Hot Christmas Nights: Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding / His for Revenge / Mistletoe Not Required

Chapter Eight

ACROSS the divide of the coastal path, Cassie stared at her black-eyed Italian lover as he came out with his extraordinary statement. For a moment, she wondered if the raw cawing sound of the circling seagulls had distorted what he’d said. But he had meant every word—she could tell that from the cold, grim look on his face, as if he had just been forced to do something against his will. And of course, he had, hadn’t he?

Opening her mouth to answer him, she could hear nothing but the screaming birds and the helpless thunder of her heart. ‘What…what on earth are you talking about, Giancarlo?’

‘I am talking about marriage!’ His mouth hardened as another blast of cold wind gusted through his hair. ‘A marriage to legitimise the child we have created between us.’

It was a bald declaration and completely lacking in romance but, in a stupid way, Cassie was grateful for that. Because it meant that she could deal with it in an equally cold-blooded way—even though once she would have rejoiced at the thought of Giancarlo making such a proposition.

‘But we no longer live in that kind of world!’ she protested. ‘Where couples have to wed just because the woman’s pregnant.’

His eyes were icy. ‘You think that perhaps there is an alternative?’

‘Of…of course there is. We can work something out—there are plenty of civilised ways of going about this. Women do it all the time.’

‘Not with my child, they don’t!’ he snarled.

‘Listen.’ Cassie sucked in a deep breath, knowing that she needed to stay calm. ‘I will never deny you access, Giancarlo—I promise you that.’

‘You will never deny me access,’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Do you think you hold all the power, Cassandra?’

‘But this isn’t about power! It’s not some boardroom battle which you’ve got to win!’ she answered, thinking that pregnancy could make a woman strong. That the new life growing inside her could help her throw off some of the fears which had blighted her old life. And she would not let her rich lover trample all over her. Ex-lover, she reminded herself bitterly. ‘It’s about a baby!’

He sucked in a ragged breath as shadows of the past came back to haunt him. ‘You think I don’t know that? That I would be here if it weren’t for a baby?’

Cassie flinched as he unwittingly told her how little she meant to him. ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of making so fundamental a mistake as that,’ she said dully.

‘Then what kind of man do you think I am? One who will walk away? Or one who can just be fobbed off—who will stand on the sidelines while you control the fate of my child?’

‘And you think that offering me marriage will make it better?’ She thought about the reality of the situation. A marriage between a billionaire and a shop-girl—a woman he had chosen to have no more than a three-week affair with. Was he out of his mind? ‘Tell me how that’s supposed to work?’

‘We will make it work,’ he ground out. ‘Because we have to. Because there is a baby and we owe it to that baby.’ The thought of his seed growing inside her made his gut clench with unfamiliar emotion—but he could see the terrible whitening of her face and could not be sure whether the faint sway of her delicate frame was due to the bitingly cold air or to shock. And suddenly he was appalled at himself. That he should rail against a woman who was with child! Cupping her elbow with his hand, he was taken aback by how frail she felt beneath the waterproof jacket she wore and his face tensed. ‘And we cannot talk here. Come. Veni.’

She was aware that he was guiding her down the path to the small car park, where his car sat beside the churning sea, looking incongruously luxurious with its black and gleaming bodywork. And never had she been more grateful for its cushioned warmth as she climbed in the back seat, with Giancarlo sliding in beside her.

He turned to her as she pulled off the woollen hat—thinking that the single plait of hair which tumbled down made her look ridiculously young. ‘Who else knows about this?’

‘No one.’

‘Not even your mother?’

‘Especially not my mother.’ She met the question in his black eyes and gave a hollow laugh. ‘Funnily enough, mothers aren’t crazy about their daughters getting pregnant by men they’ve only just met and then split up with.’

‘She knows the nature of our relationship?’

‘Of course she doesn’t! She knows I…met someone.’ And hadn’t Cassie seen concern pleat her mother’s brow as she had gently tried to ask her daughter if anything was wrong?

‘But she will approve of our marriage,’ he said slowly. ‘She will approve of me.’

It wasn’t a question, Cassie realised—but a proud statement. And she supposed that when you were stunningly successful and powerful and had always had every woman you wanted—bar the one who had broken your heart—you would develop a certain arrogant pride in your own worth. To Giancarlo’s mind he was exactly the kind of catch that every mother secretly wanted for her daughter. ‘Because you’re rich, you mean?’

‘Because I will be able to provide for you, and our child.’ His voice dipped. ‘But approval—while preferable—is not essential. For I will never give up what is rightfully mine.’

