LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      HE walked towards her with those familiar long easy strides, completely male and dominant. He took her proffered hand, bowing low over her slender fingers. ‘Miss Hammond.’ Those icy grey eyes searched her startled face. Her hand was slowly released and he stepped back away from her. ‘You did not expect me,’ he surmised correctly. ‘Did the waiter not explain that I wished to see you?’

      To see her! But why? Last night he had treated her with nothing but contempt, so what did he want with her now—not more insults, surely? ‘I—I thought you were—–’ She broke off in confusion. It sounded rude to say she had thought him to be someone else, even if it was true. She shook her head wordlessly.

      ‘You thought I was Vidal,’ he guessed correctly again. ‘But did the waiter not explain that it was Cesare Martino, and not Vidal?’

      Suzanne put up a nervous hand to her disordered hair. It badly needed washing after her dip in the pool and at the moment surrounded her heart-shaped face in riotous curls. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed to listen to the end of Carlo’s conversation, for she felt sure now that he had been going to explain exactly who her visitor was. ‘He may have done,’ she said hurriedly, realising he was looking at her strangely for her prolonged silence. ‘He was talking in Italian at a very fast rate,’ she explained. ‘I’m all right with bookish Italian if it’s spoken very slowly, but anything else defeats me, I’m afraid.’

      ‘But surely he must have known this,’ the Conte said harshly. ‘All the non-English staff are requested to speak only English.’

      ‘Oh please, don’t be angry, Mr—Signor Conte,’ she amended hastily. ‘He was so excited, because you’re a count, I suppose, he just forgot for a moment.’ She looked down at her lack of clothing. ‘That’s probably the reason he told me I wasn’t dressed properly too,’ she said wryly.

      The Conte’s swarthy face darkened with anger. ‘He dared to do that?’ he demanded coldly. ‘A waiter told a guest at my hotel that she was insufficiently dressed? But this cannot be!’

      Only one thing made any sense to Suzanne. ‘Your hotel, Conte Martino? You own this hotel?’

      ‘That is correct. And many more like it throughout Europe and America. Sadly not enough in America—that was why the Grant contract was so important to me. But no matter, I did not come here to discuss business. In fact I came here to apologise for my behaviour yesterday evening. I may have been annoyed with Vidal, but my behaviour towards you was unforgivable.’

      ‘You don’t have to apologise to me,’ Suzanne said quickly. ‘I quite understand.’

      Quite frankly she felt bewildered. Conte Martino actually owned this hotel she and Celeste were staying at. Had Celeste known this when she had decided to come to London, to this particular hotel? Suddenly she felt sure that she had. That was the reason Celeste had seemed as if she were waiting for something or someone—she had been. She must have guessed that sooner or later Vidal Martino would be a guest here at his family’s hotel, or perhaps she hadn’t needed to guess at all, perhaps she had known. Perhaps she knew more about the Martino family than Suzanne realised. But if this were so, then she must also realise there was a Conte Martino, a man with good looks, money, and most of all, a title. So why was she seemingly interested in Vidal Martino? It was all a mystery to Suzanne, a complete mystery.

      ‘So,’ he broke effectively into her thoughts, ‘is my apology accepted?’

      ‘Of course, Conte. But there was no need, really.’

      He looked about the lounge, finally indicating for her to sit down in one of the luxurious armchairs provided. As she sat down she became blushingly aware of her lack of clothing. A thigh-length bathing robe was hardly suitable attire to entertain a real live Conte in. She should have listened to Carlo! He could have delayed the Conte while she ran upstairs to her room to change. Oh well, it was too late now.

      ‘I do not agree,’ he said haughtily. ‘I am not usually so abrupt to visitors at my hotel. You have visited London before?’ he asked suddenly, those strange grey eyes intent upon her.

      ‘No.’ What else could she say?

      ‘You like it?’

      ‘I haven’t actually seen much of it,’ she told him almost guiltily.

      ‘You have not been in London long?’

      ‘A week,’ she admitted reluctantly, feeling almost as if she had committed a sin; the way the Conte was looking at her she could almost believe she had. Goodness, a Conte, a Venetian aristocrat! And he was every inch that, from his styled curiously light hair to his immaculate linen and hand-made leather shoes.

      ‘I see,’ those firm well-shaped lips pressed together disapprovingly. ‘I naturally assumed you to be a tourist.’

      ‘Oh, I am. It isn’t that I don’t want to look around London,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I would really love to. Unfortunately my stepmother doesn’t like sightseeing. She finds it boring.’

      ‘And you feel obliged to keep her company?’

      Suzanne laughed, a lighthearted youthful sound that made those grey eyes narrow even more. ‘Heavens, no!’ she shook her head. ‘Celeste doesn’t need me. Not now anyway, not when she has—–’ she broke off, realising she couldn’t actually say that to this man; Vidal was his brother. Anyway, she shouldn’t talk about such things to a stranger. But what a handsome stranger, handsome and intriguing. He raised a dark eyebrow at her sudden halt, strangely dark brows in comparison with that silver-blond hair.

      ‘Yes?’ that clipped voice enquired.

      She shrugged. ‘It isn’t important. But I should be free to see some of London during the next few days. I’m really looking forward to it.’

      ‘Then you will do me the honour of letting me be your guide. There are many places not to be missed by any tourist.’ He looked enquiringly at her startled face. ‘There are many places of interest among the surrounding shops and restaurants that do not jar on the nerves. I cannot believe that you have been in London a Week and not been to see these things.’

      ‘But I have, Conte. But I promise to see them all now, it’s what I’m here for, after all. Celeste, my stepmother, will probably be entertained elsewhere during the next few days, so I’ll be able to go sightseeing to my heart’s content.’

      That arrogant face tightened, the nostrils flaring out on that haughty nose. ‘You refuse my invitation to show you London?’

      Suzanne looked at him searchingly, her green eyes shadowed. She fussed nervously with her sun-glasses in her hand and seeing his eyes on her movements stopped abruptly. ‘I didn’t say that, Conte. I believed your offer merely to be one of politeness.’

      ‘It was not.’

      ‘But I—I hardly know you. I can’t ask a complete stran—–’

      ‘But I am not a stranger. We were formally introduced yesterday evening, otherwise I would not be here now. Vidal introduced us and so everything is perfectly in order. Do I take it that you still refuse my offer? I assure you it was made only out of a desire to show you your beautiful city. But if the brother of Vidal is not good enough for you—–’

      ‘Conte Martino!’ Suzanne was really shocked now. ‘I didn’t say anything of the sort. You are the Conte Martino, and I would never do or say anything to imply that I felt anything but respect for you. As for Vidal, well …’ she raised her hands helplessly, ‘I met him

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