'You are extremely wise,' the Signora said firmly, so firmly that Erica wondered if the woman meant it or was saying it in order to be kind. Perhaps she also knew that Filippo had changed his mind.

'Men of the Conte's type,' the Signora continued, 'lead very sophisticated lives. They make excellent husbands on the material level, but emotionally they are always seeking excitement After the first year they are rarely faithful.'

Would Filippo be one of the rare ones when he eventually married? The question came into Erica's mind, but she dismissed it immediately. She had to stop thinking of him. If she didn't, she would never be happy again.

'You look pale,' her employer commented. 'If we are not busy this afternoon you can leave early.'

'I'm not in any hurry to go home,' Erica protested. 'As a matter of fact I thought I would stay later this evening. I made a few sketches last night and I'd like to mould them in plasticine.'

The Signora nodded agreement, but at five o'clock she asked Erica to go to the Lido and deliver a package for her to the Excelsior Hotel.

The boat ride will do you good, and you could even have a swim while you are there.'

Erica shook her head. 'It's weeks since I've been swimming. That shows you what a true Venetian I'm becoming! When I first came here to work I was sure I'd be on the beach every single moment I was free.'

It is always like that,' the Signora smiled. 'But even so it will do you good to get some fresh air.' She finished wrapping a charm bracelet and handed it over. 'It is for Mrs. Linton, room 2438 at the Excelsior. I promised her I would have it ready for her to wear tonight. Take it now and do not bother to come back.'

It was less effort to accept Signora Botelli's well-meaning kindness than to go on protesting that she did not wish to be free. Erica put the package into her bag and set off for the Lido.

As she waited in the queue to buy a ticket for the water bus, she noticed that the Excelsior launch had pulled into the Gritti Palace entrance. She might as well cadge a lift back with them. Even if they were not yet ready to leave she could sit in the boat and watch the pa.s.sing craft and people.

This was exactly what she had to do, for it was some fifteen minutes later before they slipped away from the hotel and shunted across the wide expanse of water towards the Lido. Going directly in the hotel's private launch she was saved the long walk to the hotel she would otherwise have had from the water bus.

As it was the heat was enervating and her hair clung limply to her forehead and lay in damp silvery tangles on the nape of her neck by the time she handed the package to the clerk at the reception desk. Then she wandered out on to the terrace. She regretted not bringing her swimming costume with her, for though the beach was crowded the water looked exciting and the pool even more so. But it was too late to do anything about it now and she set off to catch the bus.

The rush hour had already begun and there was a long queue of vociferous, shoving Italians whose antics to be first in line made her realize how well-behaved and quiet her own compatriots were by comparison.

Even the Italian eye for a pretty girl was blind during the fight to find a seat, and Erica was bruised and battered when she eventually found herself inside the bus, pressed against the window. She wished she had found the strength to fight for an upstairs seat instead of allowing herself to be jostled into this Turkish bath atmosphere. But she was stuck here for the whole of the journey and she rested her arm against the gla.s.s, aware of the fat woman on one side of her and the hard wall on the other.

Once they began to move a slight breeze came in through the open windows, dispelling the heavy smell of garlic and cheap scent. The water over which they glided was turned into molten gold by the setting sun and this colour was reflected in the sky, the horizon of which was edged in rose and purple. This was the time of day when Venice looked its most beautiful. The rays of the sunset bathed the statues in radiance and picked out the gilding on the carved stone walls. Wrought iron, delicate as spiders' webs, lay their dark tracery along the edges of the narrow windows that broke the flat surface of the houses and palazzos, while the faded tiled roofs glowed rose and red.

Erica was overcome by the beauty. At every hour of day and no matter how inclement the weather, Venice had a heart-catching quality found nowhere else in the world. It came not only from the romantic waterways and winding alleys, but from the buildings themselves which, even though most were crumbling into decay from damp and rising water, could still be numbered among the loveliest in the world. If cities could be likened to flowers, then Venice was a rose which, even dying, still gave evidence of its earlier lush magnificence.

The bus swung into the side of the Ca.n.a.l and slowed down as they approached a landing stage. It stopped; the rail was lifted and a ma.s.s of people got off, to be immediately replaced by another ma.s.s. In the melee Erica managed to find herself a seat and they moved off again.