Rightfully mine. His words of stark possession appalled her—even though she understood exactly where they were coming from. Cassie stared into the determined set of his proud features, remembering how his family inheritance had been taken by his twin brother because of an accident of birth. And because of that, a baby would mean more to him than to most men, she realised. This baby was going to be his first-born. The child who would inherit. The child he had never been. Suddenly, she saw just why he would never give up on his baby and a feeling of dread closed like a dark net over her heart.

‘So it’s a done deal,’ she said, in a voice which sounded hollow.

‘Indeed it is. I am glad that you are beginning to see sense, mia bella,’ he said softly. ‘All we need now is to work out the best way of presenting it.’

His thumb moved from his chin to his mouth in a slow, rhythmical movement as he caressed its cushioned outline reflectively. Cassie had seen him do this when she’d been living with him—usually when he was deep in thought and tussling over some business wrangle. But this wasn’t about business, was it?

She stared at the narrowed eyes and the resolute light which gleamed from them. Maybe it was. ‘And how do you propose we go about that, Giancarlo?’

His black eyes were brilliant as they met hers. ‘We will marry immediately,’ he said softly. ‘But we will keep news of your pregnancy secret.’

‘Why?’

‘Because your mother is more likely to give her blessing if she feels that love is involved.’

‘Oh, how…cynical,’ she breathed.

‘Or realistic?’ he parried. ‘People’s lives and futures don’t necessarily fit the story-book version, cara—and the world is less likely to be damning of the union if it is not sold as a forced marriage.’

Cassie felt sick. Not sold, he had said—as if he were in the middle of some wretched marketing exercise! And weren’t his concerns more about his own pride and ego? Not wanting it to look as if he had been forced into marriage but had chosen it of his own free will. ‘You’re not exactly selling it to me,’ she said in a low voice.

At this he stilled—and moved the thumb which had remained thoughtfully on his lips to rest on hers, and that contact made him start and take notice. How cold they felt in contrast to the warmth of his own flesh, he thought fleetingly. And wasn’t he going about this in the wrong way? Wouldn’t it suit his purpose to have her purring with pleasure—to use his considerable influence and sexual power over her to make her more accessible to his wishes?

‘Aren’t I?’ he said softly, leaning towards her, his breath warming the icy tremble of her lips. ‘How very remiss of me, bella. I wonder how best I can go about that? Mmm? Any ideas?’

His face was close. Too close. Close enough for its hard contours and aristocratic lines to mock her for what could never be. To make her long for the impossible. Cassie closed her eyes, knowing that he was going to kiss her—and, if she was being honest, she supposed that she wanted him to kiss her. To seal a deal which he had never wanted to make. But also because she had missed his kisses and all the closeness and intimacy which went with them.

He had tutored her in the sweet pleasures of the flesh and hadn’t her newly awakened body ached for him? But at least by blotting out the sight of his mocking face she might be able to protect her emotions from the grim recognition that this was simply a business arrangement.

His mouth grazed over hers—and despite all the misgivings which stabbed at her heart it ignited instant fire in the pit of her belly. Back and forth his lips touched in light provocation, until the desire to put her arms around him overrode all other considerations like pride and self-respect. Biting back a small cry of something which felt like relief, Cassie clung to his shoulders as if she had found dry land after being lost at sea—and for a moment she felt safe as she let the kiss deepen and felt his tongue move inside her mouth.

He pulled her close, cushioning her silken hair in the palms of his hands and, after a while, he drew away from her, trying to steady the sudden shudder of his breathing.

‘That is better. Much better. Now listen to me, Cassandra—for this is important. You will go home—and you will tell your mother that you are going to marry the man you met in London.’

Cassie swallowed. ‘And if she asks me why?’

‘You will tell her that you love me.’

‘But I—’

‘You don’t love me?’ he interjected mockingly. ‘You know that and I know that—but that can be our little secret, Cassandra.’

‘Another one?’ she interjected bitterly. ‘How many secrets will we have between us?’

He shrugged, still stroking her hair. ‘In life, as in business—it is always wise to hold something back.’

‘But this is different!’

‘No, it is not different. The principle is exactly the same. Let’s not overload your family and friends with too many surprises all at once.’ His dark eyes glittered. ‘And why don’t we look at facts instead of fantasy? Love has never guaranteed matrimonial success—statistics show that arranged marriages fare much better.’

‘N-not in the kind of world I’ve grown up in,’ she answered shakily. ‘And anyway, people are bound to be suspicious.

