Mistress to a Millionaire

‘And that’s it?’ he asked tightly, moving back himself to perch on the massive dark desk, a lazy, male sensuality in the pose that brought Daisy’s heart racing in spite of what she was feeling. ‘You’ve things to do? You must go?’ His voice was caustic.

Oh, why did he affect her so? she asked herself painfully. Because you love him, a separate little part of her mind answered with stark honesty. You love him in a way you never did Ronald and that’s why you’re running scared. Her chin went a notch higher at the thought. She wasn’t scared. She was blowed if she would ever let anyone frighten her again.

‘That’s it?’ he asked again when she didn’t reply. ‘You can cry like that, tear yourself apart like that, and you aren’t going to tell me why?’

‘No, I’m not.’ She had to end this, now, once and for all. She should have done it weeks—months—ago. ‘You pay my salary, Slade, but that is all you do. You haven’t got a right to my thoughts or my mind.’ This was awful, awful, but if she didn’t make him hate her she would weaken, some day she would weaken, and then she would be lost. ‘If you don’t want me to stay on as Francesco’s nanny then I understand perfectly, of course,’ she added stiffly. ‘I’ll be quite happy to leave if that’s what you want.’

He continued to stare at her with the same incomprehensible expression on his dark face, and although she tried to keep her eyes on his she was forced to glance away when the black glittering gaze became so piercing she couldn’t bear it.

‘Perhaps that might be the answer,’ he said softly, after a full minute had ticked by and the atmosphere had become so charged that Daisy could feel the electricity curling her hair. ‘But then there is Francesco to consider, is there not? I will give the matter some thought and inform you of my decision in due course.’

‘Right.’ The last had been spoken in a tone which was just plain arrogant, but Daisy welcomed the surge of angry adrenalin his imperious stance had brought forth. It was his other side—the tender, gentle, achingly warm side—she couldn’t handle. ‘Then if I’m free to go and do the job I’m paid to do…?’ she asked tightly, her head up and her cheeks hot.

‘Of course you are free, Daisy.’ It was cool and even and devoid of emotion. ‘You have always been free to stay or go.’

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t look at him again as she turned to the door, wrenching it open with shaking hands and then almost falling through into the hall as she banged it shut behind her before running up to her suite on winged feet, there to fall across the bed in a violent paroxysm of grief and pain that made her feel as though her heart had just been torn out by its roots.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT TOOK Daisy another thirty minutes, involving a wash and re-make up of her face in the sanctuary of her bedroom, before she could nerve herself to go downstairs.

It helped that Francesco was up and about again— Angelica ruefully admitting it was only Queenie who had kept him in bed for even the short time he had endured—and needing constant attention, beside himself with excitement as he was.

‘He looks the image of Slade, doesn’t he?’ Aloysia said quietly to Daisy when Daisy brought her small charge into the garden where the others were sitting, the caterers having put up a flamboyant marquee the night before. The party was being held outside, followed by an evening barbecue, although Isabella had still been flapping for the last few days due to her determination that the house be perfect for the few old aunties and uncles who preferred the cool of the house to the heat of the Italian sun. ‘But although he looks like Slade there are times when I can see Luisa’s genes coming through. She lived on her nerves.’

‘Did she?’ Daisy felt horribly uncomfortable. She was sure Slade’s mother was under a serious misconception where she was concerned and would never speak so if the older woman knew she was merely working for Slade, but other than blatantly stating that she was not romantically involved with Aloysia’s son Daisy didn’t quite know how to set Aloysia straight. And it seemed much too presumptuous to do that.

‘Of course with Francesco it is nothing more than a little excitability now and again,’ Aloysia continued softly, ‘but his poor mother was very highly strung. I think the only happiness she knew was when she married Slade; her life before that was not a happy one.’ And then, as though she had suddenly become aware she had been speaking too freely, Aloysia gave a small, deprecating shake of her head as she added, ‘You must excuse me, Daisy. It is just that I want my son to be happy.’

Daisy was surprised into looking straight into Aloysia’s soft brown eyes, and she saw that Slade’s mother’s remarks had not been idle chatter—the older woman had been determined to let her know that Slade’s marriage had not been an easy one and that she considered he deserved more.

And he probably did, Daisy acknowledged silently, which was another good reason for not getting involved with her. She had so much that needed working out in her own life she wouldn’t be any good to anyone else. That, at least, was crystal-clear.

‘I’m sure you do.’ Suddenly the words came easily. ‘And one day Slade will meet someone who will be right for him and a good mother to Francesco. I’m sure of that.’

‘Some day?’ There was a very definite question in the quiet words, and Aloysia’s face was very straight and still.

‘Yes, some day,’ Daisy answered flatly without hesitating.

Aloysia nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps.’ Her beautiful eyes didn’t leave Daisy’s unhappy, troubled face. ‘I just hope the woman he falls in love with reciprocates the emotion. Slade is like his father; he is the sort of man who loves once in a lifetime. Some people are like that.’

This was getting too painful. Daisy rose abruptly, softening the action with a smile as she said, ‘I’d bett

er calm Francesco down; it’s nearly two hours to go until the party and he is going to be worn out if he continues like this.’

Over the next hour or so more and more relations and friends arrived until the garden was a hub of activity; the older contingent moved into the relative quiet and tranquillity of the house once they had seen Francesco, while the younger couples, teenagers and what seemed like hundreds of children swarmed into the marquee and over the lawn and surrounding grounds.

The sun was blazing down out of a cloudless cornflower-blue sky, the atmosphere was one of gaiety and excitement and the brightly coloured clothes and happy faces reflected this, but as Daisy moved about the assembled company, keeping a close eye on Francesco, she had never felt so desperately miserable in all her life. She smiled, she laughed, she kept Francesco on an even keel whilst chatting to all and sundry, but she felt awful. Her heart was as heavy as a ton weight and she couldn’t deny the voice that was telling her, deep inside her, that once this special day was over she was going to have to think long and hard as to whether she could bear to continue living in Slade’s house.

But she didn’t want to leave Francesco. That thought kept popping up all the time. The little boy had been through so much, far more than any child should have to endure, and he had taken to her—she wouldn’t use the term love; she just couldn’t today. How would it affect him if yet another person went out of his life? But how could she stay after what had transpired between her and Slade in the study? But then if she did go—

And so it went on, over and over, until her head was aching and her brain was buzzing. She knew Slade was in the house receiving the guests as they arrived, but then the time came when the last visitor had made their appearance and the party began in earnest, the magician and clowns Slade had hired holding the children entranced.

‘He is enjoying himself, eh?’

The start Daisy gave when the deep, rich voice spoke just behind her as she watched Francesco sitting goggle-eyed in a crowd of children in front of the magician made Slade smile. She turned to face him. ‘Hey, what is the matter?’ he asked softly, his dark eyes laughing at her. ‘I am not the monster.’

No, he wasn’t a monster, Daisy thought wretchedly. He was—he was everything she had ever dreamt about as a young romantic teenager when she had still believed in happy ever after and true love. The pain slashed through her and she was glad she had worn her hair loose as she allowed the thick silver-blonde silk to cover her face in a soft veil.