by Lynne Graham
CHAPTER TWO
LIZZIE WANTED THE tiled floor to open up and swallow her where she stood. Being humiliated in front of a stranger felt even more painful than the snide comments and pitying appraisals from the village locals that had followed the ending of her engagement to Andrew Brook two years earlier. A month later, Andrew had married Esther, who had already been pregnant with their son. She stiffened her facial muscles, made the tea and the coffee and even contrived to politely ask if the visitor took sugar.
Wide, sensual mouth set in a grim line, Cesare surveyed Lizzie’s rigid back view, noting the narrow cut of her waist and the slender, delicate curves merely hinted at by the overalls. Her father had been cruel taking her down like that in front of an audience. Not a date since, though? He was astonished because, unflattering as her clothing was, Cesare had immediately recognised that she was a beauty. Not perhaps a conventional beauty, he was willing to admit, not the kind of beauty that set the world on fire but certainly the type that should make the average male look more than once. What was wrong with the local men?
‘Sorry about Dad,’ Lizzie apologised in a brittle voice, setting the coffee down carefully on the table in front of him, catching the evocative scent of some citrusy cologne as she briefly leant closer and stiffening as a result of the sudden warmth pooling in her pelvis. Never had anyone made her feel more uncomfortable in her own home.
‘You don’t need to apologise, cara,’ Cesare parried.
‘But I should explain. My parents resented the will—personally, I never think about it. Unfortunately, the island was a sore point in our lives when I was a child because money was tight.’
‘Have you ever visited Lionos?’
‘No, I’ve never had the opportunity. Mum went once with one of her boyfriends and stayed for a week. She wasn’t too impressed,’ Lizzie revealed ruefully while she scanned his lean, strong face, taking in the high cheekbones, straight nose and hard, masculine mouth before involuntarily sliding her gaze upward again to take another sweep of those absolutely devastating dark golden eyes of his. ‘I think Mum was expecting luxury but I believe the accommodation was more basic.’
‘The will endowed the island with a trust and I understand a caretaker and his family live nearby to maintain the property.’
Lizzie cocked her head to one side, her shattered nerves slowly stabilising at his lack of comment about her father’s outburst. Pale, silky hair slid across her cheekbone and Cesare looked up into those wide hazel-green eyes framed with soft honey-brown lashes, and suddenly he was aware of the heavy pulse of heat at his groin and the muscles in his broad shoulders pulled taut as ropes as he resisted that sirens’ call of lust with all his might.
‘Yes. But the trust only covers maintenance costs, not improvements, and I understand that the house is still firmly stuck in the thirties. Mum also assumed that the caretaker would cook and clean for them but instead the man and his wife told her that they weren’t servants and she had to look after herself,’ Lizzie volunteered wryly. ‘All in all she found it a very expensive jaunt by the time they’d paid someone to take them out to the island and deliver food while they were there.’
‘Naturally you want to know what I’m doing here,’ Cesare murmured smoothly.
‘Well, I don’t think you’ve come a-courting,’ Lizzie fielded with a shrug that dismissed her father’s gibe but completely failed to hide her discomfiture at that crack.
‘Not in the conventional sense,’ Cesare agreed, lean fingers flexing round the mug of coffee. It was barely drinkable but he doubted if she expended much concern when it came to the domestic front, which was hardly surprising when it was obvious that she was struggling to keep the farm afloat single-handedly. She was leaning back against the cooking range with defensively folded arms, trying to appear relaxed but visibly as tense as a bow string. ‘But I do think we might be able to come to a business arrangement.’
Lizzie frowned, dragging her wandering gaze from his lean, extravagantly handsome features with a slight rise of colour, scolding herself for her lack of concentration, questioning what it was about him that kept her looking back at him again and again, long after curiosity should have been satisfied. ‘A business arrangement?’
‘I don’t think your sister enters this as she’s still a teenager. Obviously as co-owner of the island, you would have to confer with her, but I’m willing to offer you a substantial amount of money to go through a marriage ceremony with me.’
Her lashes fluttered in shock because he had knocked her for six. Inexplicably, his cool sophistication and smooth delivery made the fantastic proposition he had just made seem almost workaday and acceptable. ‘Seriously? Just a marriage ceremony? But what would you get out of that?’
Cesare told her about his grandmother’s deep attachment to the island and her approaching surgery. As she listened, Lizzie nodded slowly, strangely touched by the softer tone he couldn’t help employing when talking about the old lady. His screened gaze and the faint hint of flush along his spectacular cheekbones encouraged her scrutiny to linger with helpless curiosity. He was not quite as cold and tough as he seemed on the surface, she acknowledged in surprise. But she could see that he was very uncomfortable with showing emotion.
‘Isn’t circumventing the will against the law?’ she prompted in a small voice.
‘I wasn’t planning to publicise the fact. For the sake of appearances we would have to pretend that the marriage was the real deal for a few months at least.’
‘And the “having a child” bit? Where does that come in?’ Lizzie could not resist asking.
