Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence

The dog standing beside her emitted another pathetic growl.

He said, ‘I’m afraid that it’s you who is not welcome here. Not for much longer anyway. It’s merely a matter of time before the bank moves to take possession.’

* * *

Chiara stared at this man who looked as immovable as a stone statue. Against every instinct, her curiosity was aroused. Maybe he wasn’t mad—maybe he believed what he was saying.

‘What gives you the right to say such things...that the castello belongs to you?’

‘Because it’s true. My family built it in the seventeenth century.’

Chiara wanted to shake her head, as if that might make order out of what he was saying. She’d known the castello was old—especially some parts of it—but not that old.

He went on. ‘At that time the Santo Domenicos owned this estate and all the land and villages from here to Syracuse.’

What he was talking about was a huge swathe of land, and if it were true—Chiara shook her head. It couldn’t be. ‘My family have been the sole owners of this castello for as long as I know—our name is above the door, etched in stone.’

He dismissed that with a curl of his lip. ‘Anyone can carve words into a slab of stone. Your family took ownership of this castello before the Second World War. The Carusos were the Santo Domenico family’s accountants. When we were in financial difficulty they agreed to bail us out, using the castello as collateral, the agreement being that as soon as we had the money again we would buy the castello back at an agreed price. Then came the war.

‘After the war, your family made the most of the chaos at that time. They claimed to have no knowledge of the agreement and destroyed all the paperwork, saying our claims were bogus. So many people were trying to reclaim ownership of land and possessions after the war that the authorities chose to believe that we were being opportunistic. We were a powerful family, and some were only too happy to see us brought down and destroyed.’

He continued.

‘The war decimated our savings—we lost everything. We became destitute. Your family refused to negotiate or to give us a chance to regain our property. Our very proud Sicilian family was scattered. Most emigrated to the United States. We ended up in Naples. My grandfather refused to leave Italy, always hoping he’d see our lands returned before he died. As did my father. Both were thwarted.’

Chiara struggled to take this in. ‘You can’t have proof of this. I’ve never heard mention of the Santo Domenicos in my life.’

He cast her a jaundiced look. ‘I don’t believe that. Our story is part of local legend around here.’

Chiara flushed when she thought of her very sheltered upbringing. Their housekeeper—before she’d been let go in recent years—had done all the shopping, and her father had gone into the village for supplies since then. Whenever Chiara had ventured out she had noticed the way people looked at her, and she’d burned with self-consciousness because she’d assumed they were judging her less than fashionable clothes and figure.

However, if there was any grain of truth to this man’s claims, perhaps they’d been judging more than her appearance.

Feeling very exposed, and more vulnerable than ever, she repeated, ‘You have no proof of this.’

He arched a brow. ‘Come with me.’

He strode out of the room, and Chiara just looked after him stupidly before she kicked into gear. The sensation that he somehow belonged here struck her again and it wasn’t welcome.

He walked out of the main door and Chiara had the urge to slam and lock it behind him. But something told her that this man wouldn’t be so easily locked out.

He stopped in the main courtyard of the castello and looked left and right, as if trying to figure something out, and then strode confidently to the left, towards where the family church and graveyard were situated. The graveyard she’d only walked away from a couple of days ago, after seeing her parents interred.

When she realised where he was headed she hurried to catch up and called out, ‘This is ridiculous—you must stop this!’

But he didn’t stop. It was as if he couldn’t hear her. He got closer and closer to the graveyard, but at the last moment veered away from it and walked to another gate nearby, overgrown with foliage.

She arrived behind him, slightly out of breath. ‘What are you looking for? That is the old family plot.’

A place she’d never been into herself, because the housekeeper had used to tell her that it was haunted. A shiver went down Chiara’s spine now. Had the housekeeper known something of this man’s fantastic claims?

