Bedded and Wedded for Revenge Read online

  ‘I have no plans to draw unnecessary attention to this marriage,’ she said, quickly veering her thoughts away from her painful memories. ‘I am aware that if the press get wind of this they will be out in their droves, so I want to down play things as much as possible.’

  ‘That’s understandable. I, too, do not wish to draw unnecessary attention to myself at this time. I am a relatively new citizen to this country and I wish to make my mark without too much speculation on what I am trying to achieve.’

  Gemma frowned at his words. ‘You’re an Australian citizen?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘So…so you’re planning to live here permanently?’

  He gave her one of his inscrutable looks. ‘Is that not what Australian nationals do?’

  ‘Yes…but you’re an Italian with heaps of relatives in your home country. It seems a big move…a drastic move to shift your allegiance to another country.’

  ‘I have many distant relatives in Australia and I look forward to meeting them eventually,’ he said. ‘I still have business interests in Rome and Milan but I thought it time to expand my empire. Sydney is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. It has a beautiful harbour, a climate many tourists are attracted to as well as a standard of living that is one of the most enviable in the world. I thought it high time I tapped into what it has to offer.’

  Gemma was having trouble keeping up. She screwed up her face trying her best to make sense of all she had heard, but none of it seemed to add up. She had hoped he would be here for only the length of time she needed to gain full access to her father’s estate.

  On the day of her marriage she would receive a proportion of her father’s trust fund, which would be just enough to bring about the goal she had aimed for. But she hadn’t counted on Andreas being in Australia indefinitely.

  ‘How exactly did you hear of my…situation?’ she asked with another narrow-eyed look cast his way. ‘Did you stumble across it by accident or by some other means?’

  He met her wary gaze directly. ‘I have been in contact with your father on and off over the last couple of years. He gave me valuable business advice on more than one occasion. I greatly admired him and felt grateful for what he did for me when I was young and more than a little wet behind the ears, as I think it is described in English.’

  Gemma stared at him in shock. Since when had her father rekindled the relationship she herself had deliberately severed? But then, she reminded herself, she hadn’t spoken to her father in close to five years.

  ‘So you owe your success to him?’ she ventured.

  The enigmatic smile was back. ‘In a way—yes. He taught me by example. He treated me with the respect he afforded all his employees from the ground up. His philosophy, as you may or may not recall, was that no matter how lowly a position a staff member occupied it was important to show them your respect at all times. I saw him stop and speak to cleaning staff or financial controllers or managers with exactly the same respect. It was what I most admired in him.’

  And what you most despised in his eighteen-year-old daughter, Gemma felt like adding, but remained silent. She recalled her taunting, despicable behaviour with a deep pang of shame. She had been well aware of her father’s philosophy, but out of a perverse desire to inflict hurt on him had deliberately not adopted it herself. She had looked down her nose at cleaners and maintenance staff, deeming it beneath herself to mutter even a simple greeting, and subsequently developed a reputation as a cold-hearted, stuck-up little prima donna. As for the rest of the staff, including the various business managers and reception personnel, she had been just as scathing in her dealings with them.

  But in spite of how her father had treated Andreas Trigliani in the past it seemed strange that he had appeared now, at the last minute, to offer her help when she needed it most.

  ‘It seems rather coincidental to me that within minutes of my fiancé Michael Carter leaving, you step into the breach.’ She sent a suspicious look in his direction.

  ‘It was no coincidence,’ he said. ‘Your father spoke to me a short time before he died and expressed his concerns over your future. He did not think Michael Carter was the right husband for you.’

  ‘I don’t recall ever telling my father I was planning on marrying anyone.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but he assumed of all the candidates most likely to agree it would be Mr Carter.’

  ‘Why?’ She sent him a blistering glance. ‘Because he was confined to a wheelchair, put there by me?’

  Andreas held her accusing glare for a long time before speaking. ‘I do not think that was the most pressing issue—no. I believe he felt you were on a pathway to destruction that he wanted to avoid if he possibly could.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ She swung away in anger, turning her back to him.

  ‘No, perhaps not, but the truth is the truth whether you remember it or not,’ he said. ‘Your father did not trust Michael Carter. He was concerned that in the end he would not have your best interests at heart.’

  Gemma turned back to face him, her face a portrait of cynicism. ‘And he thought you did?’

  ‘I am committed to bringing about the goals of both your father and myself,’ he said. ‘I am also committed to bringing you what you have been vainly searching for ever since I met you on the doorstep of The Landerstalle Hotel ten years ago.’

  She frowned at his words, her heart doing a funny kick-start in her chest. ‘Are you saying you have never forgotten me?’

  His wry smile tilted the edges of his mouth, making his dark eyes suddenly glint. ‘You are not exactly the forgettable type, Gemma.’

  Her forehead furrowed even deeper as the mortifying memories washed over her; the heat of her cheeks making her feel as if someone had stoked a furnace inside each one.

  It was no wonder he hadn’t forgotten her. She had been appalling; she had behaved with no scruples and a total lack of grace. She had hurt so many people and it had backfired on her terribly.

