Reluctant Prisoner
By
Stephanie Howard
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
'What the hell do you want?' Tanya demanded between clenched teeth.
Fausto Cabrini swept past her into the hall with a grim expression on his face. 'You, signorina. I'm afraid your presence is required in Italy.'
Instinctively Tanya found herself backing away. He had the look of a man whose temper was held on a very short leash. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she spat at him.
'I'm not in the mood for bandying words, signorina, so I'll get straight to the point. There's been an unexpected development, you see. You will recall that your father offered me a pledge to seal the contract that we made? Well, I intend you to be the token of that pledge.'
He paused, then spoke the final words of his dictum slowly so there was no danger of her misunderstanding him. 'I shall deny myself the pleasure of personally accompanying you—but make no mistake about it, signorina, when I get back to Italy I shall expect to find you there.'
First published in Great Britain 1987
by Mills & Boon Limited
© Stephanie Howard 1987
Australian copyright 1987
Philippine copyright 1987
This edition 1987
ISBN 0 263 75849 4
CHAPTER ONE
From the top of the hill, Tanya had a perfect view of the house and the road. She smiled to herself. It was an ideal vantage point. She sank down on the warm grass, slightly out of breath after her long climb. Here she could watch unobserved for them to arrive, then go back down and make her entrance when they least expected it.
Her mouth twisted doubtfully at the thought. The ploy might give her some brief psychological advantage in the uneasy confrontation that lay ahead, but it was hardly likely to change the inevitable, humiliating outcome of things. At this point, nothing could do that.
A soft breeze stirred the mass of golden curls that framed her face, and the early morning sun reflected sharply in the tawny eyes as Tanya laid her chin against her knees and hugged her slim legs to her chest. She felt a hot stab of regret as she gazed down at the scene below. It was hard to accept that all of this was on the point of being lost. The seventeenth-century, half-timbered house that she had loved and lived in all her life, the surrounding acre of garden set amid the softly rolling Sussex hills—and, above all, the happy, carefree way of life that she had once known in this place. All now sadly part of the past. Or very soon about to be.
She shrugged and fixed her eyes determinedly on the road below. No point in dwelling on all that now. Any minute, they would be here—Renata and the man who held her father's future in his hands. And not only the future of her father, Tanya acknowledged with a bitter smile. To some extent, this stranger held her own fate in balance, too.
With a shiver, she tugged the hem of her light wool dress over her knees. It could have been worse, she reminded herself impatiently. Much worse. Less than forty-eight hours ago, the future had seemed too bleak even to contemplate.
Renata's unexpected phone call from Rome the evening before last had changed all that. 'Cara!' The rich, warm tones of her old friend had instantly lifted Tanya's spirits a notch. Renata was always so positive, so practical. This time, though, she had simply sounded concerned. 'I've just heard the terrible news about your father—about his heart attack, about the terrible state his business is in. Cara Tanya—' there had been a note of gentle chiding in the older woman's voice '—why didn't you phone to let me know immediately? If I didn't love you both so much, I'd be very cross indeed with you.'
Tanya had felt a foolish lump rise in her throat. Dear Renata. She was probably one of the few who really did care. 'I'm sorry,' she had answered, trying to disguise the sudden catch in her voice, 'but things have been so hectic lately, I've never really had a chance—' Her voice trailed off. If only Renata knew what a nightmare the whole ghastly business had been.
'Of course, poor child. I understand.' The older woman's warmth reached out to comfort her. 'But, tell me, how is your father now?'
Tanya had taken a deep breath as she had thought of the pale, sad figure in the bed upstairs. The once proud and successful Devlin Sinclair, fine art dealer and worldly connoisseur, had aged almost unrecognisably over the past two years. The death of his wife, the collapse of his business and now this sudden heart attack had reduced him to a spectre of his former self. Deep furrows had gouged themselves around the wide, once-humorous mouth, and the bright, intelligent eyes were sunken and lifeless now.
'Not good,' she answered, seeing no point in keeping the cruel truth from her friend. 'He's improving, but too slowly, the doctors say.' And then she had forced herself to speak out loud the words that scared her just to think of them. 'The trouble is, Renata, he doesn't seem to care any more whether he gets well again or not.' It sounded melodramatic, but it was true, and she added, 'I hate to say this, but I think my father's lost his will to live.'
There had been a long, poignant silence at the other end. Then, 'What about his business? Will he be able to save it?' Renata had wanted to know.
'Oh, there's no hope of that.' Hopeless tears welled in her eyes. She had been struggling with the wretched situation on her own for so long now it was hardly surprising if the strain was finally starting to tell on her. 'The business is finished,' she managed to blurt out miserably. 'We expect it to be put into the hands of the Official Receiver by the end of the month.'
'What?' Renata had sounded horrified. 'You mean that Devlin is to be declared bankrupt? But we can't allow this to happen, cara Tanya. Why, a proud man like your father—the shame of it would kill him!'
Precisely the fear that preyed relentlessly on Tanya's mind. 'But there's nothing to be done. I've discussed the whole thing endlessly with my father's solicitors.'
