be any pinker than her own face! Caroline shook her head and gave Calder a beseeching look.

“He didn’t! I mean, we didn’t! Bob, listen to me—”

“I have already admitted it, bellissima.” Nicolo sighed. “I didn’t. At the very least, I should have sent you flowers today, some trinket to prove my affection…” He laughed softly. “And so, she repaid me by paying a great deal of attention to you tonight, signore. Well, we both know how women are, eh?”

Caroline stamped her foot. “Damn you, Nicolo! Not a word of this is true. You’re lying! Bob, I swear. He’s lying…”

“Lying? Nicolo Sabatini, lie?” His dark brows drew together. “Would you call me a liar, Signor Calder?”

Calder shook his head dumbly.

“Indeed.” Nicolo blew out his breath. “I am a patient man, signore. I understand you were an innocent dupe in Caroline’s little game, but I assure you, I will not tolerate being called a liar.”

“I—I’d never call you that, Your Highness.” Calder’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And—and I’m sorry if there was any misunderstanding about—about—”

“I accept your apology,” Nicolo said graciously.

“Wait a minute!” Caroline’s voice rose alarmingly. “Wait just a damned minute…”

“It is late,” he said with a gentle smile. “I think I must say good-night to my guests, yes?” He spun her to him, then gave her a swift, hard kiss on her mouth. “You go on up, cara,” he said softly. “Make yourself even more beautiful for me. That white silk peignoir set, yes? The one I gave you last week? And I will make your apologies for you.” Smiling, he patted her backside, then pushed her gently toward the stairs.

Caroline stared at him, stunned, hating him with such blinding rage that she didn’t trust herself to speak. At last, she swung toward Bob Calder, but he averted his eyes.

“Nicolo,” she sputtered, “you—you—”

“She is a tigress,” he said to Calder, who smiled in nervous agreement. “Go on, cara. I promise, I will not keep you waiting long.”

She wanted to shriek, to curse him into all eternity—but he had already turned his back and was strolling toward the living room.

The last thing she saw, before she turned and flew up the stairs, was the embarrassment on Bob Calder’s face—and the shock on the face of Sofia Valenti, who stood huddled in a shadowed corner.

CHAPTER TEN

CAROLINE FLUNG open her bedroom door, then slammed it shut after her. That son of a bitch! That sewer rat! That no-account, blue-blooded bastard…

Her shoes went flying as she kicked them off her feet.

“I hate you, Nicolo Sabatini,” she said.

Her skirt swirled around her legs in a froth of black lace as she stalked across the room.

“Do you hear me? I hate you!”

Of course he couldn’t hear her. He was still downstairs, playing the charming host.

“Some charm,” she muttered as she threw herself down on the bed. If only those people knew what she knew…

Not that it would mean a damn. Nicolo could get away with anything, it seemed. Bob Calder, that ass, was more than willing to accept him as a man who knew all there was to know about women. Signor Valenti was willing to accept him as a son-in-law. And Sofia, that foolish child, was eager to accept him any way she could get him!

Caroline sat up. Poor Sofia. She’d looked as if she’d seen the devil himself. Well, maybe it was for the best. Maybe it would change her mind about the great Prince Sabatini, maybe she’d ask her papa to marry her off to someone who believed in a woman’s right to decency and respect.

Caroline got to her feet. Her anger last night had been nothing compared to this. How dared Nicolo treat her this way? He had forced his way into her life, arranged things so that she’d had no choice but to do his bidding—and as soon as she’d done something to make it clear that she was still her own person and not his, he’d humiliated her.

Of course, that wasn’t how he’d see it. As far as Nicolo was concerned, he was the injured party. She’d dented that enormous ego of his, hadn’t she?

Why had she even wasted time trying to defend herself? It didn’t matter a damn to her what Bob Calder thought of her. What counted was what she thought of herself. She had integrity. She had convictions. And Nicolo had trampled on all of them from day one, and she was damned well going to tell that to him tomorrow morning, after she said goodbye to Anna and…

“No!”

She spat the word into the silence. No, to hell with waiting until tomorrow to deliver her message to the bastard, she thought grimly as she marched to the door and yanked it open. He would hear what she had to say now. Tonight. And if he threw her out of the palazzo afterward, so what? Maybe it was time Anna faced reality and dealt with the truth about her beloved grandson.

She flew down the stairs and across the atrium floor, her heels clicking against the tiles.

“Nicolo!” she said, flinging open the library door—but the room was empty. The living room, then; he would be having a last brandy in the living room—

No. It was empty, too, and the garden was dark.

She glanced up the wide staircase. There was only one other place he could be: in his private apartments on the third floor. Caroline gathered her skirt in her hand and hurried up the steps.

A dim night-light cast her shadow against the closed double doors she knew opened on to his rooms. She strode toward them, her fist upraised—

but just before she pounded on it, she hesitated.

Maybe—maybe she ought to wait until morning to confront him. He’d been so angry; she had never seen him quite that way before.

Wait? How could she wait? How could she permit another minute to pass without telling him, to his face, what he could do with his lies and insinuations?

Caroline lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles sharply against the door. The sound, loud and sharp as a gunshot, faded into the silence. She rapped again, harder than before.

“Nicolo!” she said furiously, “open the door!”

More silence.

“Dammit,” she snapped, and she pounded on the door with both hands. “Do you hear me, Nicolo? I want to—”

The doors swung open, and Caroline almost fell into the room. Nicolo stood before her, wearing his pants and nothing else, a cold smile on his face.

“Caro,” he said politely as he shut the door after her. “What a charming surprise.”

“I want to talk to you,” she snapped.

“Of course, Caro.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“No?” He lifted one tanned shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Ah. My mistake. I simply assumed you would much prefer that charming nickname to your own. Isn’t that what you told your friend, Mr. Calder?”

“He is not my friend. And I do not care to be called that.” She looked at him. “Not—not the way you say it.”

“Ah. I understand. You prefer the name spoken with an American accent. Of course.”

Caroline glared at him. “Will you stop that?”

“What?”

“That,” she said, throwing out her hand. “That—that smarmy tone of voice.”

Nicolo frowned. “What does this mean, ‘smarmy’?”

“It means—it means…” She looked at him, then blew out her breath. “Never mind what it means. I told you, I want to talk to you.”

His eyes narrowed. “And it could not wait until morning?”

“That’s right. It couldn’t.”

He folded his arms across his bare chest, the disdainful smile replaced by a stern, fixed stare.