‘Be grateful that fate intervened tonight, cara. I am not the man for you. You are curiously innocent, but there is a blackness in my soul that I fear would destroy you.’

Salvatore dropped a hard kiss onto her mouth and his gut clenched when he felt her immediate response. He closed his eyes briefly and thrust her away from him.

‘Get out. Run from me, Darcey. Because if you don’t I will take your lovely body and crush your gentle heart.’

His eyes glittered when she did not move and he hauled himself to his feet. Pain seared through his leg and he staggered against the bureau.

‘Did you hear me?’ he snarled. ‘If you know what’s good for you—get out!’

THE BOND OF BROTHERS

Bound by blood, separated by secrets

Dark, powerful and devastatingly handsome, the Castellano brothers have fought much to overcome their difficult childhood—but separation and secrets have left their scars.

Now these two men must ensure that their children do not inherit their painful legacy…

You read Sergio’s story in:

HIS UNEXPECTED LEGACY September 2013

Read Salvatore’s story in:

SECRETS OF A POWERFUL MAN November 2013

Secrets of a Powerful Man

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. An avid reader from an early age, she found school friends used to hide their books when she visited—but Chantelle would retreat into her own world, and still writes stories in her head all the time.

Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon® romances as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! Her aim is to write books that provide an element of escapism, fun, and of course romance for the countless women who juggle work and home life and who need their precious moments of ‘me’ time. She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women and even stronger-willed, sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, taking her very badly behaved terrier for walks and eating chocolate (followed by more walking—at least the dog is slim!).

Recent titles by the same author:

HIS UNEXPECTED LEGACY (The Bond of Brothers) CAPTIVE IN HIS CASTLE AT DANTE’S SERVICE THE GREEK’S ACQUISITION

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘THERE’S SOMEONE HERE to see you. A man...’

Darcey looked up from her desk, surprised that her usually unflappable secretary sounded flustered.

‘He says his name is Salvatore Castellano,’ Sue continued. ‘He has been referred to you by James Forbes and wishes to arrange speech therapy for his daughter.’

‘But James knows that the unit is closing.’ Darcey was puzzled. James Forbes was head of the paediatric cochlear implant programme at the hospital and he had been vociferous in his condemnation of the financial cuts affecting the speech therapy unit.

Sue shrugged. ‘I explained that, but Mr Castellano is insistent that he wants to see you.’ She added in a conspiratorial voice, ‘I think he’s used to getting his own way, and he is demanding to speak to you. He’s very Mediterranean—you know the type... Dark and intense. I know I shouldn’t say this when I’ve been married to Brian for twenty-four years, but he’s hot.’

He was demanding to see her? Darcey’s brows rose, but she had to admit she was intrigued by this man who was responsible for turning Sue into a wilting heap of hormones. Fortunately she had no concerns that he might have the same effect on her. She was off hot men. From now on she would be perfectly happy with lukewarm and safe, perhaps even slightly boring, but definitely not a showman...like her ex-husband.

She glanced out of the window and noticed a sleek black saloon car parked next to her Mini. Her contract with the health authority had been terminated and she did not have to meet this Salvatore Castellano. But what the hell? There was only an empty house waiting for her, and a solitary dinner—if she could be bothered to cook.

‘You’d better show him in.’

Sue stepped back into the corridor and Darcey returned to the task of clearing the drawers in her desk. The filing cabinets had been emptied and all that remained to do was take down the certificates on the wall which gave details of her qualifications: BSc (Hons), MSc in Speech and Language Therapy and an Advanced Clinical Skills Diploma for speech and language therapists to work with the deaf.

It was a pity that being an expert in her field had not been enough to save her job, she thought ruefully. The Inner London health authority’s budget had been drastically cut and she had been made redundant. Losing her job had forced her to think about her future—and acknowledge the necessity of coming to terms with her past. Her decision to take a career break for a couple of months over the summer was primarily so that she could make plans for the private practice she intended to set up. But, more importantly, she was hoping to put her divorce behind her and get over her cheating rat of an ex-husband once and for all.

Her gaze fell on the nameplate on her desk. She had become Darcey Rivers when she had married Marcus and had kept his name after the divorce because she was reluctant to revert back to her maiden name and the notoriety that went with it. It had been painfully humiliating when she had realised that Marcus had married her because he had hoped that joining the famous theatrical Hart family would boost his acting career. Unfortunately she had been so in love with him, so bowled over by his wit and charm and undeniable good looks, that with uncharacteristic impulsiveness she had accepted his proposal four months after they’d met.

Darcey walked over to the window and picked up the potted plant on the sill. She had inherited the Maidenhair Fern two years ago, when she had taken up the post of senior specialist speech and language therapist. It had been half-dead and Sue had offered to throw it out— apparently this type of fern was notoriously difficult to grow successfully. But Darcey liked a challenge, and under her care the plant had thrived and was now a mass of bright green lacy leaves.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take you home with me,’ she murmured. She had read that plants responded if you talked to them, and her words of encouragement seemed to have worked—although that was strictly between her and the fern. After all, she was a highly educated professional and sensible was her middle name; her family and friends would be astonished if they knew that she talked to plants.

The office door opened again, and she turned her head to see Sue usher a man into the room. Sunlight streamed through the window and danced across his rugged features. Darcey’s first thought was that he was nothing like Marcus. But neither was he lukewarm, and he was definitely not safe. Now she understood what Sue had meant when she had said he was hot!

He looked as though he belonged to another century, when knights on horseback had fought bloody battles and rescued damsels in distress. Startled by the wild excesses of her imagination, Darcey forced herself to study him objectively, but the image of an ancient king still remained in her mind. Perhaps it was the dangerously sexy combination of black jeans and shirt and the well-worn leather jacket that emphasised the width of his shoulders. His height was equally impressive; the top of his head brushed the door frame and she estimated that he must be several inches over six feet tall.