He thrust aside the foliage and located the latch on the gate. At this moment he barely resembled a civilised man. She could see his muscles moving under the material of his suit and felt another disconcerting pulse of awareness in her lower body. Totally inappropriate and unwelcome.

He pushed open the gate and said in a grim tone, ‘Come on.’

Chiara had no choice but to follow him into the shadowed and dormant graveyard. Sunlight barely penetrated through the gnarled branches of the trees overhead and it was very still. She picked her way gingerly over the uneven ground, not even sure what she was walking on, hoping it wasn’t graves.

He had reached the far corner and was pulling leaves and branches away from something. When she got closer she saw that it was a headstone. He turned to face her with an intense look on his face, and for a moment she was almost blinded by his sheer raw beauty.

Then he took her arm and said impatiently, ‘Look.’

Chiara stood beside him, very aware of his hand on her arm and the disparity in their sizes. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did she could make out faint writing, her heart stuttered and stopped as a dawning dread moved through her.

There, etched in the stone, was the following:

Tomasso Santo Domenico, born and died at Castello Santo Domenico, 1830-1897

She couldn’t believe it. Castello Santo Domenico. Not Castello Caruso.

‘He was my great-great-grandfather.’

Chiara looked around, and now she could see the unmistakable shapes of headstones underneath foliage all around her. They seemed to loom at her accusingly in the gloom. The space closed in on her and claustrophobia rose swiftly. She pulled free of Nicolo Santo Domenico’s grip and turned and made her way out, her skin clammy with panic.

She almost tripped over a mound, and a small sob came out of her mouth, but then finally reached the gate and stepped into bright comforting sunshine, her head reeling.

* * *

Nico stood in the overgrown graveyard, only vaguely aware that Chiara had all but run out of the graveyard. This proof of his family’s legacy was almost too much to take in.

Standing in that grand room just a few moments ago, facing a stricken-looking Chiara Caruso, he’d actually felt a sliver of doubt. Could this grand, crumbling estate really have belonged to his family? Had they truly once been the most powerful family in southern Sicily? It had seemed almost too much to believe when all he could think of was his grandfather’s bitter countenance and then his father’s. Maybe they’d dreamed it up, frustrated by the struggles they’d faced. Their fall from grace.

But, no. This graveyard was cold, hard evidence that that they had existed in this place. That they had once lived, loved and died here. His ancestors had built it, stone by stone.

A cold sense of satisfaction filled Nico’s bones. He had a right to claim this place now. He was right to be here.

He knew it wasn’t necessarily compassionate to confront Chiara Caruso just days after her parents’ funeral, but he’d never been accused of having compassion.

Faced with this knowledge of how his family had been left to rot in an overgrown graveyard, on land that should have been returned to them decades before, he felt even less inclined to be merciful.

He walked out of the graveyard into the sun, undoing his tie, feeling constricted. Chiara Caruso had disappeared, and yet strangely he found that her stricken expression and those unusual green eyes stayed with him.

He could still feel her arm under his hand. It had been supple and slim, hinting at a more defined body beneath the shapeless clothes. To Nico’s shock, the awareness had exploded into more than a frisson, and still hummed in his blood. Disconcerting and not welcome. He put it down to his heightened emotions.

He walked over to the edge of a large uncultivated lawn that rolled down to the sea. There were pine trees along one side and gnarled bushes on the other.

His land.

It beat in his blood now, gathering force. Anger was still high as he thought of his ancestors lying in their cold graves, ignored and left to moulder.

It was one thing to have an intellectual knowledge that something belonged to you, but another thing entirely to experience it. From the moment he’d driven up towards the castello he’d felt a sense of ownership that went deeper than the sense of injustice he’d grown up with.

He wasn’t usually one to give any credence to intangibles, but right now, for the first time in his life, he felt a sense of home. It was as disconcerting as the awareness he felt for Chiara Caruso. It was also something he’d never thought he’d experience after growing up in Naples and being constantly reminded that it wasn’t his home.