‘Whether it comes into our arrangement or not is up to you. I will pay generously for the right to take my grandmother to the island for a visit and if we were to contrive to meet the full terms of the will, you and your sister would stand to collect a couple of million pounds, at the very least, from selling Lionos to me,’ he spelt out quietly. ‘I am an extremely wealthy man and I will pay a high price to bring the island back into my family.’
Millions? Lizzie’s mouth ran dry and she lost colour, eyes dropping to focus on the long, lean brown fingers gracefully coiled round the mug of coffee. For a split second she saw her every hope and dream fulfilled by ill-gotten gains. Her father could give up the farm tenancy, and she and Chrissie could buy him a house in the village where he would be able to go to the pub quizzes he loved and meet up with his cronies. Chrissie would be able to chuck in her two part-time jobs, concentrate on her studies and pay off her student loans. Being freed from the burden of the farm would enable Lizzie to go and train for a job she would enjoy. Archie could get some professional grooming and a new collar and live on the very best pet food...
It became an increasingly stupid dream and she reddened with mortification, hands clenching by her side as she suppressed her wild imaginings in shame at how susceptible she had been when tempted by the equivalent of a lottery win.
‘I couldn’t have a child with a stranger...or bring a child into the world for such a purpose,’ she confided. ‘But if it’s any consolation, just for a minute there I wished I was the sort of woman who could.’
‘Think it over,’ Cesare suggested, having registered without surprise that the suggestion of oodles of cash had finally fully engaged her in their discussion. He rose fluidly upright and tapped the business card he had left on the table top. ‘My cell number.’
He was very big, possibly a foot taller than she was, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, powerful legs.
‘Yes, well, there’s a lot to think over,’ she muttered uneasily.
He reached for his coat and turned back to her, dark eyes bright and shimmering as topaz in sunshine. ‘There are two options and either will bring in a profit for you.’
‘You definitely talk like a businessman,’ she remarked, unimpressed by the statement, ashamed of her temporary dive in
to a fantasy land where every sheep had a proverbial golden fleece. Could it really be that easy to go from being a decent person to a mercenary one? she was asking herself worriedly.
‘I am trying to negotiate a business arrangement,’ he pointed out drily.
‘Was it your father who once asked my mother to marry him?’ Lizzie could not stop herself from enquiring. ‘Or was that someone from another branch of your family?’
Cesare came to a halt. ‘No, that was my father and it wasn’t a business proposal. He fell hard for your mother and they were engaged when she came over here on holiday. Having met your father, however, she preferred him,’ he advanced without any expression at all.
But Lizzie recognised the unspoken disapproval in the hard bones of his lean, strong face and she flushed because her mother had been decidedly changeable in her affections and there was no denying the fact. Predictably, Francesca had never admitted that she had actually got engaged to their father’s predecessor. But then every man that came along had been the love of Francesca’s life until either he revealed his true character or someone else seized her interest. Her mother had always moved on without a backward glance, never once pausing to try and work on a relationship or considering the cost of such continual upheaval in the lives of her two young children.
‘I’m afraid I’m not a sentimental man,’ Cesare imparted. ‘I’m innately practical in every way. Why shouldn’t you make what you can of your inheritance for your family’s benefit?’
‘Because it just doesn’t seem right,’ Lizzie confided uncertainly. ‘It’s not what my great-grandfather intended either when he drew up that will.’
‘No, he wanted revenge because my grandmother’s brother jilted his daughter at the altar. My great-uncle was in the wrong but plunging the island into legal limbo simply to keep it out of my family’s hands was no more justifiable,’ Cesare countered with complete assurance. ‘It’s been that way for nearly eighty years but I believe that we have the power to change that.’
‘The ethics involved aren’t something I’ve ever thought about,’ Lizzie admitted, resisting the urge to confess that the island still seemed no more real to her than that fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that her father had mentioned.
Cesare smiled with sudden brilliance, amused by her honesty and her lack of pretence.
His smile almost blinded her, illuminating his lean, darkly handsome face, and she wanted so badly to touch him for a disconcerting moment that she clenched her hands into fists to restrain herself. She was deeply disturbed by the effect he had on her. Indeed, she feared it because she recognised her reaction for the fierce physical attraction that it was. And nobody knew better than Francesca Whitaker’s daughter how dangerous giving rein to such mindless responses could be for it had propelled her mother into one disastrous relationship after another.
In the smouldering silence, beautiful, dark golden eyes fringed with velvet black held hers and she trembled, fighting reactions she had never experienced so powerfully before.
‘My offer’s on the table and I’m willing to negotiate with you. Discuss it with your sister and your father but urge them to keep the matter confidential,’ Cesare advised smoothly, staring down into her upturned face, attention lingering on the lush contours of her lips as he wondered what she would taste like. ‘We could go the full distance on this... I find you appealing.’
And with that deeply unsettling comment, Cesare Sabatino swung on his heel and strode back out to the limousine sitting ready to depart. The driver leapt out to throw open the door for his passenger and Cesare lowered his proud dark head and climbed in.
Appealing? Lizzie pushed her hair back off her brow and caught her surprised reflection in the small age-spotted mirror on the wall. He was really saying that he could go to bed with her and conceive a child with her if she was willing: that was what he meant by the word appealing. Her face flamed. She was not willing. She also knew the difference between right and wrong. She knew that more money didn’t necessarily mean more happiness and that a child was usually better off with a mother and a father.
