Читать книгу Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence - Эбби Грин - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHIARA TOOK A sip of the dark golden brandy and winced as it burnt her throat. It was her first time ever taking a drink from the walnut drinks cabinet in the main reception room and she could understand the appeal now, as the alcohol settled in her stomach and radiated a warm, comforting glow.
Her hand still shook, though, and when she heard determined footsteps coming across the stone hall floor beyond the room she put the glass down on a silver tray.
By the time Nicolo Santo Domenico entered the room Chiara’s hands were behind her back and she was as composed as she could be, considering she felt as if she’d just been body-slammed by a ton weight.
He stopped in front of her, too close for comfort.
‘Well? Is that enough proof for you? A graveyard full of my ancestors?’ His voice rang with cold condemnation.
He towered over Chiara and she moved away, across the room, Spiro trotting loyally beside her. She put her hand on the dog’s head, as if he could offer protection or a way out of this madness.
Eventually she said truthfully, ‘I... I don’t know what to say. I had no idea about any of this...’
He lifted a hand. ‘Please. I don’t know why you insist on this charade of ignorance, because it serves no purpose.’ He dropped his hand and his gaze narrowed on her. ‘Unless, of course, your parents warned you that this could happen. That once the castello was vulnerable again the Santo Domenicos might return to stake our claim...’
Chiara shook her head, feeling sick, wondering just how much her parents had known. ‘No, they never said anything. I never heard anything.’
He sounded disgusted now. ‘That’s impossible—unless you were a total recluse.’
Chiara wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. His words cut far too close to the bone.
She forced out, ‘Whether or not what you say is true...and I have to admit that the graveyard does support your claim...the castello is out of your reach as much as mine now. Shouldn’t you be talking to the bank instead of me?’
She couldn’t stop the bitter note to her voice, still coming to terms with this news herself, so soon after her parents’ deaths.
Nicolo Santo Domenico looked at her for such a long moment that Chiara almost snapped at him to stop. She felt like a specimen on a laboratory table, never more aware of her drabness next to his glorious vitality. She would bet that he’d travelled all over the world and probably hadn’t been that impressed by it.
And then he said abruptly, ‘I presume if you had a choice you would prefer to retain ownership of the castello?’
The sharp pang of loss just at the thought of leaving struck Chiara right in her heart. ‘Of course. It’s my home—the only home I’ve ever known. My whole family is buried here.’
Like his. Her conscience pricked.
‘The only thing standing in your way of retaining the castello is a lack of funds.’
Chiara curbed her irritation. ‘I’m aware of that, but unfortunately I don’t have the funds.’ She had nothing.
‘I do have the funds.’
Chiara looked at him trying to ascertain where he was going with this. ‘Is that why you’ve come? To humiliate me on behalf of your family by pointing out that you now have the power to buy the castello?’
He shook his head, still looking at her with that disconcerting intensity. ‘Nothing so petty as that. What I’m saying is that I could give you the funds to pay off the debt and retain the castello.’
‘Why would you do that?’ He didn’t strike her as remotely charitable. Certainly not to his family’s bitter enemy. He’d been barely civil since he’d arrived.
‘I would do that because if I was to engage with the bank to buy the castello it would be a lengthy and tedious process. The castello needs serious refurbishment, and the sooner this happens, the better. I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity.’
Chiara struggled to try and understand. ‘But how do I fit into this?’
‘Until the bank takes possession you’re still the owner. If you pay off the debt you retain the castello. I am offering you a deal to do that on your behalf.’
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why would I agree to that?’
‘Because you’d get to remain at the castello. You wouldn’t have to leave your home. Isn’t that what you want?’
Chiara felt seriously confused now. ‘Yes, but...how on earth would that work?’
His dark eyes seemed to bore all the way through her. ‘It’s very simple, really. You would marry me as soon as possible.’
