The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper
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‘Molly? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’
Molly stiffened as she saw the fury in Lady Avery’s eyes—but not before she’d noticed Salvio De Gennaro’s face darken with an expression she couldn’t work out. Was he wondering why on earth the wife of a famous peer bothered employing such a hapless housekeeper?
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Molly quickly. ‘I was a bit distracted.’
‘You seem to have been distracted all afternoon!’ snapped Lady Avery. ‘The meat is overcooked and the hors d’oeuvres were fridge-cold!’
‘Come on, Sarah. It’s no big deal,’ said Salvio softly. ‘Give the girl a break.’
Molly’s head jerked up and as she met the understanding gleam of Salvio De Gennaro’s ebony eyes, she felt something warm and comforting wash over her. It was like sitting beside a fire when snow was falling outside. Like being wrapped in a soft, cashmere blanket. She saw Lady Avery appear momentarily disconcerted and she wondered if Salvio De Gennaro’s silky intervention had made her decide that giving her housekeeper a public dressing-down wouldn’t reflect very well on her. Was that why she flashed her a rather terrifying smile?
‘Of course. You’re quite right, Salvio. It’s no big deal. After all, it’s not as if we’re short of food, is it? Molly always makes sure we’re very well fed, but—as you can tell—she’s very fond of her food!’ She gave a bright, high laugh and nodded her head towards the snoring form of her husband, who had now worked his way through the entire bottle of wine and whose head was slumped on his chest as he snored softly. ‘Molly, I’m going to wake Lord Avery and guide him to bed and then Signor De Gennaro and I will go and sit by the fire in the library. Perhaps you’d like to bring us something on a tray to take the place of dinner. Nothing too fussy. Finger food will do.’ She flashed another toothy smile. ‘And bring us another bottle of the Ch^ateau Lafite, will you?’
‘Yes, Lady Avery.’
Salvio’s knuckles tightened as he watched Molly scuttle from the room, though he made no further comment as his hostess moved round the table to rouse her sleeping husband and then rather impatiently ushered him from the room. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling of injustice he had experienced when he’d seen how the aristocrat treated the blushing housekeeper. Or the powerful feeling of identification which had gripped him as he’d witnessed it. Was it because he’d known exactly how she would be feeling? His mouth hardened. Because he’d been where she had been. He knew what it was like to be at the bottom of the food chain. To have people treat you as if you were a machine, rather than a person.
He splayed his fingers over the rigid tautness of his thighs. He would wait until his hostess returned. Force himself to have a quick drink since she’d asked for one of the world’s most expensive wines to be opened, then retire to his room. He glanced at his watch. It was too late to go back to London tonight but he would leave at first light, before the house was awake. All in all it had been a wasted journey, with Lord Avery too inebriated to talk business before dinner. He hadn’t even been able to work because the damned Internet kept going down and because his thoughts kept straying to the forbidden... And the forbidden had proved shockingly difficult to erase from his mind. He sighed. How crazy was it that the wholesome housekeeper had inexplicably set his senses on fire, so that he could think of little but her?
He’d walked into the orangery before dinner to see her standing with a tray of champagne in her hands. She had changed into a simple black dress which hugged her body and emphasised every voluptuous curve. With her shiny brown hair caught back at the nape of her neck, his attention had been caught by those grey eyes, half concealed by lashes like dark feathers, which were modestly lowered as she offered him a drink. Even that was a turn-on. Or maybe especially that. He wasn’t used to modesty. To women reluctant to meet his gaze, whose cheeks turned the colour of summer roses. He’d found himself wanting to stand there studying her and it had taken a monumental effort to tear his eyes away. To try to make conversation with a host who seemed to be having a love affair with the bottle, and his disenchanted wife who was almost spilling out of a dress much too young for a woman her age.
‘Salvio!’ Sarah Avery was back, a look of determination on her face as she picked her way across the Persian rug on her spiky black heels. ‘Sorry about that. I’m afraid that sometimes Philip simply can’t hold his drink. Some men can’t, you know—with predictable effects, I’m afraid.’ She flashed him a megawatt smile. ‘Let’s go to the library for a drink, shall we?’
There had been many reasons why Salvio had left Naples to make his life in England and he had absorbed the attitudes of his adopted country with the tenacity he applied to every new challenge which came his way. These days he considered himself urbane and sophisticated—but in reality the traditional values of his Neapolitan upbringing were never far from the surface. And in his world, a woman never criticised her husband to another person. Particularly a stranger.
‘Just one drink,’ he said, disapproval making his words harsher than he intended. ‘I have a busy schedule tomorrow and I’ll be leaving first thing.’
‘But you’ve only just arrived!’
‘And I have back-to-back meetings in London, from midday onwards,’ he countered smoothly.
‘Oh! Can’t you cancel them?’ she wheedled. ‘I mean, I’ve heard that you’re a complete workaholic, but surely even powerhouses like you are allowed to slow down a little. And this is a beautiful part of the world. You haven’t really seen any of it.’
With an effort, Salvio forced a smile because he found her attitude intensely intrusive, as well as irritating. ‘I like to honour my commitments,’ he observed coolly as he followed her into the firelit library, where Molly was putting cheese and wine on a table, the stiff set of her shoulders showing her tension. He wasn’t surprised. Imagine being stuck out here, working for someone as rude and demanding as Sarah Avery. He sank into one of the armchairs, and watched as his hostess went to stand by the mantelpiece in a pose he suspected was intended to make him appreciate her carefully preserved body. She ran one slow finger over the gleaming curve of an ancient-looking vase, and smiled.
‘Are you looking forward to Christmas, Salvio?’ she questioned.
He was immediately wary—recoiling from the thought that some unwanted invitation might soon be heading his way. ‘I am away for most of it—in Naples,’ he said, accepting a glass of wine from Molly—ridiculously pleased to capture her blushing gaze before she quickly turned away. ‘I’m always glad to see my family but, to be honest, I’m equally glad when the holiday is over. The world shuts down and business suffers as a result.’