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The hat that went best with her dress had a brim that drooped over one eye, and an imitation rose that nestled against the crown, adding a touch of romance that appealed to her. In these elegant clothes she had never looked more like a person of consequence. If only they helped her to bluff Domenico into thinking she was well able to take care of herself she would be more than satisfied.

Domenico certainly appreciated the hat.

'There's no danger of Michael recognising the old you in that!' he said with open satisfaction.

She was torn between claiming that Michael would recognise her in anything, because he was a friend of some standing which Domenico was not, and pretending that she hadn't heard him. She compromised by giving him a quelling look that made his lips twitch and lowered her head a fraction of an inch so that she could see him from under her hat, but he was at the disadvantage of being able only to see the rose and the fine navy blue straw of the crown.

'What do you want to do after you've seen the palace?' he asked her. 'I suppose you want to see the Sis tine Chapel?'

'Yes, I do, but most of all I want to see the truly Roman things.' She looked at him almost bluntly. 'I want to see the Forum, and the place where Julius Caesar was killed, and the Colosseum where the Christians were thrown to the lions.'

'A nice, bloodthirsty list,' he approved. 'We'd better do the Pantheon too, and then I'll take you to my own personal favourite among the churches of Rome, St Paul without the Walls, though I'm afraid you won't find any statues to appeal to you there. You ought to see the Pieta in St Peter's at least.'

'But not today,' she said, shaking her head. 'I don't want to see anything that'll influence the way I plan to tackle my bust of you. A strong diet of Michelangelo might ruin my own ideas. That's where Michael is awfully useful. His work is too far away from my own to get in my way, yet his advice is always good and to the point.'

'I see.' He sounded more disapproving than enlightened. 'And what does he get from you?'

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'I can never be as objective about things as he is.' She sighed, resentful that she should feel obliged to make the admission, but too honest not to put the record straight. 'I feel my art in my emotions and flesh. Michael's approach is all in his mind.'

'That's probably why you are a sculptor,' Domenico suggested. 'It's the most tactile of all the arts. One should always touch objects, don't you think? I hate being forbidden to feel statues with my hands.'

Deborah was astonished that he should understand so exactly what most appealed to her about sculpting as opposed to painting or any other medium. She smiled happily at him, delighted they should have so much in common. 'That's what it's all about!'

He laughed too. 'Come and look at my collection,' he invited her. 'I inherited most of the finest pieces, but I like to add to it every now and again. I promise you, you may touch whatever you like, and handle it to your heart's content!'

She knotted her fingers together, almost overcome by the urge to touch
him,
the strong, corded muscles of his neck and the hard line of his jaw, even the sensual moulding of his mouth. She looked away quickly. 'Have you any Roman things?' she asked him, saying the first thing that came into her head.

'A few. Perhaps their portraiture was better than the Greeks who tended to idealise their subjects, but I have to admit I prefer the movement and love of life that the Greeks alone perfected in the ancient world.'

Once again his judgment startled her. Was it possible that he knew more about his subject than she had allowed for, more perhaps than even Michael knew about the art of the long-gone centuries? She was used to accepting any opinion Michael might casually throw at her as true, but it was less easy to account for her undoubted eagerness to make Domenico's opinions her own. Had she no mind of her own? She gave him a helpless look. 'Are you some kind of an expert?' she demanded.

'I was brought up with the Manzu collection. It's quite famous in collecting circles, you know '

Something clicked in her head and she could only stare at him with mounting awe. 'The Manzu collection!
You
own the Manzu collection? But how can you? I mean, everyone knows that it's worth millions! They put it on exhibition in New York! It's
famous!'

'My dear girl, that is what I've been trying to tell you!'

'Well, now I'm listening,' she retorted. 'Only I can't believe what I'm hearing! If
you
own the whole Manzu collection, why on earth did you have to kidnap me?' She raised her eyes to his. 'Peanuts I What possible use could any ransom for me be to you?'