* * *
Chiara looked at Nicolo Santo Domenico in shock. Eventually she managed to formulate words. ‘Why on earth would you want me to marry you?’
Apart from anything else, she had to be a million miles removed from the type of woman a man like this went out with. She’d pored over glossy magazines for years, lamenting her untameable hair and full figure. Not to mention her zero fashion sense. She knew her limitations.
‘Like I told you, dealing with the bank would be tedious and time-consuming. It would take months—maybe even longer. Through marriage to you the castello will become mine within a much shorter space of time.’
Understanding finally sank in. So that was why he wanted to marry her. He was so arrogant and preposterous she could barely take it in. The thought of even considering any kind of intimate relationship with someone like him was totally ludicrous. And yet... She couldn’t deny the very illicit beat of awareness deep within her. It shamed her. She wanted his disturbing presence gone.
‘I think you’ve said enough. Your proposal—’ She stopped for a second as that word rang in her head. ‘It’s not even a proposal... What you’ve just said is frankly ridiculous. I have no desire to marry a complete stranger—for any reason.’
For a moment he looked at her, and then he turned abruptly and went to the window. Much to her disgust, Chiara couldn’t stop her gaze moving over his broad shoulders, where the material of his jacket moulded to hard muscles.
He turned back to face her and she lifted her gaze guiltily.
‘I should have expected that you would take this as an opportunity to thwart the Santo Domenicos one last time, but you should know that my acquisition of the castello is going to happen—with your help or not.’
Chiara felt frustrated. ‘I told you—I had no idea about any of this. Why would I want to thwart you? What happens to the castello once the bank takes possession is out of my control!’
‘Not if you marry me.’
He really was serious.
For a moment Chiara let herself imagine what it might be like not to have to leave the place where she’d just buried her parents and a wave of emotion nearly felled her. But at such a cost!
It was all too much.
Chiara felt Spiro nudge her thigh and she went over to sit down in a chair, afraid her legs wouldn’t keep holding her up.
She looked up at Nicolo Santo Domenico. ‘You can’t possibly mean to marry me. You despise me. My family. And why would I agree to such a union? With a man who has married me solely for the castello?’
* * *
Faced with Chiara Caruso, back in this room, Nico was more convinced than ever that his plan was a good one. He knew exactly why she should agree to such a union. To give him what he wanted. To repay some of the huge debt her family owed his family. What better wife could he choose for himself than a traditional Sicilian woman? And one who was indebted to him.
‘You owe me. You are the last Caruso, and I am the last Santo Domenico.’
She stood up, agitated. ‘I don’t owe you my life!’
‘My deceased ancestors lying outside in the graveyard have had their lives all but wiped out of history.’
Nico realised that if they married the Caruso name would disappear for ever. It called to the devil inside him. Karma.
Chiara’s hands were clasped in front of her and Nico was aware of her breasts, full and high, moving rapidly under her dress. A spike of arousal went straight to his groin and he had to control his response with an effort that was surprising.
He had to admit that this attraction he felt was unprecedented, and had inspired this audacious plan even though she wasn’t remotely his type. But something about her lush and curvy body called to a very base part of him that seemed biologically programmed to recognise a mate, regardless of what his head might want.
He’d done some research on Chiara Caruso before this meeting and had found no pictures and little or no information. She didn’t appear to have done much at all. Not attended university nor worked.
She was looking at him now with wide, clear green eyes and he felt very warm all of a sudden. It was as if she could see all the way through him and right into his mind. Read his thoughts. It was a very disconcerting sensation for someone who kept his innermost thoughts private.
But it wasn’t disconcerting enough to make him change his mind. He’d come to Sicily to reclaim his family’s legacy and he vowed right now that he wouldn’t be leaving without making this woman his wife. Whatever it took.
He said, ‘What I’m proposing is a marriage of convenience. A business transaction. I will put up the money to pay off the bank and in return you will marry me and sign a contract that gives me sole ownership of the castello. However, through marriage to me, you will have the right to live here for the rest of your life.’