  Gemma became conscious of him looking at her intently.

  ‘So you do remember a little of our past, Gemma?’

  She sent him a brief glance, hoping he couldn’t see the guilt in her eyes. ‘I told you…. I lost parts of my memory in the accident. There is very little I remember of…that time…’

  He smiled again and, reaching out, touched her bare arm with one of his long fingers in a soft as air caress that sent a riot of electric sensation the length of her arm and right through the rest of her body. She could even feel the fine hairs on her arms lift up in response to his touch.

  ‘Do not worry yourself, cara,’ he said in a deep velvet tone that sent another shiver of feathery sensation up and down her spine. ‘We will take each day as it comes. It is not important if you do not remember everything that occurred between us. What is important is the here and now. We have a wedding to organise and limited time in which to do it. Once that is officiated we will then turn our attention to the details of our married life together.’

  The details.

  Gemma’s heart tightened involuntarily at what those details might entail.

  She was agreeing to marry a man she had intimated she could not remember when every moment of their acquaintance was stamped indelibly on her brain.

  She remembered every word they’d ever exchanged.

  She recalled every insult and every mocking laugh she’d shared with her shallow friends.

  And she remembered each and every word of that one little lie she had told her father about Andreas, the little lie that had been blown out of all proportion, sending him home to Italy in disgrace.

  Her stomach gave another sickening lurch of panic.

  God only knew what Andreas would do if he ever found out how she was deceiving him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS no surprise to Gemma that once Andreas Trigliani set his mind to a seemingly impossible task he would in fact pull it off with consummate ease. She had been expecting and mental
ly preparing herself for a bureaucratic nightmare in acquiring a last minute marriage licence, knowing that it usually took a month, and yet three days later he procured it with a little smile of victory.

  She looked down at the document wondering what legal strings he had pulled, but with just three days for her goal to be reached she had no choice but to express her gratitude in a low, barely audible mumble as they prepared to leave for dinner.

  The legal document was a chilling reminder to her of the power he could yield if pressed to do so. He had money, lots of money and the sort of connections that gave him an advantage she had no hope of matching.

  ‘I thought tonight would be a good time to go over our domestic living arrangements,’ he said once they were seated in the restaurant on the waterfront of one of Sydney’s premier eastern suburbs a short time later.

  Gemma had been expecting the topic to be raised, but the thought of sharing accommodation with a man she barely knew was terrifying to say the least. She had become used to her own space—craved it, in fact. She hated sharing bathrooms and kitchens, hated anyone seeing her without the concealing make-up that lessened the starkness of her scarred forehead. She hated anyone seeing the stiffness and lack of co-ordination of her leg, which plagued her first thing in the morning until she’d moved around a bit to get the blood flowing in the damaged limb.

  ‘But I like where I live,’ she said in a last-minute show of defiance. ‘I like the area and the rent is affordable.’

  ‘So you don’t actually own the property?’

  She gave him an ironic look. ‘Do you think I would be marrying a man I don’t even remember meeting if I could simply solve all my financial problems by selling my house?’

  ‘No, you are right, of course,’ he said. He waited for a moment before adding, ‘But the price of a small cottage is not going to sort out the rest of your financial problems, is it?’

  Gemma lowered her gaze. ‘No.’

  ‘What sort of debt are you carrying at present?’

  ‘The usual stuff…credit-card bills, that sort of thing. But more than that I don’t want my stepmother to have what is not rightfully hers.’

  ‘She was married to your father for a number of years,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘Surely she is entitled to something?’

  Her look was cold and hard. ‘Not if I can prevent it.’

  Andreas inwardly frowned at her vehement response. Gemma hadn’t exactly been the ideal stepdaughter so it hardly seemed fair to lay all the blame on Marcia, who from what he could recall had seemed to be trying her best to conduct a civil if not a little strained relationship with her husband’s only child.

  He’d met Marcia Landerstalle one or two times in the past and found her to be typical of a lot of second wives. She had been forced by circumstances to take the place of a deceased predecessor who had been elevated to an esteemed position that no living human could ever aspire to. The wicked-stepmother role was more or less a cliché but he still found it hard to accept—considering the track record of Gemma—that Marcia was as bad as her stepdaughter intimated.

  Of course there would have been rivalry between them. Gemma had had her father to herself from the age of ten and had no doubt found it hard to share him as a young teenager with a woman not much older than herself.

  From what he remembered Marcia was dark and exotic, flamboyant and a perfect asset to her husband’s business interests, while his daughter had been surly and resentful, prickly and tempestuous to say the very least. It had been in many ways a recipe for disaster, but Lionel Landerstalle had been entitled to some sort of life, and while his choice of wife had not pleased his daughter it had certainly brought much pleasure to him. Andreas recalled many conversations over the last couple of years where Lionel had praised Marcia’s patience and tolerance with regard to Gemma, who had done her best to cause trouble from the get-go. Lionel had come to realise his mistake in listening to his daughter’s attention-seeking fabrications and had apologised sincerely for the indignity Andreas had suffered when he had been dismissed without a hearing all those years ago.

