Her Wedding Night Negotiation (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  The wedding planner opened the folder she was holding, entitled Fletcher/Ashbourne Wedding 21st July. ‘We’ll start without James and I can fill him in on what he needs to know later. As all the guests are here, I’ll ask everyone to stand in their correct places while we run through the order of service.’

  The vicar stood on the chancel steps as Davina directed people to their places.

  ‘The groom and best man will stand on the right side of the chapel. The bridesmaid and the bride’s family will be on the left side. But it might be better if the groom’s friends and relatives fill the pews on both sides of the nave,’ the wedding planner said hurriedly, realising that Leah’s side of the chapel would be empty apart from Amy. ‘And the bride and groom will stand facing the minister.’

  As Leah moved into place she glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see James rushing through the doorway. She noticed a satisfied expression on his mother’s face and guessed that Olivia Fletcher would not be disappointed if James had changed his mind and called off the wedding. Olivia had more airs and graces than royalty, and had made it plain that she believed her youngest son was marrying beneath him.

  ‘It’s such a shame your mother is on an around-the-world cruise and won’t be able to share your big day,’ Olivia had said with fake sincerity when Leah had explained that her father was dead, and her mother wouldn’t be attending the wedding.

  Her mother being on a cruise had been a blatant but necessary lie. Leah shuddered at the idea of her mum staggering into the church and behaving outrageously, as Tori had done many times in the past. She had even turned up drunk to Leah’s university graduation ceremony and ruined what should have been a proud day.

  James had only met Tori once. Leah had invited him round early one Saturday morning, when her mum was usually still sober. The meeting had gone without incident, although Leah had quickly invented an excuse when James had suggested they all go to the pub for lunch.

  During James’s visit Leah had seen her mum almost as she’d remembered her from long ago: intelligent and articulate with a hint of the great beauty she had once had in her smile. But when she’d gone into the kitchen to make a cup of tea she had found a bottle of vodka that Tori had hidden in the cupboard under the sink. She hadn’t had a chance to pour the vodka away, and she knew that Tori would have finished the bottle by that evening and visited the local supermarket to buy more.

  Leah had felt too embarrassed to tell James about her mother’s drink problem. She’d spent her childhood wishing that her mum was ‘normal’, like other parents. It hadn’t been so bad when they’d lived abroad in a commune, with Tori’s artist friends. But when Leah was twelve they had moved back to England.

  She cringed at memories of her mum attending school functions drunk and talking too loudly, attracting attention. Once at a prize-giving ceremony Tori had flirted with the headmaster and then thrown up in the school hall in front of everyone. From then on Leah had never invited Tori to school events, but that hadn’t stopped the other kids’ taunts that her mum was ‘an alky’.

  After the wedding she would explain to James that her mum was what was termed a ‘functioning alcoholic’. Somehow Tori managed to hold down her job as a bookkeeper with a building firm, but her heavy drinking every weekend was destroying her health. Leah was sure James would be supportive of her intention to use some of her inheritance to pay for specialist treatment for her mum.

  Where was he?

  She started to turn her head towards the back of the chapel, hoping to see that James had arrived, but her gaze snagged on Marco’s enigmatic grey eyes. She estimated that he must be three or four inches over six feet tall, as she had to angle her neck to look at him, and his chiselled features had a peculiar effect on her pulse. From where she was standing, she couldn’t see his scar, and her breath caught in her throat as she studied the sculpted perfection of his bone structure. He was beautiful in a powerfully masculine way.

  She could not stop staring at his face and he lifted one dark brow mockingly, as if he was aware that she was fascinated by him. Blushing hotly, Leah jerked her eyes towards the front of the chapel. She was trembling. Not because she was fiercely aware of Marco, she assured herself, but because she was angry at his arrogance when he had said he thought she was uninteresting.

  She forced herself to concentrate when the vicar spoke.

  ‘At the beginning of the ceremony the bride and groom will turn to face each other and hold hands.’