Her heart gave a jolt as she raised her eyes to his face. He was not conventionally handsome like Marcus. Not a pretty boy. He was a man in the most masculine sense: hard-faced, square-jawed, with a strong nose and dark, penetrating eyes beneath heavy brows. His eyes gave away nothing of his thoughts and his mouth was set in an uncompromising line, as if he rarely smiled. His hair was thick and so dark it was almost black, falling to his shoulders. Darcey had a feeling that he cared little about his appearance and had no inclination to visit a barber.

As she stared at him she was aware of a coiling sensation in the pit of her stomach. The feeling was entirely sexual and utterly unexpected. She had felt dead inside since she had discovered that Marcus was sleeping with a glamour model with pneumatic breasts. The lightning bolt of desire that shot through her now was so intense it made her catch her breath. She sensed the power of the stranger’s formidable physique and for the first time in her life acknowledged the fundamental difference between a man and a woman—male strength and feminine weakness.

She suddenly realised that she was holding her breath and released it on a shaky sigh. Somehow she managed to regain her composure and gave Salvatore Castellano a polite smile.

‘Mr Castellano? How can I help you?’

He glanced at the nameplate on her desk and frowned. ‘Are you Darcey Rivers?’

He spoke with a strong accent. Italian, Darcey guessed. There was an arrogance about him that set her on the defensive.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said coolly.

He looked unimpressed. ‘I expected someone older.’

James Forbes had said that Darcey Rivers was an experienced and dedicated senior speech therapist. The description had put into Salvatore’s mind an image of a grey-haired, professional-looking woman, possibly wearing a tweed suit and spectacles. Instead he was faced with a slip of a girl with a heart-shaped face and a sleek bob of conker-brown hair that gleamed like silk in the bright sunlight pouring through the window.

He skimmed his eyes over her petite figure, noting how her fitted suit, reminiscent of the style worn in the 1940s, emphasised her tiny waist and the gentle flare of her hips. Her legs were slender and he guessed she chose to wear three-inch stiletto heels to make her appear taller. Her face was pretty rather than beautiful; her mouth was too wide and her eyes too big for her small features, giving her an elfin quality. Beneath her jacket her blouse was buttoned up to her neck and he briefly wondered if she was as prim as her appearance suggested.

Darcey flushed beneath the stranger’s intent appraisal. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,’ she said with heavy irony.

‘I am not disappointed, Miss Rivers.’

His voice was deep-timbred, with a sensual huskiness that made the hairs on the back of Darcey’s neck stand on end.

‘I am merely surprised. You seem young to be so highly qualified.’

Darcey knew she looked a good five years less than her age. Perhaps when she reached fifty she would be glad to look younger, but at university and at job interviews she had struggled to be taken seriously. Of course her name had not helped. Once people realised she was a member of the famous Hart family they were surprised that she had not followed her parents onto the stage. At least Salvatore Castellano was unaware of her family connection. But she felt irritated that he had mentioned her youthful appearance.

‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she told him tightly. ‘And Rivers is my married name.’

His expression was inscrutable, ‘My apologies, Mrs Rivers.’

Why on earth had she said that? Darcey asked herself. Intimating that she was married had been a subconscious response to his comment that she looked young. ‘Actually, I prefer Ms Rivers.’

His shuttered expression did not alter, but she had an unsettling feeling that his dark eyes could see inside her head. Sue had gone, and he closed the door with a decisive click and walked across the office.

‘I’m glad we’ve got that settled,’ he murmured drily. ‘Now, perhaps we can sit down and I will explain the reason for my visit?’

His arrogance was infuriating. Twin spots of colour flared on Darcey’s cheeks and she had half a mind to tell him to get lost, but she hesitated when she noticed that he walked with a pronounced limp.

‘A fractured femur—the result of a car accident,’ he said curtly. ‘My leg is held together with a lot of fancy metalwork.’

She was embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him. He made her feel as if she was sixteen again, immature and unsure of herself, lacking the self-confidence that the other members of her family possessed.

‘Don’t act like a timid mouse, darling girl,’ had been her father’s regular refrain. ‘Project yourself to the audience and believe in yourself—because if you don’t how can you expect anyone else to?’

It was all very well for her father, Darcey had often thought. Joshua Hart had earned a reputation as one of the finest Shakespearian actors in a career that had spanned three decades. Charismatic, exciting and unpredictable, he could also be distant with his children when he was focused on an acting role. As well as being an actor he was a brilliant playwright, and three of his plays had been performed in the West End. The one thing Joshua Hart certainly did not lack was self-belief.

‘Acting is in your blood,’ he’d often told Darcey. ‘How could it not be, with the combination of genes you have inherited from your mother and me?’

Her mother, Claudia, was a gifted actress, and Darcey’s brother and her two sisters had all followed their parents into the theatre. She was especially close to her younger sister Mina, and was proud of how she had overcome her disability to become a respected actress.

Only Darcey had chosen a different career path, and Joshua had not hidden his disappointment. Sometimes Darcey felt her father had taken her decision not to uphold the Hart family tradition and train at RADA as a personal affront. He had never been the easiest man to get on with, and in recent years she had sensed a divide between them that she longed to breach.

‘Ms Rivers?’

Salvatore Castellano’s curt voice snapped her back to the present. Without waiting for an invitation he pulled out the chair by her desk and sat down, stretching his injured leg stiffly out in front of him. Darcey decided that she needed to take control of the situation.

‘I’m afraid I can only spare you a few minutes, Mr Castellano,’ she said briskly. ‘I have a busy afternoon.’

His brows rose. ‘You mean you are holding appointments today? James Forbes led me to believe that the speech therapy unit has closed down.’

Flushing, because in actual fact she had nothing planned for the rest of the day, Darcey walked behind her desk and sat down, placing the potted fern in front of her like a barrier. ‘So it has. I’m only here today to clear my office. Once I’ve finished I have...personal things to do.’

