The Costanzo Baby Secret by Catherine Spencer Page B

of progress. If that meant having to seduce him into revealing all he knew, then that’s what she was prepared to do. It was a case of the ends justifying the means, although why justification should be necessary was a moot point. He was her husband, after all, and had more or less admitted he’d grown as weary of celibacy as she had.
    Inspecting the more formal dinner dresses in her closet, none of which she’d yet worn, she rejected the first two, which, though lovely, weren’t as eye-catching as the third, a silk charmeuse in deepest jade-green, with a high empire waistline. In contrast to the modesty of the softly flared long sleeves, the low-cut neckline could be described as nothing short of daring. A huge pearl buckle centered below the bust brought together the artfully draped fabric of the bodice, and released it in a free fall of dramatic, shimmering color almost to her ankles. Simple but sophisticated, it required only a pair of teardrop pearl earrings and high-heeled black sandals to complement it.
    “Lei è una visione, mia bella,” Dario said reverently, when he saw her.
    She cast him a deliberately provocative glance from beneath demurely lowered eyelashes. “Thank you.”
    That she’d achieved the effect she’d been hoping for was immediately apparent. He almost missed the flutes he was filling and came close to splashing vintage champagne all over his shoes.
    Recovering himself, he gestured to the sun chaises and said solicitously, “You must have found this afternoon very tiring. Why don’t you put your feet up while we wait for dinner to be served?”
    The chaises were separated by a low table that allowed for no body contact, but down by the pool was a canopied patio swing built for two. “Why don’t we have our drinks on the lower deck, for a change?” she suggested, running a deliberate fingertip from the top of her plunging neckline to her cleavage. “The pool looks so lovely in the moonlight. It reminds me of a huge cabochon sapphire.”
    Eyeing her suspiciously, he shrugged. “ Certo. Whatever pleases you. But take my arm going down the steps. You might trip in those heels otherwise.”
    For a brief, startling second, she forgot her plans to seduce him as another flower-scented night, and a narrow street paved with uneven cobblestones illuminated by streetlamps, flashed before her eyes. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the picture was gone. Imagination? she wondered, her pulse jumping. Or a bone fide memory slipping through the layers clouding her mind?
    There was only one way to find out. “I seem to recall your saying that to me before.”
    He laughed and tucked her hand beneath his elbow. “Only about a hundred times.”
    “Why? I know I made a practice of falling over my own feet when I was a teenager, but I’d hoped I’m not quite as clumsy anymore.”
    “You aren’t,” he assured her. “You’re one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go out of my way to keep you safe.”
    They’d reached the pool deck by then. Not waiting for him to suggest they occupy any of the several chaises lined up around its perimeter, she slipped her hand free of his arm andwandered ever so casually to the swing, leaving him with little choice but to follow and sit down next to her. “Where were you, then, the day of my accident?” she asked.
    Even though he wasn’t quite touching her, she felt the sudden tension emanating from his body as acutely as if static electricity had leaped between them. “Obviously not doing my job.”
    “I’m not blaming you, Dario,” she amended hurriedly. “No one can be expected to look out for someone else all the time, especially not an adult who should be able to look out for herself.”
    “But I do blame myself,” he said, his voice raw.
    She opened her mouth to refute such a notion, then closed it again as another thought occurred. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed softly. “Are you telling me you were