“Then talk.”
Caroline stared at him. It had never occurred to her that he’d have been on his way to bed. But he must have been; that was why he was shirtless. It was why his bare toes peeped out from beneath his pants, why the pants themselves were unsnapped at the waist so they rode low on his hips, why the beautiful musculature of his powerful shoulders and arms was so visible…
She looked away. “I can wait until you’ve put on a shirt,” she said stiffly.
“Then you’ll wait until tomorrow, cara,” he snapped, “for I’ve no intention of getting dressed again until then. Now either make your little speech or—”
“Little speech?” She swung around and faced him, her hands on her hips. “Little speech? Children and fools make ‘little speeches,’ Nicolo, and by God, I am neither.”
He gave her a cold smile. “Not a child, cara. No, you are certainly not that. As for the other—”
“That’s what you tried your damnedest to do tonight, wasn’t it? Make me look like—like an idiot! But—”
Nicolo laughed. “I cannot accept credit where none is due.” He leaned back against the door and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You may take all the credit for that, Caroline.”
She looked at him again. What did it matter if the change in posture meant she could see all of his chest now, the hard planes, the well-defined muscles? What did it matter if the way he was standing, with his hands in his pockets, tightened the fine wool of his pants across his loins and thighs?
“Caroline?” Her eyes flew to his face. “For a woman who wished to talk, you are surprisingly silent.”
Damn him anyway! Was he laughing at her? Caroline’s spine stiffened.
“I am not in the habit of holding discussions with half-naked men,” she said coldly. “Surely it isn’t asking too much of you to put some clothes on, Your Highness.”
His brows rose. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders.
“If it pleases you,” he said.
She nodded curtly as he padded toward a door on the far wall. Caroline let out her breath once he was gone. Anyone would have felt at a disadvantage in such a situation. She had come here to confront him, not to—to be forced to endure the sight of his nudity…
But he hadn’t been nude. Not really. If he had, she’d have seen those long legs, whose stride outmatched even hers, she’d have seen the power of his masculinity…
She gave herself a brisk shake. What the hell was the matter with her? She felt amazingly disoriented, but why? She’d had little to drink tonight, perhaps two glasses of champagne all evening. Perhaps this was the result of an adrenalin rush from all that anger.
Yes. That was exactly what it was. She had just a minute or two to collect herself before Nicolo returned. You couldn’t beard the lion in his den if you let your fears get the best of you.
She wrapped her arms around herself and began to pace the room. Concentrate on something outside yourself, she thought. Concentrate on—on this room.
It was a large room, softly illuminated by the light cast by a handsome brass torchère in the far corner. The carpet beneath her feet was, she thought, an antique Persian, its deep blues and maroons softened and made even lovelier by decades of use. There was a marble fireplace opposite the door; she walked slowly to it and ran her hand lightly over the back of one of the small, velvet-covered sofas that flanked it. A small table stood nearby on which ivory chessmen stood poised in combat on an inlaid board.
The room surprised her a little. It was as filled with rare and handsome things as any other in the palazzo, yet it had a different feel to it, as if its owner had furnished it more with an eye to what pleased him than to effect.
“If you have finished touring my sitting room, perhaps we can get on with this.”
Caroline spun around. Nicolo was standing in the center of the room, scowling darkly at her. Her gaze flew over him. He was still barefoot, but he had put on a shirt. But he hadn’t closed it; it hung open, revealing his shadowed torso.
Caroline lifted her chin. “I suppose you think I came here demanding an apology,” she said coldly.
“I hope not. If you did, you’re wasting your time.”
She flushed. This wasn’t going the way she’d intended. Sometime between knocking on Nicolo’s door and stepping inside his apartment, she’d lost the advantage her anger had provided. Soon, if she wasn’t careful, she’d be just where she knew he wanted her. On the defensive.
