He frowned. ‘You don’t like it?’
Megan shrugged. ‘It’s imposing, I’ll admit that. But it’s a statement. It says, look at my lifestyle, look how wealthy I am. It doesn’t say that you’re happy or comfortable.’
‘I don’t have time to be comfortable.’
‘Precisely. And that is what your daughter would require. Time. Your time! How would you give her that when you’re busy making your millions?’
‘It could be arranged.’
‘Arranged,’ sneered Megan. ‘You make it sound like a business proposition. It wouldn’t work, Luigi, and you know it. When Charlotte said she wanted a daddy she meant a full-time one, not someone who would try to fit her in when he could.’
Dark eyes flashed hotly in her direction but he was prevented from saying anything else by Charlotte running back into the room. ‘Mummy, come and look what I’ve got.’
It was sheer madness on Luigi’s part, decided Megan, as she studied the mounds of toys stacked in Charlotte’s room. Did he think that going over the top like this would make up for the missing years? He really had no idea what a child needed. And the more she thought about his intention to claim Charlotte the angrier she became.
‘Didn’t you say something about tea?’ she asked him sharply, wanting to get out of this room and the obscene number of gifts he had loaded on his daughter.
‘Wouldn’t you like to unpack first? Or shall I ask—’
‘I’ll do it,’ she snapped, wondering whom he was going to suggest do the job for her. It sounded as though he had a whole army of servants at his beck and call. Was he really happy with this kind of lifestyle?
She backed out of the room and snapped open the locks on her case. It took less than two minutes to hang up their few clothes. The other suitcase with the presents in she left safely fastened. And when she presented herself in Charlotte’s bedroom again he was still standing where she had left him. A real father would have got down on his knees and played with his daughter, but not Luigi. He was content to watch; he didn’t know how to play. Lord, it made her so mad that he’d cocooned himself in a world where money was the prime factor.
They made their way back downstairs to the drawing room. Again it was carpeted in blue, with display cabinets filled with fine pieces of porcelain. There were two very uncomfortable looking, square-armed chairs and a matching sofa, and on a rosewood tea table in front of them was the tea he had ordered.
The china was delicate, the pot covered by a cosy, and tiny biscuits were arranged on a plate. Hardly the sort of refreshment one would offer a three-year-old, thought Megan, but there were three cups and three small plates, so it looked as though she was expected to join them.
Charlotte ate most of the biscuits but she refused the tea. ‘Can I have Coke?’ she asked politely.
Megan felt quite amused when Luigi was forced to confess that he didn’t have any and Charlotte settled for milk instead.
‘We could go shopping,’ said Charlotte innocently. ‘Me and Mummy always go when we run out of anything.’
‘I have to go back to work in a minute,’ confessed her father.
Typical, thought Megan. Nothing had changed. But actually it was a relief when he’d gone and she and Charlotte could explore the house together. Her daughter ran from room to room, visibly impressed by the size of the place, but it made Megan angry. Was this what success meant to him? Was he trying to buy happiness? If so he was failing dismally.
As far as she was concerned it was a loveless place and he must rattle round in it. It wasn’t a home and she couldn’t imagine Charlotte being happy here either. And what annoyed her even more, there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight. Why the hell had he invited them for Christmas if he wasn’t going to celebrate it?
Megan didn’t expect Luigi home for several hours and was surprised when he turned up in the middle of the afternoon with a huge Christmas tree tied on top of his car. Charlotte whooped with delight and all three of them spent the next couple of hours adorning it with the garlands and baubles and strings of flashing lights that he had also brought home.
It reminded Megan of the first Christmas they’d spent together as a married couple. She’d been deliriously happy. They had a home of their own by then and Luigi had walked in on Christmas Eve with a tree, much as he had now. It had taken a long time to dress it because each time she stretched up to hang a bauble he had slid his arms around her and kissed her.
They had called it their loving tree, but as each consecutive Christmas came he worked harder and harder, often not coming home until late on Christmas Eve, and by then Megan had dressed their tree herself. And slowly the magic had gone out of it.
‘Look, Mummy, look.’ Charlotte was high on her father’s shoulders and had just placed the fairy on top of the tree. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘It’s lovely, sweetheart.’
‘When’s Santa coming?’
‘Tonight, when you’re in bed.’
‘Can I go to bed now?’ she asked excitedly.
‘No, darling, it’s too early.’
‘Will he bring my presents here?’
‘Of course he will.’
‘How will he know I’m here, though?’
‘Because he’s magic. He knows where all little girls and boys are,’ she answered.
Luigi lifted his daughter down and as he did so his eyes met Megan’s, and whether it was the magic of the occasion or because she’d been thinking about their first Christmas together, Megan wasn’t sure, but she felt a volt of electricity arc through her. She turned swiftly away. It was a warning to be careful. She didn’t want to get involved with Luigi again, not at any price. Not unless he changed his lifestyle, and she couldn’t see that happening in a hundred years.