His mouth hardened. ‘Then distract them by telling them that I am letting you choose a wedding venue anywhere in the world. Give them something else to think about other than the speed with which the ceremony is taking place.’

For a moment, Cassie was torn between horror and admiration for the sheer cold-bloodedness of his proposal. He really was a cynic. Did he think that her mother would be swept away by the promise of a luxury wedding? Maybe he did. He had told her himself that he had a lifelong mistrust of women—and hadn’t the only woman he had ever loved been blinded by the dazzle of wealth? The question was whether she should walk straight into an arranged marriage with such a man.

But what alternative did she have?

She tried to imagine the reality of going it alone as a single mother. Her mother’s initial shock and disappointment would inevitably give way to affection—and any baby would be welcomed and adored into their little home. But it wasn’t her mother’s responsibility—and having a grandchild would impact heavily on her life. She was only just emerging from the grief of widowhood—and didn’t she deserve a little freedom of her own?

Cassie thought about leaving a little baby while she went to work in the shop—and even if she got her promotion there would be hardly enough money to go round. She would be subjecting her child to a lifetime of making-do—while all the time the powerful and wealthy persona of his father would be hovering in the background.

And wouldn’t Giancarlo be preparing to strike at the earliest opportunity? Eager to seize the chance to take the baby away from her. To whisk him or her off to London—or, worse, another capital city—where her child might become gradually inaccessible to her, protected by the impermeable barriers of great wealth.

There was something else, too—something she didn’t want to acknowledge, even to herself. That the world seemed less frightening when Giancarlo was by her side. In a funny kind of way, he made her feel safe. He could make her heart leap with desire just by the brief brush of his lips. Somehow, he had the ability to make her feel alive—truly alive.

With a little nod of her head, she realised that capitulation was the only way forward—a sort of gritting her teeth and making the best of it.

‘When?’ she asked him. ‘When shall I do this?’

‘Do it today,’ he commanded softly. ‘And later, I will come and meet with your mother myself.’

So Cassie went home and broke the news that she was getting married. And she could see another reason for keeping her pregnancy secret. Deep down, wasn’t she worried that her mother might try to talk her out of marrying Giancarlo—and wasn’t it peculiar to discover that she didn’t want to be talked out of it? As if by some wishful-thinking kind of magic she might be able to shuffle the hand that fate had dealt her and find something hopeful in the cards which lay before her.

In a slightly surreal state, she watched her mother’s uncertainty become dawning delight when an impossibly elegant Giancarlo turned up on their tiny doorstep later that evening. The stern and serious expression on his face was tempered by the celebratory bottle of champagne he carried and, later, by the captivating quality of his smile.

Cassie felt appalled at just how utterly convincing and ruthless he could be in his pursuit of what he wanted. It was a side of him she had seen only once before—when he had bamboozled Hudson’s into not charging her with theft. She listened as he vowed to her mother that he would look after her and said that they both wanted the wedding to take place as soon as possible—and that he hoped there were no objections to that. Maybe if it had been anyone else her mother might have had a few. But who in their right mind could object to Giancarlo when he was ladling on the charm with a trowel?

And it was only after he’d gone that her mother turned to her, a dreamy kind of smile on her face.

‘Oh, darling,’ she said. ‘Now I can see exactly why you don’t want to wait.’

Cassie managed a bright smile as she met her mother’s eyes—her mother who had enjoyed a strong and loving marriage herself. What could she say? Because the truth of it was that part of her was longing to be Giancarlo’s bride and to wear his ring on her finger—despite knowing how foolish her little dreams were. Was that what people meant when they talked about hope triumphing over experience?

They were married quietly, in London—because that had seemed the most appropriate venue after all. Giancarlo’s offer of a wedding anywhere in the world had seemed like something someone else would do—not Cassie—and she was still smarting from all the accusations of being a gold-digger which he’d hurled at her. And so, despite only ever having been to Paris, she turned down New York and the West Indies and all the other luxury destinations he assured her were there for the taking.

She found herself caught up in a new and very efficient machine—one which was powered by money—and some of her new-found confidence seemed to desert her as a consequence. She would never have to save for anything again, she realised—with an odd little pang of nostalgia. Anything she and her baby wanted would be hers for the taking—and all she had to do was ask.

A hurried shopping trip produced a cream cashmere dress and jacket to protect her from the January chill—but the arum lilies which she carried seemed waxy and unreal. And, in contrast to the paleness of her own wedding outfit, Giancarlo seemed to represent everything that was black—with his jet hair and eyes and the dark, formal suit emphasising every honed fibre of his powerful body.