What kind of things? Salvatore wondered. Was she going home to her husband? Maybe to spend a lazy summer’s afternoon making love? Glancing at her left hand, he was intrigued to see she was not wearing a wedding ring. He frowned. Ms Darcey Rivers’s private life was of no interest to him. All he was interested in was her professional expertise.

‘I have come to see you, Ms Rivers, because I wish to employ a speech therapist who specialises in working with deaf children, and specifically children who have cochlear implants,’ he said abruptly. ‘My five-year-old daughter had bilateral implants fitted two months ago. Rosa is profoundly deaf. She communicates using sign language but she has no audio-language skills.’

Darcey breathed in the subtle tang of his sandalwood cologne and a quiver of awareness shot through her. She wished now that she had not sat down at her desk, because rather than giving her a sense of authority all she could think was that, close up, Salvatore Castellano was devastatingly sexy.

For heaven’s sake! She gave herself a mental shake and concentrated on what he had told her. ‘Did your daughter have the implants fitted in England?’

‘Yes. James Forbes is her audiologist.’

‘Then James must have explained that although the unit here is closing the speech therapy programme will still continue at the hospital, but on a smaller scale and with fewer therapists—which unfortunately will probably mean a longer waiting list before children can be assessed,’ she said ruefully.

‘James treated Rosa as a private patient. She does not qualify for the post-implant speech therapy programme provided by your National Health Service.’

‘I see,’ Darcey said slowly. ‘In that case, why did James recommend me to you? Even if the speech therapy unit here wasn’t closing, your daughter would not be eligible for me to assess her because I am employed—was employed,’ she amended with a grimace, ‘by the local health authority.’

‘James said that you intend to establish a private practice.’

‘I hope to do so in the future, but my immediate plans are to take a break from work and spend the summer in the South of France. I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr Castellano, but I can give you the names of several speech therapists who I’m sure would be willing to work with your daughter.’

Nothing on Salvatore Castellano’s chiselled features indicated that he was disappointed by her response, but there was a steely implacability in his voice.

‘James says you are the best in the business.’ He speared Darcey with his penetrating stare. ‘I want the absolute best for my daughter, and I am prepared to pay whatever fee you decide to charge for your expert knowledge.’

She frowned. ‘It’s not about money...’

‘Experience has taught me that it is always about money, Ms Rivers.’

His sardonic reply riled her. Perhaps he thought that her decision to set up a private speech therapy practice had been made because she hoped to increase her earnings, as one of her ex-colleagues had suggested. But nothing could be further from the truth. What she wanted was more freedom to implement her own ideas and hopefully enhance hearing-impaired children’s experiences of speech and language therapy. It was something Darcey cared passionately about, but she had a feeling that even if she tried to explain Salvatore Castellano would not understand.

She tried another approach. ‘Obviously I can appreciate that you and Rosa’s mother must be anxious for her to begin speech therapy as soon as possible. All the evidence shows that children with CI have the potential to achieve good communication and language skills if they receive therapy quickly after implantation.’

She hesitated, wondering where the child’s mother was. It was strange that she was not with him. Alarm bells rang inside her head. She’d had past experience of parents who had not been in agreement over the type of help they wanted for their child.

‘Can I assume that your daughter’s mother agrees with your decision to employ a speech therapist?’

‘My wife died when Rosa was a baby.’

Darcey shot him a startled glance, shocked by his revelation but even more so by the complete lack of emotion in his voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. Her thoughts turned to his daughter. The little girl had been locked in a silent world for most of her life, and although she must be able to hear now that she had cochlear implants, sound must be a strange and perhaps frightening concept for her. Given that Rosa already had so much to cope with, the fact that she was growing up without her mother was desperately tragic—particularly as her father seemed as unemotional as a lump of granite.

Thoughts of her own mother flooded Darcey’s mind. Six months ago Claudia had been diagnosed with a malignant melanoma. Luckily she had responded well to treatment, but Darcey remembered how devastated she had felt at the idea of losing her mum, and her heart ached for Salvatore Castellano’s motherless little daughter.

She looked across the desk and found him watching her intently. From a distance his eyes had looked black, but now she saw that they were very dark brown, framed by thick black lashes. She wondered if his eyes became warmer when he smiled. Did he ever smile? Her gaze strayed to the stern line of his mouth. Would his lips soften if he kissed her? No doubt the dark stubble shading his jaw would graze her skin...

Snatching a sharp breath, she said quickly, ‘I would like to help your daughter, Mr Castellano, but as I explained I will be out of the country for the next few months.’

‘You are going to the French Riviera, I believe you said?’

‘Yes. My family own a villa at Le Lavandou which I intend to use as a base. But I thought I might tour along the coast, maybe even drive into Italy.’

He gave her a speculative look. ‘You speak as if you are going alone. Why isn’t your husband going with you?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was none of his damned business, but something in his expression made her drop her eyes from his piercing gaze.

‘As a matter of fact I’m divorced,’ she said stiffly.

‘And there is no one else in your life? No boyfriend who is going to France with you?’

‘I really don’t see—’

‘Because if that is the case,’ he interrupted her, ‘then there is no reason why you cannot spend the summer in Sicily and give my daughter the help she desperately needs. You mentioned you would like to visit Italy,’ he reminded her. ‘Sicily is the most beautiful part of Italy—although I admit I might be a little biased.’

The corners of his mouth lifted. It was not exactly a smile, but the hint that he wasn’t completely made of ice, and even had a sense of humour, distracted Darcey’s thought process.

‘You’re Sicilian?’

‘To the depths of my soul.’

His accent was suddenly very strong. For the first time since he had walked into her office Darcey heard emotion in his voice, fierce pride in his heritage. ‘I live in a castle that was built in the thirteenth century by one of my ancestors. Torre d’Aquila has been renovated and has all the facilities of a twenty-first-century home,’ he said, mistaking her doubtful expression. ‘You will be very comfortable. There is a private pool and the beach is nearby.’