It made her increasingly aware how dangerous it had been to come here. She ought to have stood her ground even if it had meant disappointing her daughter. Not that Luigi would have let her. He’d been fully determined to have his daughter for Christmas, with or without her mother.
In fact it might have been safer to let Charlotte come on her own. No! She immediately negated that thought. She would have lost her. Luigi was adamant that he wanted his daughter—permanently. And she was equally as resolute that he would not.
Luigi had felt a warm surge of pleasure as he held his daughter aloft. It was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. This was his child, his flesh and blood, something he had created. She was nothing short of a miracle. And he knew that he never wanted to let her go—unlike his handsome Italian father and fun-loving English mother who had never really wanted him, who preferred to go out partying instead of looking after their son.
When he was eight he’d been taken from them and fostered out. Even then he’d been tossed from one family to another because he’d proved to be too much of a handful. He was full of anger and resentment over the treatment he’d received and several times he’d run away, never settling, never knowing what it was like to be truly loved.
It had made him into the tough person he was today. It had made him decide that he was going to make something of his life. He was quick to learn and very intelligent and at sixteen he had left school and started his first job with an IT firm. In fact he’d had a few little money-earners going long before then.
He’d helped school-friends with their homework and charged them. He had good computer skills and published a teenage magazine that was purchased by dozens of his friends both in school and out. He’d bought and sold all sorts of stuff, anything that would make him a profit. By the time he’d left school he’d amassed almost a thousand pounds. But he’d got his eyes set on a million before he was thirty, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He didn’t even know what he was worth these days.
Money gave him security, something he’d never had, and he was hurt that Megan didn’t like his house. To him it was the pinnacle of all that he’d worked for.
Charlotte was speaking now. ‘Do you think,
Mummy, that ‘cos I asked Santa for a daddy and he’s given me one, he won’t leave me anything else?’
‘Of course he will, sweetheart,’ answered Megan, gathering the child into her arms and giving her a great big hug.
Luigi felt an unbelievable sadness. He’d never experienced a mother’s arms around him like that. All he’d ever been to his mother was a nuisance, someone to be fed and clothed and told to keep out of the way, often left in the house for long periods alone.
‘I expect he’ll leave you lots,’ he said to his daughter now, and was hurt when Megan gave him a damning look. What did she expect, that he wouldn’t give his daughter anything? That he’d given her enough with the few things he’d put into her room? They were nothing, just a few toys to make her feel at home. Wait until tomorrow, she would be the happiest girl alive.
And Megan too; he had no intention of leaving her out, even though she was making it very clear that she wasn’t pleased to see him. All that would change, he felt certain, when she realised how much better it would be for Charlotte to have a father as well as a mother.
He couldn’t even begin to understand why Megan had kept their daughter a secret. If he hadn’t spotted her in Gerards he might never have known. Charlotte would have grown up and had children, his grandchildren, and he would have been none the wiser.
The very thought sent a spurt of anger through him and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. Was Megan being truthful when she said that she’d left him because of the long hours he worked? Or had there been another man involved? Was there still someone else? The one he had seen coming and going from her house, for instance?
Luigi’s lips compressed at the thought that there might be some other man in her life. And in his daughter’s life! This man could be the reason why Megan had been so adamant about wanting to spend as little time with him as possible. He needed to speak to her about it, about him, and soon.
The opportunity presented itself as soon as Charlotte had been bathed and put to bed. He’d stood and watched, marvelling at the bond between mother and daughter. It was something he wanted, something he’d missed out on, and he vowed that whatever it took, however much he had to bribe or force, Megan and Charlotte would become a part of his life—for ever!
At least they were still married, that should make things easier. He wondered why Megan had never got around to divorcing him. On his part it was because he’d never met anyone else he wanted to marry—though there’d been plenty of girls who wanted to marry him. But Megan, what was her story? Did she love the man she shared the house with? What sort of a guy was he that he was content to live with a woman who could never be his in the eyes of the law?
‘Asleep at last,’ said Megan as she left Charlotte’s bedroom and discovered Luigi still lurking. ‘She’s so excited. Sleeping in a strange house and wondering what Santa’s going to bring her is a lot for a little girl.’
‘And will it be a lot for her mother, sleeping in a strange house? A house she doesn’t particularly like?’ he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It had disappointed him that she hadn’t been as enthralled as he was. He had expected her to be impressed by how well he’d done. In fact he had hoped that it might prove a deciding factor in bringing them back together.
‘I don’t expect I’ll sleep very much,’ she admitted.
‘Are you excited about Christmas too?’
‘Not on your life,’ she retorted. ‘I wish I was anywhere but here.’
Luigi felt as though she’d kicked him in the stomach, although, he supposed reluctantly, it had been a big step for Megan to take. She had been honest about why she’d run away and he’d virtually forced her here. Not that he regretted it.
They would both grow to love it, he felt sure. All they needed was time. At least Megan did. Charlotte seemed happy enough, though he wasn’t sure whether she’d be so content if her mother didn’t stay. In fact he knew she wouldn’t. Which made it even more imperative that he persuade Megan to move in with him permanently.
