Mistress to a Millionaire

by Helen Brooks

  The air was perfumed with the scents of almond, orange and lemon from the trees surrounding the entrancingly lovely structure, and all in all there was a magic, an ethereal quality to the house, which actually brought a lump to Daisy’s throat. It was the sort of house you might imagine in a dream but never expect to see in real life, and she was going to stay here for a time. She, Daisy Summers, she thought wonderingly as a dart of something she had forgotten she could feel but which she recognised as joy lit her soul. If she could find peace of mind anywhere, surely it was in this exquisite setting?

  Slade had been watching her face, and now, although she had not spoken, he appeared satisfied with her reaction to his home as he opened the door of the Bentley and helped her alight.

  They hadn’t taken more than a step or two towards the house when the doors were opened to reveal a large, buxom woman and a tall, slim girl, and in between them, but without his hands in theirs as one would have expected, stood the small figure of Slade’s son, who looked even more fragile and large-eyed than in his photograph.

  Daisy was aware of the two women but her eyes were on Francesco as she and Slade walked to the foot of the steps. She saw him dart a quick glance at the housekeeper and his nanny before his eyes returned to them, and then she and Slade were climbing the steps and Francesco was in front of her.

  ‘How do you do?’ He had stepped forward a pace and was holding out his hand, his large brown eyes looking up into her face. ‘I am Francesco, and I am very pleased you are going to come and stay with us.’

  It was said parrot fashion and there was another fleeting glance at his father as he repeated the words he had been taught.

  Daisy hesitated just a moment and then she did what her heart told her to do and knelt down in front of the small figure, her head now level with his. ‘Hello, Francesco,’ she said softly, looking into the baby face that was surprisingly like his handsome father’s, and then she reached out and took the small hand, drawing him towards her and into her arms. There was a split second of stiffness and then the little body melted against her, thin arms coming round her neck in a quick hug.

  Daisy held him tight for one more moment before she put him gently from her, and her voice was determinedly bright to quell the surge of emotion that had flooded her chest at the pressure of the childish embrace as she said, ‘I would love to see your home, Francesco. Would you show me it, please?’

  Again there was the glance at Slade, and at his father’s nod the child said, his tone more natural now, ‘I will show you your rooms first, Signorina Summers—’

  ‘Francesco.’ Slade cut into the little boy’s eager chatter with a dark frown. ‘What did I tell you? English at all times. You know the correct address.’

  ‘Sì—I mean yes, Papà.’ The brightness had gone from Francesco’s face and Daisy could have wept. ‘I will show you your rooms, Miss Summers,’ he repeated formally.

  ‘My name is Daisy, Francesco, and that is what my friends call me. We are going to be friends, aren’t we?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Sì—yes, but Papà—’

  ‘Your father didn’t know how I wish you to address me.’ Daisy forced an easy smile Slade’s way and saw he was scowling at her. She ignored it utterly. ‘Now he does I am sure it will be perfectly all right for you to call me Daisy.’

  There was absolute silence at the side of her but again she ignored it. This child was scared stiff of his father, she thought angrily, and if Slade thought she was going to be what he had termed a mother figure and called Miss Summers at the same time he had another think coming! She had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. How could she reach the child like that?

  ‘Francesco, just before you show Miss Summers her suite perhaps you would be good enough to go and find Mario and ask him to bring in the cases?’ Slade said stiffly. ‘We will wait for you in the drawing room, yes?’

  ‘Yes, Papà.’ It was clear the small figure was reluctant to leave Daisy, but once Slade had introduced her to Isabella and Angelica he sent the nanny and Francesco in one direction, and Isabella in another with a request for a tray of coffee. Then she and Slade entered the house behind the housekeeper and he led her straight through the baronial hall, which was vast and very beautiful with a massive open winding staircase, marbled floors and stunning chandeliers, and into the drawing room.

  She barely had time to take in the grandeur of this room before Slade said, his voice very cold, ‘I think there are a couple of things I need to make clear before we go any further, Daisy.’ He waved a hand for her to be seated.