But as he looked out on this view that the Carusos had stolen from the Santo Domenicos, things didn’t feel as clear-cut as they had just a short while before. Nico didn’t want to admit it, but Chiara Caruso’s reaction to the news had seemed like genuine shock. Either that or she was an undiscovered acting genius.

He’d come here today to present her with a deal she couldn’t refuse. A deal that would get him the castello within as short a space of time as possible: offering her enough money to sign over the castello to him and then go far away, somewhere she, the last of the Carusos, would fade into obscurity.

But that growing awareness of her in his blood and in his body was blurring the lines and making him hesitate for a moment.

A recent conversation with his solicitor came into his head, a well-worn refrain...

‘Nico, you’re an outsider, and that has served you well. You’ve made your fortune by upsetting the status quo and punishing those who’ve underestimated you. But now it’s time to consolidate and expand. It’s all very well to be the rogue operator once you have a more respectable life in the background. Right now you’re losing out on deals because people feel they can’t trust you. You’ve no family, nothing to lose...’

Nico scowled at the view. He’d been at an exclusive charity event in Manhattan recently, discussing a deal with one of Manhattan’s titans of construction. The man’s wife had come on to Nico, making her attraction obvious. And, even though Nico had rebuffed her advances, the next day when he’d followed up on a promise to meet and discuss things further, the construction giant had cut off all contact and Nico had lost out on a potentially hugely lucrative deal.

The truth was that he’d had marriage on his mind for some months now. Before his solicitor had even had to say anything it had become evident to Nico that the absence of a wife by his side was damaging his reputation amongst his more conservative peers. And so he’d been facing the unpalatable fact that he should make some adjustments to his very free lifestyle.

To his surprise, the prospect hadn’t been totally repugnant. Nico had lived a hedonistic existence for a long time and, to be perfectly frank, he’d been feeling more and more jaded. Tired of the games women played. Tired of the avaricious gleam in their eyes. Tired of not knowing what their agenda was.

While he might once have appreciated the need for a wife who knew how to navigate that world, the thought of a woman like that made something curdle inside him now. As did the idea of growing old amidst the soaring soulless buildings of New York or London.

That might have been where he’d made his fortune, and restored the Santo Domenico pride and name, but standing here on Sicilian land—the land of his ancestors—he knew that the final piece had to be in this place. Nowhere else.

With the evocative scent of the sea and earth all around him, he found that a new vision was coming to life inside him.

A vision of a future that would help him to achieve the kind of success that he’d only dreamed of up to this point. A vision of a future that included a wife who would give his reputation the sheen of respectability he so badly needed. A wife who would give him a family and breathe the life force back into the Santo Domenico name. A wife who would complement him...who knew the value of legacy.

What he needed was as clear to Nico now as the glittering sea in front of him. It was totally audacious, and contrary to his original plan, but it was taking root inside him and would not be dismissed.

After a few more long minutes Nico turned around to face the castello. The only person who had been standing between him and his future—Chiara Caruso—was now the only person who could make sure it happened.

CHAPTER TWO

CHIARA TOOK A sip of the dark golden brandy and winced as it burnt her throat. It was her first time ever taking a drink from the walnut drinks cabinet in the main reception room and she could understand the appeal now, as the alcohol settled in her stomach and radiated a warm, comforting glow.

Her hand still shook, though, and when she heard determined footsteps coming across the stone hall floor beyond the room she put the glass down on a silver tray.

By the time Nicolo Santo Domenico entered the room Chiara’s hands were behind her back and she was as composed as she could be, considering she felt as if she’d just been body-slammed by a ton weight.

He stopped in front of her, too close for comfort.

‘Well? Is that enough proof for you? A graveyard full of my ancestors?’ His voice rang with cold condemnation.

He towered over Chiara and she moved away, across the room, Spiro trotting loyally beside her. She put her hand on the dog’s head, as if he could offer protection or a way out of this madness.