She held up her hand. ‘Mr Castellano, I’m sure your castle is lovely, but I haven’t agreed to go to Sicily. For one thing I don’t speak Italian, and I wouldn’t be able to help Rosa learn her native language.’

‘I have decided for several reasons that it will be better for her to learn English. My wife was half-English. Adriana died before Rosa was diagnosed as being profoundly deaf. I would like Rosa to learn her mother’s language, and James Forbes thinks that now she can hear with the cochlear implants she might also be able to learn to speak Italian.’

Darcey nodded. ‘I have met children with CI who are bilingual, but obviously it is important to concentrate on teaching Rosa one language to start with. I’m sure James has explained that, even though your daughter is now able to hear sound, developing language skills can be a slow process. She will need support and patience from her family as well as extensive speech therapy.’

‘She is able to communicate using British sign language, which James tells me you are competent in.’ Salvatore leaned across the desk and trapped Darcey’s gaze. ‘James spoke highly of your professionalism and skill, but more importantly, he said that you have a special empathy with deaf children.’

‘My sister lost eighty percent of her hearing after she had meningitis when she was a child,’ she explained. ‘It was seeing how Mina struggled at first to cope with her deafness that made me decide that I wanted to work with hearing-impaired children.’

Salvatore heard the emotion in Darcey’s voice and sensed she was softening. Determined to seize his advantage, he took his wallet from his jacket and pulled out a photograph of his daughter.

‘Rosa is a shy child who, as a result of her disability, finds it hard to connect with people. I hope that the gift of language will help her self-confidence. I believe you can give her that gift, Darcey. James Forbes is confident that you are the best person to teach my daughter to speak.’

Oh, heavens! The way he said her name, in his gravelly, sexy accent, sent a little shiver down Darcey’s spine. His dark eyes were mesmerising and his words tugged on her emotions. He was right, she thought. Language was a gift, but most people took the ability to hear and speak for granted. Darcey remembered how Mina had once confided that when she had lost her hearing she had felt lonely and isolated.

She studied the photo of a startlingly pretty little girl with a mass of dark curls framing a delicate face. Of course nothing in the photo revealed Rosa’s deafness. Only when she looked closely did Darcey notice that there was no sparkle in the child’s eyes but a sense of loneliness that was heart-wrenching.

It wouldn’t hurt to see the child and make an assessment of her needs, Darcey mused. She could hand the case over to one of her colleagues who had also been made redundant and might be interested in working with Rosa.

Unbeknown to Darcey, her indecision was reflected in her eyes. She had beautiful eyes, Salvatore noticed. They were an unusual light green colour—the exact shade of the peridot pendant she was wearing suspended on a chain around her throat. He was surprised by the flicker of interest he felt. It was a long time since he had been intrigued by a woman. The delicate fragrance of her perfume—a sensual musk of jasmine and old-fashioned roses—teased his senses, and his eyes were drawn to the scattering of golden freckles on her nose and cheeks.

His mouth firmed as he reminded himself of the reason for his visit. His daughter needed the help of a speech therapist and Ms Rivers came with the highest recommendations. The fact that she was attractive was immaterial. There was no likelihood he would find her a distraction. During his lonely childhood he had learned to impose iron control over his feelings, and the loss of parts of his memory four years ago had only furthered his sense of emotional detachment.

‘All I am asking at this stage is for you to visit my house in London to meet Rosa,’ he said. ‘We can take things from there.’

Darcey chewed her bottom lip. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help your daughter, Mr Castellano—’

‘Good,’ he cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I think the best thing would be for you to come and meet her now.’ He got to his feet and towered over her, so that Darcey had to tilt her head to look at him. ‘Can you postpone whatever plans you had for this afternoon?’

She wondered if he recognised the word no. He was like a steamroller, flattening any opposition to what he wanted, she thought ruefully. But she could not help but be impressed by his single-minded determination to help his daughter.

‘I...I guess so.’ Her cheeks grew pink as she recalled her white lie that she would be busy later. ‘But I’m packed and ready to leave for France on Friday, so I don’t really see the point.’

His dark eyes trapped her gaze. ‘You would not say that if you were my daughter. Sadly, Rosa cannot say anything. She is unable to voice her thoughts, her hopes...her fears.’

He was deliberately playing on her emotions, Darcey recognised. But his ploy had worked.

She threw up her hands in surrender. ‘All right, I’ll come and meet your daughter. I’ll assess the level of speech therapy she needs and then, if you wish, I will hand her case over to one of my colleagues. But I have to warn you, Mr Castellano, there is no chance I will go to Sicily with you.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’LL TAKE MY car,’ Darcey told Salvatore as they walked across the car park. Despite his injured leg his stride was twice the size of hers, and her stiletto heels tip-tapped on the tarmac as she tried to keep pace with him.

‘There’s no need for you to drive through the centre of London. I’ll drop you back here later so that you can collect your car.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know you, Mr Castellano, and I’m not going to get into a stranger’s car.’

Personal safety was an issue she took very seriously. Her parents also owned a touring theatre company and ran drama workshops in schools and youth clubs to promote ways for young people to stay safe. Before she had become involved in her own career Darcey had frequently performed with the company, Speak Out, which also promoted drama for the deaf community.

‘I promise I have no plans to ravish you on the back seat,’ Salvatore said drily.

He glanced at the petite woman at his side and idly wondered if the spark of fire in her green eyes would live up to its promise. Outwardly Darcey appeared cool and collected, but beneath her smart suit he sensed she was an explosive bundle of sexual energy.

He frowned, annoyed by his unexpected train of thought. ‘You are welcome to sit in the front with my chauffeur.’

Through the Bentley’s smoked glass windows Darcey made out the figure of a driver sitting behind the wheel and she felt like an idiot.

‘As for not knowing who I am,’ Salvatore continued, ‘do you drink wine?’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Occasionally. My father is interested in fine wines and has built up a large collection.’

‘Then he will almost certainly know that the wines from the Castellano Estate are the finest in Sicily.’ Reaching inside his jacket, Salvatore withdrew a business card and handed it to her.