  ‘Yes?’ She knew what was coming and she stared at him, her chin up and her back straight as she remained standing.

  ‘As I explained to you, Francesco has been outrageously spoilt by my wife’s parents and family and there is a need for discipline to be maintained at all times if the child is to grow up as I would wish,’ Slade said firmly.

  She continued to stare at him and now he shook his head slightly, his voice irritable as he said, ‘You understand what I am saying? He cannot be encouraged to be wilful.’

  ‘You think allowing him to call me by my Christian name is encouraging him to be wilful?’ Daisy asked with very real surprise.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Slade frowned darkly. ‘No, of course not. But his grandmother can be…graceless with those in her employ,’ he said tightly. ‘I will not have this rub off on Francesco.’

  He was clearly finding this conversation difficult but Daisy was at a loss as to how to help him.

  ‘After one particularly long visit to her home I found Francesco ordering Mario about in a manner I can only describe as churlish,’ Slade said quietly. ‘This attitude is not acceptable. It must be corrected now. It is unfortunate that my mother-in-law lives so close but that cannot be helped.’

  ‘How did Mario take Francesco’s orders?’ Daisy asked softly. She could see he was trying to do the best for his son but by swinging the pendulum so far in the opposite direction he was doing more harm than good.

  ‘He thought it most amusing,’ Slade said grimly. ‘I did not and Francesco soon discovered this.’

  ‘Slade, he is six years old.’

  ‘He will be seven in a few weeks,’ Slade barked back.

  ‘Nevertheless he needs love as well as discipline,’ Daisy said hotly, stung by his tone. ‘Surely you can see that? There is no way I could have him call me Miss Summers, no way. It doesn’t mean that I’ll let him show me any disrespect, but I want him to obey me through affection, not fear. And although it is true that children are little sponges as far as adults are concerned, soaking up their elders’ attitudes and actions, I’m sure Francesco sees enough of you and this household to know the correct way to behave.’

  He stared at her, his brows dark. ‘But I am his father and I do not have the comfort of such a revelation,’ he said with cutting sarcasm. ‘Angelica is far too subservient with both Francesco and his grandmother and this has not been good. You saw a charming little boy out there and he can be that—at times—but he also has a mind of his own and a will that is very strong.’

  Like father, like son, Daisy thought drily.

  Something in her face must have alerted Slade to her thoughts because he nodded as though in answer to something which had been voiced. ‘Yes,’ he murmured quietly, ‘the Eastwood determination and resolve, but I make no apology for handing them down to my son, Daisy. There have been times in my life when I have been very grateful for the grit and drive my father instilled in me from an early age, but that is the thing—it needs to be channelled and directed in the right way.’

  ‘I can accept all that.’ Her chin was still up. ‘But I would not be comfortable being called Miss Summers, Slade. It has to be Daisy.’ He wasn’t the only one with a bit of determination and resolve, she thought hotly. ‘And when I take over the care of Francesco I would want the freedom to deal with him as I see fit.’

  As Slade went to speak Daisy held up her hand, something which caused the
black eyebrows to rise.

  ‘I shall not be weak with him,’ she continued quickly, ‘but I don’t consider cuddles and love weak; in fact they are essential, as are laughter and fun and allowing a child to be a child.’

  ‘You think I am too hard on him.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Well, you will learn.’

  ‘Perhaps we both will,’ she countered bravely.

  She had expected further frowns, perhaps even one of the rapier-sharp remarks he was so good at, but then he totally took her aback as he stared at her for a moment more before flinging back his head and letting out a roar of laughter. ‘For such a little, slender thing you are as single-minded as a lioness, aren’t you?’ he said after he had finished laughing, amusement turning his voice warm. ‘I was not wrong about you.’

  She stared back at him without smiling, not at all sure how to take the apparent good humour. She hadn’t got Slade Eastwood down as a man who tolerated defiance in those he employed—just the opposite in fact. She didn’t understand him at all.