He had the audacity to smile at her. 'I hadn't thought of that. What do you want me to say? I kidnapped you! Isn't that enough to be going on with?'

'No!'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I was afraid it wouldn't be. Would you believe that your father ' He broke off at the sound of a high-pitched feminine voice being greeted in the hall by Gianetta. 'Phew!' he exclaimed. 'Saved by the bell!' He ducked under the brim of her hat, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. 'You're still my prisoner!' he cautioned her, his eyes brilliant with laughter. 'Remember that!'

She wasn't likely to forget it!

'I think you have a visitor,' she said in a strained voice.

'Perhaps she'll be content with Gianetta '

The door was flung open and a dumpy yet rather majestic figure stood in the entrance, her hands folded lightly over her stomach.

'Domenico,
caro
, I came at once as soon as I heard about your little problem. You should have told me yourself, and not left me to find out from gossips with nothing better to do with their time than talk about their betters, but I am willing to overlook your carelessness of my feelings this once! Men are always thoughtless when other people take advantage of them. I suspect they don't like people to guess they are much less able to protect themselves from the unscrupulous than they pretend! But really, Domenico, to allow people to say you are paying for some English girl's clothing is too much for me to swallow! You had only to ask me to accompany you and I should have made it my business to send her about her business! Why didn't you come to me?'

Domenico raised a quizzical brow. It hid a cold fury that Deborah would have died sooner than have brought on her own head, but this girl seemed not to notice. She turned a complacent smile on Deborah, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from the front of her skirt.

'I didn't ask you,' Domenico said slowly and clearly, 'because Deborah is my mother's guest, and my own, and stands in no need of your protection or anyone else's.' He took Deborah by the hand and led her forward, whether she would or no. 'Allow me to present Miss Deborah Beaumont, the eldest daughter of Edmund Beaumont of Beaumont International. The Signorina Donna Alessandra dell'Ameglia,' he turned to Deborah. 'Donna Alessandra is a neighbour of ours. Her father and mine were friends.'

Alessandra turned an unbecoming shade of red, recognising the snub. 'But we are friends also, Domenico,' she said.

He looked her up and down as though she were a stranger to him. 'We have been acquainted since childhood,' he acknowledged.

'Exactly!' said Alessandra. 'There are no friends like old friends, that have been tried and tested by time.'

Alessandra
went with them on their tour round the palace.

'It is older than ours, of course,' she told Deborah, 'but ours is very much grander. In medieval times their ideas of scale hadn't developed as they did later on.' Her disparaging tones caught Deborah on the raw.

'I suppose it's a matter of taste,' she said, there being no doubt which she herself preferred, 'but I shouldn't like my home to be thought ostentatious even if it were a palace.'

'One has a responsibility to one's family's history,' Alessandra shrugged. 'I am always telling Domenico what he owes to his family's name. I can't be expected to be forever rescuing him from every predicament he gets himself into.'

Deborah was doubly glad that her hat half-hid her face. 'Has he asked you to?' she inquired sweetly.

'Everyone knows how desirable a connection between our families would be. The Manzus have never been sufficiently careful of their reputations, unfortunately, but no one has ever questioned that we have always been everything we ought. Papa and Mamma have always insisted that I maintain that tradition.
We
also are seen frequently at the Vatican, you know, and there has never been a word of scandal breathed about
us
, not even when half the better known families were getting involved in what came to be known as La Dolce Vita. Would we could say the same about the Manzus!'

'But you can't?' Deborah encouraged her.

'No, one can't! Domenico's own mother
—
but there, it is not in my nature to gossip.'

Not now the damage has been done and the seed of suspicion sown, Deborah thought. She had no doubt at all that Alessandra had fallen behind Domenico quite deliberately, determined to make sure that Deborah understood her own position in Domenico's life. Her lack of interest in the English girl as a person was equally obvious.

