Her New Year Baby Secret(10)

But how could he complain about the burden of his name when every now  and then it opened doors to homes and estates that were kept firmly shut  to less exalted sons of the city? Today he had spent the day with an  impoverished old Venetian family who were reluctantly selling off some  of their family treasures and trusted Marco to do the job for them both  lucratively and discreetly. Neither would prove to be difficult; he had a  long list of potential buyers who would pay more than market value for  first refusal on the beautifully carved furniture, Renaissance paintings  and elaborate silverware.                       
       
           



       

A negotiation like this took time and he had been all too aware that  while he was sitting drinking coffee with the Grigionis and dancing ever  so politely around his commission, Sophie had arrived to an empty house  with nobody to welcome her but Marta, who was a most excellent woman  but not the most gregarious of people-and the chances were very high  that she would run into his mother before he could warn Sophie just what  he was bringing her into.

Several times over the last few days he had been on the verge of  cancelling Sophie's visit. His mother had been so focussed on finding  him a suitable Venetian bride he'd hoped Sophie's presence would throw  her long enough to give him some space-but he'd underestimated her  desire to see him wed. His father's death seemed to have intensified her  hopes, and nationality no longer seemed to matter. His mother's eyes  had lit up at the news he had invited a date to the party and she hadn't  stopped asking him questions about his English 'friend'.

At least with Sophie by his side she wouldn't be able to introduce him  to any eligible female guests with that specifically intense focus she  usually employed. No, it was probably a good thing he hadn't cancelled.  Sophie was here for just a couple of nights, not long enough for his  mother to get too attached to her but long enough to throw her off the  scent for the rest of his visit. Bringing a diversion was an excellent  idea; he didn't know why he hadn't considered it earlier.

The clock had finished striking six when Marco strolled into the salon,  adjusting his cuffs as he did so. Sophie was already there talking to  his mother and his sister, Bianca, looking a little paler than he  remembered but stunning in a pale pink beaded dress, which hung straight  down to mid-thigh from two simple knotted straps. Her long blonde hair  was knotted up with tendrils curling around her face, her only jewellery  a pair of striking gold hoop earrings, which trembled as she moved. His  blood began to pulse hot at the sight of her exposed neck. Inviting her  had been an excellent idea for several reasons.

'Sophie,' he said, striding over to her and kissing her on both cheeks  in welcome. 'Welcome. Did you have any trouble finding us?'

'No, no, even I would find it hard to get lost when a boat delivers me  straight to the door.' Bianca and his mother laughed, but Marco's eyes  narrowed. There was a tartness in her voice he hadn't heard before, the  blue eyes icy and cold. Was she cross because he hadn't met her at the  airport? He hoped not. Maybe a decoy was going to be as much trouble as a  real girlfriend.

'Mamma, Bianca, please excuse us, I would like to make my apologies to  Sophie properly for not being here when she arrived,' he said, smoothly  drawing Sophie's arm through his. The pre-party drinks were being held  in the reception salon, the largest sitting room on the first floor.  Like most of the public rooms it overlooked the Grand Canal. Marco  walked Sophie over to the furthest window, away from prying ears. 'I  hope Gianni found you all right. I'm sorry I was detained.'

'No, that's fine.' But she was still staring out at the canal, her face set. 'I just wish you'd warned me, that's all.'

'I didn't realise until yesterday...'

'No! Not about being met, for goodness' sake! About this...' She looked  around and he realised with a stab of compunction that her lips were  quivering. 'Marco, every woman here is in a full-on ballgown. They look  like they are going to a coronation, not a family party. And me? I'm  wearing a little party dress I made myself. I look so underdressed.'

'You look beautiful.' And she did. Although she was right, all the other  women were in floor-length, brightly coloured silk and chiffon gowns.

'And this house! Family party, you said. You forgot to mention that the  family is the Borgias! I've never been anywhere like this. My bedroom is  like a five-star hotel.'

