What had she been thinking? She should have continued on down the mountain when she’d had the chance and made good her escape. Not for the first time she wondered if she’d stopped to rest because she half hoped he would find her. Because in her lustful heart she didn’t want to leave him before she’d slept with him, before he’d thrust deep inside her and made her call out in ecstasy?

For a moment her paranoia took over. She imagined Marco regaling Giovanni with stories of how she’d been ready for him, wet and moaning. Her wild abandon might even by now be a subject of conversation amongst the cave dwellers

Surely that couldn’t be true? Surely Emma Houndsdale, the temptress, the one always in control hadn’t been beaten at her own game? For the first time she felt a true twinge of sympathy for all the young men whose affections she’d trifled with, then discarded.

Despite the heat of the pool, she shivered with a passing chill. She opened her eyes and slid down further into the warm water, letting it swirl over her body. In her mind she heard Marco’s words: “God forgive me, I want you to live more than I want my people to live.”

Were these the words of a cheat, a man who had no honor, no integrity?

She had believed him, swept away by the irresistible passion, by the lure of his body. Swept away and so inflamed by lust she hadn’t given a thought to the fact that he had no French letters, that he’d rammed his cock inside her with no protection, and she’d cried out for more.

Under the water she moved her hand to her flat belly and stroked the taut muscles. Seduction, madness, pregnancy. Wasn’t that the story of so many girls? No one would believe it of Emma Houndsdale. She bit her bottom lip. Daddy would look after her, although he would be shocked and grieved, but she would be damaged goods.

She moved her other hand to her breast, touching it the way Marco had. The nipple was tender from his teasing fingers. He’d nipped and squeezed and stroked until she was mad with desire, leaving her breasts sensitive and aching. Wasn’t soreness of the breasts the very first sign of pregnancy? How long did it take? Surely more than a day or so.

She pulled herself together. It wasn’t like her to wallow in misery, to take on the “poor little me” persona. She might have escaped the possible consequences. She might not be carrying Marco’s child. She knew all kinds of people who’d waited months, even years, to have a baby. No, she wouldn’t think about it. About how she would feel if he’d planted his seed inside her, about the might-have-been. She would resist him in the future, making sure if it hadn’t happened already it never would. Abstinence was the only answer. She would avoid ever being alone with him again.

But her ordeal wasn’t over. The armed guard and the two girls meant she would go back to the caves, and there she would face the punishment she’d agreed to, her head held high. Whether or not Marco had deceived her, she was a Houndsdale and Houndsdales always kept their word and took their medicine.

The sound of a stone rolling underfoot and a movement to one side caught her attention and she looked up, squinting against the sun.

Giovanni stood not two feet away from the edge of the water, leaning on a rifle. In his left hand he held a long, supple twig, which he tapped against his boot. Emma looked around for the girls and the guard.

“I sent them away.” Giovanni spoke softly, his eyes on her. “Don’t stop what you were doing for my sake. I’d like to watch you pleasure yourself.”

Emma hastily withdrew her hands from her body, feeling the blood rise into her cheeks as she understood how he’d interpreted her touch on her belly and breasts. He had crept up without a sound. How long had he been there, watching her?

He leaned forward a few inches and touched her shoulder with the switch, letting the tip of the slim branch trail to her neck, then down to the swell of her breast. She jerked away, clutching at a protruding rock to save herself from falling sideways.

He laughed. “You were not so skittish with our esteemed leader. What did he tell you? Was it easy to persuade you to open your legs for him?”

She swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eye. “What the hell do you want? Why did you send the girls away?”

He sank gracefully to the ground, reclining on his hip and propping himself on his right arm. His rifle lay within easy reach. He lounged with his left knee raised, effectively blocking her exit from the water. He touched her again with the twig and she steeled herself not to flinch.

“Bad language doesn’t become you, bella donna.”

It sent a stab to her heart to hear Marco’s name for her on this lout’s lips and she felt her temper rise.

“What do I want?” he continued in a calm voice, for all the world as if they’d been taking afternoon tea, making idle conversation. “I told you I’d like to watch you pleasure yourself.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He touched the whip to her face, tracing the line of her cheek, letting it rest on her mouth. She turned her face away.

“Then I’d like to fuck you.”

She glared at him and her mouth twisted in contempt. He was big and powerful, barring her way from the pool. Even the guard had disappeared. She was going to have to rely on her wits to brazen this out. “You have an extraordinary knowledge of gutter English. I’m not accustomed to propositions couched in quite those terms.”

“No? I’ll take wagers that you’ve heard the words more often than you will admit, Lady Emma Houndsdale. Or is it really Catherine Hall, ladies’ maid with pretensions of grandeur? I think I like that better.”

Emma stared at him, her mind racing. Did he seriously think she was Catherine as it had said in the newspaper?

Before she could respond, he continued in the same lazy voice, still stroking her with the twig. “I have a weakness for English ladies’ maids. So willing, and always eager for little gifts.” He smiled at her. “Marco and I were educated in England. We’re cousins, you know. There’s plenty of scope for learning gutter language, as you call it, from a gang of schoolboys cooped up together for weeks at a time.”

“Cousins?” Emma was torn between ignoring him and questioning him more about Marco. Her need to know won. “Marco has several relatives with him, then? Teresa said she is his sister-in-law. Is she his brother’s wife?”

The rhythmic stroking of the twig continued from her face to her shoulder, to the cleft between her breasts. Her skin twitched in revulsion, but she could not escape the touch of the flail except by standing up.

Naked.

That was exactly what he wanted her to do. She bit the inside of her mouth to distract herself from the torment.

“His brother’s wife?” He gave a snort of laughter. “No, bella donna, indeed no. She is not married yet. Pretty little thing, isn’t she? Our Marco married Claudia, Teresa’s older sister. There’s a definite family resemblance.”

Emma’s heart sank. So it was true. She tested her reaction. After such a deliberate deception, no normal person would feel any compunction about breaking a promise. How did she feel now about making good her escape? If the opportunity arose, she probably would go. Yet her grandfather had always told her the sign of a gentleman was that he never broke his word under any circumstances, even when it was painful and difficult to stay true. When she was seven he’d made her give away her favorite puppy from a new litter because she had promised a neighbor’s child first choice. She frowned, vacillating.

“Don’t look so unhappy, bella donna. We Italian men take our pleasure where we find it.”

He put down the twig at last and leaned even closer. “I can see Marco has disappointed you, Catherine. I may call you Catherine?” Without waiting for a response, he continued in a low, seductive voice. “Come with me. I will take you to safety in Naples, to the police as you wanted. You owe Marco nothing. Let me look after you.”