The Platinum Collection. Maisey Yates
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be in it for him? Was sex likely to be involved? With his reputation and the interest he had previously shown in her, it was difficult to believe it would not be. She winced in the cosy cocoon of her sensible pyjamas, thinking of the scars on her abdomen and back, shivering. It was little wonder that she had never been keen to strip to reveal those blemishes to a man or relive the horror of explaining what had caused them. Sex was out of the question. In any case, bearing in mind what she had read in the sleazier newspapers’ ‘kiss ‘n’ tell’ accounts made by his former lovers, she would never be able to measure up to Cesario’s exotic and adventurous habits in the bedroom.
CESARIO had a clear view of Jess climbing out of her old Land Rover with several dogs leaping out in her wake.
She had said it was her day off and he had naturally assumed she would dress up for the occasion. Smarten up for their meeting even a little? Surely that was a normal expectation? But she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt roomy enough to fit him below a tweedy woollen cardigan that would not have shamed a scarecrow. Nothing she wore fitted or flattered. He clenched his even white teeth, acknowledging that if, against all the odds, they contrived to reach an agreement, there was definitely going to have to be a lot of compromise on both sides of the fence. She might not do couture, but he definitely didn’t do dog hairs.
Tommaso beamed at Jess as if they were old friends and showed her into an imposingly large reception room decked out with almost rock-star glamour in dramatic shades of black and purple. Sumptuous velvet sofas, glass tables and defiantly modern art set the tone. A few minutes later, the older man reappeared with a tray of coffee and biscuits and assured her that his employer would be with her very shortly.
‘Business…always business,’ he lamented, mimicking a phone to his ear with one hand and rolling his eyes with speaking disapproval.
So jumpy that she couldn’t sit still, Jess lifted her cup of coffee and wandered over to examine a colourful painting, struggling to work out if what looked vaguely like a weird face really was meant to be a face. Her taste in art was strictly traditional and very much confined to country landscapes and animal portraits. She would not have given houseroom to Cesario’s valuable collection of contemporary art. Her mobile phone trilled and she dug it out one-handed, hastening over to a side table to set down her coffee once she realised that it was her mother, Sharon, calling.
Sharon was in floods of tears, which made it hard to distinguish what she was saying, but Jess soon picked up the gist. Her father had bared his soul over breakfast and had then beat a very fast masculine retreat from the questions and reproaches hurled at him in the aftermath of his confession. Her mother was in emotional bits, convinced her husband was on the brink of being dragged off to prison for his part in the robbery at the hall.
‘That stupid holiday…all this over that stupid holiday I could very well have done without!’ Sharon sobbed heartbrokenly. ‘And we’ll lose the house into the bargain…’
Jess’s brows pleated. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, Mr sodding di Silvestri is not going to let us stay in one of his properties after what your father’s done to him, is he?’ Sharon wailed. ‘I’ve lived here since I was eighteen and I couldn’t bear to lose my home too. And what about your brothers’ jobs on the estate? Mark my words, Martin faces won’t fit at Halston Hall any more and some way will be found to get rid of us all!’
Jess said what she could to calm her down but Sharon was an emotional woman and a natural pessimist. In Sharon’s mind the worst that could happen had happened, and she and her family were already homeless, jobless and broke. Having promised that she would call in later that morning, Jess finally got off the phone and found Cesario watching her from the doorway.
For a split second, she just stared, totally unnerved to find herself the target of that silent scrutiny. Formally clad in a dark business suit and vibrant silk tie, Cesario was effortlessly elegant and intimidating, only the shadow of dark stubble around his strong jaw line making it clear that his morning had commenced at a much earlier hour. She had always thought he was very good-looking but at that moment he looked stunningly handsome, his need for a shave adding a sexy rough edge to his usual immaculate appearance.
‘My mother…my father finally worked up the courage to tell her what he had done,’ Jess explained awkwardly as she put away her phone, her cheeks pink from her thoughts. ‘She’s very upset.’
‘I’m sure she must be.’ Cesario noted the level of stress etched in the tightness of her delicate features. It was an immediate source of satisfaction to him that it was within his power to banish that anxiety from her life. He had lain awake half of the night working out exactly what he wanted and what would work best: a simple straightforward arrangement free of demanding emotions and unrealistic hopes. In the most essential way they would each retain their independence.
‘You mentioned a proposition…’ she muttered nervously, digging her hands into her pockets, unable to conceal her tension from him
‘Hear me out before you give me an answer,’ he advised her quietly, registering that, in spite of her unprepossessing clothing, when she looked directly at him she looked so amazingly young and lovely that it was an effort for him to recall what he had planned to say to her. ‘And remember that by the time our agreement would come to an end you would be in a most advantageous position.’
She was mystified by that assurance and reference to an agreement, her smooth brow indented, her confusion palpable. But, keen to hear what he had to say, she nodded slowly.
Cesario viewed her with hooded eyes. ‘At its most basic, I have come up with a way in which you could help me and in return I would not prosecute your father.’
Eyes wide and hopeful, Jess snatched in an audible breath. ‘All right, tell me. How could I help you?’
‘I would like to have a child but not in the conventional way,’ Cesario explained wryly, his lean aquiline profile taut as she gazed back at him, fine brows rising in surprise. ‘I’ve never been convinced that I can meet one woman and spend the rest of my life with her. On the other hand I believe I could handle a marriage that had a more practical foundation.’
Jess was now frowning more than ever as she struggled to follow what he was telling her and divine how on earth such a topic could relate to her father’s predicament. ‘How can a marriage be practical?’ she asked him uncertainly, convinced that in some way she had misunderstood, because she found it hard to believe that he could possibly be discussing the subject of marriage with her.
‘When it’s a straightforward contract freed from flowery ideals and expectations like love, romance and permanence,’ Cesario outlined with unconcealed enthusiasm. ‘If you will agree to have a child with me I will marry you, give you your freedom back within a couple of years and ensure that you need never worry about money again.’
In the grip of astonishment at that sweeping suggestion and his clear conviction that he was making her a generous offer, Jess looked away from him momentarily before turning her head back sharply to stare at him. ‘You can’t be serious—for goodness’ sake, you’re young, handsome and rich,’ she pointed out. ‘There must be any number of women who would be eager to marry you and give you a family.’
‘But I don’t want a hedonistic gold-digger for a wife or, for that matter, as an unsuitable mother for my child. I want an intelligent, independent woman who will accept my terms and know to expect nothing more lasting from me.’
Not unpleased to be styled both intelligent and independent, Jess stood a little taller. ‘But if you’re not prepared to commit to a long-term relationship with a woman, why on earth do you want a child?’
‘The two are not mutually exclusive. I would commit to my relationship with the child,’ Cesario declared with conviction, willing her to see the sound sense behind his arguments. ‘I’m not being selfish.’
Jess