CHAPTER FOUR
MATTEOSTRODEINTO his suite. It had been a successful morning in all respects. Arriving in Milan, finalising the negotiations for another property. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair and loosened his tie. Undid the top button of his shirt. Rolled up his sleeves. It was only the afternoon—however, something had pulled him back here. He was keen to see how Louisa’s own day had gone. The first step in showing her all she’d missed in life, living with Mae. What woman didn’t love shopping for clothes? Milan was the perfect place to do that. Such a magnificent city with its combination of history mingled with modernity. Even though he’d anticipated her shopping trip would take most of the morning, perhaps she might have been able to do some sightseeing as well?
That thought piqued his interest—what she thought of her first foreign city. He glanced at the door that joined his suite to hers. Walked to it. Knocked. He was almost surprised when it opened, so he walked through.
Louisa faced away from him, staring out of the hotel windows onto Milan’s rooftops. Hair tumbling down her back in glorious waves of red. Still wearing a floral dress from a small boutique in the village near Easton Hall they’d managed to visit after the fire. Pretty, to be sure, but nothing like what she could find in this city. Though he was surprised the suite wasn’t full of packages. He’d been clear that money was no object in the stylist’s efforts. There was to be no impediment to securing anything Louisa wanted.
‘How was your day?’ he asked.
She turned. He expected a beaming smile. Strangely craved it, since Louisa hadn’t smiled once since they’d met only days ago. What woman didn’t deserve a little happiness after what she’d been through?
Except there was no smile. Her face a mask of almost forced neutrality.
‘I couldn’t find anything to wear.’
Impossible. He’d been explicit, and the stylist was an expert. Perhaps Louisa didn’t want to spend his money, although he’d tried to reassure her that she needed clothes. A couple of dresses and one hauntingly sheer nightgown were not enough. Even Louisa could see that...
Then he noticed. Her eyes, rimmed pink. Her nose, a little pink too.
Had she been crying?
He took a step forward, then another till he was close. She looked up at him, her lips trembling at the corners a fraction. Eyes bright with what he feared were tears. A heat boiled in his gut. He’d expected smiles, not sadness. He tamped the rising anger down. Trying to get to the bottom of what had happened. People did what he asked, or they paid.
It seemed someone would be owing him today.
‘Didn’t you see anything you liked?’
As he looked down on her, Louisa’s pupils flared wide. The green of her eyes seemingly more vibrant in this moment. Captivating, like the verdant grass round Easton Hall.
‘They showed me things I’d never wear. I tried telling them but they...’
She bit her lip as she hesitated. Took a jagged breath.
‘Tell me,’ he said, his jaw clenching. The way her eyes tightened, her soft pink lips turned down... Clearly today hadn’t been a good day.
‘The way those women looked at me. They didn’t make me feel beautiful. They wanted to cut my hair.’
A shudder tremored through her as a blaze of fury tore through his veins. Not beautiful? How could they not see? And how could anyone suggest cutting off her hair, that glorious river of fire? He couldn’t comprehend it.
Moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes. No. This was not what he’d asked for or envisaged. He craved to reach out, hold. Soothe. But why? Seduction of innocents wasn’t the game here. Showing her what she’d been missing out on in life was, and he’d failed. Spectacularly.
Failure wasn’t part of his repertoire. Time to fix what others had clearly broken.
‘You are beautiful. That’s a fact and not open for discussion. As for your hair?’ What he wouldn’t give to plunge his hands into the thickness of it. Find out whether it was as silky as it appeared. ‘Anyone who’d consider cutting it would be contemplating a crime.’
Her mouth opened a fraction, with a breathy inhale. ‘They thought I was your lover. Said you had...expectations.’
His brain snagged on one word. Lover. The heat that had flared in his gut rushed low. How she’d felt in his arms when he carried her from Easton Hall. The soft weight of her against his naked torso. What if they had been lovers? He’d carry her to this bed like that. Her head thrown back in ecstasy as her green eyes glazed in passion. Hair spilled like blood across his pillow. He could count every freckle on her body. Kiss each one...
No. He almost shook his head to rid his mind of the intoxicating fog of those imaginings. Innocents weren’t for him. He’d been focussed on business for too long, that was all. What with investigating the Bainbridge family’s charities’ interests for fraud and then planning his quest for revenge, he hadn’t been with a woman for some time. No wonder he was reacting like an eighteen-year-old with no control over his own body.
He took a step back. Turned round. Clenched his fists and willed his inconvenient arousal away.
‘The only expectation I had was that you’d find clothes that you liked. My error was the choice of stylist, which I’ll rectify immediately.’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Not those women again, they didn’t like me much.’
They weren’t paid to like her. They were paid to do their job. To ensure she felt beautiful and cherished, and to make the whole process fun. The failure of his mission quelled his remaining desire like being doused in chilled water. He turned back round to face her. Noticing how...worn she seemed.
‘She needs to be looked after...’
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I kind of lost my appetite after being told something needed to be done with me.’
How dared they.
‘If you had an appetite, what would you like?’
‘A cheese toastie.’
He picked up his phone, ordered one for each of them. Whilst it wasn’t something traditionally on the room service menu here, he had no doubt the hotel chef would make the best damned cheese toastie Louisa had ever eaten.
‘Food first, shopping next.’
One of her hands gripped the fabric of her dress, twisting it in her fingers. ‘I’m not keen to relive the experience.’
‘You’ll enjoy this, I promise you.’
Matteo was intent on recovering the day. A few phone calls later and he’d spoken to another woman. One he’d been assured could help him. She seemed more than amenable to dropping everything to search out suitable clothes and deliver them to his hotel. She asked about Louisa’s style, and for a photograph of her, which he promised to send. ‘Country look, cottage core,’ she’d suggested. He didn’t understand what that meant but it didn’t matter. This time, he’d stay to supervise the process.
Failure was not an option.
Louisa didn’t want to go back to more clothes shopping, but she was powerless to resist. How had she not recognised what a force of nature Matteo was? He’d simply stormed into the room and taken over. Whilst she couldn’t understand the Italian he’d been speaking on the phone; his voice had been terse. Command and authority. All for her. Something about it had been...electrifying. To watch him work, take charge. She could imagine mere mortals simply rolling over and doing his bidding with no fight at all.
Was that what he’d expected of her, when he’d said he wanted her out of Easton Hall?
She couldn’t think of that right now. As much as she’d stood up for herself earlier in the day, the cold words of three impeccably styled women had still taken their toll. She’d felt old-fashioned. Unattractive. Past insecurities calling to her in their nasty but seductive voices. Yet when she’d told Matteo...
He thought she was beautiful.
What did he say? That it was a fact ‘not open for discussion’. And she realised he was the first man other than her father to say that about her. With his words it was as if she basked in the warm, golden glow of spring sunshine. Though she shouldn’t, Louisa found his approval hard to resist even though his aims and hers weren’t aligned.
‘How was your toastie?’ he asked.
A perfect concoction of crisp buttery bread, melting cheese and the bite of mustard. ‘I’ve never tasted better.’
The corner of Matteo’s lips quirked. ‘I’m sure the chef would like to hear that.’
‘Do you always stay in your hotels, or do you have a home base anywhere?’
This place was a masterpiece of elegance with warm earth tones, jewelled accents, and sleek modern styling. The freestanding bath was almost like a swimming pool, with a chandelier above it that had made her feel like royalty as she’d wallowed in the tub. Everything a picture of sheer opulence. Yet she couldn’t imagine this was where he spent all his time, though why she held that unshakable view she couldn’t really say. It just seemed the hotel was somewhere he’d created for others, not himself.
‘I have lots of places to live,’ he said, arms out wide. ‘Take your pick of country. Italy, France, the US.’
‘Are they all your homes?’
He cocked his head to the side. A tiny frown creased his brow. ‘I own them. I stay there. Isn’t that enough?’
She shook her head.
‘Not where you sleep. I’m talking about somewhere where you’re happy to be. Every time you walk through the door, it’s a relief. Your safe space, the one that holds your fondest memories. The place that you can be entirely yourself?’
That was what Easton Hall had been to her. A sanctuary. She’d spent so long feeling as though she’d had to hide, with people not listening to her. There, she could be who she was without any question. Today out in Milan had simply reaffirmed what she’d always thought: Easton Hall was her place. Where she fitted, like the final piece slotted into a puzzle.
Matteo’s eyes widened, then he frowned. ‘That’s not what a home means. It’s a place to stay.’
That was why he thought paying her off would convince her to leave Easton Hall. How could she ever convince someone who didn’t understand the true meaning of home how important a real home was to her?
Before she could carry on the conversation his phone buzzed an alert.
‘Ahh. I promised food then clothes. The clothes have arrived.’
The delicious toastie in her stomach seemed to have congealed to a solid rock in an instant. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for more judgement and humiliation.
A gentle knock sounded at the door and Matteo opened it. In walked a woman, once again with impeccable style. Though not sharp in black and bold colours but somehow more accessible in pale grey trousers, a soft cream blouse, and pastel-coloured scarf casually tossed round her throat. She shook Matteo’s hand, her whole demeanour businesslike. Louisa stood and the woman turned, a wide and warm smile on her face. Introduced herself as Sylvana. Directed a couple of men with clothing racks into the suite. Louisa scanned the racks and her shoulders dropped a fraction, relaxing. No black to be seen.
‘I hope you like what I have to show you. Please take a seat and we’ll go through what I’ve found.’
Louisa glanced at Matteo. Was he going to stay? She guessed so, the way he’d sprawled on the lounge like a panther making itself comfortable in the sun. She sat in an armchair as Sylvana took dress after dress from the racks. All breathtakingly beautiful. Some she wouldn’t wear, many she would. The woman reorganised the racks into the clothes Louisa might like and the clothes she didn’t.
All the while Matteo watched, staring at the selections, then looking at her. What was he thinking? Imagining her in the clothes, wondering whether they’d suit her? The man was inscrutable, even though the awareness of his gaze brushed over her like the soft, expensive fabrics Sylvana invited her to touch to ensure she liked the feel of them against her skin.
‘I hear that your house recently caught fire, which is why you have no clothes,’ Sylvana said, with a look of real concern on her face as she began wheeling the clothes rack with Louisa’s selections into the bedroom. ‘I’m sorry. But let’s start the fun by trying these clothes on.’
‘I’m not sure this is my idea of fun,’ Louisa said. ‘I usually wear vintage day dresses that I found in the attic in my old home.’
Sylvana put her hand to her chest. ‘Oh, davvero?I studied fashion history here in Milan. Those pieces would be irreplaceable. Were they lost in the fire?’
Louisa shrugged, rubbing at the tight ache in her chest even contemplating the loss. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. The fire was put out quickly, but no one can go into the house right now.’
‘è terribile! Let’s hope, then. This is at least a beginning. Not vintage masterpieces, but something I think you’ll be comfortable in.’
She tried on the clothes. Not vintage, as Sylvana said, but dresses that still made her feel a little like a princess. With skirts that twirled as she spun round in them, big sleeves, glorious colours of greens, blues and pinks. Brighter, bolder than normal.
‘You should show Signor Bainbridge,’ Sylvana said.
Louisa’s heart seemed to do a little twirl of its own in her chest at that suggestion. ‘Really?’
‘He’s a man who stays, so he must want to see. Go,’ the woman said, with a shooing motion of her hands.
Louisa peeked round the open bedroom door. Matteo still lounged on the couch, phone in hand. Shirtsleeves rolled up showing his strong, tanned forearms. He noticed her in mere seconds, lifted his head. She felt almost silly. What did she know about men’s...wants? Surely he couldn’t care less about the clothes she wore?
‘You are beautiful. That’s a fact and not open for discussion.’
‘Sylvana said you might like to see one of the dresses?’
He put down his phone on the couch next to him, removed his tie. Her gaze fixed on the slice of brown skin at his throat, the hint of hair on his chest.
‘Of course.’
She hesitated a moment before stepping out of the bedroom, brushing her hands down the skirt of fabric patterned with large royal-blue flowers. Did a little pirouette because she wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do, this was all so new for her. The full skirt swayed round her legs.