  Reluctantly Leah turned towards Marco, and her heart gave a jolt when he reached for her hands. She was about to tell him that it wasn’t necessary to practise every detail of the wedding, but before she could speak he wrapped his strong fingers around hers, enveloping her small hands in his much bigger ones.

  She inhaled swiftly as a sensation like an electrical current shot through her fingers and up her arms. Marco’s touch was warm and firm, and she sensed inherent strength in his grasp. She stared down at their linked hands and noted how his darkly tanned skin contrasted with her milky paleness. Her traitorous mind imagined his fingers skimming over her naked body and curving around her breasts.

  Swallowing hard, Leah raised her eyes to Marco’s chest, where the top few buttons of his sky-blue shirt were undone, revealing a vee of tanned skin and a sprinkling of black hair. He smelled of soap and spice: exotic notes of a bergamot and sandalwood cologne mixed with an indefinable scent that was raw male.

  On the periphery of her mind she registered that the vicar was explaining how he would talk them through the ceremony rather than read through the entire wedding service word for word.

  ‘You will want to save making your vows until the actual wedding, and to the right bridegroom,’ he said, giving Leah a pointed look.

  She felt guilty colour rise in her face. Had the vicar guessed that she was having inappropriate thoughts about the man who tomorrow would become her brother-in-law? How could her mind be so disloyal to James? Her reaction to Marco De Valle was inexplicable and inexcusable.

  She tried to withdraw her hands from Marco’s, but he tightened his fingers and stroked his thumb lightly back and forth over the pulse beating erratically in her wrist. Perhaps it was meant to be a soothing gesture, but it had the opposite effect, making Leah’s heart pound so hard that she was surprised it wasn’t visible beneath her shirt.

  ‘After the declarations and the vows and the exchange of rings, the congregation will be seated while the bride, groom and witnesses accompany me into the vestry,’ the vicar explained. ‘Once the register has been signed, the newly married couple will return to stand at the altar rail, and I will invite the groom to kiss his bride.’

  Leah’s eyes jerked to Marco’s face and she stared at his sensual mouth as he lowered his head towards her. Her heart lurched. He wouldn’t! He couldn’t mean to kiss her.

  It must be shock that was keeping her feet welded to the floor. She did not want Marco to claim her mouth with his, she assured herself.

  His dark head came closer and she felt the hard glitter in his eyes evoke a wild heat inside her. He filled her vision, and when her eyelashes swept down she could still see his chiselled features as though they were imprinted on her retinas.

  The air around them seemed to tremble and Leah could hardly breathe. They stood like that—close, but not close enough—for what felt like a lifetime. But it could only have been a few seconds before the spell that Marco had cast on her was shattered.

  ‘Sorry I’m late!’

  The voice from the back of the chapel jolted Leah to her senses. Her eyes flew open and she drew a shuddering breath. Marco had already straightened up. Perhaps she’d only imagined that he had been on the brink of kissing her. His eyes were hooded, and she could not read his expression.

  With a low cry she snatched her hands out of his and ran down the aisle. ‘James, where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone when I called y
ou?’

  ‘The battery died.’ James’s eyes sidled away from Leah’s. ‘You know how I always forget to charge it.’

  She bit her lip. ‘We had to start the rehearsal without you...your brother offered to take your place,’ she explained, when Marco walked up to her and James.

  Leah had previously sensed the coolness between the brothers, and now the temperature in the chapel seemed to drop by several degrees as the two men faced each other.

  ‘I trust you will afford your bride the courtesy of turning up on time for your actual wedding tomorrow?’ Marco said curtly.

  ‘You are hardly the right person to give me advice on how to treat my bride,’ James muttered. ‘Your marriage lasted for just a year, and it’s rumoured that your wife died trying to escape from you.’

