Uncovering the Silveri Secret Page 5

  Bella swallowed a thick knot in her throat. He was so intimidating when he was in this mood but she was determined to find out more about him. His enigmatic nature intrigued her. She had always found his aloof, keep-away-from-me manner compellingly attractive. ‘What happened to your parents?’ she asked.

  ‘They died.’ He said the words as if they meant nothing to him. He showed no emotion at all. Not even a flicker. His face was like a marble statue, a blank, impenetrable mask.

  ‘So you were an orphan?’ Bella prompted.

  ‘Yeah, that’s me.’ He gave a little laugh as he swirled the contents of his glass. ‘An orphan.’

  ‘Since when?’ she asked. ‘I mean, how old were you when your parents died?’

  It seemed like a full year before he spoke; Bella waited out each pulsing second of the long, protracted silence. It was a silent battle of wills, but somehow she suspected the battle was not between her and him. It was between two parts of himself: the aloof loner who didn’t need anyone and the man behind the mask who secretly did.

  ‘I don’t remember my father,’ he said with the same blank, indifferent expression.

  ‘He died when you were a baby?’ she guessed.

  ‘Yes.’ There was still no emotion. No grief or sense of loss.

  Bella moistened her lips, waiting a beat or two before asking, ‘What happened?’

  At first she didn’t think he was going to answer. The silence stretched and stretched interminably.

  ‘Motorbike accident,’ he finally said. ‘He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Can’t have been pretty.’

  Bella winced. ‘What about your mother?’

  A tiny, almost imperceptible spasm tugged at the lower quadrant of his jaw. ‘I was five,’ he said and twirled his wine again, his eyes staring down at the liquid as it splashed against the sides of the glass.

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘How?’

  There was another silence before he spoke. A bruised silence. ‘Suicide.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh, my God, that’s terrible.’

  He gave a careless shrug. ‘It wasn’t much of a life for her once my father died.’ He tipped back his head and drained his glass, setting it down on the table with a little thump.

  Bella frowned as she thought of him as a young motherless boy. She had been totally devastated when her mother had driven away that day, but at least she had known her mother was still alive. How had Edoardo coped with losing his mother so young? ‘Your father was Italian, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘English,’ he said. ‘She met my father while on a working holiday in Italy.’

  ‘Who looked after you after she died?’

  He put his napkin next to his plate and pushed back from the table, his expression closing like a door that had been clicked shut on a sliver of a view. ‘Fergus needs to go outside,’ he said. ‘He’s too stiff to use the pet door now.’

  Bella sat back with a frown pulling at her forehead as she watched him stride from the room. He had told her things she was almost certain he hadn’t even told her father. Her father had said Edoardo had always refused to speak of his early childhood and he wasn’t to be pressured to reveal things he didn’t want to reveal. She, like her father, had assumed it had been because Edoardo was ashamed of his background, given that it was so different from theirs. His youth had been misspent on rebellious behaviour that had alienated him from the very people who had wanted to help him. He had used the very words the authorities would have used to describe him: a rebel, a lost cause, bad to the core, beyond salvation. Was he really all or any of those things? What had happened to make him so distrustful of people? What had made him the closed-off enigma he was today?

  And why on earth did it matter to her to find out? It wasn’t as if it was any of her business.

  He was her enemy.

  He hated her as much as she hated him.

  She chewed at her lower lip as she looked at his empty chair. It shouldn’t matter to her what had happened to him. He had been surly and uncommunicative for as long as she had known him. He had clearly inveigled his way into her father’s trust and taken control of her life. He had done nothing but taunt and ridicule her from the moment she had turned up at what used to be her house. He was threatening to ruin her wedding plans. He was the spanner in the works, the fly in the ointment, the brick wall she had to climb over or knock down.

  It shouldn’t matter… But somehow—rather surprisingly—it did.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EDOARDO waited for Fergus to sniff every tree and shrub in the garden as the moon watched on with its wise and silent silver eye. The air was cold and fresh; the smell of the damp earth was like breathing in a restorative potion.

  It cleared his head.

  It grounded him.

  It reminded him of how far he had moved from his previous life—a life where he’d had no control. No hope. Only pain and miserable, relentless suffering.

  Haverton Manor was his sanctuary, the only place he had ever called home. The only place he had ever wanted to call home.

  He clenched his fists and then slowly released them. The past was in the past and he should not have let Bella get under his skin enough to pick at the hard crust that covered what was left of his soul. Inside him were wounds he would allow no one to see. The scars he wore on the outside of his body were nothing to the ones on the inside. He could not bear pity. He could not stomach people’s interest in what he wanted to forget. He didn’t want to be painted as a victim. He had no time for people who saw themselves as victims.

  He was a survivor.

  He would not allow his past to cast a shadow over his future. He had proved all his critics wrong. He had made something of himself. He had used every opportunity Godfrey Haverton had offered him to better himself. He was educated. He was wealthy. He had everything he had ever dreamed of when he had been that cowering child shrinking away from the drunken blows of a cruel and sadistic stepfather. He had pictured his future in his head as a way to block out what was happening to him: he had pictured the luxury cars, the lush, rolling fields of a country estate, the opulent mansion, the beautiful women and the designer clothes.