Several gondolas were following their course. The slim gondoliers dipped their poles into the water and glanced neither to left nor right, intent only on balancing their craft. But the occupants - mostly tourists - were looking eagerly around them or trailing their hands in the water. Occasionally a motorboat shot past, eliciting disgruntled looks from the gondoliers who had to balance themselves more carefully as their boats bobbed like corks in the spume. One motor- boat was even now drawing angry protests, for it came dangerously close to the bus itself, then zoomed off again only to slow down further on and double back on its course.

Idly Erica watched it, half amused by the audacity of the driver and half irritated by his disregard of the other boats on the Ca.n.a.l. But then it looked the sort of launch to discard every other, for it had the air of a cosseted woman, the bra.s.s on it gleaming as yellow as a peroxide blonde, its paintwork as bright as newly applied make-up. Even the driver was immaculate in a sharp white jacket and gold braided cap.

As she continued to watch him he turned his head to judge the distance from the bus and then came alongside them again. He was now directly opposite Erica and she saw his face pucker with concentration as he steered the launch on a parallel course. It spurted forward and the interior cabin came into view. Its windows were open and the curtains were drawn back to show the bright blue leather seats and the man who stood haughtily in the centre of the cabin staring with penetrating eyes at the crowds on the top deck of the bus.

She caught her breath, not sure if she was dreaming. What was Filippo doing here when she believed him to be in Rome? And why was he staring so intently along the deck? She shrank back in her seat, wishing there was somewhere more adequate for her to hide and knowing it was only a question of time before those dark piercing eyes found her. Tense, breathless, she waited, praying that the bus would increase speed and move out of range but knowing this would never happen.

Felippo's eyes were scanning the lower deck, his head moving inexorably in her direction. If she turned her head the other way and pretended to be talking to the woman next to her he might not notice her. Even as she went to do so she knew the futility of it. Her silvery blonde hair would give her away, glowing like a lighted torch among the black ones.

She drew a shuddering breath. It was pointless to avoid Filippo. If she managed to hide from him now he would only seek her out at her apartment. It was better for her to talk to him here and let him know she knew that Claudia had been with him in Rome. It would save him from bothering to make excuses for not having contacted her since she herself had left him. Five days of silence and now he was coming after her with the purposefulness of the Demon King. Was it guilty conscience that made him seek her out? Did he believe that if he explained his actions she would be less hurt? How dared he treat her in this high-handed fashion, bringing her to Rome and making love to her and then sending her away and turning to Claudia Medina!

Defiantly she faced the window. At the same moment he saw her. His eyes narrowed and his hand came up and beckoned. She went on staring at him and his gesture became more forceful, making it clear that he wanted her to get off at the next stop.

She hesitated and then nodded. Instantly he relaxed, though the motorboat maintained its parallel course, only slowing down as the bus veered in towards the next landing stage.

Hurriedly she threaded her way through the crowded aisle, pushed past the solid phalanx of people around the entrance and went down the gangplank and on to the quay.

Filippo's launch was parked a few yards behind, and bracing herself for the unpleasant meeting to come, she went towards it. He was standing on the prow and he reached out and gripped her arm as she came down the steps and lifted her bodily on to the deck.

'Filippo!' she exclaimed, but had no chance to say any more, for he half carried, half dragged her down the short flight of steps to the inner cabin.

He almost threw her in and with the same violent movements slammed the door and drew the blue curtains across the windows, blocking out the rose pink sunset and filling the cabin with purple gloom. Still in the same violent way he strode back to her and pulled her into his arms.

'It's no use,' he groaned. 'I'm too old for you, but I don't care. I can't face life without you!'

His arms were like steel bands around her, crushing the breath from her body. In a daze she listened to him, heard him murmur words of love, broken endearments, and all the while he held her as though he would never let her go, until finally he stopped speaking and with shaking hands pressed her head into the curve of neck and shoulder.

How well she fitted there and what a sense of peace it gave her. But she could not rest here; it was not her rightful place. She went to pull back, but his reaction was sharp and unexpected.

'No!' he cried fiercely. 'I won't let you go. You are mine. Mine! I'll never let you go again. These past days have been h.e.l.l! You do not know what they did to me. But I had to give you time... it wasn't fair to rush you - to force you into something you might regret'

'Force me?' she whispered.

'The way I did in Rome. I swept you off your feet. I tried to blind you with my position and my wealth; with all the things I could give you. I knew I was taking advantage of your innocence, but I couldn't help it. I wanted you to be mine on any terms.'

'I don't understand,' she said huskily.