'Cara, there is always something that can be done.' A short pause as Renata hastily gathered her thoughts. 'Give me twenty-four hours. I'll phone again tomorrow at the same time. Give my love to Devlin—and cheer up. If there's a way, we'll find it, I promise you.'
The next twenty-four hours had been the longest that Tanya had ever endured. It had seemed fanciful and foolish to believe that Renata could do anything to save the situation now, but she was their last hope—and Tanya had clung to that hope with a kind of desperate optimism. Besides, she had felt intuitively that Renata would not let her father down.
Renata Cabrini had swept into the Sinclairs' lives about four years ago. Devlin's name had been recommended to her by some mutual acquaintance in New York, and she had come to him looking for some nineteenth-century English watercolours for her new Manhattan apartment. Tanya, who had been working for her father's Sussex-based business at the time, had taken to the elegant, flamboyant and thoroughly warm-hearted woman instantly. A friendship had developed, and over the years Tanya had come to admire as well as love Renata for the remarkable, indomitable individual that she was. Now she was about to discover just how resourceful, and caring, her friend could be.
The phone call the following evening had been brief and to the point. 'I'm coming over on the first flight tomorrow,' Renata had announced. 'And I'm bringing Fausto with me.'
'Fausto?'
'My brother, cara Tanya. He's the financial wizard in our family, and he already has a plan sketched out. He'll want to see your father's lawyers, so make an appointment for some time in the afternoon. And tell them to have all the facts and f
igures available. Fausto will want to study them. OK, I'll see you tomorrow, cara,' Renata had finished, without giving Tanya the opportunity to say a word. 'Ciao—and sleep well. Your worries are over.'
The news, for some reason, had disturbed Tanya more than it had set her mind at rest. And though she knew that it was totally illogical, she somehow couldn't quell the strange disquiet that she felt. Fausto Cabrini was no more than a name to her, a shadowy figure in the background of Renata's life. Tanya knew little about him beyond the fact that he had inherited a few years previously, on his father's death, the vastly wealthy Cabrini industrial empire, and that he was in addition a highly successful investment consultant in his own right. A complex, powerful and ambitious man, by all accounts—with more than a passing reputation for ruthlessness—it seemed he was about to step out of the shadows and into the very centre of her life. And already she knew, without knowing why, that she bitterly resented him.
She straightened abruptly as a taxi cab came into view, moving swiftly, heading for the house. And she scrambled quickly to her feet and nervously brushed a strand of gold hair from her face. It must be them. She held her breath as the black cab disappeared behind a clump of trees and admonished herself silently for being so negative. Fausto Cabrini was her father's only hope. If he was unable to offer help, Devlin was lost. And she sighed with relief as the cab came into view again. She owed this man her gratitude, not her dislike. Besides, it was ridiculous. She hadn't even met him yet!
As the cab left the road and swept up the narrow drive to the front of the house, Tanya felt her fists clench at her sides. So much depended on this meeting with Renata's brother. For her father's sake, she must be nice to him—even woo him a little if that would help. And she frowned and peered down as the cab came to a halt. What was he like anyway, this Fausto Cabrini?
Almost simultaneously the rear doors of the cab swung open and two figures emerged. One, an elegant woman in red—Renata—the other, a man in a slim, dark suit. But Tanya managed to catch no more than a fleeting, tantalising glimpse, and she was too far away to see clearly anyway. The next instant the man was striding briskly towards the front door of the house— with Renata hurrying at his heels. A moment later they were both inside.
Tanya brushed the dry grass from her dress and started slowly down the hill. By the time she got back to the house they would be waiting in her father's study where Devlin had insisted on receiving them. She forced her features into a determinedly enthusiastic smile as she picked her way through the long, blown grass. Then she would make her entrance.
'Tanya! How wonderful to see you! You're looking well.' Renata came hurrying up to greet her the moment she walked through the study door and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. 'We were just asking Devlin where you were.'
Tanya threw her father a reassuring smile. He was seated behind his desk, a thin, frail figure—though he had made an effort to look his most businesslike today, his grey hair sleek, the smart suit lending him an air of fragile authority. 'I went for a walk,' she offered to the room at large. 'I hope I didn't hold you up.'
'Not at all, signorina. We took the liberty of starting without you.' The dark-suited figure seated opposite her father at the desk spoke without even bothering to glance up at her. A rasp of impatience sounded in the smooth, deep voice. 'My appointment with your father was for nine o'clock, I understand. It is now almost thirteen minutes past.'
Tanya felt as though she had been slapped. So much for her grand entrance! Her feeble effort to maintain some measure of control over the situation had very evidently backfired. And her eyes narrowed warily as Fausto Cabrini laid down the sheaf of papers he had been studying and with mock politeness rose to his feet.
He was a tall man, with the same dark good looks as his sister—though the finely chiselled nose, square jaw and strong, athletic build were wholly, aggressively masculine. And he had about him what Tanya could only describe to herself later as an aura of barely restrained animal power. This man, she sensed at once, was dangerous. As he turned at last to look at her—and smiled with that special brand of poise that only the very privileged possess—she felt her hackles rise instinctively. It had been on the tip of her tongue to offer some apology for her lateness, but perversely now she bit it back. She would apologise to this man for nothing.
