by Andie Brock
Deep down, Isobel knew that was what hurt most of all. And deep down was where that particular misery was going to have to stay. Because she had more than enough to worry about right now.
‘I know that having a baby will radically alter my lifestyle, but not to the extent that I have to leave England and move to another continent.’
‘Do you have a better idea?’
Isobel sucked in a breath, all too aware that Orlando was poised, ready to pounce. Still, she had to try. ‘I don’t see why you can’t successfully be a part of the child’s life even if we live in different places.’
There was a telling pause. Orlando’s eyes were holding hers with an icy sharpness that lowered the temperature by several degrees. Dimly Isobel registered the burble of voices, the throaty laugh of a woman on the table behind them, the ominous drum of Orlando’s fingers on the table.
‘I don’t want to be “a part of the child’s life”, Isobel.’ When finally he spoke his voice was low, but full of intent. ‘I want to be a father.’
The weighting of the word left no room for misunderstanding.
Squaring his shoulders, he gave Isobel the full force of his gaze, those deliciously dark, bitter chocolate eyes piercing her with almost painful intensity.
‘And I mean a father from the get-go—starting now. I will be supporting it financially, emotionally, and any other way that is necessary. I will be involved in all decisions regarding every aspect of its life until it reaches adulthood, and after that too—whenever he or she wishes it or I deem it to be required. I am going to be one hundred per cent committed to our child. Do I make myself clear?’
Isobel swallowed.
‘And one more thing.’ He set his jaw determinedly. ‘We will need to get married.’
Orlando coldly watched the look of panic sweep over Isobel’s face, The irony of the situation was striking a heavy blow to his pride. Never had he expected his marriage proposal to be met with such a reaction. But then never had he expected to make one.
Life for him was all about working hard and taking his pleasures when and where he chose—usually in the form of beautiful women and always, always on his terms. Marriage was for mugs. And as for children... Based on his own upbringing, they brought nothing but misery and heartache.
But circumstances had changed dramatically and the unimaginable had happened. Now he was determined to make Isobel his wife, no matter how distasteful she might find it. Because no way was he going to have his child growing up illegitimate, as he had. No way was he going to follow the pattern of his father in any shape or form.
In the few hours he’d had to get used to the idea of Isobel’s pregnancy, shock had turned to discipline as adrenaline had kicked in, telling him to take charge, control the situation, do what he did best. Now he was intent on working out the practicalities, finding the best way to make a stable home for this child. Because that was how Orlando worked—logically, methodically, with a cool head and a razor-sharp brain that defined and solved problems.
It was a winning combination that had served him well in business, kept him ahead of the game, made him the hugely successful man he was today.
But logic couldn’t account for the tightening in his chest when he looked at Isobel now. Or why her expression—sheer horror just about summed it up—twisted at something inside him. If he had asked her to jump off a cliff she couldn’t have looked more aghast. He had no idea why that look bothered him—it wasn’t as if he was even surprised.
‘Married?’ Finally finding her voice, Isobel used it with chilling authority. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t commit to that.’
Orlando felt the blood start to pulse in his veins. ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to.’
‘I don’t have to do anything, Orlando.’
Isobel’s stark words pulled him up short, and as the waiter arrived with their food Orlando was forced to accept that she was right. Right now, Isobel held all the cards. There was absolutely nothing to stop her from digging in those sexy heels and refusing point-blank to agree to any of his demands. Or, worse still, striding off in them and leaving him with nothing but a foul temper and a pending paternity case.
He watched from beneath lowered lashes as she looked at the food being set before her, politely thanking the waiter. If he wasn’t careful he was going to blow this. His every instinct was telling him that he had to win control of this situation, of Isobel—of his whole life, goddammit. Because at the moment he was still in free fall, with no idea of where he might land.
A huge surge of emotion was telling him to get this sorted right now. He would have frog-marched Isobel to a register office there and then if he’d thought he could get away with it. But he knew he had to rein in his domineering attitude before it spooked Isobel completely and she bolted out of his life.
He picked up his knife and fork. ‘I’m sorry you find the idea so abhorrent, Isobel.’ His knife sliced through a scallop with a surgeon’s precision. ‘But I think it’s important that we establish some security for our child as soon as possible. Things can change...who knows what might happen in the future?’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’
‘Meaning you might meet someone else—find a lovely roses-round-the-door family life that I would have no part in.’
‘No, that wouldn’t happen.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘So what are you saying? We have to marry in order for you to have legal rights over the child?’
‘That is one of the reasons.’
‘In that case let me give you my word right now. I would never dispute the child’s parentage nor deny you access.’
‘Not good enough, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, then, have a legal document drawn up. I’ll sign whatever you like to say that I will never keep you from your child.’
‘That’s what I intend to do.’ Orlando’s closed, commanding features held her gaze. ‘It’s called a marriage certificate.’
They stared at each other across the table. A pulse throbbed at the base of Orlando’s throat. He was only just hanging on—to his authority and to his temper.
