Page 31 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel

“Youreyes are the color of caramel,” he said. “Or toffee. I can’t decide. Something sweet, at least.Hai un bell’aspetto da mangiare.”

Ellie frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You look good enough to eat.”

Heat scalded her cheeks as her unhelpful brain provided a scorching image of him teething her neck, pressing little nibbling kisses to her shoulder and collarbone.

“Scoundrel!” she muttered, pinching his arm.

He chuckled.

“Out of interest, how many languages do you actually speak?”

“Fluently? Only a handful. English, obviously. Plus French, Spanish, Italian. I have a smattering of Russian and Portuguese. And I can swear impressively in at least a couple more.” His lips quirked. “Perhaps I should teach you a few useful Italian phrases. Just in case someone tries to talk to you tonight. Repeat after me:Harry è l’uomo più bello in questa stanza.”

“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Harry is the most handsome man in this room.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Here’s another:Vorrei che Harry mi baciasse.”

“Meaning?”

“I wish Harry would kiss me.”

Ellie laughed at his cheeky presumption. “You are ridiculous.”

Those dimples appeared. “I live in hope. Perhaps, when we get that book, my fortunes will change and you’ll throw yourself into my arms.”

Ellie snorted. “Perhaps pigs will fly. It’ll take more than a lucky book to win my kisses, signore.”

The music came to an end with a final flourish of violins, and she pulled out of his embrace. They were here to work, not to flirt, and she’d been too easily distracted.

Harry tilted his chin toward a tall, broad man standing at the entrance to the cardroom. “That’s Willingham. Let’s go and say hello.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ellie pulled back in alarm. She would have avoided their host entirely, but Harry clearly had other ideas.

“Come on, Carlotta, stop stalling. You know what they say: procrastination is the thief of time. Take a deep breath.”

“I don’t think Icanin this dress,” she grumbled.

The subtle pressure of his arm was inescapable, so she imagined herself a sultry Italian temptress.

“Willingham!” Harry made an elaborate bow in front of the Englishman, then straightened. “Your ‘little party’ is magnifico! I was expecting twenty people. Instead, you ’ave two ’undred.”

The older man smiled, clearly flattered. His rather protruding eyes swiveled to Ellie—or rather, to her cleavage; he barely spared her face a glance. “Glad you could come, sir. Who’s your charming companion?”

Harry tugged her closer to his side in a clear display of possession. “May I present Carlotta Pellegrini. In Italy she is famous contralto.” He turned adoring eyes on her. “To ’ear her sing is to ’ear the sound of the angels.”

Ellie smothered her instinctive laugh. To hear her singwas more akin to listening to dogs howling, but she managed to look suitably self-important and disdainful, as befitted a goddess of the stage.

She took a deep breath so her breasts swelled above the neckline of her bodice, and watched in satisfaction as Willingham’s gaze followed the movement. She was beginning to see what Tess meant when she said that most men were easily manipulated by showing a bit of skin.

Willingham kissed her hand for a second longer than was polite. “Enchanted, madame.”