'I know you don't. And that's what made it worse. You were so trusting of me.' He held her away from him, but still kept his hands on her shoulders. 'I wanted you to fall in love with me and I did everything in my power to entice you. I even toyed with the idea of getting you drunk and seducing you. Then you would have had to marry me! But thank heavens my conscience stopped me from doing that. I had to let you make a free choice; to decide your future for yourself. That's why I didn't get in touch with you this week. I wanted you to have time to think things over, to see me clearly without the glamour that surrounds me.'

Tentatively she explored his words; beginning to understand the reason for his silence. 'Do you think it was your position that turned my head? That I cared about your money and your t.i.tle? Do you think that's why I fell in love with you?'

'I am too old for you,' he said abruptly. 'You are an innocent child and you will be happier with a man of your own race.'

'Then leave me alone to find one!' Her voice was shaky, but she managed to get the words out. 'Don't give in to your infatuation, Filippo. I know you're susceptible to a pretty face and blonde hair, but I'm sure you'll soon find someone else to rhapsodize over.'

'Infatuation?' he echoed. 'Is that what you think it is? Haven't you heard one word I've said to you? Are you deaf, or don't you want to know? I love you, Erica! I love you and I cannot live without you. I want you to be my wife. For five days now I have fought against it - kept telling myself I'm the wrong man for you - but I can't fight it any longer. You have got to marry me. I will know no happiness until you do.'

'You don't need to order me to marry you,' she choked, and fell against him, laughing and crying at the same time. 'You fool,' she wept, 'don't you know it's what I've wanted from the moment I met you? But I thought I wasn't suitable... that I was too young and inexperienced. I thought you'd grow tired of me.'

Her tears fell faster and he took out a handkerchief and wiped them away. 'I will never grow tired of you,' he whispered. 'For the rest of my life I will love you.'

'Then why didn't you call me after I left Rome? Why did you ask Claudia to stay with you?'

'She did not stay with me,' he said imperiously. 'She came to Rome to see her lawyer and naturally I took her out. As for my not calling you - I have already given you my reasons. I won't give them to you again, Erica. We have wasted too much time on words. Now it is time for action. You are going to marry me at once. Then you won't need to ask any more foolish questions.'

With a sigh she leaned close to him again. 'Five days without hearing from you arid then you come after me as if you are crazy!'

'I am crazy! Crazy with love and jealousy.'

'You have no reason to be jealous. You're the only man I've ever loved. I thought I'd made that clear to you in Rome?'

'I was scared to believe it. There is fourteen years' difference between us and each year has been like a hurdle that I was afraid to jump. But a week without you has shown me I must knock those hurdles down, I must make you forget those fourteen years.'

'There's nothing to forget,' she said truthfully. 'I felt you were out of my reach, but it had nothing to do with your age.' All her love for him was in her eyes and they glowed like pools of silver-grey. 'It was my age that seemed wrong. I'll never be as sophisticated as the women you're used to, Filippo, and I don't think I'll ever get accustomed to living a life of luxury, but-'

'You will live the life you want to live,' he said purposefully, 'so long as you live it with me.'

'Darling!' she cried, and the rest of her words were stifled as he took violent possession of her mouth.

There was no restraint in his kiss, no barrier to prevent him from showing her how much he wanted her. His hands were gentle but insistent on her body, moving down her back to rest on her hips and then glide up the smooth line of her stomach to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They swelled at his touch and she trembled and held on to him tightly, her mouth opening wider still like a flower to the dew. He was trembling as violently as she was and the eyes looking deep into hers were glazed with pa.s.sion. She could feel his heart hammering against her ribs, feel the blood coursing through his veins and making his body throb against hers. Wave after wave of desire rocked her and she shivered and clung to him, crying his name over and over again.

'Erica, don't!' He caught her hands from his neck and brought them down to her side. His face was pale and beads of sweat dappled his forehead, making him look inexplicably vulnerable.

With another shiver she stepped back and collapsed on to the nearest seat.

'It isn't easy to fight, is it?' she whispered.

'It is the first time I have ever tried to do so,' he confessed, and as her head tilted sharply in his direction, added: 'See what a reformed character you are turning me into, my darling!'

'I'm glad one of us is strong,' she teased. 'I never knew until now how easy it was to lose one's control.'

'Thank goodness I am the first one to make you realize it.' He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, one by one. 'I intend to be the last one too. Be warned, Erica. There is no turning back for you now.'

'I never want to turn back. You were the one with doubts.'

'I have told you why I had them - why I am still afraid.'