  He had made it come true.

  Haverton estate was his: every field and pasture, every hill and hillock, the lake, the woods and most importantly the manor—his very own regal residence, the ultimate symbol of having left his past well and truly behind.

  No one would be able to take it off him. No one could toss him out on the street in the cold and wet. No one could deny him a roof over his head.

  When he was a child he had dreamed of owning a place such as this. His very own fortress, his castle and his base. His home.

  Godfrey had known how important the manor was to him: it was the first place he had felt safe. The first place he had put down roots. The first place he had discovered friendship and loyalty. Within these walls he had learned all he needed to learn in order to make something of his life. Before he had come here he had been close to giving up. He had gone beyond the point of caring what happened to him. But Godfrey had woken something in him with his quiet, patient way. He hadn’t pressured him to open up. He hadn’t bribed him or coerced him in any way. He had simply planted the seeds of hope in Edoardo’s mind, seeds that had grown and grown until Edoardo had started to see the possibility of changing his life, becoming something other than a victim of circumstance and cruelty.

  He was no longer that pitiful child with a constant fear of abandonment, with no one to turn to, with no one to love or be loved. He was no longer that brooding, resentful teenager with a chip on his shoulder.

  He depended on no one for his happiness.

  He had no need of anyone but himself. He was totally autonomous. He didn’t want the ties and responsibilities that other people saw as a natural part of life. Marriage and children were not something he had ever pictured for himsel
f. Life was too fickle for him to chance it. What if the same thing happened to him as had happened to his father—his life cut short in its prime and his wife and child left to fend for themselves as best they could, easy prey for the scurrilous, conscienceless predators out there who would do anything to get their hands on money for drugs and drink?

  No. He was fine on his own; perfectly fine.

  * * *

  Bella was in the kitchen stacking the dishes into the dishwasher when Edoardo came back in. It was a domestic scene he wasn’t used to seeing. She had never been one to lift a finger about the place. She had grown up with a band of willing servants to cater to her every whim. He had always thought her father had been far too lenient with her. She had never had to work for anything in her life. It had all been handed to her on a silver plate with the Haverton coat of arms emblazoned on it. She had flounced around issuing orders as if she was already lady of the manor, even as a small child. Not even as an adult had she ever considered the sacrifices Godfrey Haverton had made to provide a secure future for her. She hadn’t even had the decency to be by his side as he drew his last, gasping breath.

  He had been the one to watch Godfrey pass from life to death.

  He had held his frail hand and listened to the sounds of the breath slowly leaving the old man’s rail-thin body.

  He had been the one to close Godfrey’s eyes in final rest.

  He had been the one to weep with grief at losing the one person on this earth who had truly believed in him. He had sworn on Godfrey’s death bed that he would do the right thing by him and protect Bella. He would make sure she stayed out of trouble until the guardianship period was over. He would not let her waste her father’s hard-earned money. And in the meantime he would continue to restore Haverton Manor into the grand old residence Godfrey had loved so much, thus keeping a part of his mentor and friend alive.

  Bella closed the dishwasher and straightened, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. ‘I was going to make some coffee,’ she said. ‘Would you like some?’

  Edoardo couldn’t help a little lip curl. ‘You mean you actually know how to boil water?’

  She pursed her mouth and tossed the dishcloth she had been holding on the sink. ‘I’m trying to be nice to you, Edoardo,’ she said. ‘The least you could do is meet me halfway.’

  ‘Nice?’ He gave a rough sound of derision. ‘Is that what you call it? You’re sucking up to me to get what you want.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me about your parents—about being orphaned so young. I didn’t understand how devastating it must have—’

  ‘Cut it, princess,’ he said savagely.

  Her smooth forehead crinkled in a frown. ‘But surely talking about it would be helpful?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he said. He reached for the coffee grounds in the pantry and slammed them down on the counter. He filled the percolator with water, spooned in the coffee and switched it on, his hands clenching the counter until the tendons on the back stood out starkly against his tan. Was she never going to give this up? What was it about women that they had to know everything? To talk about everything? He wanted to block it out, not dredge it up all the time.

  He wanted it to go away.

  He needed it to go away.

  The percolator hissed and spat in the silence.

  Edoardo heard her move across the floor. She had such a light, almost silent tread but the hairs on the back of his neck lifted all the same. He felt her just behind him. He could smell her perfume. It danced around his nostrils. If she touched him, his control would snap. He could already feel it straining on its tight leash. It felt like a wild beast being held back by a thin, rusty chain. One of these days one of those fragile, corroded links would break.

  He heard her draw in a small breath and then she spoke his name, softly and hesitantly. It was like a caress on his skin. It made every pore react as if a soft feather had brushed over him. ‘Edoardo?’

  He waited a beat before he turned around and looked down at her. Her beautiful heart-shaped face was uptilted and her big brown eyes were soft and dewy, her rosy lips full and moist. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said with a cynical look. ‘You always lay on the charm when you want something. I’ve seen you do it to your father hundreds of times. But you’re wasting your time. It won’t work with me.’

