The Prodigal Prince's Seduction (Castaldini Crown 2)
“You must have been younger than five. I can just imagine you, strong limbs and boundless energy, streaking after errant balls, in pursuit of approval and smiles.”
That was how it had been exactly. Gerald had given her a glimpse of what paternal indulgence could be like, when her father hadn’t been able to provide it. And somehow Durante had looked back in time and knew. She wanted him to know the rest.
“While I’m debunking the myths about my being a gold-digging man-eater, I want you to know where they came from.”
His wave was dismissing, adamant. “I don’t need explanations.”
“I need to tell you. The details, anyway. I already told you the basics…about my ex. I’ve never told anybody the truth. In fact, that secrecy is the reason behind my negative reputation. You see, I didn’t bring up my hospital stay and the charges I pressed during divorce proceedings. My lawyers insisted that if I exposed him, he’d be harmed, but I’d gain nothing but more lawsuits and having him in my life endlessly. They got me a huge settlement in return for silence. It wasn’t enough punishment for what he did to me, but I figured I was cutting that monster in half. But then, he took advantage of my silence to defame me. He gets more vicious as time goes by, knowing that if I speak up now, I’ll be known as the bitch who’s slandering the poor ex she robbed of half his fortune. That final day in court, he swore he’d make my life hell. And he sure is trying his worst. I guess the few men I rejected afterward make a good chorus for his venom.”
His look had darkened as she spoke, was almost black now.
She groaned. “What are you thinking?”
Something chilling slithered in the depths of his eyes. His lips spread in a frightening parody of a smile. He looked like some malevolent deity. She already knew he was formidable, but she could now see how deadly he could be.
“I’m thinking it’s time Edward Jamieson lost the other half of his fortune. And for the truth about him to become public. A man like him would be a serial abuser. There are bound to be other women he’s hurt and paid off into silence. I’m also thinking it’s time for his first wife’s death to be fully investigated.”
She gaped at him. “Remind me never to become your enemy.”
His switch from ferocity to fondness was dizzying. “Not only is there no danger of that, but I’m only an effective enemy to those who’ve been their own worst enemies. All I need to do to crush him is expose the crimes he committed.”
“So that’s how you decimate your rivals, huh? Through their own wrongdoing?”
“And by doing nothing wrong myself, so no one can retaliate. Except with allegations such as what you came armed with today.”
She chewed her lip. “I would have told you to leave him alone, that he and his lies don’t matter, if you hadn’t reminded me that he could be abusing other women—women who may not be able to defend themselves like I did. So, as long as the investigations are honest, by all means, crush away.”
He crooked her a whimsical smile. “As long as? You think there’s a chance I’d fabricate evidence? Frame him?”
“No! I know from your history—and from personal experience—that you retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed, but I’ve come to believe that you do so when you think you’re justified, not out of malice. I believe you’re unforgiving, but not unscrupulous. You’re an avenger—you might act before you get your facts straight, but you’re never a villain.”
He sat forward, placed both elbows on the quartz table, cupped his face in his palms, his eyes heavy with exhilaration and indulgence. “That’s quite a testimony. I think.” He winked at her. “If I ever run for public office anywhere, my slogan will be An avenger, never a villain.”
She was struggling to convince her heart to restart when he drawled, “So…sell me on your proposal.”
Thankful for the detour away from personal landmines, she breathed deep, struggled to access the pitch she’d prepared.
“Okay.” She sat forward. “The book I envision is not like any you’ve received offers to write. I’m not after the sensational angles in your life, real or fabricated. In fact, I don’t want you to expose anything about your personal life beyond your health, exercise and relaxation habits. You know, anything that kept you functioning to capacity for the past twenty years, soaring from one pinnacle to the next. I want you to explore your drive, your discipline. I want this to be the work-ethic motivation book of all time, a book any young person would read and be inspired to jump up and tackle the world.”
His eyes had grown serious as she talked. He suddenly huffed. “It’s ironic to hear you saying ‘soaring’ when those closest to me are insisting I’m perilously close to crashing and burning.”
Her heart skipped another beat. “What’s your opinion?”
“I think they’re on to something. At least, they were.”
The meaning simmering in his eyes quivered in her heart. She almost shouted for him to stop. Keep it strictly sexual. She might know how to handle it if he did. But he didn’t, and she couldn’t hope he meant what she hoped he meant. Therein lay certain annihilation.
But there was something far stronger than fear for her fate. Concern for him. “Do you have any complaints, any symptoms?”
He started to dismiss her question, then changed his mind, leveled his eyes on her. “The main symptom is that I ‘retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed.’ I never had a temper and it’s maddening that I seem to have developed one.”
“So what’s loosening your screws?”
“Public opinion says I’ve been chronically fatigued and sleep deprived for years. All I know is that I’m working more and more and sleeping less and less. When I do sleep, I don’t remember any of my dreams, to the point that I think I don’t dream.”
“Do you need to work that hard?”
“That’s what my friends keep asking.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You have friends?”
His laugh boomed. “Wonders will never cease, will they? I, for one, sometimes wonder how I do. There are two in particular I want you to meet, my cousin and his bride. I think you’ll really get along with Jade. She hones her tongue at the same rapier maker that you do.” She made a face at him and he laughed again. “No, I don’t have to work a fraction as hard to ‘maintain my power.’ But I’ve become unable to slow down, like a train without brakes. It’s become self-perpetuating, sort of an addiction. I guess I am too much like my father. He slowed down when he was in his fifties. And he still streaked past everyone else.”