Yet the image of the tiny boy she had glimpsed cradled in her former fiancé’s arms after the child’s christening in the church had pierced Lizzie with a pain greater than that inflicted by Andrew’s infidelity. Lizzie had always wanted a baby and ached at the sight of infants. When Andrew had left her for Esther, she had envied Esther for her son, not her husband. What did that say about her? That she was as cold at heart and frigid as Andrew had once accused her of being? Even remembering that hurtful indictment, Lizzie winced and felt less than other women, knowing that she had been tried and found wanting by a young man who had only wanted a warm and loving wife. Lizzie knew that, in choosing Esther, Andrew had made the right decision for them both. Yet Lizzie had loved Andrew too in her way.
Her eyes stung with moisture, her fingers toying with the ends of the brown-tinted hair that Andrew had persuaded her to dye. The dye was growing out, a reminder of how foolish a woman could be when she tried to change herself to please a man...
But where on earth had her strong maternal instinct come from? Certainly not from her volatile mother, who in the grip of her wild infatuations had always focused her energies on the man in her life. Lizzie had not been surprised to learn of the impetuous way Francesca had evidently ditched Cesare’s father to marry Lizzie’s father instead. Hard Yorkshire winters and life on a shoestring, however, had dimmed Brian Whitaker’s appeal for her mother and within weeks of Chrissie’s birth Francesca had run off with a man who had turned out to be a drunk. His successor had been more interested in spending Francesca’s recent legacy following the death of her Italian parents than in Francesca herself. Her third lover had been repeatedly unfaithful. And the fourth, who married her, had been violent.
Lizzie had always found it very hard to trust men after living through her mother’s grim roll call of destructive relationships. She had struggled to protect the sister five years her junior from the constant fallout of moving home and changing schools, striving to ensure that her sibling could still enjoy her childhood and wasn’t forced to grow up as quickly as Lizzie had. Almost all the happy moments in Lizzie’s life had occurred when Chrissie was young and Lizzie had the comfort of knowing that her love and care was both wanted and needed by her sibling. When her sister left home to go to university it had opened a vast hole in Lizzie’s life. Archie had partially filled that hole, a reality that made her grin and shrug off her deep and troubled thoughts with the acknowledgement that it was time to get back to work and concentrate on what really mattered.
* * *
‘Marry him and stop making such a production out of it!’ Brian Whitaker snapped at his daughter angrily. ‘We don’t have any other choice. The rent is going up and the bank’s on the brink of calling in our loan!’
‘It’s not that simple, Dad,’ Lizzie began to argue again.
But the older man wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened to a word his daughter had said since the letter from the bank had delivered its lethal warning. ‘Simple would have been you marrying Andrew. He would have taken on the tenancy. I could still have lived here. Everyone would have been happy but could you pull it off?’ he derided. ‘No, you had to play fast and loose with him, wanting to wait to get married!’
‘I wanted to get to know him properly, not rush in. I wanted our marriage to last,’ Lizzie protested.
‘You might as well have parcelled him up for Esther and handed him over. Andrew was our one chance to keep this place afloat and you threw him away,’ he condemned bitterly. ‘Now you’re mouthing off about all the reasons why you can’t marry a man and have a child just to improve all our lives!’
‘A lot of women wouldn’t want to do it!’ It was Lizzie’s parting shot, tossed over her shoulder as she stomped back into the yard with Archie dancing at her heels. A week had passed sin
ce Cesare Sabatino’s visit and her father had reasoned and condemned and outright ranted at her every day for her reluctance to accept Cesare’s proposal.
Hopefully, Chrissie would not be singing the same tune, Lizzie reflected ruefully as she drove her father’s ancient, battered Land Rover Defender down the lane to collect her sister off the train. She had told Chrissie all about Cesare’s visit on the phone and her sibling had urged her to follow her conscience and refuse to pay heed to her father’s grievances.
That was, however, proving a much more major challenge than she had expected, Lizzie acknowledged heavily. Almost insurmountable problems were forming ahead of her like a string of dangerous obstacles. They could not afford to pay a higher rent when the tenancy came up for renewal and that reality would render them homeless. They could not even afford to live if the bank demanded that the loan be repaid as they were threatening to do. And where would they live, if the worst came to the worst? Her father had no savings. Yes, it was all very well following her conscience, Lizzie conceded wretchedly, but right now it was no good at all as a blueprint for economic survival.
Sadly, the stress of the constant arguments and anxiety was taking the edge off Lizzie’s usual happy anticipation at the prospect of having her sister home for a couple of days. Chrissie, pale silver hair caught up in a sensible ponytail, blue eyes sparkling with affection, was waiting outside the station, two big cases by her side and a bulging rucksack on her slender shoulders.
‘My goodness, you’ve brought back a lot of luggage...but it’s not the end of term,’ Lizzie remarked in bewilderment, thinking out loud while Chrissie concentrated on giving her a fierce hug of welcome.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ her sibling confessed. ‘And I’m going to ask you all over again—why have you still not had your hair dyed back to normal?’