The Fiorenza Forced Marriage Page 2
Emma sent him a flinty glare. ‘I have never slept with your father. It’s totally preposterous of you to even suggest it.’
His expression communicated his disbelief. ‘My father was a well-known womaniser,’ he said. ‘You lived with him for well over a year before he publicly announced he was ill. It would be all too easy to assume you wormed your way into his bed to secure yourself a fortune.’
‘I did no such thing!’ she protested hotly. ‘I only agreed to live with your father so long before his health deteriorated because he didn’t want a profusion of carers coming in and out of his life. He was also concerned if people knew he was terminally ill when he was first diagnosed, his investment clients would leave him in droves. His illness progressed slowly at first, but a couple of months ago he realised the end was near. I did my best to support him through the final stages.’
‘I just bet you did,’ he said with a little curl of his lip. ‘Although I must say you are not his usual type. He usually went for busty, brassy blondes. Pint-sized brunettes must have been a taste he had recently acquired.’
Emma felt the scorch of his dark gaze run over her again and inwardly seethed. ‘I resent your reprehensible insinuations,’ she said. ‘I can see now why your father refused to even have your name mentioned in his presence. You have absolutely appalling manners.’
He had the audacity to laugh at her. ‘What a prim little schoolmarm you are,’ he taunted. ‘Miss March suits you perfectly. I bet my father loved you putting him to bed.’
Emma was almost beyond speech and to her immense irritation she could feel her face flaming. ‘You…you have no right to speak to me like—’
‘I have every right, Miss March.’ He cut her off rudely. ‘My father would not marry you, would he? He swore he would never marry again after my mother died. But you obviously thought of a way to get your hands on the Fiorenza fortune by suggesting you marry me instead.’
Emma clenched her teeth as she battled to contain her temper. ‘You are the very last man I would consent to marry,’ she threw at him heatedly.
His eyes were like twin lasers as they held hers. ‘You want more money, is that it, Miss March? I am sure I can afford you. Just tell me how much you want and I will write you a cheque here and now.’
Emma bristled at his effrontery. ‘You think you can wave your wallet around and pay me?’
He gave her a scornful smile. ‘That is the language of women such as you. You saw a big fat cherry just ripe for the picking in my father, did you not? You must have buttered him up rather well to get him to rewrite his will. I wonder what tricks you had up your sleeve, or should I say skirt?’
Emma had never felt closer to slapping a person. She curled her hands into fists, fighting for control, anger bubbling up inside her at his despicable taunts. ‘How dare you?’ she bit out.
He rocked back on his heels in an imperious manner. ‘You are quite the little firebrand behind that demure façade, eh, Miss March? No wonder my father took such a shine to you. Who knows? We might make quite a match of it after all. I like my women hot and flustered. I think you might do very well as my bride.’
Emma gave him a look that could strip paint. ‘You are the most obnoxious man I have ever met,’ she bit out. ‘Do you really think I would agree to become involved with someone like you?’
He gave her another cynical smile. ‘I am not sure I should tell you what I think right now, Miss March,’ he drawled. ‘You might follow through on your current desire to slap my face.’
Emma hated that she had been so transparent. It made her feel he had an advantage over her being able to read her body language so well. What else could he see? she wondered. Could he tell she was deeply disturbed by his arrant masculinity? That his sensually shaped mouth made her lips tingle at the thought of what it would feel like to have him kiss her?
Her reaction to him was somewhat of a bewildering shock to her. She was normally such a sensible, level-headed person. She had never considered herself a sensualist, but then she had so little experience when it came to men.
Rafaele Fiorenza, on the other hand, looked as if he had loads of experience when it came to women. His tall frame, classically handsome features and magnetic dark brown eyes with their impossibly long dark lashes were a potent combination any woman would find hard to resist. Emma could imagine he would be a demanding and exciting lover. She could almost feel the sexual energy emanating from him; it created a crackling tension in the air, making her feel even more on edge and hopelessly out of her depth. The thought of being legally married to him for any length of time was disturbing in the extreme. The lawyer had spoken of a marriage of convenience, but what if Rafaele wanted it to be a real marriage?
In order to pull her thoughts back into line she said the first thing that came to her head. ‘You didn’t go to your father’s funeral.’
‘I am not one for hypocrisy,’ he said, shifting his gaze from hers to sweep it over the property. ‘My father would not have wanted me there, in any case. He hated me.’
Emma frowned at his embittered tone. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. Very few parents truly hate their children.’
His eyes came 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 in a storm of controversy. Do you want to tell me about that or shall I tell you what I found out?’
Emma compressed her lips momentarily. ‘I was accused of stealing a family heirloom and a large sum of money,’ she said. ‘I have reason to believe I was framed by a relative. The police investigating eventually agreed and the charges were dropped. In spite of my name being cleared the press were like jackals for weeks later, no doubt fuelled by the rumour-mongering of Mrs Bennett’s family.’
‘Is that why you moved to Italy from Australia?’ he asked, his expression giving no clue as to whether he believed her explanation or not.
‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘I had wanted to work abroad in any case, but the Melbourne papers just wouldn’t let it go. It made it hard for me to find a new placement locally. I had no choice but to start again elsewhere.’
‘How did you get into this line of work?’ he asked.
‘I trained as a nurse but I found working in hospitals frustrating,’ she said, trying to make him see that she was genuine, not the gold-digger he assumed she was. ‘There was never enough time to spend with patients doing the things nurses used to do. Back rubs, sitting with them over a cup of tea, that sort of thing rarely happens these days. I started working for a private home-based care agency and really loved it. The hours can be long, of course, and it can be disruptive to one’s social life when a client needs you to live in, but the positives far outweigh the negatives.’
‘I am very sure they do,’ he said with another mocking tilt of his lips. ‘Inheriting half a luxury Italian villa and a generous allowance are hardly to be considered some of the downsides of the job.’
‘Look,’ Emma said on an expelled breath of irritation, ‘I realise this is a difficult time for you, Signore Fiorenza. You have just lost your father and in spite of your feelings towards him that is a big thing in anyone’s life, particularly a man’s. I am prepared to make allowances for your inappropriate suggestions given you had no recent contact with him, but let me assure you I have nothing to hide. Your father was a difficult man, but I grew very fond of him. He was lonely and desperately unhappy. I like to think I gave him a small measure of comfort in those last months of his life.’
He stood looking down at her for a long moment before speaking. ‘Let us go into the library. I would like to discuss with you how we are to handle this situation my father has placed us in.’
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.’
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.’