She went pale. ‘Are you totally out of your mind?’
‘Not at all. In case I’m not making myself absolutely clear, I don’t see this marriage as anything more than a business merger and a way to have heirs. Through them, the Santo Domenico name will flourish again after being all but decimated.’
Heirs? Chiara barely registered that as shock reverberated through her body. ‘But me... Why would you want to marry me when you could marry any woman in the world?’
‘Like I said, I have no desire to deal with the bank on this matter. And as I never intend to marry for love—’
‘Why not?’ she interrupted, momentarily distracted enough to want to know if there was some reason for his cold-bloodedness.
Nico’s insides clenched. Because his mother had abandoned him and his father when Nico was just weeks old and left his father a bitter, broken man all his life. Because people used love as a way to manipulate and distract. Nico had almost lost everything he’d built up because he’d fancied himself in love with a woman. Thankfully he’d come to his senses just in time. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten.
He looked at Chiara. ‘Because I don’t believe in it. As for choosing you as my wife... Marriage to you gets me the castello and, on a practical level, you have grown up on this estate. You’re part of it and you know it. I plan to do extensive renovations, and as I have offices in New York, London and Rome it will help to leave the project in the hands of someone who cares about the estate.’
Chiara shook her head as if to try and clear it. ‘You’re talking about a project manager, not a wife. How could you propose to bring heirs...children...into a loveless marriage like that?’
Something caught his eye behind her and he strode over to a small table and picked up a framed photo of her and her parents. He held it up, his lip curling contemptuously. ‘Are you expecting me to believe you were a blissfully happy family?’
Chiara squirmed inwardly. She and her mother were smiling, but her father had that look of perpetual disappointment on his face.
Hating Nicolo Santo Domenico with a ferocity that shocked her, she went over and took the picture out of his hand, saying, ‘We weren’t perfectly harmonious, but we were happy in our own way.’
Liar, whispered an inner voice.
Chiara put the picture down and moved out of the man’s dangerous proximity.
He said coolly, ‘You’ve just proved my point. There’s no such thing as a harmonious family. Surely it’s better for children to grow up in an environment where they see their parents working as a team, with mutual respect, rather than something as ephemeral as love?’
‘But how can you say you’d respect me?’
‘I personally have no grudge against you, Chiara, in spite of what you may think. My father and every generation before him grew up despising the Carusos for what they did. They were emotional about it and that’s why they failed to get anywhere. My success came from taking out the emotion.’
He’d cut out emotions long ago. The day he’d found his lover in bed with his best friend.
Nico and his friend had been about to sign a lucrative deal with one of Naples’s biggest entrepreneurs, but his girlfriend had believed his friend to be the one instrumental in the deal and so had seduced him in a bid to feather her nest.
She’d begged forgiveness when she’d realised her mistake, but Nico had cut her out of his life and embraced that cold focus ever since.
Chiara Caruso was not the kind of woman who would arouse disturbing emotions or passions. She was perfect.
He said, ‘As much as I’m restoring the Santo Domenico name to where it belongs, I’m also proposing this for sound business reasons. This region of Sicily has been woefully neglected and is full of potential. My plans go far beyond this estate. I’ve already bought all the neighbouring land. I see you as an asset to this estate, Chiara. You’ll be invested in it and in its success in a way that no other woman could be.’
Chiara looked at the man and realised the extent of his ruthlessness. Even if she didn’t agree to marry him—and of course she wasn’t going to marry him!—she had no doubt he would do everything he’d just said. Including marrying someone for convenience and heirs. All she represented to him was a means to get to his destination faster.
She stood up. ‘I don’t understand why it has to be marriage—you could offer me a deal to buy the castello before the bank gets involved.’
‘That was my plan originally. But since coming here...meeting you...it’s changed. Now the stakes are higher, and I’m offering you an opportunity to stay in your home.’
