his brows snapping together as he saw her. 'Buongiorno,' he murmured after a pause. 'You will forgive me if I do not get up,' he added, indicating the sheet draped over his hips which was quite clearly his only covering. 'Would you like coffee?' 'No, thank you.' Polly shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, praying she would not blush, and wondering if it was possible to look at someone without actually seeing them. And certainly without staring. And particularly without feeling that treacherous excitement slowly uncurling inside her. 'I've had breakfast.' 'How virtuous of you, cam,' he drawled. 'They bring an extra cup each morning, presumably because they hope I will eventually get lucky. I think I shall have to tell them to stop.' He refilled his own cup. 'So—to what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?' Polly gritted her teeth. 'I—I've come to ask you a favour.' His brows rose. 'You fascinate me, bella mia. Especially when you choose my bedroom to make your request.' 'Well, don't read anything into that,' Polly said shortly.
What do You think about The Marchese's Love-Child?