The wedding was small—Cassie’s mother and Gavin were their witnesses and, although Giancarlo told her to invite anyone she wanted, she couldn’t think of anyone apart from some of her school friends. And somehow it seemed strange to send out invites to a wedding when nobody knew them as a couple.

Because they weren’t really a couple at all, were they? They were never intended to be—and if it weren’t for his seed growing deep in her belly, then they wouldn’t be here at all.

As the car drew up outside the registrar’s office Cassie turned to Giancarlo—nervously fingering the white satin ribbon on her bridal bouquet. She looked up into the gleaming black eyes and longed for him to pull her into his arms, to tell her that it was all going to be fine. But the expression on his face seemed shuttered and tense, as if he couldn’t wait for the whole day to be over. And hadn’t she decided that she was going to be positive—to support him and be as much of a real wife as he would allow her to be?

‘Didn’t you want to invite any of your friends to the ceremony?’ she asked him softly.

‘No, I decided against it—it’s all too much of a rush. Word might get out to the press and I’d prefer for that not to happen. Don’t worry, mia bella piccola—you will be introduced to them all soon enough.’

Cassie stared down at her fancy cream wedding shoes, wondering if he was ashamed of her—or worried that one of them would try to talk him out of it.

‘Now come along,’ he urged softly as the bitter January air blew into the car, and Cassie shivered despite the warm cashmere. ‘Time for you to become Signora Vellutini.’

The wedding band was a sliver of platinum which seemed too big for her frozen finger, and afterwards they ate lunch with her mother and Gavin at a discreet and slick hotel not far from Giancarlo’s house. But despite the obstetrician she’d consulted in his plush Harley Street surgery assuring her that the occasional small glass of wine would be perfectly acceptable, Cassie could take only one sip of the fine champagne before quickly putting down the glass. It tasted sour. Acidic. Did her mother guess why she wasn’t drinking alcohol? she wondered.

But it was clear to Cassie that her mum had a wonderful time—Giancarlo made sure of that. So much so that at times she felt almost like an outsider as she watched him employing more of that careless charm which had her mother laughing softly in response. And wasn’t that what had drawn her to him in the first place—that whole package of charisma and confidence and a determination to get what he wanted? It just seemed like such a long time ago when he had strolled up to her little stand exuding danger and sex appeal and she had melted like candle wax. She felt as if she’d lived a whole lifetime since then.

Her mother left when the meal had ended—driven off in some style all the way back to Cornwall while Cassie and Giancarlo stood waving her off, her new husband’s arm resting lightly around her shoulder.

‘Your mother seemed happy enough,’ he commented.

‘Yes.’

He turned her in his arms to face him. ‘You think she approves of your new husband, Cassandra?’

‘You know she does.’

Giancarlo looked down at her, thinking how fragile and brittle she appeared—almost as if she might break in two. Like a china doll wearing her wedding finery. His eyes narrowed as he realised just how chalk-white her face was and the passion he had always felt for her was now tempered by a need to protect her, and to protect his baby. From now on, she must be cosseted, he realised grimly—for she did not appear to have been looking after herself.

‘I think it’s time to go home,’ he said roughly. ‘Don’t you?’

Cassie touched the petal of a waxy lily and swallowed. ‘Yes.’

But as the car drew to a smooth halt outside the massive town house she felt her stomach perform some kind of somersault. How peculiar it was to stand in front of that same house which had so intimidated her not very long ago. To now be able to call it her home. And to have the door opened by Gina—who surely felt much more comfortable in residence there than the new bride did?

The housekeeper smiled. ‘Welcome home and congratulations, Signora Vellutini,’ she said quietly.

Cassie nodded, feeling faintly ridiculous as she clutched her bouquet and gave Gina an uncertain smile. It was impossible to know what Gina was thinking—what was going on behind her own, rather formal smile. Did the housekeeper resent a new mistress coming into the house she had controlled for so long? she wondered.

‘Thank you so much, Gina,’ she answered quietly.

Once the housekeeper had gone, Cassie turned to Giancarlo and she reached out her hand to touch her fingers to the faint shadowing at his jaw. It seemed a long time since she had touched him—and she felt oddly nervous about doing so again. And maybe it was time to snap out of the strange, dreamlike atmosphere which had been present all day.

‘Perhaps I put things a little clumsily earlier,’ she said softly. ‘I just wanted you to know that my mother had a wonderful time today, Giancarlo. Thank you.’