  Leah’s eyes flew to Marco. She expected him to say something in his defence, but he stayed silent. His face might as well have been carved from the same unforgiving granite as the chapel walls, and his eyes were the dull, cold grey of a midwinter sky. The scar on his cheek was a stark white line ruining the perfection of his olive skin.

  He was beautiful, and terrible, and Leah could not understand why he had such a devastating effect on her. She was shocked by her uncontrolled response to Marco. A knot of tension tightened in the pit of her stomach as she wondered if her mother had been overwhelmed by this same helpless fascination with a man every time she’d rushed headlong into a new relationship.

  She was not going to make the same mistakes as her mother, Leah promised herself. Thank goodness she was marrying dear, safe James, she thought as she watched Marco stride out of the chapel.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE REHEARSAL DINNER was already underway when Marco entered the orangery. A buffet was laid out on long tables and guests were helping themselves to food. He accepted a glass of wine from the butler, but he felt too wired to eat.

  One reason for his lack of appetite was his increasing concern about his relationship with his son. It had been too much to hope that Nicky would be pleased to see him, he thought heavily. After the wedding rehearsal had finished he’d hurried back to the house so that he could see him, but even when he’d given the little boy his present Nicky had shown no emotion apart from the wariness in his eyes that felt like a knife through Marco’s heart.

  The truth, Marco acknowledged, was that he had felt awkward when he’d sat there on the nursery floor and sought to engage his son in pushing toy cars along a track. He did not remember his own father ever playing with him and he had no real idea how to be a good parent. Yes, he’d read numerous books on parenting, but none of them had offered advice on how to win the trust of a child who seemed afraid of his own father.

  He raked his fingers through his hair as his thoughts turned to the other reason for his black mood. He must have suffered a temporary mental aberration in the church when he’d almost kissed the bride-to-be. Marco remembered Leah had looked as stunned as he had felt by the chemistry that had blazed between them.

  He’d told himself that her air of innocence must be an illusion. It was inconceivable that she and James were not lovers, seeing as they were about to marry. However, according to his housekeeper, James and his fiancée were not sharing a bedroom at Nancarrow Hall.

  Marco had sensed a vulnerability in Leah as he’d stood next to her in front of the altar. It was a place he had vowed never to stand again after his disastrous experience of holy matrimony. These wedding preparations were evoking bitter memories of Karin and reminding Marco of why he would never trust a woman again.

  He glanced around the room and saw James standing at the bar with the wedding planner. They appeared to be having a casual conversation, but Marco curled his lip sardonically. Nothing that happened at Nancarrow Hall did not reach his ears. But what his half-brother got up to was none of his business, he reminded himself. It was not up to him to tell the bride of his suspicions about James.

  Marco spotted Leah over by the window and shock ricocheted through him as he took in her transformation from dowdy and dull to absolutely stunning. He barely recognised her. She had changed her boring skirt and blouse for a cocktail dress in a pale apricot shade that emphasised the colour of her hair—which, now that it was not tied up, Marco saw was a riot of glorious red curls. She had drawn the front sections back with clips, but feathery strands had escaped and now framed her heart-shaped face. The strapless dress left her slender shoulders bare, and the skirt was made of layers of a wispy material that floated around her legs when she walked.

  From where Marco was standing, on the other side of the orangery, he could not see the colour of her eyes, but he knew they were a startling vivid green. She was beautiful, he thought as he took a long sip of his wine, savouring the full-bodied Barolo on his tongue. Leah was a quintessential English rose, with creamy skin and hair the colour of burnished copper.

  When he’d stood beside her in the private chapel he’d noticed that her face and arms were covered with tiny freckles, and his fingers had itched to unbutton her shirt and see if that dusting of gold continued lower. She was petite, and had a slender figure, but her breasts were surprisingly full and firm. Marco knew instinctively that they would fit perfectly into his palms.

  He swore beneath his breath as he felt his body respond to the erotic images in his mind, but he could not tear his eyes from her. He knew that her mouth would fit his as if it had been designed purely for his pleasure. But thank God his sanity had prevailed and he’d resisted the temptation to kiss her in the chapel.