Darcey glanced at the logo on the card and recognition dawned.

‘Castellano Wine! I’ve seen the label on wines in supermarkets and specialist wine shops. My father says the Castellano vineyards produce the best wine that has ever come from Sicily.’ She looked uncertainly at Salvatore. ‘So...do you work for the company?’

‘I own it,’ he said coolly. ‘At least, I own the vineyards and the winery, and also a wine distribution business under the umbrella of the Castellano Group, which is a multi-faceted global organisation. My father retired from the company last year, leaving me and my twin brother as joint CEOs. Sergio is responsible for the property development division, and also has a personal interest in the Hotel Royale in Bayswater, which the company purchased and refurbished a couple of years ago.’

Salvatore opened the rear door of the Bentley.

‘Now that you know as much about me as you need to know, will you accept my offer of a lift to my house in Mayfair?’

Darcey was still reeling from the realisation that he must be very wealthy—probably a multi-millionaire at the very least. Where else would he own a house but in the most expensive area of London? she thought wryly.

She shook her head. ‘I’d still prefer to take my car.’ It meant that she was in control and could leave his home when she chose.

Salvatore frowned. He was used to being obeyed without question, and he found Darcey’s obstinacy irritating, but she was already getting into her car.

‘I’ll follow you,’ she said, ‘but you had better tell me your address and I’ll put it into my sat nav.’

He gave her the postcode. ‘It’s on Park Lane, close to Marble Arch.’ Salvatore snatched his eyes from the expanse of slender thigh exposed as Darcey’s skirt rode up her legs as she climbed into her car and ruthlessly dismissed his faint stirring of sexual interest. ‘It will be simpler for Rosa’s sake if we drop formality and use our Christian names. Darcey is a charming name.’

Feeling hot and bothered by the predatory glint she had glimpsed in Salvatore’s eyes, Darcey was glad of the distraction.

‘It has both Irish and French origins. My father is half-Irish and half-French and he chose the name for me.’

‘The meaning of Salvatore is saviour.’

To Darcey’s surprise he gave a harsh laugh, and for a second she glimpsed a tortured expression in his eyes that was truly shocking.

His expression hardened and became unreadable once more. ‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ he muttered obliquely.

She wondered what he meant, but before she could ask he slid into the back of the Bentley and disappeared from view behind the darkened windows. He was a man of mystery and absolutely the last thing she needed when she was two days away from her holiday, Darcey thought as she started the Mini’s engine and followed the Bentley out of the car park. For weeks she had been daydreaming about relaxing on a golden beach, eating melting Brie on crusty French bread, and drinking the local red wine. She was regretting her impulsive decision to meet Salvatore’s daughter, but as she recalled the photo of Rosa she could not help feeling sympathetic towards the little girl with the sad eyes.

* * *

Traffic in the capital at the start of the rush hour was heavily congested, and Darcey had lost sight of the Bentley by the time she crawled along Oxford Street and turned onto Park Lane. Opposite was Marble Arch and the green oasis of Hyde Park, but she was too busy looking for the address Salvatore had given her to be able to admire the famous London landmarks. Suddenly she caught sight of the Bentley parked in front of a stunning neo-classical style mansion house. Hastily indicating to change lanes, she nipped into a parking space, thankful that her small car was so easy to manoeuvre.

Salvatore was standing on the front steps of the house and seemed to be in deep conversation with a striking blonde wearing a very short skirt and a low-cut top that revealed her enviable cleavage. Darcey sensed from their body language that they were arguing. The woman spun away from him, but he followed her down the steps and caught hold of her arm.

Feeling awkward at the idea of interrupting a lovers’ tiff, Darcey remained in her car and watched the woman jerk free from Salvatore and climb into a waiting taxi, which immediately sped away. She was tempted to drive off too, but he was striding along the pavement towards her, his powerful masculinity in no way lessened by the slight unevenness of his gait due to his injured leg. With a sigh, she got out of the Mini and went to meet him.

‘It might be best if I left,’ she said, feeling her heart skitter when he halted in front of her. Her reaction to him was all the more unsettling because she could not control it. Since her divorce eighteen months ago she had not felt the slightest interest in men, and she was horrified by her body’s response to Salvatore’s potent virility.

He frowned, and she explained, ‘I saw you arguing with your girlfriend and I thought you might want to go after her.’

‘That wasn’t my girlfriend,’ he said curtly, and Darcey suddenly realised that his temper was on a tight leash. ‘Sharon was my daughter’s nanny. I hired her through an agency when I brought Rosa to England for surgery to fit the cochlear implants. The arrangement was that Sharon would accompany me back to Sicily and continue looking after Rosa. But she has just informed me that she has got back together with a boyfriend and is moving to Birmingham to be with him.’

‘So who is looking after Rosa now?’

‘Sharon said she had asked one of the maids to keep an eye on her.’

Darcey could imagine how confused and upset Rosa must feel at being abandoned by the nanny who was supposed to be taking care of her. ‘Poor little girl,’ she said softly.

There was no flicker of emotion in Salvatore’s dark eyes. ‘Unfortunately Luisa—the nanny who had looked after Rosa since she was a baby—left to get married shortly before we came to England. Finding someone able to use sign language at short notice was difficult, and Sharon was the only person on the agency’s books. I admit that when I took her on I was unaware of her boyfriend problems.’ He glanced at Darcey. ‘Come and meet my daughter.’

He began to walk back towards the house, and after a moment’s hesitation Darcey hurried after him. ‘Was Rosa close to her previous nanny?’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. My daughter has no memory of her mother and had only been cared for by Luisa. I imagine she missed her at first, but she’s a resilient child.’

Darcey was chilled by his cool tone and his curiously detached air when he spoke about his little girl. She wondered if a five-year-old could really be as resilient as he seemed to think, but she made no comment as she followed him up the steps and into the house. With grey marble walls and floor, and elegant antique furniture, the entrance hall looked more like the foyer of a five-star hotel—with the same impersonal feel. It was obvious that expert interior designers had been given a limitless budget to spend, but although it was a beautiful house it was not a home, and seemed as cold and unwelcoming as its owner.