He would need to treat her with kid gloves, which might be difficult because he wasn’t used to holding back. And he’d need to show her what she and Charlotte would be missing if she went back to their cramped little house. She’d made it very homely but, given the choice between there and here, he couldn’t see there was a choice. This house would win hands down. And he would win too; he would make sure of that.
Couldn’t Megan see that Charlotte would be far better off? Not only because of the space in the house, but the grounds as well. There was a copse, a tennis court, a swimming pool, a lake. It was a child’s dream. There were even stables, though he had no horses yet. But if Charlotte wanted a pony then it would be hers for the asking.
‘It’s too early for you to judge whether you’re going to be happy here,’ he said to Megan now. ‘When—’
‘It’s not altogether the house,’ she retorted sharply, ‘even though I think it’s too pretentious. It’s you! You’re obsessed with money. You’ve always been the same. You think you can buy happiness. Well, let me tell you, Mr Rich Guy, you can be happy living in the tiniest hovel, so long as you’re with the right person.’
‘And you’ve found the right person?’ He couldn’t avoid the hard edge to his voice. He wanted to kill the guy, whoever he was. This was his wife.
‘I was talking generally.’
She flashed her grey eyes at him and he thought how beautiful she was, still flushed from bathing Charlotte, her hair in slight disarray. His groin stirred and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her—thoroughly. He wanted to prove to her that their love had never gone away; it had simply got lost. ‘But there is someone else? I know because you didn’t refute it earlier. In fact I’ve seen him.’
Megan’s head jerked, her eyes widened. ‘You have?’
‘Come and sit down,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’ He led her downstairs into a cosy little room with panelled walls and a log fire. Red velvet curtains were drawn against the cold winter day and table lamps cast a warm glow. He saw Megan looking around appreciatively. There were a few pieces of antique furniture that he had chosen himself and actually the room was overcrowded, but he quite liked it that way.
‘This is my den,’ he told her. ‘It’s—’
‘The smallest room in the house,’ she finished for him. ‘Proving that you don’t need a mansion. Big rooms are too impersonal; you can’t relax. It’s like living in a National Trust property that’s open to the public.’ She perched herself on the edge of an easy chair.
‘So you’re saying small is cosy?’ He had hoped she would flop down and relax. It looked as though he still had a long way to go. He dropped into the chair opposite so that he could study her to his heart’s content, and stretched out his long legs.
‘Absolutely.’
‘That’s why you’re happy in your own home?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not because you can’t afford anything bigger?’ Lord, she was more beautiful than ever. What a fool he’d been not to continue his search. He would have promised her the earth if she’d come back to him. Instead he had given up and got on with what really interested him. And it was only now that he realised his mistake.
Megan sucked in a disapproving breath. ‘There you go again, bringing money into it. I tell you, money doesn’t interest me.’
‘You’re one on your own, Megan, do you know that?
‘Because every other woman you’ve met has been more interested in your bank balance than you?’ she asked sharply.
Her words struck home. It was quite true. He’d never appreciated before he had acquired his wealth how mercenary some girls could be. In one way it pleased him that Megan was different; on the other hand he felt irritated because he wanted her to be excited by what he had achieved.
‘It would make life a lot easier for you if you moved in here,’ he said, trying his hardest to sound gentle. In reality he wanted to shake her. He had no idea that she coul
d be so stubborn. This was a side of her that had never surfaced in the early years of their marriage.
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ she retorted.
He could see by the glint in her eyes that she meant living with him would be abhorrent, and it hurt. ‘You’d never need to work again. That must be every woman’s dream?’
‘I admit it would be nice not to have to leave Charlotte. On the other hand, she enjoys playing with other children. And soon she’ll be at school.’
‘Will that make any difference?’ he asked tersely. ‘What if she becomes ill? Can you take time off work? Would your boss understand? Admit it, Megan, you’d be far better off giving up your job and moving in here. Unless, of course, it’s the boyfriend! Is he the one holding you back?’
‘So you have been spying on me?’ Megan spat the words loudly and, without giving him time to answer, added, ‘How low is that?’
He hadn’t considered it low. He’d wanted to find out where she lived, what sort of a lifestyle she had. He wanted to make sure she didn’t move again. Was that wrong? ‘I must confess that when I discovered your address I did sometimes keep watch. Not that it was my intention to spy, Megan. I was hoping to catch sight of you so that we could talk. I would have preferred it that way rather than knocking on your door and giving you the surprise of your life.’
‘Fright of my life, more like,’ she riposted.
‘So, tell me about your boyfriend. He’s clearly not asked you to marry him, otherwise you’d have sought a divorce. What does he mean to you? How long have you known him? Does he have a good job?’
‘I think,’ said Megan tightly, ‘that it’s none of your business.’
‘You’re my wife. It’s every bit my business,’ he challenged.
‘In name only,’ she retorted. ‘Our marriage was over a long time ago.’
‘Then why haven’t you applied for a divorce?’ he asked. This surely had to be in his favour.
Megan shrugged. ‘I never got round to it.’
Her Husband's Christmas Bargain Page 3