“Just what did you think you were doing down there?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
Nicolo walked to a cabinet with Murano glass doors. “Do you mean, after you made your somewhat hasty departure?” He pulled open a door and took out a decanter and a balloon snifter. “Well, first I assured your Signor Calder that his company was not about to lose Sabatini’s financial backing—”
“My Calder? He was your guest, not mine.”
“What happened was surely not his fault,” he said, continuing as if she hadn’t spoken. He uncorked the decanter and poured a dollop of golden brandy into the snifter. “Then I said good-night to my guests.” He gave her a cool smile over the rim of the snifter. “You remember them, don’t you, cara? Those people who innocently came to my house this evening, expecting a pleasant dinner, good wine, enjoyable conversation—and instead were treated to a vulgar display?”
“The only vulgar display that took place tonight was yours,” Caroline snapped. “You have one hell of a nerve, making me look—”
“I have asked you repeatedly not to be crude in my presence!”
“Ask? Ask?” Caroline strode forward, her hands on her hips. “You have never asked me anything, Your Royal Imperialness! In fact, I’d bet you’ve never asked anyone anything in your whole life! What you do is demand. You order. You—you—”
“No wonder there is no man in your life,” he said, slamming the snifter down on a tabletop. “Who could tolerate you?”
“It’s not a question of tolerance, but one of respect!” She glared at him. “Maybe some Italian women will put up with being treated as if they are children, but American women—”
“Please!” Nicolo threw up his hands. “I have learned all I wish to know of American women. You’re right—I don’t understand them. But I have never shown a woman anything but respect.”
“How can you say that? This evening, you treated me like—like—”
“Like what?” he demanded. “Would you prefer that I do what some man should have done years ago? Should I have turned you over my knee and spanked the daylights out of you?”
“You see? You even talk to a woman as if she were a child. But then, that’s the sort of woman you prefer, isn’t it? One who’s young and helpless and—”
“You’re being ridiculous, cara.”
Caroline stamped her foot against the floor. “Don’t cara me, dammit!”
“You are not to use that kind of language!”
“And you are not to call me cara. I am not your ‘dear,’ and I resent—”
“I will call you whatever I wish.” His mouth twisted. “In the old days—”
“But this isn’t the old days. Boy, I’ll just bet you wish it were! Is there a rack in the basement of this palazzo? Shackles on the wall? A cage to lock me in?”
“Once upon a time,” he said grimly, “a woman knew her place in a man’s house.”
“Back to that again! You never miss the chance to remind me that I’m living under your roof, do you?”
“Yes? And how have I done this, Caroline? By taking you out of Milano and the greasy hands of Arturo Silvio and his compatriots? By giving you employment? By paying you a decent wage?” His hands shot to and clasped her shoulders. “Tell me, how have I gone about reminding you of my authority?”
“Let go of me, Nicolo!”
“I have treated you with respect,” he thundered. “I have treated you with kindness and courtesy. And how do you repay me?” His brows knotted in anger. “By making a fool of me in front o
f my friends and associates, by acting cheap—”
“Where was all that kindness, courtesy, and respect when you tried to seduce me last night?” she demanded, glaring at him.
A taut smile curved across his mouth.
“You were not an unwilling participant, cara.”
Caroline felt her cheeks pinken, but she refused to drop her gaze from his.
“You never think of anyone but yourself, do you?”
He laughed. “Is that a critique of my skills as a lover?”
“It’s a comment on your behavior in general,” she snapped. “When I think of that poor child—”
His brows lifted. “What poor child?”
“I don’t know which is worse, that you don’t give a damn about respecting your commitment to her, or that you didn’t think it would matter to me that you were—were trying to lure me into bed while all the time, you knew that you and she—”
“Santa Maria! You jump from topic to topic, like a flea in a room filled with dogs! How is a man to know what you are talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said furiously. “That poor girl…”
“First she is a poor child. Then she is a poor girl. Before, she was young and helpless.” Nicolo let go of her and threw up his hands. “And still I have no idea who it is we discuss.”