  ‘Yes, well, I have my own opinions.’ She saw the black eyes were alive with laughter. ‘Especially where my work is concerned,’ she added tartly.

  ‘I was not laughing at you, Daisy,’ he said quietly, holding her angry gaze firmly as all amusement fled from his.

  That was exactly what he had been doing, she thought drily, but it hadn’t been that which had concerned her. It was him—Slade Eastwood. He was something of an enigma, and that would have been all right if it hadn’t been accompanied by an overwhelming magnetism and dark attractiveness that were definitely dangerous. She didn’t trust him—not an inch—and she didn’t like him either. He was too…male.

  ‘Now why do I get the feeling that if I could read your mind I wouldn’t like it?’ Slade asked softly, and her eyes refocused on him at the sound of his deep voice.

  It was so near the truth that Daisy felt guilty colour stain her face in a hot flood.

  ‘Hmm.’ He eyed her darkly. ‘I seem to have hit a nerve.’ He moved the couple of feet between them to her side, lifting her chin lightly with one finger as he stared down into the soft gold of her eyes. ‘I am not your enemy, Daisy. I wish you to know this.’

  There had been the odd occasion before when he’d sounded more Italian than English and this was another of them. It increased the feeling of vulnerability she always felt in his presence, and although he seemed quite unaffected by her closeness the smell and feel of him were turning her insides to melted butter.

  She shrugged awkwardly. ‘I know; I didn’t think…’ Her voice trailed away as he shook his head in repudiation of her protest, the dark eyes mocking.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he said coolly. ‘You don’t like me. Well, this is not a problem; you do not have to like me as long as you like Francesco and handle him well. My son’s welfare is all-important. I think we can agree on that at least?’

  She looked up at him without speaking, her eyes wide and honey-tinted and her hair a soft cloud of silver about her face. She wanted to say something, something witty or droll to lighten what had suddenly become a strangely intimate moment, but the last sixteen painful months had dulled her responses with the opposite sex and especially with an extraordinary man like Slade Eastwood. She was aware she was standing there like the original dumb blonde but she couldn’t help it.

  ‘So, there is no problem. Yes?’ he pressed quietly.

  She nodded silently, mesmerised by his nearness.

  ‘This is good.’ And then he dropped what was obviously intended to be a swift casual kiss on the tip of her nose in the same moment that Daisy moved slightly, opening her mouth to reassure him that Francesco was her only concern too.

  As his warm lips met her half-open mouth the spark that ignited was instantaneous and it took them both by surprise. As his hands went out and he took hold of her upper arms, moving her closer into him, she didn’t even think of moving away or stopping him, and then his mouth was devouring hers in a long, deep kiss that was all fire and passion.

  Her eyes were shut and the delicious smell of him was all about her, and now he covered her face in small hungry kisses, his mouth warm against her closed eyelids, her throat, her ears, before it moved to take possession of her lips again in a sweet, drugging kiss that fed the heady rush of sensation that had exploded at the first touch of his mouth.

  His hands had moved down to her hips, fitting her softness against his hard frame with a smoothness that spoke of his experience, but it was the feel of his body’s blatant desire that brought Daisy out of the whirlwind of hot sensation and back into the real world.

  What was she doing? What was she allowing? In the same instant that the thought hit they both heard the sound of Francesco’s voice in the hall outside, and their breaking away was simultaneous, Daisy stumbling backwards on shaky legs.

  ‘Papà? Papà, can I show Daisy the house now?’

  The door had opened just after Daisy had sunk into one of the beautifully upholstered armchairs dotted about the vast room, and in the seconds it took for Francesco to talk to his father Daisy pretended to fiddle in her handbag for something, to give her hot face time to cool down. She couldn’t believe—she couldn’t believe she had just done that. If the ground opened up and swallowed her right now she wouldn’t care. In fact it would be a blessing. What on earth was he thinking? Oh, what had she done…?

  ‘And I can call her Daisy, Papà?’

