Carla pushed out of his grasp and spoke rapidly in Italian. Once Abby would have been able to keep up, but now her Italian was rusty, and Carla’s words sped by in a jumble. Dante said nothing but his mouth firmed into a grim line, and he stood as Carla rose and left the room.
“At least someone has the decency to show some courtesy,” Abby said.
Dante’s eyes narrowed but he made no answer.
Unable to hold his frosty stare, Abby flicked her gaze around the room. It hadn’t changed. In front of the desk was the faded Oriental rug where she had stood while he told her, coldly and concisely, how their marriage would work—terms she could not, and eventually did not, accept.
The high space was imposing, stuffed with antiques and heavy, formal furnishings. His seat of power suited him and declared his values. He was a man of traditional tastes and obedience to traditional dictates. If only she’d understood this before she’d accepted his proposal—but at twenty-one she’d seen only his eminence, felt only her desire for him. She’d been foolishly dizzy with love.
She looked at the wall behind her husband’s head and found herself skewered by the same cold blue gaze in a row of ancestral portraits. “I see you’ve not redecorated since I was last in this room. You’re still surrounding yourself with hedonistic reminders of the past.”
He stroked the grape velvet couch on which he’d seduced her so expertly. “I like reminders of my mistakes so I don’t repeat them.”
“Mistakes? I didn’t think the powerful Conte Lombardi made mistakes. Perhaps you’re human after all.”
“At least I don’t run from them.”
She turned from his too-perceptive stare. Her eye fell on the intricate embroidered crest on the cloth covering the carved side table. Generations of history. How quickly she’d learned Dante held the honor of his ancient family above all else.
“Some mistakes take two people to fix, and your heart wasn’t in it.” She’d learned that lesson well. So she’d turned her back and walked out on him, on his family, on his name...
“My pretty English rose, you’ve wasted ajourney if your favor is to ask me to speed up our divorce.” His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. “Even I don’t have the power to hurry the Italian courts.”
Abby watched his Adam’s apple move in his throat. Her gaze drifted down. She eyed the dark arrow of hair revealed at the open neck of his shirt. Anger bubbled up, sheer fury at the habitual rush of desire triggered by a single look that made her nerve endings sizzle. And through it all, her need to feel him, touch him, and kiss him asserted itself, threatening her composure.
She lowered her gaze to her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She tried to relax. She didn’t want him to notice how wound up she was. Fat chance—he noticed everything.
Perhaps her surprise visit would unsettle him enough for her to appeal to his softer side. She knew he had one, especially where families were concerned. She raised her head and met his gaze boldly.
“No,” she whispered and shook her head. “I don’t need to knock my head repeatedly on a stone wall to discover I cannot get free of you any sooner.”
“Good. So, why are you here? May I hope that you’ve come to your senses and returned to fulfill your obligation? It was one we undertook before God.”
She sighed inwardly. She should have expected him to start railroading her into compliance. Hadn’t that been the basis of their marriage from the start? He’d set the terms and expected her complete acquiescence.
They should have really talked more and bedded less.
“I’m not here to stay. I came for a favor that has nothing to do with our matrimonial situation.”
“You need money. Your little business not thriving?”
“My business is fine, thank you for asking.”
“I think you’ve found running a bookstore is not the fun you thought it would be.”
She should have guessed he’d know what she’d been up to.She’d naively thought that when she’d walked out and heard nothing from him he’d wiped her from his mind.
“Don’t look so surprised. Did you think I’d let a woman who still carries my name out into the world without keeping an eye on her? You of all people know how I safeguard the Lombardi name. I repeat, is your visit about money?”
“What else could it be about?”
He swept his gaze over her body, making her wish she’d worn another layer of clothes. He took a step closer. “Some women find me attractive enough to want to share my bed.”
“Been there, done that. The sex was good, but it wasn’t enough.”
His face flushed with anger. “But my name comes in handy, especially when you want a bank loan.”
How could he know about that? “I didn’t volunteer the connection. The bank assumed.”
