Mistress to a Millionaire

by Helen Brooks

  ‘Daisy—Daisy, stop it.’ Slade was shaking her slightly now, appalled at the harsh sobs that were racking her body. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

  As all the guilt and pain she had kept buried in the deep wells of the subconscious came flooding to the surface, Daisy cried as she had never cried before. And after a time he simply held her, knowing that this—whatever it was—was something which had to have free rein. His handsome face was deeply troubled above the bent blonde head but he didn’t regret what had been said. This had all been fermenting below the surface like a festering sore and it was time for the wound to be opened, however painful. It was the only way there was a chance for the healing to begin.

  It was a long time before the anguished sobs gave way to quieter weeping, and then, even when there was just the odd shudder and hiccup breaking the silence, Slade continued to hold her close. And Daisy had to summon all her resolve before she could move out of his arms. It was the last time he would hold her after all. Because she knew now, with utter and absolute clarity, that she could never put such power as Ronald had had over her emotions into a man’s hands again. And with Slade the power would be so much stronger, simply because she loved him more.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ As she straightened and stepped back a pace Slade didn’t try to hold on to her, but his dark eyes were hard on her white face as she continued, and his expression was inscrutable. ‘I shouldn’t have behaved like that; I can’t think what came over me.’

  ‘Cut the polite, stiff-upper-lip English—’ He stopped abruptly, and she knew he had been about to say something more ripe when he continued, ‘Nonsense. We both know what came over you—something from your past and I want to know what.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her chin was up and her eyes were defiant as she faced him, and for a moment his frustration made him want to shake her until her teeth rattled. They were back to square one and he couldn’t believe it.

  ‘For crying out loud, Daisy.’ The words were ground out through clenched teeth and spoke of his resentment more clearly than any accusation could have. ‘Talk to me, damn it.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got things to do.’ She made a desperate little movement with her hand as she backed towards the door. ‘I must go.’

  ‘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.

  ‘He is having a lovely time,’ Daisy agreed quietly, turning to look at Francesco again and ignoring Slade’s last words. Slade seemed to have put the scene in the study behind him, she thought despairingly, but how was she ever going to match his cool, calm composure? She couldn’t—it was quite beyond her.

  ‘And you, are you having a lovely time?’ She had been standing to one side of the main crowd watching the performance, having sought the shade of a luxuriant beech tree, and now Daisy realised too late there was no one within earshot.

  ‘Me?’ He had turned her round again as he had spoken, his touch firm, and now she forced a bright smile as she said, ‘It’s not my party. It doesn’t matter whether I’m having a nice time or not.’

  ‘And life hasn’t been a party for you for quite a while, has it, Daisy?’ he said even more softly.

  She shrugged the loaded question away as the thought came even more strongly that she would have to leave Slade’s employ. Apart from any feeling he might have for her—and it was only in that moment that she acknowledged she dared not believe the lasting quality of what he had declared in the study earlier—he was the type of man who would have to get to the bottom of anything or anyone he didn’t understand. He would keep digging; he wouldn’t give in until he had exposed all there was to expose. And that would mean him finding out about Jenny, and then he would expect her to talk about it…

  ‘Slade.’ The rapier-sharp voice cutting across the lawn brought both their heads turning as one towards the intimidatingly beautiful face of Slade’s mother-in-law, and Daisy gave a silent groan as she looked into the imperious, cold eyes. Claudia had telephoned the house earlier that day and left a message with Isabella to say she was feeling unwell and would be unable to make the party. But she didn’t look ill; in fact she looked very well, Daisy thought warily as she noticed what could almost be termed a triumphant expression on the older woman’s face.

  ‘Ciao, Claudia.’ Slade didn’t compromise his eternal soul by stating he was pleased she had come—as he had done when greeting his other guests—but nevertheless his impeccable good manners came to the fore as he walked across to his mother-in-law, his hand still firmly gripping Daisy’s arm and making it impossible for her to do anything else but walk with him. ‘You have recovered from your indisposition?’ he asked courteously, once they had reached Claudia’s side.

  Claudia waved the enquiry away with a sharp movement of her hand, and in that moment Daisy knew the older woman hadn’t been unwell and that something was afoot. Something which affected her. ‘I hope it isn’t too presumptuous,’ Claudia said now, her voice very cool and even, ‘but I have brought a guest of my own along. I believe he is known to your…to Francesco’s nanny?’ And the slate-hard eyes rested fully on Daisy, something malignant in their depths.