Darcey glanced at Salvatore’s hard profile as they walked up the sweeping staircase. ‘This is a stunning place,’ she commented.

‘Do you think so? There’s rather too much marble decor for my taste, but I suppose it’s impressive.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘My brother purchased the house to add to his property portfolio. When he married his English wife he considered using it as a London base, but he and Kristen have a very lively four-year-old son, and now another child on the way. They rarely visit England, so I bought the house from Sergio. Most of the time it is rented out to an Arab sheikh. I have only been staying here for the past couple of months, while Rosa had the cochlear implants fitted and adjusted.’

At the top of the stairs Salvatore led Darcey along the landing and opened a door. As she stepped into the room she noticed that a half-hearted attempt had been made to make the room child-friendly, with posters of fairies on the walls and a large dolls’ house in the corner. A movement from over by the window caught her attention, and she watched a little girl slide down from the window seat and run across the room.

Rosa was tall for her age, and even prettier than the photo Darcey had seen of her. Her curly hair was tied in a ponytail, and her dark eyes, framed by long lashes, were hauntingly beautiful. A small earpiece attached to a wire that disappeared beneath her tee shirt and was attached to a battery pack was the only sign of her hearing impairment. Darcey knew that another wire running from the earpiece to a small circle taped to Rosa’s head, was linked magnetically to the implant inside her skull, enabling her to hear.

Rosa’s face had lit up at the sight of her father, but as she came towards Salvatore her steps slowed and she gave him an uncertain smile that made Darcey’s heart ache. She expected Salvatore to sweep his daughter into his arms, but although he gave a brief smile he seemed strangely awkward and patted Rosa’s head, as if he were a distant uncle who was unused to children.

Why don’t you cuddle your daughter? Darcey wanted to ask him. He did not appear to notice the little flash of hurt in Rosa’s eyes, but Darcey saw, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the child.

She recalled instances from her own childhood when she had felt rejected by her father. Joshua had never meant to be deliberately cruel, but he’d often been self-absorbed and careless of other people’s feelings. As an adult Darcey understood his artistic temperament, but as a child she had been hurt and had believed that she had done something to upset her father.

She leaned down so that her face was level with Rosa’s. ‘Hello, Rosa. My name is Darcey,’ she said gently, speaking the words at the same time as she signed them.

Hello, Rosa signed, but made no attempt to speak. She looked up at her father and asked in sign language, Where is Sharon?

Salvatore hesitated before he signed back: She had to go and visit a friend.

When is she coming back?

Another pause, and then he signed, She isn’t.

Rosa’s lip trembled. Darcey shot Salvatore a glance, willing him to lift his daughter into his arms and reassure her that, although the nanny had gone, he would never leave her.

But instead he signed, Darcey has come to play with you.

That’s right—hand the problem over to someone else, she thought, flashing him a fulminating glare. She did not understand what was wrong with him. His determination to arrange speech therapy for Rosa suggested that he cared about the little girl, but he seemed incapable of expressing his emotions.

Perhaps he really was as hard as his granite-like features suggested and did not feel the normal range of emotions most people felt. Darcey could only guess what effect his detachment would have on his five-year-old daughter, who had to cope with deafness and was growing up without a mother. If any child needed her father’s love it was Rosa, but Salvatore seemed to have a heart of stone.

‘I will need to make a proper assessment to determine the level of speech therapy Rosa needs,’ she told him. ‘It should take an hour or so.’ She frowned when he strode over to the door. ‘I assumed you would want to be present during the assessment.’

‘I’ll leave you to get on with your job while I phone the agency and arrange a replacement for Sharon.’ Salvatore saw no reason to explain that he was in a hurry to go to his study because he had just received a text message asking him to call his brother about an urgent matter.

‘But—’

‘Rosa will probably respond better if I’m not here,’ he cut her off abruptly. He could tell from the glowering look Darcey gave him that she did not think him much of a father. Guilt clawed in his gut. She was right, he thought grimly. He was not the sort of father he wished he could be. The truth was he did not know how to act like a loving parent. When he had been growing up his father had been a remote figure. And as for his mother—well, the less said about her the better.

He had been five years old when Patti had left. He had never understood why she had forbidden him and his brother from calling her mamma. She had disappeared one day and taken Sergio with her. Salvatore had assumed she loved his twin and that was why she had taken him to America. It turned out that she had not loved Sergio either. Recently his brother had confided that Patti had been an alcoholic who had often beaten him when she’d had too much to drink.

Salvatore did not know if he felt better or worse now that his illusions about his mother had been shattered. For so many years he had put her on a pedestal and believed he was unworthy of being loved. That belief was still deeply ingrained on his psyche. Maybe it was why he found it so hard to show his emotions.

He wished things were different. He wished he could be an openly loving papa to Rosa, like his brother, Sergio, was to his son, Nico. But always in the back of his mind was the guilt that it was his fault Rosa was growing up without her mother, the fear that one day she would learn the truth and perhaps would hate him.

He jerked his gaze from the accusatory expression in Darcey Rivers’s bright green eyes. ‘I will be in my study. Press nine on the phone if you need anything and a member of staff will attend to you.’

Salvatore barely glanced at Rosa as he exited the nursery, Darcey noticed. She could not understand his remoteness from his daughter. It seemed as though he preferred to hand over the little girl to a nanny, but now Sharon had left and Rosa had no one to take care of her.

She glanced at the child and her heart ached when she saw the wistful expression on her face. Smiling, she walked over to Rosa and crouched down beside her. I like your dolls’ house, she signed. Can I play too?

