LITMIR.BIZ

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just a few minutes in front of it melted away any stress she might be experiencing. But today it wasn’t having the desired effect, and after a while she got up restlessly and walked on.

      She paused to look at another Botticelli—the great canvas of Venus and Mars—staring for a long disturbing moment at the languid beauty in her white and gold dress, with a world of secret knowledge in her face, and the conquered, sated man next to her.

      What would it be like, she wondered, to have that kind of sexual power? To bewitch a man, and leave him drained, and at your mercy?

      Love winning the ultimate victory over war, she thought as she turned away.

      She would go and get some coffee, she decided, and then probably revert to Plan A and the shopping expedition to Knightsbridge.

      She was on her way out when she saw the portrait. She’d noticed it before on previous visits—a young man in his shirtsleeves, his curling hair covered by a cap, turning his head to bestow a cool and level glance on his observers.

      But this time she went over to take a much closer look. She stood motionless, her hands clenched in her pockets, staring at the tough, dynamic face, with the strong nose, the firm, deeply cleft chin and the high cheekbones, as if she was seeing it for the first time.

      Aware of the slow, shocked beat of her heart. Because, she realised, if Rome d’Angelo had been alive in the sixteenth century, he could have modelled for this portrait by Andrea del Sarto.

      Since their first meeting she’d had the nagging feeling that she’d seen him somewhere before, and had been trying to trace the elusive resemblance. And now, at last, she’d succeeded. He’d been here all the time. In her sanctuary. Waiting for her.

      She shook her head, her lips twisting in a little smile.

      She said softly, ‘Your eyes are the wrong colour, that’s all. They should be blue. Otherwise you could be him—five hundred years ago.’

      And heard, from behind her, as she stood, rooted to the spot in horrified disbelief, Rome’s voice saying with cool dryness, ‘You really think so? You flatter me, cara.’

CHAPTER SIX

      CORY looked down at the polished floorboards at her feet, praying they would open and swallow her.

      The last time she’d felt such a complete idiot had been standing on her own doorstep as Rome walked away, she thought detachedly, feeling the first scalding wave of embarrassment wash over her. And, before that, when she’d taken that spectacular dive at his feet.

      Now she’d let him catch her standing there talking to herself, for God’s sake. Speaking her thoughts aloud, as she often did. And this was once too often.

      She turned slowly, her face still flushed.

      He was standing about a yard away, unsmiling, the brilliant eyes slightly narrowed, his damp hair curling on to his forehead. He was wearing narrow black trousers, with a matching rollneck sweater, and carrying a russet waterproof jacket over one arm.

      Cory lifted her chin in challenge. ‘There’s a saying about eavesdroppers.’

      Rome nodded. ‘I know it. But your comments were hardly derogatory. And you would never have made them to my face.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘Just like you—looking at Renaissance paintings.’

      ‘So, you just happened to—turn up?’ Her tone was incredulous.

      Rome shrugged a shoulder. ‘I can hardly visit the Uffizi,’ he returned coolly. ‘But it’s true that I hoped I’d find you here,’ he added.

      She wished she could stop shaking inside. She said haughtily, ‘I can’t imagine why.’

      Rome’s brows lifted. ‘No, mia bella? I think you do your imagination less than justice. Except where this portrait is concerned.’ He looked past her, studying it reflectively. ‘Is this really how you see me?’

      Cory’s flush deepened. ‘You can’t deny there is a resemblance,’ she said defensively. ‘And he’s not named in the portrait. He could be one of your ancestors.’

      Rome’s mouth twisted. ‘I doubt it, but it’s a romantic thought.’

      ‘From now on I’ll try and keep them under control,’ Cory told him with bite. ‘Do enjoy your art appreciation.’

      As she made to walk past him, he detained her with a hand on her arm.

      ‘You’re not leaving?’

      It was her turn to shrug. ‘I’ve seen what I came to see.’

      ‘And so have I,’ he said softly. ‘Another intriguing coincidence. So—now we have the rest of the day ahead of us.’

      She said thickly, ‘You take a hell of a lot for granted, Mr d’Angelo. And I have other plans.’

      ‘Do they involve anyone else?’

      ‘That’s none of your business.’

      ‘A simple no would be enough.’ The blue eyes were dancing suddenly, and her mouth felt dry. His voice was suddenly coaxing. ‘Take pity on me, Cory mia. Cancel your arrangements and spend the day with me instead.’ His smile coaxed, too. Disturbingly. ‘Help me play tourist.’

      She bit her lip. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

      ‘You haven’t given it a chance,’ he said. ‘It might improve on acquaintance and—who knows?—so might I.’

      In response, her own mouth curved reluctantly. ‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’

      ‘That, mia bella, would depend on the question.’ His voice was silky. ‘But I promise you one thing, Cory Grant. When you say no to me and mean it, I’ll listen.’

      There was a brief heart-stopping pause, then he said abruptly, ‘Now, will you come with me? Share today?’

      He held out his hand steadily, imperatively, and almost before she knew what she was doing she allowed him to take her fingers—clasp them.

      He nodded, acknowledging the silent bargain, then moved off, making for the main exit, sweeping her along with him so fast that Cory practically had to jog to keep up.

      She said breathlessly, ‘Just a minute—you haven’t told me yet where we’re going.’

      ‘First—to the car park.’

      ‘You’ve—bought a car?’

      ‘No, I’ve leased one.’

      ‘And then?’

      He gave her a swift sideways glance. He was smiling, but there was an unmistakable challenge in the blue eyes.

      He said softly, ‘Why, to Suffolk, of course, mia cara. Avanti.’

      She said, ‘It is a joke, isn’t it? You’re not really serious?’

      They were out of London now, and travelling towards Chelmsford, as Cory registered tautly.

      ‘Am I going in the wrong direction?’ Rome asked. ‘I was aiming for Sudbury.’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘No—that’s fine. But I still don’t know why you’re doing this.’

      The car was dark, streamlined and expensive, and he handled it well on the unfamiliar roads—as she was grudgingly forced to admit.

      ‘I’m tired of concrete,’ he said. ‘I thought you would be, too.’

      ‘Yes—but you don’t just—take off for Suffolk on the spur of the moment,’ Cory said warmly. ‘It’s a long way.’

      ‘And

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