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It was particularly poignant that Pietro had given his life for the wine that he was so proud of, he thought. Winemaking had been in Pietro Marelli’s blood. A third generation vintner, with no son to pass his knowledge on to, he had instead shared his expertise with Salvatore. But, more than that, Pietro had been a substitute father who had welcomed a lonely boy into his home and his heart. Every school holiday Salvatore had returned to the Castellano estate and rushed to see Pietro first, knowing that Tito, his father, would be working in his office and would not welcome being disturbed.
It was strange that he could remember his childhood but had no memory of the accident, Salvatore brooded. He had a clear vision of himself as a ten-year-old boy, walking through the vineyards with Pietro to inspect the grapes, but no recollection of the events that had happened after he had got behind the wheel of his car and driven Adriana away from that party. All he remembered was waking to find he was in hospital and being told that his wife had been killed when their car had spun out of control on a mountain road and plunged over the edge.
The doctor had told Salvatore he had been lucky to escape with his life, albeit with a seriously mangled right leg and a head injury. It had caused no permanent brain damage. His amnesia, so the specialist suspected, was psychogenic. In layman’s terms, his inability to remember the accident, or much of his marriage, was his brain’s defence mechanism in order to blot out the grim fact that he was responsible for his wife’s death.
Salvatore felt a familiar surge of frustration as he tried to cast his mind back in time and hit a wall of blackness. It seemed inconceivable that he could have married a woman, who had given birth to his child, and yet he had no recollection of their relationship. His mother-in-law had put photographs of Adriana everywhere in the castle, but when he looked at the pictures of his wife he felt no connection to her.
The specialist had told him it was likely his memory would eventually return, but until it did Salvatore felt he was trapped in a dark place, with no past and no future, unable to forgive himself for robbing his daughter of her mother.
He kneaded his throbbing temples with his fingers and thought about the rest of his conversation with his brother. Sergio had reported better news about the estate workers who had been burned in the fire. Their injuries were serious, but thankfully not life-threatening.
Hearing a tap on the study door, Salvatore turned his head and watched Darcey enter the room. Her silky copper-brown hair framed her face, and she had taken off her jacket. He could see the shape of her small, firm breasts beneath her blouse. His analytical brain registered that she was very attractive, but he was surprised by the bolt of awareness that shot through him. Earlier, in her office, he had ignored the sexual chemistry between them, but tonight, to his annoyance, his eyes were drawn to the curve of her mouth and he fleetingly imagined covering her soft lips with his.
None of his thoughts were revealed on his hard features, however. ‘Is Rosa asleep?’
‘Do you care?’ Green eyes flashed fire at him. ‘Your daughter went to bed forty minutes ago and stayed awake for ages, waiting for you come and wish her goodnight.’
‘I apologise.’ Salvatore’s eyes narrowed on Darcey’s furious face. ‘I had to deal with an important matter.’
‘It’s not me you should apologise to. Rosa was disappointed when you didn’t show up.’ Darcey’s mouth tightened. As she had watched Rosa struggling to stay awake she had recalled doing the same thing when she had been a child, waiting for her father to come home from the theatre. On the nights when Joshua had remembered to come up and kiss her goodnight she had fallen asleep feeling happy, but sometimes he’d forgotten and then she had cried herself to sleep.
Salvatore seemed to be unaware of how much his little girl needed him. Darcey glared at him, wishing she could ignore his potent masculinity. He had discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal darkly tanned forearms covered with a mass of black hair. His brooding sensuality was dangerously attractive—but she wasn’t looking for danger or excitement, wasn’t looking for a man at all. And certainly not one who made her feel so acutely aware of her femininity.
‘What could possibly be more important than your daughter?’ she demanded. ‘How could you have left her for several hours with a complete stranger?’
‘You work with children in your professional capacity. I knew you would take care of her. The butler told me that Rosa seemed quite happy with you.’
