‘Admirable,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the large flagon.’

Heather almost gasped. The large flagon was the costliest item in a very costly range. Her commission on this sale was beginning to look very good. Perhaps even good enough to buy a really beautiful wedding dress…

She stopped that thought in its tracks. It was undignified to hope for something that probably wouldn’t happen.

‘Now, another lady, with a different personality-light-hearted and fun.’

“‘Summer Dance” might suit her. It’s fresh and flowery-’

‘But not naive?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Certainly not. Insouciant but sophisticated.’

She tested it on the other arm and again he took her wrist, holding it a quarter-inch from his face. Heather could feel his warm breath against her skin and she wished he would let her go. But that was an absurd over-reaction, she told herself sensibly. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were closed and he was in a faraway world, with his various mistresses. His hold on her wrist was quite impersonal.

But then the thought crept in that nothing was impersonal with him. This was a man with whom everything-every kind word, every cruel one, every insult, every wound to his pride, every gesture of love-would be taken deeply personally. And for that reason he was very, very dangerous: perhaps the most dangerous man she had ever encountered. When he opened his eyes and looked at her she realised that she’d been holding her breath.

‘Perfetto,’ he murmured. ‘How well we understand each other.’

He released her and she felt as though she were awakening from a dream. She could still feel the pressure on her wrist where he’d held it with such soft, yet irresistible power. She pulled herself firmly together.

‘I try to understand all my customers, signore,’ she replied. ‘It’s my job.’

He made a face of appreciation. ‘Signore? So you understand Italian?’

She smiled. ‘I know some Italian and about ten words of Sicilian.’