As your chattel, thought Chiara, shocked at the lengths to which he would go, the depth of his need for vengeance.
She refused to let him see how intimidated she was. ‘Well, as of this moment, I’m still the owner of the castello, Signor Santo Domenico, and quite frankly you’re the last man on this earth I’d ever think about marrying.’
He looked completely unperturbed. ‘So you’re willing to walk away and never see the castello again? You strike me as the kind of woman who dreamed of getting married and having a family here.’
Chiara flushed all over. Was her innermost fantasy of dispelling the loneliness of this place with a large and loving family so painfully obvious? But in her fantasy she’d meet the love of her life, go travelling, and then return to the castello to live out the life she’d never had here, filling the place with happy sounds and not the echoing silence of her youth.
Feeling exposed, she said tightly, ‘You have no idea what kind of woman I am, signor. Now, if you’ve said your piece, please leave.’
* * *
Once again Nico’s conscience struck when he thought of the freshly dug graves he’d seen in the newer graveyard just a short while before. Perhaps this was evidence of what a life denying your emotions did to you. You became numb to everything except the goal. And the goal was almost in sight.
But something about the shadows under Chiara Caruso’s eyes and the way she held herself made him feel uncomfortable. She looked delicate all of a sudden. Very alone in this huge room, with only an ancient dog for company.
Maybe she was a recluse?
He ignored the spark of curiosity—she was perfect for what he needed in his life, and that was all that mattered.
He took a business card out of his pocket and held it out. With palpable reluctance she reached out and took it from him. Nico noticed that she had small graceful hands. Unvarnished practical nails. His body stirred against his will, an image of those hands reaching out to touch his naked flesh surprising him with its vividness.
He gritted his jaw. ‘Those are all my numbers, including my private one. I’m staying at a villa not far from here till tomorrow lunchtime. You have until then to consider my offer. If I don’t receive a call I’ll assume you’re not interested.’
Chiara’s head was bent down over the card as if she was studying it intently. A lock of long hair trailed over one shoulder and it gleamed a light mahogany in the light. His eye was drawn to her waist. Once again he could sense that her clothes were disguising a very classic feminine shape. The kind of shape that had been out of fashion for years but which was proving to be potent enough to snare his interest.
For a moment he hesitated, wondering if he was crazy to seek commitment with this woman. She intrigued him now, but could she sustain his interest for the length of a marriage? His sexual interest?
If the strength of his attraction was anything to go by, his body was telling him yes. And he was reminded of how little had sparked his interest in recent months. Certainly none of the tall, angular women he’d favoured before.
His wife would also be the mother of his children, and Nico surprised himself with a surge of conviction that he wanted a woman who would care for her children and not abandon them as he had been abandoned.
He couldn’t trust any woman not to abandon her children, but at least Chiara Caruso knew about legacy—even if it hadn’t been rightfully hers. She understood it. And evidently, if the state of the castello was any kind of indication, she was a woman who had been deprived of the better things in life. In Nico’s experience it wouldn’t take much to accustom her to the kind of luxuries he could provide.
But she was refusing to meet his eye now. Nico was used to women gazing at him with naked adoration and a lust that barely masked their instant summing up of his net worth. It was a silent dialogue he knew well and which he welcomed—because there was no game-playing or pretence of emotions that weren’t there.
He wasn’t used to this...this uninterest. Or antipathy. And he found that, refreshing as it was, it irritated him.
‘Chiara.’ His voice sounded tight.
Eventually she looked up and he saw fire in the depths of her eyes, making them glow. ‘I did not give you leave to call me by my name.’
His pulse throbbed. A sizzle of something deeper than arousal infused his blood. Nico had to admire her spirit. Not many had the confidence to speak back to him and he realised that he’d underestimated her.
He dipped his head slightly. ‘Scusami. Signorina Caruso. I am offering you an opportunity to stay in your family home, which is more than anyone in your family ever did for anyone in mine. Think about it.’
