His Virgin Bride: The Fiorenza Forced Marriage / Bought: For His Convenience or Pleasure? / A Night With Consequences. Margaret Mayo
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back to hers, his inherent cynicism glittering like black diamonds. ‘I can only assume he thought by forcing me to marry his little nursemaid it might have some sort of reforming effect on me,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Miss March? Do your skills extend to taming decadent playboys?’
Emma could feel her colour rise all over again and quickly changed the subject. ‘How long has it been since you were here last?’ she asked.
He drew in a breath and sent his gaze back over the stately mansion. ‘It has been fifteen years,’ he said.
‘You have lived abroad all that time?’ she asked.
He turned back to look down at her. ‘Yes. I’ve been primarily based in London but I have a couple of properties in France and Spain. But now my father is dead I intend to move back here.’
Hearing him speaking in that deep mellifluous voice of his did strange things to Emma’s insides. He spoke English like a native and even had a trace of a London accent, which gave him a sophisticated air that was lethally attractive. She could imagine him travelling the globe, with a mistress in every city clamouring for his attention. He was everything a playboy should be: suave, sophisticated and utterly sexy. Even his aftershave smelt erotic—it had a citrus base and some other exotic spice that made her think of hot sultry musk-scented nights.
‘Um…I have a spare set of keys for you,’ she said as she led the way to the front door. ‘And there’s a remote control for the alarm system. I’ll write down the code and password—they might have changed since you were here last.’
‘I noticed you trimming the roses,’ Rafaele said. ‘What happened to the gardeners? Do not tell me my frugal father refused to pay them?’
Emma gave him another haughty look. ‘Your father was very generous towards the staff,’ she said. ‘They were all provided for in his will, as I am sure you know. They are just having a couple of weeks’ break. I was keeping an eye on things until you arrived.’
‘What a multi-talented little nurse you are,’ he said. ‘I wonder what else you can turn a hand to.’
Emma fumbled through the collection of keys, conscious of his dark satirical gaze resting on her. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when his hand came over hers and removed the keys.
‘Allow me,’ he said with a glinting smile.
She stepped to one side, trying to get her breathing to even out while her fingers continued to buzz with sensation from the brief contact with his.
He opened the heavy door and waved her through with a mock bow. ‘After you, Miss March.’
Emma brushed past him, her nostrils flaring again as she caught the alluring grace notes of his aftershave as they drifted towards her. She watched as he came in, his coolly indifferent gaze moving over the black and white marbled foyer with its priceless statues and paintings.
‘It’s a very beautiful villa,’ she said to fill the echoing silence. ‘You must have enjoyed holidaying here with all this space.’
He gave her an unreadable look. ‘A residence can be too big and too grand, Miss March.’
Emma felt a shiver run over her bare arms that had nothing to do with the temperature. Something about his demeanour had subtly changed. His eyes had hardened once more and the line to his mouth was grim as he looked up at the various portraits hanging on the walls.
‘You are very like your father as a younger man,’ she said, glancing at the portrait of Valentino Fiorenza hanging in pride of place.
Rafaele turned his head to look at her. ‘I am not sure my father would have liked to be informed of that.’
‘Why?’ Emma asked, frowning slightly as she looked up at him.
‘Did he not tell you?’ he said with an embittered look. ‘I was the son who had deeply disappointed him, the black sheep who brought shame and disgrace on the Fiorenza name.’
Emma moistened her lips. ‘No…he didn’t tell me that…’ she said.
He moved down the foyer and stood for a moment in front of a portrait of a young woman with black hair and startling eyes that were black as ink. Emma knew it was his mother, for she had asked Lucia, the housekeeper. Gabriela Fiorenza had died of an infection at the age of twenty-seven when Rafaele was six and his younger brother four.
‘She was very beautiful,’ Emma said into the almost painful silence.
‘Yes,’ Rafaele said turning to look at her again, his expression now inscrutable. ‘She was.’
Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot. ‘Um…would you like me to make you a coffee or tea before I go?’ she asked. ‘The housekeeper is on leave, but I know my way around the kitchen.’
‘You are quite the little organiser, aren’t you, Emma March?’ he asked with another one of his sardonic smiles. ‘It seems even the staff are taking orders off you, taking leave at your say-so.’
She pulled her mouth tight. ‘The staff are entitled to some time off. Besides, someone had to take charge in the absence of Signore Fiorenza’s only son, who, one would have thought, could have at least made an effort to see him just once before he died.’
His expression became stony. ‘I can see what you have been up to, Miss March. You thought you could secure yourself a fortune by bad-mouthing me to my father at every opportunity. It did not work, though, did it? You cannot have any of it without marrying me.’
Emma was finding it hard to control her normally even temper. ‘I told you I had no idea what your father was up to,’ she said. ‘I was as shocked as you. I’m still shocked.’
He gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘I can just imagine you having little heart-to-hearts with the old man, telling him how shameful it was his son refused to have any contact with him. I wonder did he tell you why, hmm? Did he allow any skeletons out of the tightly locked Fiorenza closet?’
Emma swallowed thickly. ‘He…he never told me anything about you. I got the feeling he didn’t like discussing the past.’
‘Yes, well, that makes sense,’ he said with an embittered expression. ‘My father’s philosophy was to ignore things he did not like facing in the hope they would eventually disappear.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Miss March,’ he said, his look now condescending, ‘I am not prepared to discuss such personal details with the hired help, even if you were elevated to the position of my father’s mistress.’
‘I was not your father’s mistress,’ Emma said crossly.
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ he said with another raking glance. ‘You see, prior to arriving I did a little check on you, Emma Annabelle March.’
Emma’s eyes widened. ‘W-what?’
‘I have a contact in the private-eye business,’ he said, his hawk-like gaze locked on hers. ‘This is not the first time a client of yours has left you something, is it?’
She moistened her lips with a nervous dart of her tongue. ‘No, it’s not, but I never asked for anything, not from anyone. I have had one or two clients who have left me small gifts but only because they wanted to show their appreciation. Nursing someone in the last weeks or months of their life can sometimes blur the boundaries for the patient. They begin to look upon you as a trusted friend and confidante.’
‘All the same, such gifts must be quite a windfall to a girl from the wrong side of the tracks,’ he went on smoothly.
‘Not all people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth, Signore Fiorenza,’ she said with a cold, hard stare. ‘I have had to work hard to achieve what I’ve achieved.’
His dark, impenetrable gaze was still drilling into hers. ‘According to my source you left your last client’s house