'You don't like it?' Marco was struggling to understand the point she  was making. So the family home was big and the party formal? Women  usually loved the palazzo, and they loved knowing he was the future  owner-owner, he supposed, not that he had any intention of setting up  home here even more.

'Like it?' She made a queer noise, part gasp, part sob, part laughter.  'It's not the kind of place you like, is it? It's magnificent,  beautiful, incredible, but it's not the kind of place I know as home. I  don't fit in here, Marco. Not in this house, not with this kind of  wealth. Your mother is wearing a diamond tiara that's probably worth  more than my parents' house.' She shook her head. 'Oh, God, listen to  me. I sound like the worst kind of inverted snob. I just didn't expect  any of this. I'm more than a little thrown.'                       
       
           



       

Marco had never heard this kind of reaction before. True, most women who  walked into the palazzo knew exactly who he was, briefed by their  mammas just as he was by his. But even the wealthiest and most well-bred  visitor got a covetous look in their eye when they realised the whole  of the building still belonged to the family and therefore, by  extension, to Marco. This kind of appalled shock was new, but it was  also a relief, like a long sip of cold water after a lifetime of rich,  creamy milk.

And she did have a point. He'd brought her here for his own selfish  reasons; it hadn't occurred to him to warn her just what a Santoro party  entailed.

'Just be yourself, Sophie. I promise you, everyone will love you-and  they will adore your dress. I'm sorry, it didn't occur to me that this  would all be a little overwhelming, but I promise to make it up to you.  Tomorrow I'll show you Venice, not a tiara in sight. What do you say?'

She didn't answer for a long moment, indecision clear on her face. Then  she turned to him, eyes big with a vulnerable expression in them that  struck him hard. 'Are you sure I look all right? I'm not letting you  down?'

'Not at all,' he assured her. 'In fact I predict next year most of the  younger women will be glad to break with tradition and wear shorter  dresses. Come, let's go and mingle and I will tell you three scandalous  secrets about every person we meet. I promise you won't be intimidated  by a single one by the end of the evening.'





CHAPTER FIVE

ALTHOUGH MARCO WAS true to his word and did indeed tell Sophie such  scandalous secrets about every person she met-she refused to believe  they could be true; surely that regal lady over there wasn't an  international jewel thief?-she was still a little intimidated.  Intimidated by the glitter and the air of self-possession displayed by  every well-dressed guest, by the rapid flow of Italian all around and  the familiarity with which each guest greeted each other. She felt too  English, too parochial, too poor, too self-conscious, and although Marco  was a charming and attentive host Sophie couldn't help thinking  longingly of the city outside the old palazzo, ready to be explored and  discovered.

But when Marco took her arm in his, when he leaned in close to whisper  yet another outrageous lie, when he caught her eyes, laughter lurking in  his, as his mother not so discreetly quizzed Sophie on her future plans  and whether those plans involved marriage and babies, then she was  pulled away from the room, away from her insecurities and into a world  where all she saw was the tilt of his mouth, the warmth of his smile and  the promise in his dark eyes. Anticipation flooded through her at the  knowledge that when the clock struck twelve her night would only just be  beginning... At least she hoped it would; she hadn't splashed out on a  gorgeous new nightie in the New Year sales for nothing. The bits of silk  held together with lace would hardly keep her warm after all.

She was aware of Marco's eyes on her and heat flooded through her as  their gazes snagged and held, the rest of the room falling away. No, the  other women in the room could do their best to attract his  attention-and many of them were-but Sophie knew she wouldn't be sleeping  alone that night.

After drinks and appetisers and a formal, beautifully presented meal for  fifty, the party moved into an even grander and bigger room. Here yet  more guests joined them, the numbers swelling into the hundreds as a  band played at one end and immaculately dressed waiters circled with  trays of drinks. Marco's mother had 'borrowed' him to greet an elderly  relative and Sophie hovered by the window, unsure where to go or who to  speak to-if she could make herself understood, that was. It was all too  reminiscent of standing at the back of one of Harry's gigs, not quite  knowing what to say or whether she was welcome in any of the close-knit,  self-possessed groups.