Dark eyes studied her gravely for a few moments. Rosa had inherited her father’s eyes, Darcey noticed. She tried to block out the image of Salvatore’s ruggedly handsome face from her mind, annoyed by her inexplicable attraction to the cold and enigmatic man. She was here in her professional capacity, and she was determined to concentrate solely on the little girl who was smiling tentatively at her.

* * *

Over the next hour it quickly became clear that Rosa was a highly intelligent child, but although she was proficient in sign language she was unable or unwilling to attempt to speak. The little girl would need plenty of encouragement to develop self-confidence as well as to master language skills.

The nursery door opened and Darcey glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see that Salvatore had returned. But a butler stood in the doorway and informed her that it was Rosa’s dinner time.

‘Mr Castellano is unavoidably detained and has asked if you would accompany his daughter to the dining room.’

She could not refuse when Rosa slipped a small hand into hers and gave her a trusting smile, and she was glad she had stayed with the little girl when they walked into the huge dining room. A single place was set at one end of a long dining table.

Doesn’t your father eat dinner with you? she signed to Rosa.

The child shook he head. Papa eats later. He is always busy in his office.

Darcey felt another pang of sympathy for Salvatore’s little daughter, who was growing up in such isolated splendour. Clearly she did not lack for material things, but Darcey sensed that Rosa yearned for companionship and love.

Will you stay and play with me? Rosa signed when she had finished her meal.

Realising that there was no one else to take care of her, Darcey decided she would have to stay with the little girl and wait for Salvatore. Back in the nursery, she played a few more games with Rosa before helping her to get ready for bed. Rosa removed the battery pack she had worn during the day and the device behind her ear that was the cochlear implant processor.

I don’t like the dark, she signed when Darcey pulled the curtains and was about to turn off the bedside lamp. Will you leave the light on?

Recalling how Mina had hated the dark, because she had felt cut off when she could neither see nor hear, Darcey nodded. Rosa reminded her so much of her sister when they had been children. Perhaps that was why she felt an immediate bond with the little girl. But while Mina had grown up with the support of loving parents and family, Rosa had no one but her stern-faced father.

Darcey was appalled by Salvatore’s seemingly uncaring attitude towards his daughter. He might be the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on but beneath his devastating good looks he was as selfish as her ex-husband. It was about time someone told Salvatore Castellano a few home truths, she thought grimly.

* * *

Salvatore stared moodily out of his study window and noticed that the trees in Hyde Park opposite resembled black silhouettes in the gathering dusk. After he had spoken to his brother and learned that there had been a fire at the winery in Sicily he had been busy on the phone, dealing with the crisis, and had not realised how late it was. He felt guilty that he had left Rosa for so long, but the maid had reported that Darcey Rivers had stayed to help his daughter with her bedtime routine.

He grimaced. No doubt his absence had confirmed her belief that he was an uninterested father. The truth was far more complicated. He loved Rosa, but love was not something he’d had much experience of and he did not know how to get close to his child.

He closed his eyes, trying to control the searing pain in his head. The migraines that had plagued him since the accident four years ago had become more frequent in recent months, and were so debilitating that he was forced to resort to taking painkillers. It was no coincidence that this headache had started soon after he had spoken to Sergio and heard the shocking news his old friend Pietro was dead. The elderly vintner had suffered a fatal heart attack while trying to fight the blaze at the winery.

It was particularly poignant that Pietro had given his life for the wine that he was so proud of, he thought. Winemaking had been in Pietro Marelli’s blood. A third generation vintner, with no son to pass his knowledge on to, he had instead shared his expertise with Salvatore. But, more than that, Pietro had been a substitute father who had welcomed a lonely boy into his home and his heart. Every school holiday Salvatore had returned to the Castellano estate and rushed to see Pietro first, knowing that Tito, his father, would be working in his office and would not welcome being disturbed.

It was strange that he could remember his childhood but had no memory of the accident, Salvatore brooded. He had a clear vision of himself as a ten-year-old boy, walking through the vineyards with Pietro to inspect the grapes, but no recollection of the events that had happened after he had got behind the wheel of his car and driven Adriana away from that party. All he remembered was waking to find he was in hospital and being told that his wife had been killed when their car had spun out of control on a mountain road and plunged over the edge.

The doctor had told Salvatore he had been lucky to escape with his life, albeit with a seriously mangled right leg and a head injury. It had caused no permanent brain damage. His amnesia, so the specialist suspected, was psychogenic. In layman’s terms, his inability to remember the accident, or much of his marriage, was his brain’s defence mechanism in order to blot out the grim fact that he was responsible for his wife’s death.

Salvatore felt a familiar surge of frustration as he tried to cast his mind back in time and hit a wall of blackness. It seemed inconceivable that he could have married a woman, who had given birth to his child, and yet he had no recollection of their relationship. His mother-in-law had put photographs of Adriana everywhere in the castle, but when he looked at the pictures of his wife he felt no connection to her.

The specialist had told him it was likely his memory would eventually return, but until it did Salvatore felt he was trapped in a dark place, with no past and no future, unable to forgive himself for robbing his daughter of her mother.

He kneaded his throbbing temples with his fingers and thought about the rest of his conversation with his brother. Sergio had reported better news about the estate workers who had been burned in the fire. Their injuries were serious, but thankfully not life-threatening.

Hearing a tap on the study door, Salvatore turned his head and watched Darcey enter the room. Her silky copper-brown hair framed her face, and she had taken off her jacket. He could see the shape of her small, firm breasts beneath her blouse. His analytical brain registered that she was very attractive, but he was surprised by the bolt of awareness that shot through him. Earlier, in her office, he had ignored the sexual chemistry between them, but tonight, to his annoyance, his eyes were drawn to the curve of her mouth and he fleetingly imagined covering her soft lips with his.

None of his thoughts were revealed on his hard features, however. ‘Is Rosa asleep?’

‘Do you care?’ Green eyes flashed fire at him. ‘Your daughter went to bed forty minutes ago and stayed awake for ages, waiting for you come and wish her goodnight.’