Renata was standing between them. 'Let me introduce you to Tanya,' she intervened quickly, 'Devlin's daughter. Tanya, this is my brother Fausto.'
Dark, almost black eyes swept over her, taking in at one practised glance the mane of bright gold hair, clear, creamy skin and the almost voluptuous curve of her breasts above the tiny, cinched-in waist and shapely hips. Tanya felt herself flush indignantly. She was wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved woollen dress, yet he had looked at her as though she were standing there naked. Cool, strong fingers clasped hers momentarily. 'Glad you could make it signorina. So good of you in the circumstances to spare a few minutes of your precious time.' The sarcasm in his voice was almost tangible.
'No trouble, Signor Cabrini. No trouble at all,' she countered with a stiff, false smile. Her earlier resolution to be nice to him was going to prove more than a little difficult to fulfil. Wooing him was out of the question. For one thing, it would be a total waste of time, she sensed. Even if she had the stomach to try.
'Good.' He lifted one eyebrow in a mocking indictment, and his eyes held hers for a moment longer before he turned abruptly to address her father. 'Now that the introductions are over, Mr Sinclair, I suggest that we get down to business properly. We have a great deal of ground to cover and comparatively little time.' He cast a cursory glance towards Renata and Tanya. 'Perhaps the ladies would like to leave us now?'
If Tanya's cheeks were flushed before, they blazed with indignation now. 'If you don't mind, Signor Cabrini, this particular lady has not the slightest intention of meekly leaving the room while the grownups get down to discussing business. I want to hear every single word of your proposal.' Her eyes stared levelly into his. 'And besides, I'm sure that my father would prefer me to stay.'
He regarded her in cool silence for a minute and she fancied she saw a flash of anger illuminate the deep, dark eyes. Fausto Cabrini was clearly unaccustomed to having his pronouncements questioned, Tanya sensed, and particularly not by members of the female sex. Then the well shaped mouth seemed to quirk at one corner in a fleeting and totally derisive smile as he inclined his head in Devlin's direction again. 'Is that what you wish, Mr Sinclair? That your daughter be present at our discussion?'
Devlin nodded. He had been quiet so far, apparently overwhelmed by the unexpected direction that events had suddenly started moving in, but his voice was firm and steady when he spoke. 'Yes, if you don't mind, Signor Cabrini, I'd prefer Tanya to stay. Whatever transpires is going to affect her life as well as mine. She has a right to be in on it.'
Fausto Cabrini turned to Tanya with an acid smile. 'You are permitted to stay with the grown-ups after all,' he purred, but softly, so that only she could hear. Then he added more loudly, as he indicated one of the button-backed chairs that stood around her father's desk, 'I suggest you sit here, next to me, signorina. That way you will miss nothing. And please feel free to take notes if you wish.'
She ignored the mocking amusement in his voice. 'I may well do that,' she retorted archly, deliberately shifting her chair a couple of feet away from his as she sat down. 'I always think it's wise to keep records—in the interests of all parties concerned.'
He caught her gibe neatly and threw it back at her. 'Don't worry, signorina,' he murmured, eyeing her dispassionately. 'Any agreement that your father and I may come to will be drawn up jointly by his lawyers and mine—and I shall see to it personally that you are provided with a copy for your own private scrutiny. With explanatory notes, of course.'
Tanya could do very little but seethe inwardly as Renata slipped off discreetly to make coffee and her brother launched into a remarkably lucid appraisal of Devlin's predicament. He spoke at leng
th, describing the difficulties as he saw them and explaining in detail the options that were open to them. None of the options was exactly what might be described as soft. But then, Tanya reflected grimly as she watched the dark, aquiline profile with its harsh, unyielding lines, the man himself was clearly nothing if not hard. It was little wonder he was as spectacularly successful as he was. In addition to a quick, penetrating intelligence—which, in spite of herself, she could not but admire—he quite clearly also possessed in abundance the sort of single-minded ruthlessness that was so frequently the hallmark of those at the top. He offered her father an alternative to total shame—but he drove a hard bargain none the less.
His proposition was basically simple. He would buy Devlin's company from him. The business itself, of course, was worth nothing, but the name was one that still carried some weight in the art world and could prove valuable at some future date. The price he offered fell far short of the sum required to pay off Devlin's creditors, but to make up the difference he was prepared to provide a short-term, low-interest loan. On several conditions. First, Devlin would be required to take out a mortgage on his home and use the capital to set himself up gradually in business again—sufficient to begin repayment of the loan within a maximum period of six months after being declared medically fit. Further, until the loan was fully repaid, he must guarantee that all his investments would be made only with Cabrini's full approval, and that forty per cent of all profits from such investments would automatically go towards repayment of the loan.
Tanya listened silently. It was a neat and businesslike package. It let Devlin off the hook of bankruptcy—but it would bind him hand and foot for years to come. And as Cabrini sat back calmly in his chair, regarding Devlin from beneath dark brows as he waited for his answer, she felt a sudden wave of protectiveness towards the older man. He had already suffered so much.
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