  She hadn’t heard a word of their conversation through her hot confusion, but now, as Francesco’s clear childish treble penetrated the flurry in her head, Daisy heard Slade say, his voice calm and controlled and unforgivably steady, ‘Yes, this is what I am saying, on the condition that you speak English at all times in Daisy’s presence and that your vocabulary increases significantly. Signor de Sica will continue to take you for your lessons and you will continue with your French with him, but it is important your English improves, Francesco.’

  That kiss hadn’t affected him at all, not an iota. The thought worked like a douse of icy-cold water on the hot humiliation that was keeping her head bowed and her face hidden. A moment ago she had been thinking that she would get the next plane back to England, that she couldn’t possibly stay in Slade’s house even overnight, but now she gritted her teeth and straightened her back, her eyes narrowing.

  Okay, it had meant nothing to him and it meant nothing to her too, she thought tightly, her heart racing, but she would make sure she never put herself in such a dangerous position again. If he thought she was offering more than taking care of Francesco he would get a nasty shock, but no way was she going to let him believe his lovemaking had affected her. It hadn’t—not in the slightest, she lied passionately.

  ‘Are you ready to show me my rooms, Francesco?’ She raised her head as Slade finished speaking to his son, forcing a smile to her lips and rising quickly to stand on shaky legs.

  ‘Sì! Sì!’ And then, as he realised his mistake, the little boy flashed an apologetic glance at his father and added in a small, subdued voice, ‘I mean yes, Daisy.’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ She grinned at him and the small face grinned back. ‘But I think we could do with something to help you remember to speak in English, what do you think?’

  The little face straightened. It was clear Francesco wasn’t at all sure there wasn’t a punishment lurking somewhere in this.

  ‘How about a point system?’ Daisy suggested quietly as she took one of the small hands in hers. She was aware of Slade looking on but didn’t glance at him once. ‘If, at the end of a day, I think you have done really well you can have points up to a maximum of, say…’ She pretended to consider and Francesco’s great brown eyes watched her avidly. ‘Say five,’ she continued quietly. ‘And then, once you reach one hundred points, you will win a prize.’

  ‘A prize?’ The little face was enraptured. ‘What will it be?’ he asked eagerly as he jumped up and down in excitement.

  ‘Oh, I’ll have to think about that.’ Dais
y smiled down at the small child. ‘But it won’t be easy, I warn you. I am a hard taskmaster; all the children at the school where I worked would tell you this. I only reward you if you really earn it.’

  ‘Did you stay at the homes of the other children?’ Francesco asked after a moment’s pause. He clearly didn’t like the idea of her having known children other than himself, and for a moment she almost smiled at the innocent childish jealousy.

  ‘No.’ She stared down at him gravely. ‘Your home is the first I have stayed in, Francesco, so I hope we can make it a happy time for us both.’

  He nodded, his face now as serious as hers. ‘We will,’ he declared with all of his father’s firmness, and then he jerked her hand impatiently. ‘Come; I will take you everywhere, but I want you to see my room first; I have a games console and everything.’

  As Francesco made to drag her towards the door Daisy turned a swift glance on Slade as his deep voice said, its tone very dry and cryptic, ‘As easy as that, eh? No, I was not wrong about you, Daisy Summers.’

  She didn’t ask him what he meant—she really didn’t want to prolong the time in his presence for even a second—but the flush that had begun to die in her cheeks as she had talked to the child was vivid again as she left the room.

  She had been mad, crazy, to take this job, but take it she had and she intended to see the trial period through no matter what, she told herself firmly. She had always faced difficult situations head-on—her father had taught her early in life that it was the only way to behave—and she wasn’t going to shirk this one. In four weeks she was due to report to Slade’s consultant here in Italy for a check-up and if he gave her the okay she would start to be more involved in Francesco’s care for the next few weeks leading up to Angelica’s departure. And then the three-month trial period would begin.

  She breathed in deeply, listening to Francesco’s excited chatter with only half an ear as she contemplated the months ahead.