The Sicilian's Mistress

‘You don’t look at all well,’ Gianni drawled with measured cool, incisive dark eyes resting on her without any perceptible expression. ‘You really should have stayed in bed.’

Yes, he could have handled her best as a total invalid, Milly decided. Then she would have been an object of pity, too weak and pathetic to require confrontation. Gianni went to quite incredible lengths to avoid emotional scenes. He could not bear to be vulnerable. He could not tolerate any loss of control. So he attached himself to objects, not to people. Perhaps Connor would teach him to love. She had failed—oh, boy, had she failed…

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, terrified that he was registering just how much he could still affect her.

Gianni looked back at her. She was so small, so slender, so pale, haunted eyes fixed to him as if he was about to unfurl a set of cloven hooves and a toasting fork. Fine? The fear she couldn’t hide filled him with seething bitterness.

Suddenly he wished her memory had stayed lost. Memories were bloody painful afflictions! That night in the hotel she had been so sweet. Trusting, open, just as he remembered her. The only person alive who had ever treated him as if he was just an ordinary guy. Nagging him when he was late, complaining when he was preoccupied, yawning through the business news and totally forgetting about him when she was out in her precious garden. In every way she had been different from every other woman he had had, either before or since.

Once she would have filled this awful silence, instinctively understanding that he couldn’t, that when he was wound up about something he turned cold and aggressive and silent in self-defence. Then he reminded himself that this bit would be over soon. Not for nothing had he spent the past twenty-four hours seeking a rational solution to the mess they were in. And around dawn, he had come up with the answer.

Not perfect, but simple. And the instant he made that proposal Milly would go back to normal—well, maybe not immediately, he conceded grudgingly, but obviously she’d be over the moon. He’d also have the tactical advantage of surprise. She’d appreciate that he was making a really huge and stupendously generous effort for Connor’s sake. And naturally she’d be grateful. Grateful enough to go back upstairs with him and consolidate their new understanding in the most logical way of all?

Milly knew she was gaping at Gianni like a pheasant looking up the barrel of a shotgun. But the lurch of her heart had appalled her. Feeling that sensitive to dark, deep flashing eyes as chilly as a winter’s day was not a good sign. Noticing that he looked shockingly spectacular in a casual designer suit the colour of caramel was an even worse sign. Say something, a voice in her head screeched, for heaven’s sake, say something. But her mind was a complete blank. She didn’t know where to start or how she would ever stop if she did start. Silence seemed a lot safer.

Milly stiffened as Gianni extended a hand to her. It was the very last gesture she had expected from him. Uncurling her fingers, she lifted her arm in slow motion. He got tired waiting. He brought up his other hand, closed both round her waist and lifted her down to the marble-tiled floor.

A slight gasp of disconcertion escaped her. However, the sudden shrinkage in stature she suffered helped. Suddenly her strained eyes were mercifully level with Gianni’s chest.

‘We’ve got some talking to do,’ Gianni informed her next.

Milly was poleaxed. Only a woman who had been intimately involved with Gianni could have understood that acknowledgement to be ground-breaking and incredible. Whenever she had wanted to talk, seriously talk about personal things, Gianni had had a hundred evasive techniques. ‘Later’ had been a particular favourite, followed by a sudden rampant desire for her body or a pressing appointment. It had taken her a very long time to appreciate that ‘later’ meant never.

‘A lot…’ Milly agreed breathlessly, suddenly experiencing a stark, shameful stab of pained resentment. What had changed Gianni? Who had changed him? Who had finally persuaded him that honest communication was the only option when the going got tough? It was what they had once so badly needed, but the offer was coming way too late for her to benefit.

He showed her into a library, where a log fire was burning in the grate. He strode over to the desk, lifted the phone and ordered coffee. Stilling by the hearth, Milly stretched her unsteady hands out to the heat and let her gaze travel around the magnificent room with its warm red décor.

‘What do you think of Heywood House?’ Gianni asked.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She resisted the urge to admit that it wasn’t at all what she had expected. She didn’t want to stray onto impersonal topics and deflect him from anything he might want to say to her.

‘The gardens are famous. I’ve ensured that they’ve been maintained to the highest standards,’ Gianni advanced smoothly.

Milly wandered over to the nearest window. She adored gardens, but right now she was so enervated she couldn’t even appreciate the wonderful view. ‘It looks tremendous.’

‘There’s a rare plant centre attached to the estate. I rebuilt it,’ Gianni continued. ‘It doesn’t exactly do a roaring trade, but the manager tells me it’s a real haunt for the connoisseur.

Bewildered by this floo

d of extraneous information from a male who barely knew the difference between a rose and a daisy and was content to remain in a state of blissful ignorance, Milly suddenly frowned as her mind homed in on something else entirely, and she exclaimed, ‘For goodness’ sake, Gianni…I haven’t even spoken to Louise! What on earth must she be thinking? She’s my partner and my best friend and I didn’t even phone her!’

The silence spread and spread.

Gianni dealt her a fulminating look. ‘I phoned her. She was very concerned. I said you’d be in touch when you were well enough…OK?’

Milly released her breath, relieved by that assurance. But she wondered why he had delivered the news with such an air of impatience. It wasn’t as if she had interrupted him when he’d been talking about anything important. The door opened and a maid entered with a tray of coffee. It was a welcome diversion.

She sat down in a leather wing-back armchair and poured the coffee. Without hesitation she added three sugars to Gianni’s cup.

‘We’ll deal with practicalities first, get them out of the way,’ Gianni announced with decisive cool. ‘And naturally the first thing I want to know is, have you any idea who left you lying badly injured on that road in Cornwall? And how did it happen?’

Milly jerked and froze, her heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears. Such obvious questions. Why hadn’t she been prepared for them?

‘It must be distressing for you to have to remember that night. But it has to be dealt with.’ Gianni watched her with keen, dark expectant eyes.

Milly was shot right back to that night, forced to recall things she would have preferred to leave buried, things that had nothing whatsoever to do with the accident. She lost colour. Her hand began to shake. She set down her coffee again with a clatter. She hoped to heaven Gianni didn’t ask her what she had been doing in Cornwall in the first place, because if he did ask, she certainly didn’t feel like telling him the truth.

‘Milly…?’ Gianni pressed, more gently. ‘Do you remember what happened now?’