Chiara desperately wanted to look away from those deep-set dark eyes but she couldn’t. It was as if his gaze was winding a spell around her, holding her captive. The air vibrated with a kind of electricity between them.
She wanted him gone, so she could try and process everything that had just happened, so she said the only thing she knew that would make him leave. ‘Fine. I will consider your offer.’
Nicolo Santo Domenico inclined his head and then he walked out.
Spiro trotted after him, as if to make sure he really was leaving.
Only when Chiara heard the powerful throttle of his car’s engine did she move and go back over to the window, catching a flash of silver as it disappeared down the drive. She shivered, as if a cold finger had just danced down her spine.
The first thing Chiara did was to ring her solicitor and ask him for the deeds of the castello.
His sharp response—‘Why do you want to see them?’—merely heightened the churning in her gut.
She asked him bluntly, ‘Is it true that this castello once belonged to another family?’
The man was silent for a long moment and then Chiara heard muffled sounds, as if he was instructing someone to close a door.
He asked again, ‘Why are you asking for this information now, Signorina Caruso? All you need to know is that the castello belongs to you until such time as the bank takes possession.’
‘Please tell me the truth.’ Her hand was gripping the phone receiver.
He sighed. ‘Yes, I believe so—the castello did belong to another family, but they lost it around the time of the Second World War. The deeds have been in the Caruso name for decades... I really don’t see how this has anything to do with—’
Chiara let the phone drop back into its cradle.
It was true.
When she was small she’d been fascinated by history and she’d used to beg her Papa to tell her stories about the castello and who had built it centuries ago. She’d wanted to know all about her ancestors—had they been Arab Moors? Or maybe marauding Greeks? Her father had used to laugh off her questions, telling her that her imagination would get her into trouble one day... She saw now how he’d neatly avoided telling her anything about the history of the castello.
Because he hadn’t known? Or hadn’t he wanted to admit the truth—that it didn’t really belong to them?
Chiara felt the castello closing in on her, as if now that she knew, it was silently condemning her.
She walked outside, needing to shake off that uncomfortable feeling, Spiro loyally following at her heels. It was cool in the January sunshine and she drew in deep breaths of air infused with the evocative scents of the earth and sea. She’d often thought that if she could bottle this scent she would wear it for ever. It was home.
A home she was about to lose.
She’d spent so long yearning to see the world, but she’d never expected to be thrust out into it so precipitately. She didn’t feel ready.
Chiara avoided the area near the small chapel and the graveyard and went down to her private place by the shore. It was a tiny sandy cove, sheltered on all sides by rocks. She sat on the rough sand and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Spiro sank down beside her.
It was only now that she could let the tears flow—for her parents and for the shock of learning just how precarious her position was. She cried for a few minutes, until her face started to feel puffy, and then she forced herself to stop, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeves of her dress. She never usually indulged in self-pity.
She thought of Nicolo Santo Domenico in his bespoke suit, oozing sophistication and success. Arrogance. Retribution. Threat and a kind of redemption all at once. She’d never met anyone so ruthlessly compelling.
Giving in to an urge to find out more about the man who had just blown apart what little security she’d felt she had left, Chiara went back into the castello and fired up her father’s ancient desktop computer.
Eventually it came to life, and she sat down in a worn leather chair to search for information on the Santo Domenicos.
The first thing to come up were pictures of him, looking even more astoundingly handsome than she remembered, dressed in a tuxedo at glittering functions. And in each one there was a stunning woman on his arm. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. He didn’t appear to have a preference. They were all tall, slim and intimidatingly beautiful.
He wasn’t smiling in any of the pictures. He looked driven. Stern.
Chiara quickly clicked on some other links that told the fabled story of how Nicolo Santo Domenico had displayed his entrepreneurial skills from an early age in Naples. He’d honed those skills and at the tender age of twenty-one had gone to New York and become a millionaire. Within five years he’d become a billionaire and a legend.
