‘Yes,’ she said, answering his unspoken question, interpreting his silence only as surprise. ‘I do know how she died.’
Her face drained of colour and she crossed her slender legs in the opposite direction, her hands neatly clasped in her lap.
‘Your father went to great lengths to...to protect you from the truth.’
‘Yes.’ Her smile was twisted, lop-sided. ‘I just told you—protecting me from everything has become somewhat of an obsession to him.’
When had Emmeline come to realise that her father’s protection was hurting her? That his well-intentioned benevolence was making her miss out on so much in life?
‘How did you find out?’
The gravelled question dragged her back to their conversation, and to a dark time in her life that she tried her hardest not to think about.
‘I was fifteen—not five,’ she said with a lift of her shoulders, her expression carefully neutral. ‘He wrapped me up as best he could, but I still went to school and kids can be pretty brutal. She drove into a tree, sure—but it was no accident.’
Her eyes showed all the emotion that her face was concealing. Perhaps under normal circumstances he might have comforted her. But these weren’t normal circumstances and she wasn’t a normal woman. She was to be his bride, if he agreed to go along with this.
As if he had any choice! The loyalty and affection he felt for Col, combined with the older man’s terminal diagnosis, presented him with a black and white scenario.
‘I don’t think he ever got over losing her, and he’s terrified of something happening to me. As much as this all seems crazy, I can see why he feels as he does.’ She cleared her throat. This next part was where she really had to be strong. ‘So, yes. I think we should get married.’
The laugh that escaped his lips was a short, sharp sound of reproach. ‘You don’t think I’m the kind of man who’d like to ask that question myself?’
‘Oh...’
Her eyes narrowed speculatively and there was a direct confidence in her gaze that unsettled him slightly.
‘I think you’re the kind of man who has no intention of asking that question ever. Of anyone.’ She cleared her throat again. ‘If the gossip pages are to be believed, you’re more interested in installing a revolving door to your bedroom than settling down.’
His smile was laced with icy disdain. ‘Is that so?’
‘Your...exploits are hardly a tightly guarded secret.’
She bit down on her lip again, her eyes dropping to the floor. The lighting was dim, but he could see the flush of pink in her cheeks.
‘No,’ he agreed softly.
The word should have been a warning, but Emmeline had no experience with men at all. And definitely not with men like Pietro Morelli.
‘I don’t propose you stop...um...that...’ She waved a hand in the air, the dainty bangles she wore jingling like windchimes on the eve of a storm.
‘Don’t you? My, my—what an accommodating wife you’ll be.’
‘I won’t really be your wife,’ she pointed out quickly. ‘I mean, we’ll be married, but it will be just a means to an end. I imagine we can live perfectly separate lives.’
She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, recalling the details she’d seen of his sprawling mansion on the outskirts of Rome.
‘Your house is enormous. We’ll probably hardly see one another.’
He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, somewhat mollified by her realism in the face of such a ludicrous suggestion. At least she wasn’t getting carried away with fairy tale fantasies, imagining herself as a Disney princess and he as her long-awaited Prince Charming.
‘And that wouldn’t bother you?’ he drawled, his eyes raking over her from the top of her bent head to the curved body and crossed legs.
She was the picture of boring, high-society America. No fashion, no sense of style or personality—just a beige trouser suit with a cream blouse and a pearl choker wrapped around her slender, pale neck. Why would any twenty-two-year-old choose to style themselves in such a fashion?
‘Of course not,’ she said, the words showing her surprise. ‘I just told you—it wouldn’t be a real marriage. My father will be comforted by knowing that we’re married—he’s so old-fashioned—but I don’t think he expects it to be some great big love-match. It’s a dynastic marriage, pure and simple.’
‘A dynastic marriage?’ he heard himself repeat.
‘Yes. It’s hard for people like us to settle down. To meet a person who’s interested in us rather than our fortunes.’
She shrugged her shoulders and Pietro had the impression that Col had been fundamentally wrong about Emmeline. She didn’t strike Pietro as particularly vulnerable. If anything, she had an incisive grasp of the situation that he hadn’t expected.
‘I definitely don’t want your money. In fact I don’t want anything from you. Just the freedom our marriage offers me.’
Why did that bother him? Her calm insistence that she would take his name and nothing else?
‘My mother would like grandchildren,’ he was surprised to hear himself say. Baiting her, perhaps? Or trying to unsettle her?
She laughed—a sound that caught him off-guard completely. It was a musical laugh, full of the colour that was otherwise lacking from her.
‘She probably already has several, given your reputation.’
Dark colour slashed across his cheeks. ‘Are you suggesting I have unacknowledged children running about the place?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I guess it’s a possibility you should consider.’
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She had more spark than he’d appreciated. It was hidden deep beneath the veneer of cultured, polite society heiress, but her intelligence and acerbic wit were obvious now that he was actually in a conversation with her.
‘There aren’t,’ he said with finality. ‘The responsibility of parenthood is not one I would abandon.’
Yes, she could tell that about this man. He had a sombre, ultra-responsible air.
‘Then your mother may have to live with disappointment. At least she’ll have the satisfaction of not seeing her son in the society pages for all the wrong reasons