Eventually she said truthfully, ‘I... I don’t know what to say. I had no idea about any of this...’

He lifted a hand. ‘Please. I don’t know why you insist on this charade of ignorance, because it serves no purpose.’ He dropped his hand and his gaze narrowed on her. ‘Unless, of course, your parents warned you that this could happen. That once the castello was vulnerable again the Santo Domenicos might return to stake our claim...’

Chiara shook her head, feeling sick, wondering just how much her parents had known. ‘No, they never said anything. I never heard anything.’

He sounded disgusted now. ‘That’s impossible—unless you were a total recluse.’

Chiara wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. His words cut far too close to the bone.

She forced out, ‘Whether or not what you say is true...and I have to admit that the graveyard does support your claim...the castello is out of your reach as much as mine now. Shouldn’t you be talking to the bank instead of me?’

She couldn’t stop the bitter note to her voice, still coming to terms with this news herself, so soon after her parents’ deaths.

Nicolo Santo Domenico looked at her for such a long moment that Chiara almost snapped at him to stop. She felt like a specimen on a laboratory table, never more aware of her drabness next to his glorious vitality. She would bet that he’d travelled all over the world and probably hadn’t been that impressed by it.

And then he said abruptly, ‘I presume if you had a choice you would prefer to retain ownership of the castello?’

The sharp pang of loss just at the thought of leaving struck Chiara right in her heart. ‘Of course. It’s my home—the only home I’ve ever known. My whole family is buried here.’

Like his. Her conscience pricked.

‘The only thing standing in your way of retaining the castello is a lack of funds.’

Chiara curbed her irritation. ‘I’m aware of that, but unfortunately I don’t have the funds.’ She had nothing.

‘I do have the funds.’

Chiara looked at him trying to ascertain where he was going with this. ‘Is that why you’ve come? To humiliate me on behalf of your family by pointing out that you now have the power to buy the castello?’

He shook his head, still looking at her with that disconcerting intensity. ‘Nothing so petty as that. What I’m saying is that I could give you the funds to pay off the debt and retain the castello.’

‘Why would you do that?’ He didn’t strike her as remotely charitable. Certainly not to his family’s bitter enemy. He’d been barely civil since he’d arrived.

‘I would do that because if I was to engage with the bank to buy the castello it would be a lengthy and tedious process. The castello needs serious refurbishment, and the sooner this happens, the better. I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity.’

Chiara struggled to try and understand. ‘But how do I fit into this?’

‘Until the bank takes possession you’re still the owner. If you pay off the debt you retain the castello. I am offering you a deal to do that on your behalf.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why would I agree to that?’

‘Because you’d get to remain at the castello. You wouldn’t have to leave your home. Isn’t that what you want?’

Chiara felt seriously confused now. ‘Yes, but...how on earth would that work?’

His dark eyes seemed to bore all the way through her. ‘It’s very simple, really. You would marry me as soon as possible.’

* * *

Chiara looked at Nicolo Santo Domenico in shock. Eventually she managed to formulate words. ‘Why on earth would you want me to marry you?’

Apart from anything else, she had to be a million miles removed from the type of woman a man like this went out with. She’d pored over glossy magazines for years, lamenting her untameable hair and full figure. Not to mention her zero fashion sense. She knew her limitations.

‘Like I told you, dealing with the bank would be tedious and time-consuming. It would take months—maybe even longer. Through marriage to you the castello will become mine within a much shorter space of time.’

Understanding finally sank in. So that was why he wanted to marry her. He was so arrogant and preposterous she could barely take it in. The thought of even considering any kind of intimate relationship with someone like him was totally ludicrous. And yet... She couldn’t deny the very illicit beat of awareness deep within her. It shamed her. She wanted his disturbing presence gone.

‘I think you’ve said enough. Your proposal—’ She stopped for a second as that word rang in her head. ‘It’s not even a proposal... What you’ve just said is frankly ridiculous. I have no desire to marry a complete stranger—for any reason.’