It didn’t help that Isobel’s every movement seemed to be hot-wired to his libido, firing his lust in a way he could barely keep under control. He could feel it racing through him as he watched her eating now. There was something incredibly sexy about the nip of her teeth, the slight sheen of oil on her pink lips.
Forcing himself to release some of the tension, to allow his features to soften, Orlando tried a different tack. ‘Look, Isobel, there is still a stigma attached to growing up illegitimate—I should know...it happened to me. I don’t want that burden for our child. I won’t allow it.’
He watched Isobel’s expression change, her eyes soften at this crumb of a confession he had tossed her. Which, perversely, made him regret telling her. Because he didn’t want to achieve his aim through weakness. Orlando Cassano got what he wanted through strength, intelligence—cunning, even. Those were the attributes he felt comfortable with—the attributes that had taken him from runaway street urchin to billionaire businessman in the space of a decade.
But his success was of no interest to Isobel. Orlando already knew that much. Aside from funding her precious business, his wealth and fortune meant nothing. No amount of money was going to impress her, and clearly chest-beating was not the way to get her to agree to his terms. But maybe shedding a chink of light on his past life would do it. If that was what it took, he would go there. But a chink was all she was getting...
‘Your parents weren’t married, then?’ Isobel put down her knife and fork.
‘No.’
‘Did they live together? As a couple, I mean?’
‘I was the product of a sordid affair. My father was married to someone else at the time, and when he found out my mother was pregnant he disowned her. There was a protracted paternity case, because my mother was determined that I should bear the Cassano name. I wish to God she hadn’t bothered.’
Reaching for her glass of water, Isobel raised it to her lips, regarding him with interest. ‘So your father was eventually forced to acknowledge you?’
‘Yeah.’ Orlando felt his jaw clench. ‘But that was as far as it went.’
If he’d had his way this would have been the end of the conversation, but with Isobel’s green gaze still searching his he knew he was going to have to give her more.
‘I looked him up when I turned seventeen. We had a brief relationship. It didn’t work out.’
That was the understatement of the millennium. Deciding to acquaint himself with his father had been the single worst decision of his life.
Poised on the brink of manhood, the seventeen-year-old Orlando had decided he wanted to see this man for himself—to look him in the eye even if was just to let him know exactly how contemptible Orlando thought he was.
But it hadn’t turned out like that. Handsome and charismatic, Carlo Cassano hadn’t been the man Orlando had been expecting at all—and neither had he expected the welcome he’d received, the open-armed enthusiasm of Carlo Cassano for his long-lost son. His father had offered him a glimpse of a world of glamour and wealth that bore no resemblance to the austerity of the children’s home or the misery of his early childhood with his mother. As Marchese di Trevente he lived a life of money and power, fast cars and glamorous women.
And Orlando had been hooked.
Choosing to ignore everything his mother had told him over the years—including the hysterical rants and wailing sobs that had accompanied the name Carlo Cassano every time it had been mentioned—he had decided this was the life he wanted. So when his father had offered him a home, told him he should come and work for him, Orlando had jumped at the chance. Little knowing that his mother’s bitterly miserable opinion of him had barely scratched the surface.
For in truth his father had been far more immoral, far more depraved than even she had known, and Orlando’s brief association with him had resulted in the worst possible tragedy—the death of a young woman...Sophia, Orlando’s girlfriend and first love. Orlando would never, ever forgive his father for what had happened. And, what was more, he would never forgive himself.
‘And now?’ Isobel was persisting with her needling questions. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I do.’ His voice sounded harsh and he cursed it for betraying him. ‘Buried in the family plot on the Trevente estate.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, I’m not.’ He could rot in hell as far as Orlando was concerned.
‘Trevente...’ Isobel narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t that in the Le Marche region of Italy?’
‘Correct.’
A dawning realisation slowly spread across her beautiful face. ‘So you grew up in Le Marche? That’s why you suggested siting the Spicer Shoes factory there? Why you were able to locate the premises so quickly?’
‘I have contacts all over the world.’ Orlando returned to his food. ‘Le Marche is well known for producing luxury leather goods. It was the logical solution.’
‘Logical... Yes, of course.’
Her smug remark stuck in his craw, but Orlando refused to let her see it. ‘Perhaps now you can see why we need to marry. Our child needs the stability of legitimacy and, frankly, so do I.’
There—he had said his piece and that was all she was getting. He looked across the table to see that Isobel had lowered her eyes to her barely touched plate of seafood, her slender fingers fiddling with a lock of chestnut hair. She appeared poised, so elegant, with that graceful style she had, but closer inspection revealed the effort involved in holding that spine so straight, the fact that her shoulders were hitched a bit too high.
‘It is a huge commitment, Orlando.’
‘I know that.’
Finally he could feel her weakening. If his confession had cost him a sliver of pride, he could see that Isobel was hanging on to hers for dear life.
He deliberately softened his voice. ‘But then so is having child.’
‘If I do agree to marry you—and it is if, Orlando—you will have to respect my one condition.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I want us to wait until after the baby is born.’
Steepling his hands under his chin, Orlando gazed at Isobel’s determined face, weighing up his options.