Deborah struggled to maintain a sober front. 'Aren't you afraid that even your good influence may not be enough to make Domenico completely respectable?' she suggested, a little ashamed of herself even as she put the question.

Alessandra preened herself. 'Don't you believe that a good woman can work wonders?' she countered, completely serious. 'I have often heard sermons to that effect, and Papa says he would never be half the man he is were it not for Mamma!'

Deborah swallowed. 'Let's hope Domenico will say the same!'

'Why shouldn't he?' Alessandra smiled. 'He may have been wild in the past, but even he knows how impossible it would be for a Manzu to ally himself with, say, some commercial interest. The Roman nobility is not yet so debased that it has to go into trade!'

Domenico, who had turned and come back to them, heard the end of the Italian girl's remark and ground his teeth. 'We can't live in the past for ever!' he snapped at her. 'I've been a good Republican ever since I could walk!'

Alessandra smiled kindly at him. 'It doesn't matter to me that you don't use your tide,' she assured him.

'Why should it? Everyone knows who you are, whether you use it or not!'

'True. My family had proud beginnings. Yours is full of pride now. Perhaps one can't have both?'

'We are not ashamed of our Napoleonic beginnings!' Alessandra averred, two angry red spots appearing in her cheeks.

'Personally, I find it difficult to forget that Bonaparte was a foreigner,' Domenico drawled. 'We would have been better off without him!'

Deborah didn't know why she should, but she felt a little sorry for Alessandra. She cast Domenico a reproachful glance, and changed the subject with a deftness that was rewarded by a look of distaste from Alessandra.

'Roman history is a closed book to me after the death of Julius Caesar,' she said. 'Please may we see your collection,
signore
, before I burst with excitement? Alessandra has probably seen it often, so it won't mean the same to her, but I can hardly wait to see if it's as beautiful as people say!'

'Signore?
Are we being so formal?' he mocked her.

'Alessandra ' she began to explain.

'Donna Alessandra,' the Italian girl corrected her. 'I do use my tide. I think it makes things clear from the beginning as to my position, don't you?'

'Possibly,' Deborah murmured.

'I knew you would,' Alessandra congratulated her. 'The English understand these things very well, so I have always been told. I am so glad that you have no designs to be thought better than you are. I have seen Domenico's collection several times, so you must forgive me if I leave you to see it by yourself. Now that I have met you I shall do my best to put an end to the talk about you—so embarrassing for you! Anyone could see at a glance that you are not stupid enough to want to trap Domenico into any kind of relationship with you. Marriage, of course, is quite out of the question! But Domenico's reputation ' She shrugged her plump shoulders, spreading her hands to signify that she need say no more.

'Do go on, Sandra,' Domenico invited her.

She pouted up at him. 'You know I hate having my name shortened!' she rebuked him. 'And it isn't at all proper for me to know what you do with your female friends.
They
have nothing to do with
us
, have they? A dutiful wife '

'But you are not my wife!'

Alessandra didn't even blink. 'We all know that, Domenico
caro.
Just as we all know you will have to marry some time and that you must have a suitable bride, as nobly born as yourself, to carry on the line.'

Domenico stared at her with distaste. 'Which particular line do you have in mind, Alessandra?'

'But that's the whole point!' she exclaimed, much as a governess would reprove a favourite charge. 'Both lines must continue, even if they have to merge to do so.'

Domenico looked as haughty as Deborah had ever seen him. 'I can only assure you, Alessandra, that that will never be my reason for contemplating matrimony. I am not a stallion to be put to stud, and I shall prefer my wife to have other qualities besides those of a brood mare '

'Domenico!
I will not be spoken of in such terms!'

Domenico's smile was formal and completely without any redeeming humour. 'Is that too coarse for you? But it was you, my dear, who would reduce marriage to the level of the stud farm. You must forgive me if I misunderstood you?'

'Domenico, it has always been understood '

'Has it, my dear? By whom?'