Kidnapped and a Daring Escape Read Online Free Page A

apologizing. She
suddenly resents having fallen for his smooth charm.
         Sure, it would please her if Franco were a better dancer. But she likes
dancing with him, particularly the more traditional ones, like waltzing,
or even just rock. She admires his distinguished face with its aristocratic
features, like a Roman statue. It was that and the way he could enthuse
her with his knowledge that made her fall in love with him. His erudite
and articulate way of explaining archaeological matters and theory
enthralls her. She is even willing to admit that she is attracted by the fact
that he is the titular heir to a count. It may have played a small part. Her
father, she remembers, was honored when the eminent Professor Franco
Visconti requested an interview on a highly personal and private matter.
He was thrilled when the latter asked for the hand of his oldest daughter.
Afterward, he boasted that the size of the dowry would be befitting to
such a prestigious marriage.
         Her family’s admission into those exclusive aristocratic circles
imparts undeniable prestige. She will no more be simply the daughter of
an upstart industrialist, but the wife of a count, a countess, even if the
title isn’t used formally anymore. It pleases the romantic side of her
nature.
         Franco dismisses Paolo and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, my little
dove. What happened? You are pouting. Are you unhappy?"
         "It isn’t true that I prefer dancing with somebody else. I’ve told you
many times."
         "But Bianca, that was an innocent joke. Show some humor sometimes.
And if we are honest, we must admit that I am a hopeless dancer. In fact,
I do not even like dancing, and since you are so passionate about it, I am
not jealous if you indulge in this passion with somebody else."
         "Don’t say you’re a hopeless dancer. I love waltzing with you."
         "Yes, I can just manage moving to those old-fashioned tunes… So
who was that cocky fellow?"
         "André? All I know is that he’s Swiss and speaks both Spanish and
Italian fluently. He may be from the French-speaking part, going by his
name."
         "How presumptuous of him to think that I would frown on you
dancing with him and then even having the bad manners to point that
out."
         "But he only apologized."
         "That is just it, can you not see? He was trying to rub it in. That is why
he apologized. Who does he think he is?"
         The thought the Swiss could have wanted to score points has not
occurred to her. Could Franco be right or is there an element of jealousy
in his assertion? "Do I detect jealousy?" It slips out, and she regrets it the
instant she sees the haughty mien slide over his face.
         "Me, jealous of a nobody. You make me laugh, my dear Bianca,
although the way he eyed you up and down, I think he is smitten. He was
virtually undressing you."
         "Was he?" She is puzzled. Franco’s words and his tone of voice do
not strike her as congruent. But she is even more surprised by his claim.
While dancing with André she never had the impression that he was
undressing her in his mind. It is a response she often gets from men.
Sometimes she even provokes it — like pushing out her breasts or
swaying her bottom while walking — before she becomes fully aware of
what she is doing. And she has no idea what got into her when she so
blatantly flirted with him after spying him on the balcony. He looked so
handsome up there and his smile so inviting. It felt like a fun thing to do
at that moment. So she almost expected to get that kind of response from
him. But no, while they danced and talked, his eyes never strayed to her
breasts. He was all attentive.
         What’s happening between Franco and me? she wonders. Why do we
seem to rub each other the wrong way? Back in Rome, he was always so
attentive, maybe at times almost too protective and a shade paternalistic,
something she found endearing and accepted,