‘Okay.’
He would accept her decision. For now, at least, that would have to do.
* * *
‘You have a visitor.’
Daisy, a young intern working for Spicer Shoes, came through from the workshop and stuck her head around the door of Isobel’s office. From seeing her flushed cheeks and the exaggerated widening of her eyes Isobel already knew who the visitor was. Orlando Cassano had that kind of effect on women.
Isobel massaged her temples. She really was in no mood this morning to take any more of Orlando’s bullying. The torturous meal last night had been more than enough, thank you. That meal during which...oh, yes...she had somehow found herself agreeing to marry him.
Pleading a headache had cut short the evening, and Isobel had found herself travelling home in the back of a taxi, trying to put the pieces of her life back together. If she had thought being pregnant was enough of a shock—with the worry and responsibility, the dramatic changes it would mean to her life—she now found herself caught up in the giddying, controlling world of Orlando Cassano. And it was a frighteningly dangerous place to be. For her freedom, her sanity, and most of all for her virgin heart.
For Isobel’s heart had never been touched by desire before. Broken by her father’s death, yes. Tortured by her fractured relationship with her mother, definitely. But love...? That was something that happened to other people and she had no use for it.
The fateful car accident had seen to that. Isobel had immediately erected a wall of self-imposed emotional isolation as punishment for what had happened and insurance against any happy-ever-after for her. After all, hadn’t her mother spelled out quite clearly that the accident had not only taken away her husband but also ruined her life? Isobel had been responsible for the accident; therefore she didn’t deserve happiness. It was as simple as that. So she would make sure it never crossed her path.
Not that falling in love with Orlando would ever make her happy—quite the reverse. Feeling her heart beating wildly inside her chest now, she knew that she was going to have to protect it at all costs. But a fretful night of tossing and turning had led to the creeping realisation that maybe Orlando was right about one thing. The baby was the most important thing here. Maybe it would be for the best for him or her to have legally married parents.
Isobel had never really thought about the stigma of illegitimacy before, having been raised by two parents in a relationship of marriage—albeit a marriage made up of more quarrels than hugs. Isobel’s memories were of fights, of hiding her head under her pillow to block out screaming rows, and of vowing that she would never marry and subject herself to such torment.
Her mother’s memories, however, were somewhat different. Since the accident that had so tragically taken her husband away from her, Isobel’s mother had elevated her father to a level of sainthood and their marriage to the most perfect relationship that had ever been. Something that she liked to remind Isobel of whenever she visited, and which compounded Isobel’s guilt like a pile driver pounding into the subsoil of her consciousness.
But illegitimacy had obviously affected Orlando, despite the emotionless way he had described it to her. And that glimpse of his vulnerability had gone straight to her heart—no doubt as he had meant it to. It had all been calculated to ensure that he got his own way. But at least she had managed to delay any idea of a wedding until after the baby was born. That had been her one small victory. And it had given her some breathing space, if nothing else.
However, today had brought another problem—in the form of a large delivery of samples from the first production line at the new factory in Le Marche. Excitement had turned to d
ismay as Isobel had pulled them from their boxes. The stitching was too big, the colours the wrong shade, the finish poor. Now the offending articles were scattered across her desk in a jumble of packaging and tissue paper and general frustration.
‘I don’t want to see anyone right now, Daisy.’ Isobel tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Please say that I am busy.’
‘I can see that.’ Towering over Daisy’s shoulder, Orlando’s honed physique now filled the doorway. ‘What is this? Shoe rage?’
Daisy’s annoying giggle only darkened Isobel’s mood—especially as she had now stepped aside to let Orlando enter. Suddenly the room seemed far too small, the ceiling too low, the clutter that was everywhere closing in on them.
Giving him the briefest of glances, Isobel turned back to her desk to wait for the spike in her heart rate to steady. ‘This isn’t a good time, Orlando.’
Totally ignoring her, Orlando moved in closer, looking down at the array of shoes. ‘Samples from the new factory?’
‘Yes, and they are dreadful.’ Rummaging around, Isobel found the worst culprit and held it aloft by its spiky heel, pointing it at Orlando like a weapon. ‘I can’t accept this sort of quality. Quite apart from the colour being totally wrong, look at this.’ She held the ankle strap between her fingers. ‘The holes aren’t even lined up properly.’
But as Orlando bent over her Isobel immediately regretted her invitation. Suddenly he was way too close, and she was painfully aware of the tightness in her chest, of her breasts swelling beneath her lacy cotton blouse.
‘Let me see.’ Rescuing the shoe from her hand, Orlando squinted at the holes on the strap before turning to the star-struck Daisy, who was still staring at him as if he was some sort of god. ‘Looks okay to me. What do you think...Daisy, isn’t it?’
Daisy nodded.
‘It doesn’t matter what Daisy thinks.’ Snatching back the shoe, Isobel shoved it into the nearest box and stuffed tissue paper on top of it. ‘I am the one who decides these things, and I am saying that this standard is simply unacceptable.’
‘Well, no doubt it can be sorted out. Let’s start with coffee.’