  Her expression soured. ‘Why must you be so…so beastly?’ she asked.

  ‘I won’t be manipulated by you or anyone,’ he said. ‘I made a promise to your father and I’m going to keep it.’

  ‘I want to get married here,’ she said, throwing him a combative look. ‘I’ve dreamed of it all of my life. My father would have wanted it. You can’t say he wouldn’t.’

  Edoardo thought of the highbrow, vacuous crowd she would have swarming around her like bees around a honey pot. The press would besiege the place. They would crawl over his private domain like ants at a picnic. His private sanctuary would become party central. And, if that weren’t enough, he would have to watch Bella smiling up at some toffee-nosed man who—he could almost guarantee—only wanted her for her money. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted it, otherwise he would’ve left you the manor in the first place.’

  She narrowed her eyes to hairpin-thin slits. ‘You’re doing this deliberately, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘All that talk of wanting me was rubbish. You don’t want me at all. You want the power. It turns you on, doesn’t it? You get off on it. You just want the rush it gives you to have me squirming in the palm of your uncivilised hand.’

  Edoardo captured one of her wrists and held her fast. The urge to touch her had been unstoppable. He had barely even realised he had reached for her when he heard the gasp of her breath. He saw the sudden flare of her pupils. He felt the rapid jump of her pulse. He brought her closer, inch by inch, watching as her brown eyes went wider and wider. ‘Maybe I should show you just how uncivilised I can be,’ he drawled silkily.

  Her pulse went wild beneath his fingers as he tugged her against his swollen groin. She swallowed and then licked her lips, her gaze tracking to his mouth as it came inexorably closer. He felt the soft gust of her breath against his lips. ‘If you kiss me I will scratch your eyes out,’ she said in a breathless little voice that was at odds with her warning.

  ‘Before or after I kiss you?’

  Her eyes blazed with hatred. ‘During.’

  He held her gaze for a throbbing heartbeat. ‘I’d better not risk it, then,’ he said, stepped back from her and reached for his keys on the hook near the door.

  She blinked a couple of times as if she had been expecting him to call her bluff. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  He tossed the keys in the air before deftly catching them. ‘Out.’

  ‘Out where?’ she asked with another frown. ‘It’s close to midnight.’

  ‘Can you let Fergus out before you go to bed?’ he asked. ‘I might not get back before dawn.’

  She gave him an irritated look. ‘Is that how you stay under the press’s radar?’ she asked. ‘By keeping your liaisons the other side of midnight?’

  ‘Works for me,’ he said, shouldering open the kitchen door.

  She threw him a caustic glare. ‘You disgust me.’

  ‘Right back at you, princess,’ he said and let the door swing shut behind him.

  * * *

  Bella was too annoyed to sleep. She tossed and turned and counted sheep and sheep dogs. She got up and had a glass of water. She checked on Fergus three times. She couldn’t stop her mind from conjuring up images of Edoardo with one of his anonymous women. It disgusted her that he could just go out like that and find someone to slake his lust with. She could just imagine the type of woman he would go for: someone brash and bold, someone who would be confident sexually. His lovers wouldn’t agonise over their breasts or thighs, they wouldn’t worry about bikini waxes and whether they weren’t responsive enough in his arms. He would make
them respond just by looking at them, just like he did to her.

  ‘Grrrhhh,’ Bella said as she threw off the covers yet again.

  She was out in the garden waiting for Fergus to come back in when she saw the twin beams of Edoardo’s car headlights move across the fields of the estate as he came up the long driveway. ‘Fergus?’ she called out softly. ‘Come on. Hurry up. I’m freezing to death out here.’

  There was still no sign of the dog when Edoardo’s car purred its way back to the garage. Bella listened as his footsteps crunched over the gravel of the driveway. She slunk against the shadows of the manor, holding the edges of her dressing gown tighter around her body. She didn’t want him to think she had been losing sleep over his nocturnal activities. She didn’t want him to think she had been waiting up for him to return, even though—subconsciously, at least—she had.

  It was unnaturally, eerily quiet.

  The night sounds that had seemed as loud as an orchestra rehearsing just moments ago had stilled as if silenced by a conductor’s baton.

  Bella edged her way along the manor with her back against the icy-cold, hard stone. Her skin was pebbled with goose bumps and her heart hammered like a piston. She inched her way closer to the window of the morning room. She took a breath and started to climb the trellis, where the gnarled and twisted skeleton of some clematis was situated, when a pair of strong arms suddenly tackled her from behind. ‘Oomph!’ she gasped as she fell backwards against a strong male body.

  ‘Bella?’ Edoardo swung her around and gaped at her in shock. ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’

  She put up her hand in a little fingertip wave and gave him a sheepish smile. ‘Hi…’

  His expression went from shock to furious. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he asked. ‘I could have hurt you. I thought you were a burglar.’

  Bella straightened her dressing gown, which had slipped off one shoulder in the tussle. Her body was still tingling from where it had pressed against his. Her heart was still jumping and her pulse as crazy as an over-wound clock. ‘Do you normally wrestle burglars to the ground?’ she asked with a wry look.