'You mustn't be afraid,' she urged. 'You have no need to be. When Sophie told me Claudia was with you in Rome I nearly died of jealousy. Don't make me go through that again.'

'Never,' he promised and bending forward gently, kissed her brow. 'I have made my decision, and if I were forty years older than you instead of fourteen it would not stop me from making you mine.'

CHAPTER TEN.

Now that the miracle had happened and Filippo had asked her to marry him, Erica was beset by doubts about the life that would be hers once she became the Contessa Rosetti. Erica Rayburn, a Countess! Wife of an Italian n.o.bleman who could trace his lineage back to the fifteenth century. It was almost too unbelievable to be true.

Yet it was true. Filippo's eyes fixed on her, intent and adoring, told her so.

'You will return with me to the Palazzo,' he said. 'I want to tell my sister the news.'

'Must you? It's only just happened.'

'What does that have to do with it? We have no reason to wait. And you will wish to tell your father, will you not?'

'Of course, but... I haven't thought as far as that.'

'Then think now,' he said decisively. 'Do you wish to fly back and speak to him?'

'That won't be necessary. I'm not a child and I don't need to ask his permission.'

'My daughter would always have to ask my permission. Your age has nothing to do with it.'

'English people are different, Filippo. Families aren't as possessive as they are in Italy. They don't take family obligations so seriously.'

'Then they are to be pitied.'

His tone brooked no argument and she fell silent; not that she wanted to argue on this subject anyway, for she was half inclined to agree with him. There was no doubt there were disadvantages in having an over-paternalistic father, but these would be outweighed by the knowledge that he was always there to turn to when you needed him.

She thought of her own father, married for the second time and so immersed in his work that he had not cared when she had elected to continue living in Venice. He had never asked if she intended to return home, and though at the time she had considered his behaviour civilized, after six months of living among a tempestuous warm-hearted race she saw it as indicative of a limited loving capacity. She looked at the man close to her. There was no limit to Filippo's love and he had no reticence about showing it. The stiff upper lip and detached manner of the British aristocracy was as alien to him as porridge for his breakfast!

Smiling tremulously, she drew his hand to her throat and held it there, delighting in the feel of his strong fingers on her skin. 'I hope I won't let you down.'

'Let me down over what? You are my perfect woman, cara. You will never let me down.'

'Don't say that,' she pleaded. 'I might turn out to have feet of clay.'

'You have exquisite feet,' he whispered, and put his free hand on her knee, smiling as he felt her give a delicious shiver.

The launch stopped and she saw they had drawn up at the small quay that led to the side door of the Rosetti Palazzo. Together they went through the rose arbour and across the lush lawn - there was no shortage of water in Venice - and into the vast stone hall.

Up the stairs they went and entered the drawing-room. The windows were wide open to the Grand Ca.n.a.l and the last rays of the sun filtered through on to the stone floor and the magnificent rugs that covered it.

The Conte's sister was reading, but as she saw her brother lead Erica forward, his arm around her waist, she immediately flung her book aside and jumped up.

'So it's true what Sophie said? I never believed her!'

'You mean Sophie is more romantic than you?' Filippo teased.

'I mean I never dared to hope you would be so sensible!' Anna smiled at Erica. 'I'm so thrilled that Filippo has chosen you. You are just the sort of girl he needs.'

'Meek and mild?' her brother questioned.

'Calm and cool!' his sister retorted. 'And able to stand up for herself.'

'Most women can do that,' he said.

'Sometimes standing up for oneself means treading on others,' his sister replied, 'but I know Erica will never do that.'

It was not possible for Erica to doubt Anna Charters' welcome and she was delighted by it. If only she could be as sure of the other members of Filippo's family; those ill.u.s.trious aunts- and uncles of whom he spoke so lightly and those rich and sophisticated cousins with their yachts and jets.

Anna was still speaking. Her brother's news had excited her and she looked flushed. The colour and animation on her face gave indication of how pretty she must have been before the tragic death of her husband.

'We must give a party, Filippo, and introduce Erica to the family. We will open the ballroom - it's more than two years since we have used it - and we'll decorate the outside of the Palazzo too. Sergio will be delighted to bring out the bunting and the flags. He was telling me only the other day that they must all be taken out and ironed before the creases in them become permanent. You must give me a list of the guests you want to ask apart from the relatives.' She glanced at Erica. 'I am sure there will be lots of your friends and family too.'

'I shouldn't think any of my friends would fly over for a party,' Erica said doubtfully, 'but obviously my father and stepmother will.'