The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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open-necked shirt.
Carly barely hid a gasp of surprise as he reached out and threaded his fingers through hers, tightening them imperceptibly as she attempted to pull away from his grasp.
She registered a silent protest by digging the tips of her nails into hard bone and sinew. Not that it did any good, for he didn’t even blink, and she watched in silence as his mouth curved into a warm smile.
Supremely conscious of Ann-Marie’s intent gaze, she managed to return it, and she glimpsed the faint narrowing of his eyes, the silent warning evident an instant before they swept down to encompass his daughter.
‘Hello, Ann-Marie.’
He made no attempt to touch her, and Ann-Marie looked at him solemnly for several long seconds, her eyes round and unwavering before they shifted to her mother, then back again to the man at her side.
‘Hello,’ she answered politely.
Carly felt as if her heart would tear in two, and she held her breath, supremely conscious of the man and the child, one so much a part of the other, both aware of their connection, yet each unsure quite how to proceed.
In a strange way, it allowed her to see a different side of the man, a hint of vulnerability evident that she doubted anyone else had ever witnessed. It surprised her, and made her wonder for one very brief minute how different things might have been if she’d stayed in the marriage, and if he would have given up Angelica Agnelli and assumed the role of devoted father.
A knife twisted deep within her, and the pain became intense at the thought of Stefano taking delight in all the changing facets of her pregnancy, the miracle of the birth itself, and the shared joy of their newborn child.
She’d denied him that, had felt justified in doing so, and if it hadn’t been for Ann-Marie’s illness she doubted that she’d ever have allowed him to become aware of his daughter’s existence.
His fingers tightened around her own, almost as if he could read her thoughts, and she summoned the effort to move into the lounge, indicating one of two chairs.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Her voice sounded strange, not her own at all, and she extricated her hand from his, aware that it was only because he allowed her to do so.
‘I hope you like chicken,’ Stefano said, holding out a large carrier bag suitably emblazoned with an exclusive delicatessen logo. ‘There’s a variety of salads, some fresh bread rolls, cheese. And a bottle of wine.’
‘Thank you,’ Carly acknowledged with contrived warmth, and preceded him into the kitchen.
They ate at six, and Carly was aware of an inner tension that almost totally destroyed her appetite. There was no lull in conversation, and although Ann-Marie displayed initial reservation it wasn’t long before she was chatting happily about school, her friends, Sarah, and how much she’d love to own a dog.
‘I have a dog,’ Stefano revealed, and Carly stifled a mental groan in the knowledge that he had just won a massive slice of Ann-Marie’s interest, for the ‘no animals allowed’ rule enforced by the apartment managers ensured that tenants couldn’t have pets.
Ann-Marie could barely hide her excitement. ‘What sort of dog?’
Carly waited with bated breath, and had her worst fears confirmed with Stefano enlightened her. ‘A Dobermann pinscher.’
‘Mummy said that one day when we live in a house we can have a poodle.’
Stefano cast Carly a musing glance at her choice before turning his attention back to his daughter. ‘In that case, we’ll have to see about getting you one.’
It was bribery, pure and simple, and Carly hated him for it.
By the time Ann-Marie was settled happily in bed and asleep, it was clear that Stefano had succeeded in winning a place in his daughter’s affections.
‘I have to congratulate you,’ Carly said quietly as she handed him some freshly made coffee. Then she crossed the small lounge and selected a chair as far distant from his as possible.
His gaze was startlingly level. ‘On developing an empathy with my daughter?’
She met his eyes and held their gaze with all the force of her maternal instincts. ‘If you do anything to hurt her—ever,’ she emphasised softly, ‘I’ll kill you.’
He didn’t speak for several long seconds, and Carly felt close to screaming point. ‘You wanted for her to hate me?’
‘No. No,’ she repeated shakily, knowing that it wasn’t true.
‘Yet you decry the speed with which she has gifted me a measure of her affection,’ Stefano pursued.
She refused to admit it, and stirred her coffee instead, wanting only for the evening to end so that she could be free of his disturbing presence.
‘Gaining her trust won’t be achieved overnight,’ he discounted drily, adding, ‘And love has to be earned.’
‘Why agree to gift her a poodle?’
‘I said we would have to see about getting her one,’ he responded evenly, and she instantly flared,
‘A Dobermann and a poodle both on the same property?’
‘Prince is a well-trained guard dog who is exceptionally obedient. I doubt there will be a problem.’
‘And it matters little to you that I might have a problem moving into your home?’
His eyes were hard, with no hint of any softness. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage to overcome it.’
Suddenly she’d had enough, and she replaced her cup down on the coffee-table, then rose to her feet. ‘I’m tired and I’d like you to leave.’
He followed her movements with a lithe indolence, then covered the distance to the front door. ‘Be packed and ready at midday. I’ll collect you.’
She wanted to hit him, and she lifted her hand, only to have it caught in a merciless grip.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Stefano warned silkily. ‘This time I won’t be so generous.’
There could be little doubt about the veiled threat, and she looked at him in helpless anger, wanting so much to strike out in temper, yet forced to contain it out of consideration to a sleeping child who, should she wake and perchance witness such a scene, would be both puzzled and frightened, and unable to comprehend the cause.
Stefano released her hand, then he opened the door and moved out into the foyer without so much as a backward glance.
CARLY EXPERIENCED A sense of acute nervousness as she caught sight of Stefano’s imposing double-storeyed French-château-style home. Situated in the exclusive suburb of Clontarf and constructed of grey stone, it sat well back from the road in beautifully kept grounds.
A spreading jacaranda tree in full bloom with its carpet of lilac flowers provided a fitting backdrop to an assortment of precision-clipped shrubs, and symmetrical borders filled with a variety of colourful flowers that were predominantly red, pink, white and yellow.
Dear lord, what had she done? The enormity of it all settled like a tremendous weight on her slim shoulders. In the space of fifteen hours she had packed, cleaned the apartment, notified the leasing agent, and confided in Sarah. And tossed and turned for the short time she’d permitted herself to sleep. Now she had to face reality.
The car drew to a halt adjacent to the main entrance, and no sooner had Stefano slid out from behind the wheel than a short, well-built man of middle years emerged from the house to retrieve several suitcases from the capacious boot.
‘Joe