Luca did not let him finish. ‘Yes,’ he said firmly.
Then he nodded at Giuseppe and closed the double doors to thesaloni, where they had taken coffee after dinner. As the doors clicked shut, and her uncle was left with the faithful Giuseppe and the diligent Paolo to be escorted to his bedroom and the rest and sleep he so obviously needed, Bianca turned away. Absently, to give herself something to do, she placed the used coffee cups and the two liqueur glasses she and Luca had used on the silver tray. Matteo had abstained, and she was glad of it. The wine had been quite enough for him, given his illness and his cocktail of medications.
A voice behind her spoke. Deep, authoritative, and edged like a blade.
‘We need to talk,’ said Luca. ‘Now.’
* * *
Luca strode to the French windows, throwing one of them open wide. He wanted fresh air, and he wanted privacy. He had things to say, and he did not wish them to be interrupted by staff clearing away the coffee cups, or asking if there was anything else he needed.
All he needed was Bianca—to himself. And to let rip with what had been burning inside him since his godfather had dropped that second bombshell.
He could feel his fury now, knifing at him to get out, black in his head as he flicked the light switch by the French windows and lit the external wall lamps. They threw a pool of light on to the wide, paved terrace, almost turning it into a stage.
He paused by the open window pointedly. Leashing his self-control with icy intent. He saw her stiffen. For a moment he thought she was going to try and cut and run…trot out some verbiage about being tired and wishing to retire. Not that he would let her.
But then her head went back and he saw her shoulders straighten. Without a word she marched past him, out into the pool of soft light beyond, and then turned. He stepped after her, closing the French windows. She stood, illuminated as if on a stage, her beauty displayed, and Luca felt something go through him that he instantly sought to repress. Extinguish.
He’d done so six years ago—he would do so again. And again and again and again.
For however long it takes!
His expression was tight, as he moved forward. Close, but not too close.
His eyes lasered her.
‘You do realise,’ he said, and each word was bitten out from him as he finally unleashed the self-control he’d been exerting, ‘that all the idiocy Matteo spouted will not happen? Whatever fond hopes you may have been harbouring.’
His voice was withering. Scathing and scornful. He saw her expression change—saw her flinch, almost. Though it was gone so swiftly he thought he had only imagined it. Then hardness filled her face.
‘Any “fond hopes”—believe me—are entirely my uncle’s!’ Her voice was as withering as his. As scathing and as scornful.
A short, harsh laugh broke from him. ‘Oh, don’t even try and pretend otherwise! This insane proposition is your idea! The moment you realised that I was Matteo’s godson you saw your chance! Your chance to get what you didn’t get six years ago. Marriage! That’s what you were after! But I wouldn’t play ball! I walked away from you. And now you see a chance of bringing me to heel the way you couldn’t back then! Well, I’ve got news for you, Bianca—I didn’t want you then, and I don’t want you now either!’
As he threw this tirade at her he saw her face tighten into stark immobility. The fact that it threw her features into relief, accentuating her beauty, he refused…refused…to acknowledge. He refused to acknowledge anything—any damn thing at all—except his need to let rip at her.
He let rip some more. He needed to. Emotion was knifing inside him, and it had to come out or it would cut him to the quick. Do him serious damage. The emotion was anger—of course it was. That was the only emotion the situation warranted. The only one he would permit.
The shock he’d felt all evening was finally being let loose.
Bianca…reappearing out of the past with a completely new identity.
But still the same agenda. Wanting more of me than I want of her.
And now, after six years, she thought she’d found a way to get it. A despicable way.
Contempt twisted in his voice now. ‘How could you make use of Matteo the way you have? Manipulate him into wanting what he announced at dinner! A dying man—and you make use of him to try and get me to marry you! It’s contemptible!’
He saw her expression change, and the starkness of her features gave way—contorting. Convulsing.
‘Contemptible?’ she shot back, fury naked in her voice. ‘I’ll tell you what iscontemptible!’ Her voice was a hiss, like a snake. ‘Your vanity! Your incredible, overweening vanity! You think—you actually think!—that I want to marry you? My God, I wouldn’t marry you if you came served on a silver salver with an apple in your mouth, you conceited pig! You are thelastman on God’s earth that I would ever,evermarry! Foranyreason whatsoever!Anyreason! Even…’ She drew a breath, narrow and constricted. ‘Even for the sake of my poor uncle!’
Her eyes flashed suddenly—furiously—like emerald fire. Luca felt their power…armoured himself against their force. Her attack on him he thrust aside—her accusation was predictable and irrelevant. As was what she threw at him now.
‘I amappalledto discover thatyouare my uncle’s precious godson!’
‘Make that two of us!’ he threw back grimly. ‘I am appalled to seeyouhere—’