For a moment he looked at her, and then he turned abruptly and went to the window. Much to her disgust, Chiara couldn’t stop her gaze moving over his broad shoulders, where the material of his jacket moulded to hard muscles.

He turned back to face her and she lifted her gaze guiltily.

‘I should have expected that you would take this as an opportunity to thwart the Santo Domenicos one last time, but you should know that my acquisition of the castello is going to happen—with your help or not.’

Chiara felt frustrated. ‘I told you—I had no idea about any of this. Why would I want to thwart you? What happens to the castello once the bank takes possession is out of my control!’

‘Not if you marry me.’

He really was serious.

For a moment Chiara let herself imagine what it might be like not to have to leave the place where she’d just buried her parents and a wave of emotion nearly felled her. But at such a cost!

It was all too much.

Chiara felt Spiro nudge her thigh and she went over to sit down in a chair, afraid her legs wouldn’t keep holding her up.

She looked up at Nicolo Santo Domenico. ‘You can’t possibly mean to marry me. You despise me. My family. And why would I agree to such a union? With a man who has married me solely for the castello?’

* * *

Faced with Chiara Caruso, back in this room, Nico was more convinced than ever that his plan was a good one. He knew exactly why she should agree to such a union. To give him what he wanted. To repay some of the huge debt her family owed his family. What better wife could he choose for himself than a traditional Sicilian woman? And one who was indebted to him.

‘You owe me. You are the last Caruso, and I am the last Santo Domenico.’

She stood up, agitated. ‘I don’t owe you my life!’

‘My deceased ancestors lying outside in the graveyard have had their lives all but wiped out of history.’

Nico realised that if they married the Caruso name would disappear for ever. It called to the devil inside him. Karma.

Chiara’s hands were clasped in front of her and Nico was aware of her breasts, full and high, moving rapidly under her dress. A spike of arousal went straight to his groin and he had to control his response with an effort that was surprising.

He had to admit that this attraction he felt was unprecedented, and had inspired this audacious plan even though she wasn’t remotely his type. But something about her lush and curvy body called to a very base part of him that seemed biologically programmed to recognise a mate, regardless of what his head might want.

He’d done some research on Chiara Caruso before this meeting and had found no pictures and little or no information. She didn’t appear to have done much at all. Not attended university nor worked.

She was looking at him now with wide, clear green eyes and he felt very warm all of a sudden. It was as if she could see all the way through him and right into his mind. Read his thoughts. It was a very disconcerting sensation for someone who kept his innermost thoughts private.

But it wasn’t disconcerting enough to make him change his mind. He’d come to Sicily to reclaim his family’s legacy and he vowed right now that he wouldn’t be leaving without making this woman his wife. Whatever it took.

He said, ‘What I’m proposing is a marriage of convenience. A business transaction. I will put up the money to pay off the bank and in return you will marry me and sign a contract that gives me sole ownership of the castello. However, through marriage to me, you will have the right to live here for the rest of your life.’

She went pale. ‘Are you totally out of your mind?’

‘Not at all. In case I’m not making myself absolutely clear, I don’t see this marriage as anything more than a business merger and a way to have heirs. Through them, the Santo Domenico name will flourish again after being all but decimated.’

Heirs? Chiara barely registered that as shock reverberated through her body. ‘But me... Why would you want to marry me when you could marry any woman in the world?’

‘Like I said, I have no desire to deal with the bank on this matter. And as I never intend to marry for love—’

‘Why not?’ she interrupted, momentarily distracted enough to want to know if there was some reason for his cold-bloodedness.

Nico’s insides clenched. Because his mother had abandoned him and his father when Nico was just weeks old and left his father a bitter, broken man all his life. Because people used love as a way to manipulate and distract. Nico had almost lost everything he’d built up because he’d fancied himself in love with a woman. Thankfully he’d come to his senses just in time. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten.