She had tried her hardest to play her part, to do her duty—standing beside Rafael with her beautiful oyster silk evening dress sweeping the ground as they greeted the guests, shaking endless hands, air-kissing expensively perfumed cheeks, smiling politely enough for a rictus grin to set in. More than once she had witnessed the raising of a finely shaped eyebrow, the pout of a recently sculpted lip, as the glamorous and good had politely filed past, no doubt itching to get out of earshot and start whispering amongst themselves about the surprise reappearance of the Contessa.
Well, who would have predicted that?
Lottie cast her eyes around the guests at their table now: a well-known politician, an Italian ambassador, a hugely wealthy investment banker, and their immaculately groomed wives. She wished they would all go home. The wives had soon lost interest in her, turning their attention instead to the gorgeously handsome Conte, each one vying for his attention with decreasing subtlety as the alcohol flowed and the evening wore on.
The banker’s wife, Eleanora, seemed particularly determined to flaunt her charms in his direction, leaning forward to touch his hand, purr into his ear, making sure he had the most advantageous view of her expensively acquired cleavage.
Lottie quietly loathed her for it—loathed all of them as she watched them flirting with her husband. But mostly she loathed herself for caring, for allowing her inner green-eyed monster to make an appearance and having it point out to her so eloquently that Rafael should have married one of these glamorous, rich, titled women. How could she ever have been expected to compete with them? Their marriage had been doomed from the start.
To make matters worse, a sideways glance confirmed that Rafael looked particularly stunning tonight, in a dinner suit and black bow tie. Nobody could wear clothes like Rafael, but it wasn’t just that; it was his magnetism, the effortless unleashed sex appeal that lay beneath the starched white shirt that turned the eyes of every woman in the room in his direction.
He had been perfectly polite to her all evening—when the attentions of these parasitic women had allowed—but Lottie could sense the cool reserve, the hastily erected impenetrable barrier between them. She could see it as clearly as if it were made of steel.
Finally the evening was over and the last of the guests were escorted to the door to be whisked away in their chauffeur-driven limousines. Lottie was exhausted, but she didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted to find Rafael, to talk to him some more, to go over what he had told her and make him see that none of it was his fault.
She found him back in the ballroom, striding tall and dark amongst the post-party debris, thanking the waiting staff individually by name and politely dismissing them. Lottie watched from the doorway as, alone now, he pulled out one of the gilded dining chairs and sat down heavily, stretching out his legs and placing his hands behind his head as he leaned back.
‘Rafe?’
Instantly pulling himself upright, he turned to look at her, the chair creaking beneath him. ‘Lottie. I thought you had gone to bed.’
‘Not yet.’ Weaving her way between the tables, Lottie selected a chair and sat down next to him. There was an awkward silence as she rearranged the skirt of her gown. ‘I thought the evening went well.’
‘Yes—yes, it did.’ His undone bow tie lay blackly around his neck, where the top button of his shirt was open. ‘Thank you for your part in it. I know you don’t find these things easy.’
Lottie bristled. Why was he thanking her as if she was just another member of his staff? And what did he mean about her not finding it easy? Had she looked as awkward as she had felt?
Sitting very straight, she hid behind a mask of dignity. ‘Well, I hope I conducted myself appropriately.’
Rafael’s dark eyes turned in her direction at the frostiness of her voice.
‘Obviously I want to do everything I can to help the Seraphina Foundation. Now that I know it exists, that is.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He ignored the barb. ‘It was a worthy performance.’
Worthy performance?
Heat swept through her body at his derisive, arrogant comment. Taking a deep, controlling breath, she felt the bodice of her gown tighten around her, pushing her breasts upwards.
Rafael looked away.
‘And how would you describe your performance, then?’ she asked.
Rafael’s eyes swung back, eyes dangerously dark beneath the sweep of his lashes. ‘I did what I had to do.’
‘Oh, you did that all right, Rafael. You were lapping up the attention of those fawning women, weren’t you? Why don’t you admit that you loved every minute of it?’ She threw the acid words at him. ‘That awful Eleanora woman was virtually climbing inside your trousers and you did nothing to stop her.’