  He watched Leah step outside onto the terrace and fought the urge to follow her. This strong attraction he felt for her was unsettling, and he was glad he was returning to Capri immediately after the wedding tomorrow. Dio! Desiring his soon-to-be sister-in-law was an unforeseen inconvenience.

  He swung away from the window and frowned as he saw the nanny approaching him. Stacey was teetering on high heels, and her dress had a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination.

  ‘Is Nicolo asleep?’

  Marco had a relaxed attitude to his staff, and he had invited Stacey to join the party after Nicky had fallen asleep. His son did not like being left alone at night, and the nanny was supposed to stay with him in the nursery until he’d nodded off.

  ‘He didn’t seem tired, so I thought you wouldn’t mind if he stayed up a little later than usual.’

  Stacey stepped closer to him and ran her fingers through her blonde hair in an artful gesture that Marco found irritating.

  ‘It’s way past Nicky’s bedtime,’ he said tersely.

  ‘It isn’t fair to make him stay in his room when he can hear people enjoying themselves.’

  Stacey sounded petulant, and Marco was in no doubt that she had wanted to join the party rather than sit in the nursery with a five-year-old. He sighed.

  Nicky’s previous nanny had left suddenly, to care for her elderly father. While they were staying at Nancarrow Hall he had arranged this temporary nanny through an agency. Unfortunately Stacey was more interested in flirting with him than looking after his son.

  When he returned to Italy he planned to interview applicants personally, and find a suitable nanny for Nicky. With luck—and the promise of an exceptionally generous salary—he would be able to appoint someone who was prepared to stay for a few years and give his son some much needed stability.

  ‘Where is Nicky?’ he demanded, scanning the room.

  ‘He must have gone outside. God, that kid!’ Stacey muttered. ‘I told him to stay inside.’

  Marco was already walking swiftly over to the French doors. The sun was sinking behind the row of hawthorn trees that marked the boundary between the Nancarrow estate and the moor. He shaded his eyes against the golden rays as he stared across the wide expanse of lawn. An icy hand clutched his heart when he spotted a small figure with a mop of black curls down by the lake.

  Nicky had
climbed onto the wooden jetty where a rowboat was tied up. He was running to the far end of the jetty and peering into the water. Marco knew that the lake was deep, and well-stocked with carp and perch, and guessed that Nicky must be watching the fish.

  ‘Nicky!’

  It was unlikely that his voice would carry the length of the garden, Marco realised as he sprinted across the terrace and down the steps. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He watched his son lean over too far and topple into the water.

  ‘Madre di Dio!’

  He ran faster, his heart pounding with fear.

  A figure in an apricot-coloured dress was some way in front of him, hurtling towards the lake. Leah. She kicked off her shoes and tore along the jetty. Without hesitating, she plunged into the water where Nicky had fallen in.

  Marco imagined his son caught in the thick weeds that grew in the lake, choking for breath. How long would it take a child to drown?

  His feet pounded on the wooden jetty and relief almost made his knees buckle as Leah surfaced, holding Nicky.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, I’ve got you. Hold on tightly around my neck,’ she instructed as she swam towards the jetty with the little boy clinging to her.

  Marco knelt on the jetty and held out his hand to lift Nicky out of the water. ‘Stand there and don’t move,’ he ordered.

  Adrenalin was still surging through his blood and his voice was harsher than he’d intended. Dio. He had almost lost Nicky a year ago. Watching the little boy fall into the lake just now had made him sick with terror that he might lose the only person who mattered to him for good. Guilt stabbed him as his son’s big brown eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell him off.’

  Leah glared up at Marco. She was treading water, and the gauzy material of her dress billowed around her, reminding him of a waterlily. He offered her his hand, and when she grabbed it he hauled her onto the jetty. Her hair had come loose and she raked her fingers through the waist-length curls.