His casual attitude inflamed Darcey’s temper. ‘So your butler is an expert in child psychology, is he?’ she said sarcastically. ‘You are unbelievable!’
She turned back to the door. It was none of her business that Salvatore was so distant from his daughter, she reminded herself. Rosa was a sweet little girl, but Darcey was not going to allow her soft heart to overrule her common sense, which was telling her she needed to walk out of this marble house and away from Salvatore Castellano and his sad-eyed little daughter.
‘I can’t believe your uncaring attitude to Rosa,’ she said disgustedly. ‘The poor little scrap doesn’t have a mother and, to be frank, from what I’ve seen she doesn’t have much of a father.’
Her words hit Salvatore as if she had physically slapped him, but he revealed no emotion on his chiselled features. He was not used to being criticised and was irritated that he felt the need to explain himself to Darcey.
‘I usually visit Rosa to wish her goodnight, but I’ve already said that unfortunately I was detained this evening.’
‘You were too busy working to spare a few minutes for a lonely little girl?’ Darcey said scathingly, recalling how Rosa said that her father was always busy in his office.
Salvatore’s jaw tightened. ‘Earlier this afternoon there was a fire in one of the warehouses at my winery in Sicily. Hundreds of barrels of prized wine have been destroyed, but much worse than that, three of the estate workers were injured in the blaze. I have been making arrangements for the men to be flown to a specialist burns unit on mainland Italy and organising for their families to be with them. I had not forgotten about Rosa, but I admit I was so involved with the crisis at home that I did not realise how late it was.’
He raked a hand through his hair and Darcey noticed the lines of strain around his eyes. He hid his emotions well, but he was clearly concerned about the workers injured in the fire.
‘The agency that sent Sharon does not have another nanny on their books who is able to use sign language, and I haven’t had time to try a different agency.’ His dark eyes sought Darcey’s. ‘But thank you for taking care of Rosa this evening. The least I can do is offer you dinner here with me tonight.’
‘No, thank you. I have to go.’
The idea of spending another five minutes alone with Salvatore filled Darcey with panic. His explanation about why he had not come up to the nursery to see Rosa was understandable, but she still sensed that there were issues with his relationship with his daughter that she did not understand. She did not want to get involved with this enigmatic man whose seductively husky voice was causing her heart to beat too fast.
Without another word she hurried out of the study. Her jacket and laptop were on the chair in the hall, where she had left them, but as she walked over to them, with the intention of continuing out through the front door, Salvatore’s voice stopped her.
‘Can your conscience allow you to abandon Rosa?’
‘Me abandon her?’ She spun round and glared at him. ‘That’s rich, coming from her father—who can’t be bothered to spend time with her and expects the staff to care for her. My conscience has nothing to worry about.’
As she uttered the words Darcey discovered that her conscience was far from happy. The image of Rosa’s trusting expression when she had tucked her into bed tugged on her heart. She remembered how the little girl had signed that she was afraid of the dark. Many young children shared the same fear, but for a deaf child that feeling of isolation must be worse.
‘I have left notes of my assessment on Rosa which you can pass to another speech therapist when you find one who is prepared to go to Sicily.’
‘My daughter has already bonded with you.’
She tried to ignore the pull his words had on her emotions. ‘I suppose your butler told you that?’ she said sarcastically.
‘No, I saw for myself that Rosa likes you.’
Salvatore hesitated and to Darcey’s surprise a hint of emotion flickered across his face.
‘I came to see her while she was eating her dinner. The two of you were laughing together...’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Why didn’t you join us?’
‘Rosa looked like she was having fun, and I did not want to interrupt.’
The truth was he had felt jealous as he had watched his daughter interacting with Darcey, Salvatore acknowledged to himself. Rosa did not laugh very often—not with him, anyway. The only time she seemed truly happy was when she was playing with her cousin, Nico.
