He had been determined then not to bow to his father’s demands. And not just because he had hated the man’s attempt to manipulate him, but also because he had decided never to marry anyone. He simply did not have it in him to trust another person that much. Nor did he wish to care for anyone again the way he had once cared for his mother, and Mia, and even Sante, all of whom had abandoned him.
His advisers, of course, had suggested an arranged marriage early on to satisfy the Trustees. But until this moment he had refused to consider the suggestion. He had never dated a British woman and did not know any members of the English aristocracy, because he had never used his title nor taken up the seat left vacant by his father in the House of Lords. His life was in Italy. But if he couldn’t demolish this place to get his revenge on his father, perhaps therewasanother way…
‘Are you English?’ he asked.
The girl blinked, confused by the question. ‘I’m… Yes, I was born near here. But I have British and Irish passports as my mother was born in Dublin.’
The feeling in his gut surged. Even better then—with an Irish passport she could live in Italy with him as long as was necessary to convince the Trustees he had abided by the terms of the will.
To hell with it. He’d been wrestling with this situation for seven years. And the decision to wreak vengeance today on his father, and the stately home he had cared about more than he had ever cared for his children, would have given Dario some satisfaction, but it would not have given him what he truly wanted—his name on the deeds of Palazzo di Constanzo. And frankly, where was the satisfaction in besting a dead man?
‘If I save the house from demolition, and consider your proposals for the estate, I will need you to do a job for me in return,’ he said. ‘One I would pay you handsomely for,’ he added, because he required this to be a business transaction first and foremost. He certainly did not want this girl getting any romantic notions about the arrangement. She was young, and clearly not wealthy, and her emotional investment in what was just a job was a sign she was also naïve and sentimental.
‘Absolutely, Mr Lorenti, but I really don’t need a pay rise. I’d rather put any additional money into the repair budget.’ A tentative smile curved her lips, her relief palpable as her pale cheeks took on a rosy glow. ‘But you could giveeveryonea pay rise at theendof the year, if you’re satisfied with the work we’ve done,’ she finished, clearly trying to temper her joy at his sudden turnaround. ‘Which I guarantee you will be.’
Yes, she was definitely naïve, he realised, and far too trusting. She hadn’t even heard yet what he was going to ask of her. But her trusting nature only made this arrangement more perfect. A cynic would be more likely to realise their bargaining power.
‘The job I am referring to has nothing to do with your work as my estate manager…’
Her eyes widened. The deep blue of her irises shimmered—her confusion tangible. The wary expression reminded him of a young doe he had once had in his sights while hunting with his mother’s gamekeeper as a boy many years ago in Amalfi.
‘It…it doesn’t?’ she whispered.
He hadn’t been able to pull the trigger and kill the young deer that day. He couldn’t, because the creature was so beautiful. And so defenceless. And he’d been less ruthless as a boy. But he had no qualms about pulling the trigger now.
‘I require an English wife for a year.’ That should be long enough to fool those old bastards into transferring ownership of the palazzo—and while his father had clearly intended for him to marry an aristocrat, there had been no specific reference to his bride’s social status in the will. ‘If you agree to take the job, I will pay you two million euros as a divorce settlement, in a year’s time.’
Chapter Four
‘I… IBEGyour pardon, Mr Lorenti?’ Tali murmured, sure the emotional roller coaster ride she’d been on since entering the library had just crashed off the rails.
That surge of awareness wasn’t helping her keep a grip on her cognitive faculties either. She couldn’t possibly have heard the Italian billionaire correctly.
If he needed a wife—for a year—which was peculiar enough, why would he askher? Not only did he not know her from Adam, but she was also so far from being his type she might as well be circling Mars.
She worked on a farm! Her mother had been his father’s housekeeper. She’d been literally shovelling horse shit less than fifteen minutes ago, some of which was still decorating her jeans. And she’d never even read about the sort of events and parties and soirees—were soirees even still a thing?—that men like him would attend, let alone been invited to one.
‘You heard me correctly, Tallulah Whittaker,’ he said, using her full name again, but this time caressing the vowels with that husky Italian accent, almost as if he were mocking her.
Okay, great, now she’d dropped wholesale into another dimension. One in which Dario Lorenti found her amusing, instead of beneath contempt.
Unfortunately, that only made her reaction to him more disturbing.
The heat in her cheeks fired across her collarbone and reached past her aching lungs to tighten her nipples into hard peaks.
She folded her arms more firmly across her chest, attempting to get a grip.
‘Are…are you joking?’ she asked, not knowing why he was making fun of her, but trying to see it as a good thing. At least with that cynical smile on his lips he didn’t look so forbidding.
Whatever was going on with him, she had to negotiate it diplomatically, or he might reiterate his threat to demolish the Hall, which would leave her staff—all of whom she considered to be her friends and her responsibility—out of work and her and, even worse, her mum homeless. Elsa Parker had worked long hours as a housekeeper here ever since Tali’s father had abandoned them both. And when she’d decided to take early retirement a year ago after a bout of bursitis, Tali had promised her mother she could remain in the cottage she’d lived in for the past fifteen years. Her mum still helped out in the tearooms at the weekend, so the peppercorn rent she paid was totally justified, in Tali’s humble opinion. And losing her home might break her mum again, the way she had been broken after Tali’s father had left, which was another reason why Tali would do everything in her power to save Westwick.
‘A simple yes or no will do,’ he said as he stepped around the desk, his limp doing nothing to make him seem any less intimidating, until he stood in front of Tali. Close enough for her to inhale the scent of clean woodsy soap, blended with the refreshing hint of citrus and sea salt in his cologne.
She tried to step back, aware she probably didn’t smell anywhere near as delicious, but he reached out and clasped her wrist to prevent her retreat.
‘Are you scared of me, Tallulah?’ he asked, those rich brown eyes searching her face. The flare of something in the molten gold was almost as disturbing as the electric sensation sprinting up her arm from his loose grip on her captured wrist.
‘No…no, of course not,’ she murmured, around the ball of something immoveable in her throat.