  ‘I am afraid staying in your cottage is out of the question,’ he said. ‘For a start it is too small for two people and as there is no garage I would not like to leave my car out on the street.’

  ‘I don’t want to live in the hotel,’ she stated intractably.

  Andreas watched yet again as a host of emotions flitted over her face. Although he had no intention of living in the hotel he was intrigued as to why she no longer resided there. In the past she had enjoyed having her own private section of her father and stepmother’s penthouse, where she had lived life to the full, being waited on hand and foot, her every whim and indulgence attended to by the staff.

  ‘What are your objections?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t like the impersonality of living in a hotel,’ she said, her mouth coming close to the sort of pout he remembered all too well. ‘I’ve never liked it. The staff members are constantly changing and you never know who is going to bring you your linen from one day to the next. I don’t want to live or visit there ever again.’

  Andreas frowned at her intransigent response, wondering what had precipitated it. It hadn’t surprised him that she wanted to sell the hotel; her father’s will and the ends she had gone to to fulfil the terms clearly demonstrated her desire to set herself up financially for a very long time, but what had intrigued him was how soon she wanted to offload it. The prime situation of the building, in the middle of the city, irrespective of its needs for an immediate makeover, did not take away from its inherent value. With a certain amount of money spent it would again be up there with the best that Sydney could offer. Why not wait for the highest bidder?

  It also puzzled him as to why she preferred to live in a small inner city cottage. The fortress-like bars at the windows and the row of locks he’d noticed on the front door showed her need for security, which certainly living in a twenty-four-hour permanently staffed hotel would give her. But then, he reasoned, perhaps she preferred her privacy since her accident, preferring to hide her vulnerability.

  She was still a very beautiful young woman, but it was impossible not to notice the hint of fragility that hung around her like an aura. Her nervous glances and the almost permanent frown than pulled at her smooth forehead demonstrated that her life was nothing like it had been before. The thin white scar just below her hairline was cleverly concealed with make-up and her partial fringe, but there were shadows in her bluer than blue eyes that had never been there before.

  Ten years ago she had made a fool of him in every way possible. He had foolishly fallen in love with her and she had led him on, day after day, until the cruelty of her nature had shown its true colours.

  There would be no love this time around, he determined. He would marry her so he would have what he wanted, on his terms. He wanted her in his bed and she had agreed to his demands—for money. He never had any trouble bedding beautiful women and he wasn’t in the habit of paying for the privilege. Yet Gemma had agreed to his audacious demands…Didn’t that prove she was still the same old self-serving, spoilt little rich girl?

  ‘We do not have to live in the hotel,’ he said after another small silence. ‘The renovations will have to be done in stages with as little disruption to guests as possible, but, as you say, living there would not be ideal.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a downcast look. ‘I feel as if everyone is looking at me there.’

  ‘I am sure you are being overly sensitive.’

  She raised her eyes to send him a caustic little glare. ‘How could you possibly know what it’s like?’ she asked, colour firing in her usually pale cheeks. ‘I see the way the staff look at me pityingly. There goes the girl who had it all at her well-shod feet. Feet that no longer can wear the sort of heels I used to sashay around in. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear their pity. I can’t bear anyone’s pity.’

  Andreas allowed a few minutes for her statement to settle a
mongst the dust of his resentment towards her. Could this really be the same woman who had looked down at him ten years ago with such haughty disdain? The same woman who had irrevocably marred his life? He wanted her to be the same old Gemma so he could enact his revenge. Otherwise what would be the point of him marrying her? He wanted her to beg him to bed her. He wanted to own her. He wanted to be the one this time to trample her pride in the dust the way she had done to him. He had thought of nothing else for a decade. She said she didn’t remember him but…

  He wanted her to remember.

  He wanted her to remember every little detail of her treatment of him that had stained his life for so long. His father’s sudden heart attack soon after he’d returned to Italy with the shame of Gemma’s filthy accusation still ringing in his ears had made him all the more determined to make her pay. He had waited this long to bring about the justice he craved, but, looking at her small, bowed frame in front of him, he had to concede that perhaps the vicissitudes of life had got in first and taken away his opportunity.

  But he would still marry her.

  Gemma Landerstalle had turned her imperious little nose up at him ten years ago, but this time she would come to his bed and stay there for as long as he wanted her to.

  He would make damn sure of it.

  ‘If you have no objection I will make arrangements for your belongings to be shifted to my house in Balmoral. It is within a short walking distance of the beach,’ he said, finally breaking the silence that had been humming like an electric current between them.

  Gemma looked up in surprise. ‘If you already have a house, then why did you suggest we live at the hotel?’

  ‘I did not suggest we live in the hotel,’ he said. ‘If you recall I simply brought up the subject of living arrangements and you rather forcefully insisted you were no longer interested in living in your former home.’

  ‘It’s a hotel, not a home,’ she said with a sour look. ‘And for your information it was never a proper home to me.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you will feel more at home at my residence,’ he said. ‘It has wonderful views over Hunters Bay and Rocky Point.’