Emma felt her insides quiver at the look of determination in his eyes. ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ she said with a hitch of her chin. ‘I’m going upstairs right now to pack.’
His eyes burned into hers. ‘So you do not want what my father intended for you to have?’
She flicked her tongue across her suddenly bone-dry lips. ‘It was very generous of him but I’m not interested in marrying for money.’
‘Do you really think I am going to allow you to sabotage my inheritance?’ he asked with a steely look.
Emma swallowed tightly. ‘You surely don’t expect me to agree to…to…marrying you…’
‘I am not going to give you a choice, Miss March,’ he said with implacable force. ‘We will marry within a week. I have already seen to the licence. I did that as soon as I was informed of the terms of the will.’
Emma glared at him even though her heart was hammering with alarm. ‘You can’t force me to marry you,’ she said, hoping it was somehow true.
His dark eyes glinted. ‘You think not?’
I hope not, she thought as her stomach did a flip-flop of panic.
‘Miss March,’ he went on before she could get her voice to work. ‘You will comply with the terms of the will or I will personally see to it you never work as a nurse in this country again.’
Emma sent him a defiant glare. ‘I am not going to be threatened by you,’ she said. ‘Anyway, even if you did manage to sully my reputation in Italy I can always find work in another country. There is a shortage of nurses and carers worldwide.’
His lips thinned into a smile that was as menacing as it was mocking. ‘Ah, yes, but then working as a nurse or carer you will not receive anything like the wage I am prepared to pay you to be my wife.’
Emma felt her defiant stance start to wobble. ‘A…a wage?’
‘Yes, Miss March,’ he said with an imperious look. ‘I will pay you handsomely for the privilege of bearing my name for a year.’
‘How much?’ she asked, and almost fell over when he told her an amount that no nurse, even if she worked for two lifetimes, would ever earn.
‘Of course it will not be a real marriage,’ he said. ‘I already have a mistress.’
Emma wasn’t sure why his statement should have made her feel so annoyed. She disliked him intensely, but somehow the thought of him continuing his affair with someone else while formally married to her was infuriating. ‘I hope the same liberty will be open for me,’ she said with a jut of her chin.
‘No, Miss March, I am afraid not,’ he said. ‘I am a high-profile person and do not wish to be made a laughing stock amongst my colleagues and friends by the sexual proclivities of my wife.’
Emma glared at him in outrage. ‘That’s completely unfair! If you’re going to publicly cavort with your mistress, then I insist on the same liberty to conduct my own affairs.’
His mouth tightened into a flat line. ‘I will be discreet at all times, but I cannot be certain you will do the same. The way you conducted your affair with my father is a case in point. You lapped up the press attention whenever you could, hanging off him like a limpet when all the time all you wanted was his money.’
Emma clenched her teeth. ‘I did not have an affair with your father. You can ask the household staff. They will vouch for me.’
His lip curled in scorn. ‘You very conveniently sent them all off on leave, did you not?’ he said. ‘But even if they were here I am sure you would have convinced them to portray you as an innocent.’
She gave him a blistering glare. ‘You’re totally wrong about me, Signore Fiorenza, but I am not going to waste my time trying to convince you. You’re obviously too cynical to be able to see who is genuine and who is not. Do you know something? I actually feel sorry for you. You are going to end up like your father, dying with just the hired help to grieve your passing.’
He ignored her comment to say, ‘I expect you to act the role of a loving wife when we are within earshot or sight of other people, and that includes the household staff.’
Emma could feel her panic rising. ‘But I haven’t said I would marry you. I need some time to think about this.’
He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes quietly scanning her features. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I will give you until tomorrow, but that is all. The sooner this marriage starts, the sooner it ends.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Emma muttered under her breath as he walked off down the long wide corridor until he finally disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA didn’t see Rafaele again until later in the day. She was picking up the fallen petals from a vase of fragrant roses in the library when he sauntered in. He had changed into blue denim jeans and a close-fitting white T-shirt, which highlighted his flat stomach and gym-toned chest and shoulders. His hair was still damp from his recent shower and his jaw cleanly shaven. He looked tired however; she could see the dark bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and the faint lines of strain bracketing his mouth.