He wished he could breach the distance that existed between them. A distance he felt was widening as she grew older. Even though Rosa could now hear with the cochlear implants, he did not know how to reach his little girl. Deep in his heart he admitted that he found her deafness difficult to accept. In his darkest thoughts he wondered if he was to blame for her loss of hearing.
Why was he allowing his mind to dwell on the blackness within him? Salvatore asked himself. He was sure that Darcey’s expertise would enable her to help Rosa learn to talk and, more than that, he felt instinctively that she would be able to connect with his daughter in a way he could not. When he had stood outside the dining room and watched her with Rosa he had been struck by her genuine kindness to his daughter. Somehow he had to persuade her to come to Sicily.
‘Rosa needs you.’
Darcey hesitated, her indecision apparent on her expressive face. Salvatore sensed that she was close to giving in. He glanced towards the butler, who had stepped into the hall.
‘The chef has prepared dinner for you and your guest, sir.’
The timing was perfect. ‘Thank you, Melton. Ms Rivers and I will make our way to the dining room,’ Salvatore said smoothly.
CHAPTER THREE
‘IT IS MY fault you were delayed tonight, and I feel bad at the thought of you driving home to cook a meal this late in the evening.’ Salvatore forestalled the argument he could see Darcey was about to make. ‘Also, my chef is French, and very temperamental. If he is upset he’s likely to serve me frogs’ legs for breakfast.’
Darcey chewed on her bottom lip, disconcerted by the revelation that Salvatore had a sense of humour. She was torn between wanting to leave, which was by far the most sensible option, and a wholly emotional response to his daughter, who aroused her sympathy.
While she dithered Salvatore opened the door to the dining room. ‘Come and eat,’ he invited.
His harsh tone had softened and the sensual warmth in his voice melted Darcey’s resistance. Against her better judgement she followed him.
The moment she sat down at the table the butler appeared, to serve a first course of classic French consommé. The piquant aroma rising up from the bowl teased her tastebuds and her stomach gave a growl, reminding her that it was hours since she had eaten a sandwich for lunch.
The butler offered her wine, but knowing that she had to drive home she refused and opted for water. To her surprise, Salvatore did the same. She glanced at chiselled features that gave no clue to his thoughts and sensed that his mind was far away. He was not the most talkative host, she thought ruefully as she searched her mind for something to say to break the silence.
‘Why did you choose to become a vintner?’
He shrugged. ‘As a child I was drawn to the vineyards. I was fascinated to see the grapes swell on the vines and I wanted to understand the process by which they were turned into wine. I was lucky enough to have a good teacher.’
‘Your father?’
‘No.’
Salvatore saw that Darcey was surprised by his curt reply, but her questions had ripped open his heart and exposed the pain he had been trying avoid for the past hours. He did not have time to mourn for Pietro now. He would pay his respects to his old friend when he returned to Sicily. But for one of only a few times in his life his emotions threatened to overwhelm him and grief lay heavy in his heart. The painkillers he had taken had not kicked in yet, and his head throbbed. He wished he could be alone, but it was important that he secured Darcey Rivers’s agreement to take the job as Rosa’s speech therapist.
Truly, she had never met such a surly man as Salvatore, Darcey thought as she gave up trying to make conversation and finished her soup. She could see it was going to be hard work to persuade him to interact with his daughter.
It was a relief when the butler arrived to serve the main course of herb-crusted salmon and new potatoes. She picked up her knife and fork and realised that they were made of solid silver, to match the ornate candelabra standing in the centre of the table. Glancing around the sumptuous dining room, she found her attention caught by the painting on the wall that she had noticed when she had brought Rosa down to dinner earlier.
‘That can’t be an original Monet?’ she murmured. She had recently read in a newspaper that one original Monet painting had sold for several million pounds.
Salvatore flicked a brief glance at the painting. ‘It is.’
Darcey looked at him curiously. ‘Are you interested in art?’ An appreciation of art suggested that beneath his granite exterior he might actually be human.
‘I am interested in artwork for its investment value.’
She grimaced. ‘That’s not what I meant. Are you only interested in things for their financial worth?’
‘Money makes the world go round,’ he said sardonically. ‘And, speaking of money...’ He slid a piece of paper across the table towards her. ‘This is the amount I am prepared to pay if you will agree to come to Sicily.’
Her heart lurched as she stared at the figure scrawled on the cheque.
‘I hope you will find the amount adequate recompense for forgoing your holiday. I thought the money would be useful for when you establish your private practice.’
‘It certainly would be,’ she said faintly. If she accepted the money she would not have to apply for a bank loan to set up her business, Darcey mused. Heck, she wouldn’t have to work at all for a year. ‘You must have a huge amount of faith that I will be able to help Rosa.’
Salvatore shrugged. ‘I trust James Forbes’s judgement that you are an excellent speech therapist, and of course I checked your qualifications before I made the decision to appoint you.’
Darcey stared at Salvatore’s hard-boned face and felt chilled by his complete lack of emotion. It was no good telling herself that Rosa was not her problem. The little girl needed her—just as her sister had needed her help and support when Mina had struggled to cope with her deafness. But Salvatore’s arrogant assumption that she would be impressed by his wealth infuriated her. He was going to find out that, although he might be used to flashing his money around to get whatever he wanted, he could not buy her.
‘You have no idea, do you?’ she said as she tore up the cheque and pushed the pieces back across the table.
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. Why had he thought that Darcey might be different from the countless other women he had met who were seduced by his wealth? he asked himself derisively. Clearly she was out to get what she could, and having recognised an original Monet on the wall had decided to push for more.
‘Is it not enough money?’ he demanded curtly.
‘It’s an obscene amount of money.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know—and that’s the saddest part. You think money can buy you anything you want. But money won’t help your daughter learn to speak. Rosa needs time, patience and support—and not only from a speech therapist,’ Darcey said, guessing what Salvatore was about to say. ‘She needs those things from you.’
Darcey stared at Salvatore’s shuttered expression and despaired of making him understand how vital his input would be with his daughter’s therapy. With a resigned sigh she mentally waved goodbye to her holiday in France. Her conscience would not allow her to abandon Rosa.
‘I have decided to go Sicily with you.’ She saw a flash of surprise cross his hard features as he glanced at the torn up cheque. She continued crisply, ‘My fee will be the same as the monthly salary I was paid by the health authority. I don’t want any more than that. I am prepared to stay at your castle and give Rosa intensive speech therapy for three months, during which time I will help you to find another therapist who can provide her with long-term support. I have to be back in London at the end of September. That’s non-negotiable,’ she added, seeing the questioning look in Salvatore’s eyes.
‘Why do you have to be back then?’
‘Personal reasons.’
Darcey briefly considered explaining why she had to return to London at the end of the summer, but she was reluctant to reveal that she was a member of the famous Hart family. She’d had previous experiences of people trying to befriend her because of her family connections—not least her ex-husband.
Memories crowded her mind: an image of Marcus in their bed with a naked woman. He hadn’t even had the decency to look repentant, she remembered. But worse humiliation had followed in the ensuing row, when he had admitted that he had not married her because he loved her, but for the kudos of being Joshua Hart’s son-in-law and the potential boost that would give his own acting career.
In the eighteen months since her divorce the pain of Marcus’s betrayal had faded, but deep down Darcey felt ashamed that she had been such a gullible fool as to trust him. It was not a mistake she intended to make again.
There was no reason for her to give Salvatore details of her private life, she assured herself. She had agreed to go to Sicily in her professional capacity and the only thing he needed to know was that she was prepared to carry out her job to the best of her ability.
‘Because of the fire at the winery I have decided to return to Sicily tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Can you be ready to leave mid-morning? We’ll travel on my private jet. Give me your address and I’ll send the car for you.’
