Widow - Anne Stuart [42]
He looked down at Charlie, a deceptively mild expression on his face. “Did you check the old lady’s house?”
She gave him her best stony-faced look. If he was going to ignore the fact that he’d kissed her in the old church then she could ignore it, too. She just had to make sure he never got a chance to do it again.
Not that he’d want to. Not that she could figure out why he wanted to in the first place. And she had more important things to concentrate on than the strange wanderings of the Australian male mind.
“You think the paintings are here?” Lauretta said. “You haven’t been inside, then. It’s so cluttered you can barely move—you know what old ladies are like. There’s no place she could hide them, even if she wanted to.”
“She’s right,” Charlie said. “I’d forgotten what a pack rat she was.”
“So you’re telling me we aren’t going to look?” Maguire growled.
“She just about pushed me off the terrace, thinking I was someone else,” Charlie said in a sour voice. “Feel free to risk life and limb searching her place. I think I’ve had enough for today.” She rubbed her aching shoulder.
“Had a rough day, love? Something unsettle your equilibrium?” he asked innocently.
She looked him in the eye quite calmly, as something clicked into place. He hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to. He hadn’t been overcome by lust or desire or passion or, God knows, affection. It had simply been one more way of baiting her, the most effective way he could find.
“Just a rat in the church,” she said. She turned to Lauretta. “Mr. Maguire will be leaving us today. If he needs help with packing—”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Maguire interrupted her.
“I don’t have to put up with you….”
“Yes, you do.”
“If Madame Antonella hears you two arguing she’ll get upset again, and I’ll have a hard time calming her.” Lauretta’s voice was stern. “You go somewhere else and argue.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” Charlie shot back.
“And I’m going to see if the old lady is hiding the paintings.”
“You are going to go back down to the villa and work out your differences. I don’t think you can get rid of him, Signora Charlie, and expect to get the estate settled any time soon. And Signore Maguire, you leave Charlie alone. She’s just lost her husband, and this is a hard time for her….”
“She dumped her husband years ago, even if she didn’t bother to divorce him,” Maguire said. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s particularly brokenhearted.”
“Enough!” Lauretta said, with even more majesty than Madame Antonella could summon. “Go back to the villa and behave yourselves.”
Charlie opened her mouth to protest once more, then shut it again as color flooded her face. Lauretta was absolutely right—she was behaving like an adolescent, angry and hostile and defensive. She could blame Maguire all she wanted, but in the end she was the one responsible for her actions and reactions. And from this moment on Maguire was not going to make her jump to his bait.
“You’re right, Mama Lauretta,” she said, using the old term of affection from her youth. “I’ll behave myself. But Mr. Maguire has to find another room—we’re expecting more guests.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Pompasse,” he said in that ironic voice that made her want to hit him. “I’m already packed. I’m planning on bedding down in the studio. Tomaso found me an old bed and I’ll be perfectly comfortable.”
“No,” she said flatly.
“Yes. You can’t get rid of me, babe. Not until I’m good and ready to go.”
Charlie looked at Lauretta for help, but there was none. Maybe Henry would figure out a way to dislodge him, but she had no idea when he’d be showing up. Sometime before the service on Saturday, but when was anybody’s guess.
“Very well,” she said. “In the meantime, keep out of my way.”
“Signora Charlie!” Lauretta said, shocked at her rudeness.
It shocked Charlie herself. She hadn’t allowed herself to display open hostility in years. If ever. And yet Maguire seemed to drag forth all sorts of unnerving reactions and emotions she’d thought were