She unearthed a very old article from an Italian newspaper, asking what had happened to the once all-powerful Santo Domenico family from Sicily. There was no mention of the castello, just a general reference to the fact that they’d once owned huge tracts of land in Sicily but had lost it all. The implication was that perhaps the Santo Domenicos had run foul of the mafia.
Chiara shivered again, absorbing the information. Of course all this didn’t mean that Nicolo Santo Domenico would have a leg to stand on if he was to challenge ownership of the castello in a court, but the fact was that the bank now owned the castello—or as good as. Nicolo Santo Domenico was merely capitalising on the fact that the castello was now available to him in a way it had never been before.
She stood up and walked slowly through the castello, noting how many of the rooms had long been shut up, with their furniture covered in dustsheets. Everywhere was crumbling and falling apart. It had been in disrepair for as long as Chiara could remember. The truth was that they’d never really been able to afford it—even when their crops had been providing an income.
The castello deserved to have new life breathed into it. Chiara’s heart squeezed to think that she wouldn’t be here to see it. And then she realised she also wouldn’t be here to tend her parents’ grave. Or her grandparents’.
It was unutterably cruel to think of the castello being shut to her when her own family were laid to rest here.
As Nicolo Santo Domenico’s were.
But, reminded a small inner voice, Nicolo Santo Domenico is offering you a chance to stay.
Through marriage.
The thought of marrying a man like him left her breathless with a number of conflicting emotions.
She’d never in a million years imagined that the faceless man she’d fantasised about all her life would actually appear on her doorstep, but as soon as she’d seen Nicolo Santo Domenico’s hard and beautiful features she’d felt a pull of recognition deep inside, as if finally she had a face to put to the handsome prince of her dreams.
She felt disgusted at herself now. At the years of naive dreaming in a home that hadn’t even been rightly hers.
And Nicolo Santo Domenico hadn’t come for her. He’d come for the property, she reminded herself soberly. She was just a convenient by-product. Or a bonus. She shivered again, but this time it was in reaction to imagining what sharing intimacies with Nicolo Santo Domenico would be like.
Chiara saw her reflection in the window. She knew how she looked—plain and boring. Unvarnished. She’d inherited her large breasts from her paternal grandmother, along with her average height and the hourglass shape which had gone out of fashion about fifty years ago.
One day Chiara had heard her father say to her mother, ‘Our daughter won’t turn heads, but she’ll make some man a fertile wife.’
Her cheeks burned again as the humiliation came back. And then she crushed the thought. She shouldn’t be thinking ill of her father. But he had grown bitter after his wife hadn’t been able to have any more children and he’d been denied the son he’d desperately wanted. Chiara wondered now how much of that had had to do with his knowledge of the provenance of the castello.
Had he wanted a son to ensure the Caruso name stayed alive within the castello because he’d known of the history?
Chiara let herself consider Nicolo Santo Domenico’s...proposition. Surely he couldn’t really mean to marry her? Was he really ruthless enough to convince himself that marriage to an unsophisticated Sicilian woman was worth the price of regaining his family inheritance?
Anger rose inside Chiara at the thought that he could treat her like a pawn. And that he’d assumed to know her, based on what he had judged of her appearance and demeanour. The fact that he hadn’t been completely wrong made her pride smart. But there was so much more to her than a mere dream to marry and love in this place.
No matter what he’d said here today, he couldn’t truly mean to go through with a marriage to a complete stranger.
Chiara thought of Nicolo Santo Domenico’s expression when he’d left—almost smug. As if he’d achieved exactly the outcome he’d expected and knew she’d come around in the end, in spite of her refusal.
She wanted to dent that smugness. She wanted to shock him as he’d shocked her. She wanted to see him look as surprised as she must have looked this afternoon. She wanted to call his bluff and witness his panic when he really thought through the repercussions of his arrogant assumptions and demands.