  Daisy heard Slade’s, ‘What the…?’ at the side of her, but she could feel the blood draining from her face and was concentrating very hard on not fainting as she stared at the tall, good-looking man who had materialised at Claudia’s side from out of the crowd, like a genie out of a lamp.

  She said not a word as Ronald approached her, but then, as Slade stepped forward, his face black with rage, she found herself clutching at his arm and saying, ‘It’s all right, Slade, really. It’s all right.’

  ‘You have sixty seconds to get off my property.’ There was pure steel in Slade’s voice as he looked at the other man. ‘And that goes for you too, Claudia.’

  ‘Well!’ Claudia’s outraged gasp would have been funny in other circumstances. Daisy doubted if anyone had ever spoken to her as Slade had just done in the whole of her life.

  ‘I just want a word with my wife.’ Ronald had retreated a step or two, his eyes wary at the ugly look on Slade’s dark face. Ronald had never been one for physical fitness and it was clear he had recognised who would come off worse if this altercation degenerated into a brawl.

  ‘Was. She was your wife,’ Slade ground out through his teeth. ‘Past tense. And you’ve fifty seconds left.’

  ‘Daisy? Daisy, please. I need to talk to you.’

  As Ronald appealed to her, Daisy realised she had to do something fast if Francesco’s day wasn’t to be spoilt by seeing his father involved in something nasty. ‘Let him say what he wants to say, Slade,’ she said shakily, still holding on to his arm, more for support than anything else now, ‘and then he can go. Don’t spoil the day for Francesco.’

  ‘I need to speak to you alone, just the two of us.’ Ronald was wearing his butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look, but it didn’t cut any ice with her, not any more, Daisy realised with something like relief. In fact, now the initial shock was over, she found the confrontation—which she had known, deep inside, would happen one day—wasn’t affecting her at all as she had imagined. When she looked at Ronald she saw a cruel, vain, selfish and incredibly manipulative man, and she couldn’t believe she had once thought she loved him. But she had loved the image he had projected, the façade he’d put forward, that was all. She hadn’t known the real Ronald, not until she had received the photographs. And she knew now she shouldn’t have tried to avoid seeing him again—she was stronger than he was. Any day.

  ‘Do you want to talk to him alone?’ Slade asked Daisy.

  ‘No.’ She answered Slade but kept her eyes on Ronald, and they were cold. ‘There is nothing personal between us any more. Anything he wants to say he can say in front of the whole world.’

  ‘Daisy, you know how I feel.’ Dark red had flared across
Ronald’s cheekbones at her words but he still couldn’t believe she really was finished with him, Daisy thought with a touch of disbelief. After Jenny, after all he had done, he still had the utter arrogance, the conceit, to think he could talk her round. His ego was truly phenomenal. ‘I love you; I’ve always loved you and I always will. You have to believe that.’

  ‘Then that is your misfortune,’ Daisy said very clearly, ‘but you’re wrong; you don’t love me, Ronald. The only person you love, the only person you have ever loved, is yourself.’ He had never even mentioned Jenny. He had known about the miscarriage and that it was a little girl, but he had never once mentioned it because at bottom he simply didn’t care.

  ‘Give me one more chance and I’ll prove it to you.’

  Claudia was very quiet but Daisy was aware the Italian woman’s eyes had been fixed on her face all through the exchange, and now Daisy looked straight at Slade’s mother-in-law as she said, ‘I don’t know what you meant to accomplish today, Mrs Morosini, or what Ronald told you to persuade you to act as you did, but he is as dead to me as if he were six foot under the ground. He simply does not exist for me any more.’

  And then she turned to face Ronald fully again. ‘I’ll never give you another chance, Ronald. The last months I’ve spent hating you, but I realise now that even that is giving you too much significance in my life. You would have done far better to remain with Susan once the divorce was absolute. You deserve each other.’

  ‘Divorce?’ Claudia turned on Ronald accusingly. ‘You told me you were married to her, that she is your wife.’

  She couldn’t take much more of this. Daisy was conscious that she was trembling inside, that her legs were shaking and her stomach nauseous, but she also knew she had to prevent Ronald from knowing. She had astounded him with her attitude—she could see it in his angry face—but she needed to remain cold and strong and calm on the outside if he was going to go for good. Any weakness and he would seize on it and use it against her; it was the nature of the man. And she never wanted to set eyes on him again.