part had wished Vittorio didn’t want to improve her. No matter what her father had said about smoothing stones and that ridiculous river of life, she didn’t want Vittorio to improve her. She wouldn’t be his little project.
And if he was thinking of marrying her—if she was actually still considering marrying him—then she knew he needed to accept that. Accept her .
She’d only walked a few metres before Vittorio caught up, grabbing her by the arm none too gently. ‘How are you planning on returning home?’ he asked, his voice coldly furious and, angry again, Ana shrugged off his arm.
‘Fortunately, there are such things as water taxis.’
‘Ana—’ Vittorio stopped helplessly and Ana knew he was utterly bewildered by her behaviour. Well, that made two of them. She stopped walking, her head bowed.
‘I know you think you meant well,’ she began, only to stop when Vittorio laughed dryly.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve really botched it then, haven’t I?’
She looked up, trying to smile. ‘I just—’ She took a breath, trying to explain without making herself utterly vulnerable. It was impossible. ‘I don’t wear dresses for a reason, Vittorio. It’s not simply that I have appalling taste in clothes.’ He looked so surprised, she almost laughed. ‘Is that what you thought? That I don’t know a designer gown from a bin bag?’
‘I didn’t—’ he began, and now she did laugh. She’d never expected to see the Count of Cazlevara so discomfited.
‘I’m a full-figured five foot eleven,’ she said flatly. ‘Designer gowns generally don’t run in my size.’
Surprise flashed briefly in Vittorio’s eyes. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘you are selling yourself a bit short.’
‘I prefer not to sell myself at all,’ she returned rather tartly.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Ana turned. ‘Would you mind moving? I’m trying to get a snap of San Marco,’ a cameratoting tourist explained and, muttering an oath, Vittorio took Ana by the arm once more and led her away from the crowded piazza.
‘We can’t have a conversation here—let’s go to dinner, as I originally suggested.’
‘But I’m not dressed appropriately—’
Vittorio gave her an arch look. ‘And whose fault is that?’
‘Yours,’ she replied but, instead of sounding accusing, her voice came out pert, almost as if she were flirting. Except, Ana thought, she didn’t know how to flirt. Yet Vittorio was smiling a little and so was she. ‘If you’d let me change,’ she continued in that same pert voice, ‘instead of trying to turn a sow’s ear into a—’
‘Don’t.’ Suddenly, surprisingly, his hand came up to cover her mouth. Ana could taste the salt on his skin. ‘Don’t insult yourself, Ana.’ His expression had softened, his mouth curved in something close to a smile, except it was too serious and even sad. She tried to speak, her lips moving against his fingers, but he wouldn’t let her. ‘I’m taking you to dinner,’ he stated, ‘no matter what you’re wearing. Anyone who is with the Count of Cazlevara doesn’t need to worry about clothes.’ He smiled and his thumb caressed the fullness of her lower lip, the simple touch sending shockwaves of pleasure down into her belly. ‘You’ll find that’s one of the advantages of becoming a Countess,’ he said, and dropped his hand.
Chapter Five
O NCE seated at the best table at the Met, one of Venice’s finest restaurants, Ana took in the glamorous couples all around them, the women all in designer gowns like the one she could have worn, and she felt another shaft of regret that she’d spurned Vittorio’s generous offer of a dress. Even if it had been the safe—and even the right—thing to do.
Still, Vittorio seemed utterly unperturbed by the difference between her own attire and that of every other woman in the room. He gazed down at the menu, tapping it with one finger. ‘The mussels are particularly good.’
‘I’ll
And if he was thinking of marrying her—if she was actually still considering marrying him—then she knew he needed to accept that. Accept her .
She’d only walked a few metres before Vittorio caught up, grabbing her by the arm none too gently. ‘How are you planning on returning home?’ he asked, his voice coldly furious and, angry again, Ana shrugged off his arm.
‘Fortunately, there are such things as water taxis.’
‘Ana—’ Vittorio stopped helplessly and Ana knew he was utterly bewildered by her behaviour. Well, that made two of them. She stopped walking, her head bowed.
‘I know you think you meant well,’ she began, only to stop when Vittorio laughed dryly.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve really botched it then, haven’t I?’
She looked up, trying to smile. ‘I just—’ She took a breath, trying to explain without making herself utterly vulnerable. It was impossible. ‘I don’t wear dresses for a reason, Vittorio. It’s not simply that I have appalling taste in clothes.’ He looked so surprised, she almost laughed. ‘Is that what you thought? That I don’t know a designer gown from a bin bag?’
‘I didn’t—’ he began, and now she did laugh. She’d never expected to see the Count of Cazlevara so discomfited.
‘I’m a full-figured five foot eleven,’ she said flatly. ‘Designer gowns generally don’t run in my size.’
Surprise flashed briefly in Vittorio’s eyes. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘you are selling yourself a bit short.’
‘I prefer not to sell myself at all,’ she returned rather tartly.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Ana turned. ‘Would you mind moving? I’m trying to get a snap of San Marco,’ a cameratoting tourist explained and, muttering an oath, Vittorio took Ana by the arm once more and led her away from the crowded piazza.
‘We can’t have a conversation here—let’s go to dinner, as I originally suggested.’
‘But I’m not dressed appropriately—’
Vittorio gave her an arch look. ‘And whose fault is that?’
‘Yours,’ she replied but, instead of sounding accusing, her voice came out pert, almost as if she were flirting. Except, Ana thought, she didn’t know how to flirt. Yet Vittorio was smiling a little and so was she. ‘If you’d let me change,’ she continued in that same pert voice, ‘instead of trying to turn a sow’s ear into a—’
‘Don’t.’ Suddenly, surprisingly, his hand came up to cover her mouth. Ana could taste the salt on his skin. ‘Don’t insult yourself, Ana.’ His expression had softened, his mouth curved in something close to a smile, except it was too serious and even sad. She tried to speak, her lips moving against his fingers, but he wouldn’t let her. ‘I’m taking you to dinner,’ he stated, ‘no matter what you’re wearing. Anyone who is with the Count of Cazlevara doesn’t need to worry about clothes.’ He smiled and his thumb caressed the fullness of her lower lip, the simple touch sending shockwaves of pleasure down into her belly. ‘You’ll find that’s one of the advantages of becoming a Countess,’ he said, and dropped his hand.
Chapter Five
O NCE seated at the best table at the Met, one of Venice’s finest restaurants, Ana took in the glamorous couples all around them, the women all in designer gowns like the one she could have worn, and she felt another shaft of regret that she’d spurned Vittorio’s generous offer of a dress. Even if it had been the safe—and even the right—thing to do.
Still, Vittorio seemed utterly unperturbed by the difference between her own attire and that of every other woman in the room. He gazed down at the menu, tapping it with one finger. ‘The mussels are particularly good.’
‘I’ll
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