For the first time Emma started to think about his angle on things. This magnificent villa was his heritage; it had been in the Fiorenza family for generations. No wonder he was angry at how his father had orchestrated things. Forcing him to marry a perfect stranger in order to claim what should have been rightly his would be enough to enrage anyone.
But why had Valentino chosen her to be his son’s bride? Emma had talked to him on one or two occasions about her difficult childhood, and how she wanted one day soon to settle down with a man she loved and have a little family of her own, to have the security she had missed out on as a child. That was when he had—she had thought jokingly—suggested she marry his wealthy, successful son and fill the villa with Fiorenza babies. It was one of the few times he had mentioned Rafaele’s name. She had tried on several occasions to get him to talk about his son but he had remained tight-lipped, and, sensing the subject was painful to him, Emma had decided it was better left well alone.
‘I have made a start on some dinner,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure what your plans were so I made enough for two.’
He gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Are you rehearsing the role of devoted wife for our temporary marriage?’
‘You can interpret it any way you like, but the truth is I was merely trying to be helpful,’ she said, a little stung by his attitude when she had made an effort to understand his point of view.
He held her gaze for several heartbeats. ‘I noticed when I was upstairs your things are in the room connected to my father’s,’ he said. ‘If you were not sleeping with him as you claim, why did you use that particular room when there are numerous other suites you could have occupied?’
‘I was planning to move out of there as soon as you informed me of your sleeping arrangements,’ she said tersely. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would feel comfortable sleeping in the bed in which your father died.’
A shadow flickered briefly in his eyes, like the shutter of a camera opening and closing. ‘Were you with him when he passed away?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I was,’ she answered. ‘He asked me to stay with him. He told me he didn’t want to die alone.’
He turned and, walking over to the bank of windows, looked down at the view of the sparkling waters of the lake, his long, straight back reminding Emma of a drawbridge being pulled up on a fortress. She had seen a lot of grief in her time; it seemed as if each member of a family had a different way of expressing it. But something about Rafaele Fiorenza made her think, in spite of his obvious anger and hatred towards his father, somewhere deep inside him was a little boy who had loved him once.
‘Signore Fiorenza?’ she said after a long silence.
He turned and faced her, his expression giving no clue of what was going on behind the screen of his coal-black gaze. ‘Rafaele will be fine,’ he said with a stiff on-off smile. ‘I do not think we need to stand on ceremony given the circumstances.’
‘Um…I’ll just go and move my things into one of the other rooms, then…’ Emma said, moving towards the door.
‘The Pink Suite is probably the most comfortable,’ he said. ‘It was my mother’s favourite. She decorated it herself. It was one of the last things she did before she died. I remember helping her with the wallpaper.’
Emma turned back to look at him. His expression had softened, as if the memory of his mother had peeled off the hard layer of cynicism he usually wore. ‘The housekeeper told me your mother died when you and your brother were quite young,’ she said. ‘That must have been very difficult for you.’
He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Life goes on, eh, Emma? Death and disorder and disease happen to us all at one time or another. The trick is to pack as much enjoyment in your life before one or all of them get their claws into you.’
‘Life is certainly harder on some people than others,’ she responded quietly.
He came across to where she was standing and, before she could do anything to stop him, lifted her chin with the blunt end of one long, tanned finger. ‘Those grey-blue eyes of yours are full of compassion,’ he said. ‘But then I wonder if it is for real?’
Emma could barely breathe. The pad of his thumb was now moving back and forth against the curve of her cheek, his dark mysterious gaze mesmerising as it held hers within the force field of his. She could smell the cleanness of his freshly showered skin and the citrus spice of his aftershave, a heady combination that was intoxicating. She could see the sculptured perfection of his mouth and thought again of how it would feel to have those very experienced lips imprinted on hers. She ran her tongue out over her mouth, her heart kicking like a tiny pony behind her chest wall and her stomach doing little jerky somersaults as his thighs brushed against hers.
‘Is this how you worked your magic on him, sweet, shy, caring little Emma?’ he asked. ‘Making him so mad with lust he promised you the world?’
Emma shook herself out of her stasis and stepped back with a glowering glare. ‘I-I would prefer it you would keep your hands to yourself,’ she said, annoyed that her voice shook.