‘Perfetto,’Matteo murmured, his voice deep. Rumbling right through her. Suddenly it was as if she’d run a mile. The way her heart thrummed. Her breath catching in her chest.
‘Would you like to see another?’
His lips curled into a slow, appreciative smile. The type of smile that could make a woman lose all sense. ‘What do you think?’
Heat flared to her cheeks. ‘Okay. Yes.’
She ran back to the bedroom, put on another dress. This one in autumn colours with a ruffle at the neckline and tiers in the skirt that went down to her ankles. Sylvana smiled, handed her a straw hat. ‘Wear it with this.’
She placed the hat on her head, trying not to run back into the room to show Matteo. Instead, she took a deep breath, counted to five and then attempted to stroll. As she left the bedroom, she noticed that he wasn’t on his phone again. It was as if he’d been waiting for her. His eyes, heavy lidded. His lips parted. She did another twirl. ‘What do you think of this one?’
‘Bellissima.’
Didn’t that word mean beautiful? His voice was rough, a rasp. A shiver of pleasure at the sound shimmied up her spine. She was intoxicated by his approval, giddy with it. This was wrong. He wanted to take away her home. Yet why did it seem so right? No, it meant nothing. It was simply the moment, that was all. She’d had an awful morning, he’d been kind. And what woman wouldn’t want to be told she was beautiful by a man who looked like a bronzed god? Yet...his gaze raked over her, golden brown eyes molten. Then he leaned forwards, hands clasped in front of him. As though he wanted to get closer to her somehow, except was holding himself back.
Awareness shimmered over her, the sparkle of goosebumps. Time slowed syrupy and sweet. And whilst she’d listened to his words, with the heat in his gaze she began to believe them. She might have felt like a princess before, but the way he looked at her right now?
It made Louisa feel like a goddess.
Matteo sat back on the plush sofa as Louisa almost skipped back into the bedroom. Her dress of golden tones had matched her hair. With the straw hat on her head and freckles dusting her nose and upper chest, she looked like the embodiment of summer. He couldn’t wait for the next change because this was a plan working. What he’d hoped for. Louisa was having fun.
She almost bounded out of the bedroom this time, in a dress of pinks and oranges. The hem ruffled. Shorter at the front, longer at the back. The neckline a little deeper than the others, nestling in her cleavage. Myriad tiny buttons down the front that any red-blooded man would crave to undo, slowly. To unwrap the prize of her gentle curves, to see if those freckles he’d observed earlier covered her whole body.
She stopped in front of him, not moving. Waiting. Feet bare. Matteo wasn’t sure why the ability to see her toes struck him as so intensely intimate. Ridiculous. He lifted his hand, twisted his finger in a circle, and she twirled for him. Arms out, hair spilling wild round her as the hem of her dress swished about her calves. A smile broke free on her face, then she laughed. It burst through him bright and joyous as the first rays of sunrise over the horizon. There were no words to adequately describe how she looked in this moment, so he didn’t try.
‘I think you might enjoy shopping after all.’
It was as if a little light died. Cloud passing over the sun. Louisa worried her bottom lip in her teeth again, as if her insecurities had returned. ‘I—I didn’t enjoy the city or the stores, but this was fun. Yes.’
Something about the scene gave him pause. Milan had been an error. He’d brought her to a busy metropolis when she’d spent her formative years in the country. This hotel, a marvel of modernity in a bustling city, didn’t fit Louisa. There were so many other areas of Italy he could see her enjoying more. Matteo didn’t want her overwhelmed, he wanted her...overcome. With the beauty and wonder of new places, so she’d see that life at Easton Hall had been a trap, holding her back.
She’d asked him earlier whether he had a home base. That wasn’t a concept he understood. He hadn’t even felt as if he’d had a home as a child, being shunted to boarding school, not wanted by his adoptive parents. Everywhere only temporary. However, there was one place that was closer to Louisa’s description than the rest. The first house he’d ever purchased, when he’d discovered his heritage was Italian. A place he’d taken no one before.
A place where he hoped Louisa would finally grow her wings and fly.