Page 18 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

But he hadn’t been in here for years, not since Antonia’s funeral. A shiver sucked the heat from his bones.

It was easy to fill that chill void with anger.

‘I regularly lend treasures for display,’ he bit out. ‘Half the family jewels are in an exhibition in Rome. The tapestries are just back from being displayed in Paris, and several paintings are on loan to galleries and museums for study or display.’

Those grave eyes regarded him, filled now with puzzlement rather than disfavour. ‘That’s very generous of you.’

Now she pandered to his ego? That goaded Alessio. He didn’t need her endorsement. He did it because it was the right thing to do. He felt a deep responsibility to care for and share his family’s treasures.

For years he hadn’t given a damn what anyone, relative, friend or stranger, thought of his actions. He’d cut himself off from people and their opinions. Now he found himself irked by an employee’s assumptions. Not just irked but trying to prove himself!

His skin prickled under her stare. Did she think him greedy? Uncaring? Or maybe she believed the wild speculation about him, hiding away from the world.

Aren’t you hiding? Beatrice thinks so.

As if his great-aunt or anyone else truly understood the situation.

‘If it hurts you to have people around, of course you shouldn’t do it.’

That serious, sympathetic gaze held his.Sympathy.For him!As if he were someone to be pitied instead of the Conte Dal Lago, wealthy and powerful, a man who supported and cared for thousands. Whose business success was lauded worldwide.

‘If you tell me how to contact the glaziers, I’ll organise the repairs, then ring the priest in Florence—’

‘Wait.’

Alessio hadn’t planned to interrupt but now heard the word, sharp and silencing, reverberate between them.

What harm could it do? When they came, he’d be in his office, working—

Hiding out, said his great-aunt’s voice in his head.

He looked down at the woman before him and consciously unlocked his jaw. ‘Confirm the visit.’ Her eyes widened. ‘But I want you with them at all times. They go straight from the boat to the chapel and back. An hour maximum.’

‘Of course. I’ll see to it all.’

Her gaze softened, her mouth curling at the corners. Then she turned as if to leave. Or to hide her satisfied smile?

Alessio marched beside her down the aisle, wondering why he’d agreed to this. It had been his decision, yet he felt he’d been outmanoeuvred.

Because he cared what Charlotte Symonds thought? Because he was sick of Beatrice’s carping voice in his head? The pair deserved each other, judging and interfering.

They walked out of the chapel, and Charlotte was aware of how he reined in his long-legged stride to match hers. Of the swing of his hand just centimetres from hers and the high ridge of his shoulder at her eye height.

Her heart fluttered stupidly at being close to all that vibrant masculinity. She was still catching her breath after their confrontation when he returned from rowing.

Wearing shorts and a T-shirt that clung to his body, his powerful musculature had been front and centre. He might have a rower’s shoulders, but those sculpted thighs were works of art in their own right.

A weak part of her had fallen in a fluttery heap. It had been all she could do not to let his coffee cup rattle on the tray she clutched.

No wonder she’d avoided his eyes in the chapel.

Until anger and curiosity had made her confront him. Anger because he’d reminded her of her father, a man who hoarded wealth but without a generous bone in his body.

When Charlotte’s mother died, he’d sacked many estate staff, people whose families had worked there for generations. He’d pushed them out of their homes, remodelling them into ‘executive-style country houses’ to sell for a tidy profit.

But what she’d seen in Alessio’s eyes had made her think again.

Not Alessio.Conte Alessio to you!

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