‘I apologise.’ Salvatore’s eyes narrowed on Darcey’s furious face. ‘I had to deal with an important matter.’

‘It’s not me you should apologise to. Rosa was disappointed when you didn’t show up.’ Darcey’s mouth tightened. As she had watched Rosa struggling to stay awake she had recalled doing the same thing when she had been a child, waiting for her father to come home from the theatre. On the nights when Joshua had remembered to come up and kiss her goodnight she had fallen asleep feeling happy, but sometimes he’d forgotten and then she had cried herself to sleep.

Salvatore seemed to be unaware of how much his little girl needed him. Darcey glared at him, wishing she could ignore his potent masculinity. He had discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal darkly tanned forearms covered with a mass of black hair. His brooding sensuality was dangerously attractive—but she wasn’t looking for danger or excitement, wasn’t looking for a man at all. And certainly not one who made her feel so acutely aware of her femininity.

‘What could possibly be more important than your daughter?’ she demanded. ‘How could you have left her for several hours with a complete stranger?’

‘You work with children in your professional capacity. I knew you would take care of her. The butler told me that Rosa seemed quite happy with you.’

His casual attitude inflamed Darcey’s temper. ‘So your butler is an expert in child psychology, is he?’ she said sarcastically. ‘You are unbelievable!’

She turned back to the door. It was none of her business that Salvatore was so distant from his daughter, she reminded herself. Rosa was a sweet little girl, but Darcey was not going to allow her soft heart to overrule her common sense, which was telling her she needed to walk out of this marble house and away from Salvatore Castellano and his sad-eyed little daughter.

‘I can’t believe your uncaring attitude to Rosa,’ she said disgustedly. ‘The poor little scrap doesn’t have a mother and, to be frank, from what I’ve seen she doesn’t have much of a father.’

Her words hit Salvatore as if she had physically slapped him, but he revealed no emotion on his chiselled features. He was not used to being criticised and was irritated that he felt the need to explain himself to Darcey.

‘I usually visit Rosa to wish her goodnight, but I’ve already said that unfortunately I was detained this evening.’

‘You were too busy working to spare a few minutes for a lonely little girl?’ Darcey said scathingly, recalling how Rosa said that her father was always busy in his office.

Salvatore’s jaw tightened. ‘Earlier this afternoon there was a fire in one of the warehouses at my winery in Sicily. Hundreds of barrels of prized wine have been destroyed, but much worse than that, three of the estate workers were injured in the blaze. I have been making arrangements for the men to be flown to a specialist burns unit on mainland Italy and organising for their families to be with them. I had not forgotten about Rosa, but I admit I was so involved with the crisis at home that I did not realise how late it was.’

He raked a hand through his hair and Darcey noticed the lines of strain around his eyes. He hid his emotions well, but he was clearly concerned about the workers injured in the fire.

‘The agency that sent Sharon does not have another nanny on their books who is able to use sign language, and I haven’t had time to try a different agency.’ His dark eyes sought Darcey’s. ‘But thank you for taking care of Rosa this evening. The least I can do is offer you dinner here with me tonight.’

‘No, thank you. I have to go.’

The idea of spending another five minutes alone with Salvatore filled Darcey with panic. His explanation about why he had not come up to the nursery to see Rosa was understandable, but she still sensed that there were issues with his relationship with his daughter that she did not understand. She did not want to get involved with this enigmatic man whose seductively husky voice was causing her heart to beat too fast.

Without another word she hurried out of the study. Her jacket and laptop were on the chair in the hall, where she had left them, but as she walked over to them, with the intention of continuing out through the front door, Salvatore’s voice stopped her.

‘Can your conscience allow you to abandon Rosa?’

‘Me abandon her?’ She spun round and glared at him. ‘That’s rich, coming from her father—who can’t be bothered to spend time with her and expects the staff to care for her. My conscience has nothing to worry about.’

As she uttered the words Darcey discovered that her conscience was far from happy. The image of Rosa’s trusting expression when she had tucked her into bed tugged on her heart. She remembered how the little girl had signed that she was afraid of the dark. Many young children shared the same fear, but for a deaf child that feeling of isolation must be worse.

‘I have left notes of my assessment on Rosa which you can pass to another speech therapist when you find one who is prepared to go to Sicily.’

‘My daughter has already bonded with you.’

She tried to ignore the pull his words had on her emotions. ‘I suppose your butler told you that?’ she said sarcastically.

‘No, I saw for myself that Rosa likes you.’

Salvatore hesitated and to Darcey’s surprise a hint of emotion flickered across his face.

‘I came to see her while she was eating her dinner. The two of you were laughing together...’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Why didn’t you join us?’

‘Rosa looked like she was having fun, and I did not want to interrupt.’

The truth was he had felt jealous as he had watched his daughter interacting with Darcey, Salvatore acknowledged to himself. Rosa did not laugh very often—not with him, anyway. The only time she seemed truly happy was when she was playing with her cousin, Nico.

He wished he could breach the distance that existed between them. A distance he felt was widening as she grew older. Even though Rosa could now hear with the cochlear implants, he did not know how to reach his little girl. Deep in his heart he admitted that he found her deafness difficult to accept. In his darkest thoughts he wondered if he was to blame for her loss of hearing.

Why was he allowing his mind to dwell on the blackness within him? Salvatore asked himself. He was sure that Darcey’s expertise would enable her to help Rosa learn to talk and, more than that, he felt instinctively that she would be able to connect with his daughter in a way he could not. When he had stood outside the dining room and watched her with Rosa he had been struck by her genuine kindness to his daughter. Somehow he had to persuade her to come to Sicily.

‘Rosa needs you.’

Darcey hesitated, her indecision apparent on her expressive face. Salvatore sensed that she was close to giving in. He glanced towards the butler, who had stepped into the hall.

‘The chef has prepared dinner for you and your guest, sir.’

The timing was perfect. ‘Thank you, Melton. Ms Rivers and I will make our way to the dining room,’ Salvatore said smoothly.

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