The man was a steamroller, Darcey thought ruefully. She shook her head. ‘I have a few things to do. I won’t be ready to leave with you. I’ll book a commercial flight and come at the weekend.’
Salvatore was used to his staff following orders without question, and he felt a flare of irritation that Darcey seemed determined to argue about everything. ‘It would suit me better if you come tomorrow.’
It occurred to him that if she had accepted the salary he had offered he would have had more control over her. He still could not quite get over the fact that she had ripped up the cheque, and he was aware that now the balance of power was in her favour. For the first time in his life money had not been the solution to a problem.
‘But it will suit me better to fly out at the weekend,’ Darcey said coolly, refusing to drop her gaze from his hard stare. ‘I’m having lunch with my parents tomorrow.’
‘Fine. I’ll delay our flight time for a few hours and we will leave in the afternoon. You were going to go to France on Friday,’ Salvatore reminded her. ‘What difference will it make if you leave with me two days earlier? Rosa will be happier if you fly out with us—especially now that Sharon has gone.’
Darcey sighed. She suspected that Salvatore understood she had formed an emotional attachment to his deaf daughter and would not want to disappoint the little girl. ‘I’ll be ready to leave at three o’clock,’ she said resignedly. She stood up from the table. ‘But now you will have to excuse me so that I can go home and finish packing.’
‘I’ll escort you to your car.’
He walked across the room and held open the door. Darcey’s stomach muscles clenched as their bodies brushed when she passed him. She breathed in the sensual musk of his cologne and wondered why he used it when the black stubble shading his jaw indicated that he had not shaved today. With his dark, brooding good looks he reminded her of a pirate, and she sensed that he was just as dangerous.
In the hall she slipped on her jacket, thankful that it concealed her treacherous body. Her breasts felt heavy, and she would be mortified if he noticed that her nipples had hardened and were straining against the thin material of her blouse. She followed him out of the house. The night air cooled her hot face, but her fierce awareness of him did not lessen as she walked beside him along the pavement to where her car was parked. She must have been mad to have agreed to go to Sicily with him, she thought despairingly. It’s not too late to pull out, a voice in her head whispered. She hadn’t signed a contract. She unlocked the Mini and slid into the driver’s seat. Her fingers fumbled to insert the key in the ignition.
‘Rosa will be excited when I tell her that you will be staying at the castle with us.’ Salvatore held the car door open and leaned down so that his face was almost level with hers.
Oh, hell! Her gaze was drawn involuntarily to his stern mouth before lifting to his eyes. Something flickered in his dark expression and for a breathless few seconds she thought he was going to lower his head and kiss her. Time slowed and her heartbeat raced. His warm breath whispered across her mouth and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue in an unconscious invitation.
‘Goodnight, Darcey.’ Abruptly he stepped back and closed the car door.
Darcey tried to quash her disappointment. Of course she had not wanted him to kiss her, she assured herself as she turned the key in the ignition. She would go to Sicily for Rosa’s sake, but she intended that her relationship with Salvatore would remain firmly within the boundaries of employer and employee.
* * *
‘Hello, darling! What are you doing here?’
Joshua Hart greeted Darcey with a vague smile when she arrived at her parents’ house in London’s Notting Hill the following day. Her father held open the front door to allow her to step into the hallway.
‘I thought you were on holiday.’
‘I told you the last time I saw you that I going away at the beginning of July.’ Darcey forbore to ask her father why he was wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown at midday. ‘I’ve come to have lunch with you and Mum.’
‘Oh, well—your mother never said. No one tells me anything,’ Joshua grumbled. He pushed open his study door. ‘You won’t mind if I don’t join you? I’m up to my eyes in Othello. The new production opens at the National Theatre next week and I’ll never be ready,’ he stated dramatically. He paused in the doorway and turned his piercing blue eyes on Darcey. ‘Have you been studying the script I sent you? Remember, rehearsals for my play begin at the end of September.’
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