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But she was the daughter of his enemy’s partner. She’d been living in the home that should have been his. It had been impossible for him to admit those feelings—even to himself.
But, despite his constant denial, his feelings were real. That was why he’d spent so much time with her and why he had trusted Bianca with her, even though there’d been a niggle at the back of his mind telling him that he should keep his sister away from anyone even remotely connected to Vasile.
When Bianca had fallen into danger, he had to blame someone. He couldn’t bear to admit that his love for Claudia had made him careless with his sister’s safety. That he’d let her go unaccompanied to that party so that he could spend a blissful weekend alone with his lover.
He’d reacted instinctively, falling back on past prejudices and misconceptions. When his friend had called from Turin that night to tell him what had happened, it had been easier to blame Claudia. He’d lowered his guard and he couldn’t stand feeling exposed. Even the mere possibility that Claudia had played him was intolerable—so he had clamped his heart shut and left.
Now he looked at her through the frame of swaying palm trees that surrounded the villa and he cursed himself.
All along she’d been open and honest with him, trusting him with treasured memories and secrets that were deeply meaningful to her. The young woman who spoke with such heartfelt emotion about the loss of her mother, about her beloved grandmother teaching her to bake and about her distress over her father’s illness could never have been guilty of the things Marco had blamed her for.
Suddenly Marco felt his eyes filling with moisture.
He blinked in surprise and put his hand up to touch his face. It was wet with tears.
He never wept. Not even the night when his father had died and he’d discovered what Vasile had done to his family. That night he had barricaded his heart and filled his head with plans for revenge.
But now, somehow, Claudia had penetrated the ice packed around his heart. His defences had crumbled away, leaving him open and exposed. He was feeling her pain as sharply as if it were his own.
He couldn’t bear to think of Claudia suffering, but her pain was all his fault. He longed to run across the beach to her, enfold her in his arms, tell her how sorry he was and beg for her forgiveness.
But that wouldn’t erase all the agony he had caused. And he knew she wouldn’t believe him. He had lied to her too much for her to believe him now.
He rubbed the back of his hand roughly across his face and dragged his eyes away from the window. Watching her sitting on the beach wouldn’t help. He had to find a way to make things better. He had to find a way to prove he loved her.
The next morning Claudia stood on the powder-soft sand, letting the crystal clear water lap gently over her feet. She was slowly sinking. With every suck and pull of the waves the white sand shifted slightly until it was covering her feet, almost up to her ankles.
She couldn’t seem to move. She just didn’t have the energy.
She’d spent a sleepless night all alone in the magnificent four-poster bed, staring miserably at the sumptuous silken fabrics that draped tastefully around her, thinking about Marco and all the times they had spent together.
It was so hard to believe that it had been meaningless, but she had to accept it. She ought to leave—she didn’t think Marco would try to stop her—but somehow she just couldn’t. She’d never felt so desolate in her entire life.
Very late that evening she was due to meet Francesca and Vasile for the wedding—it was strange to think that right at that moment they were somewhere over the Atlantic, flying unawares into Marco’s trap. Presumably that was what had kept him busy all night, talking on his mobile phone, tapping emails into his laptop computer.
She could have called them, warned them of Marco’s intentions, but she believed he was telling the truth about their illegal activities. They had definitely tried to blackmail her, by lying about her father’s health and falsely accusing him of theft. However, although she wouldn’t try to stop Marco, she had no intention of going with him to be present when he challenged them. She wasn’t interested in that. She just wanted to fly home and be with her father.
She knew he would be all right if Francesca went to prison. They had been living virtually separate lives for years. Claudia suspected that if her father wasn’t so kind hearted he would have divorced her a long time ago.
A sound coming from behind her drew her out of her thoughts and she glanced over her shoulder to see Marco only a few feet away. He was coming towards her across the beach, looking absolutely awful. A sharp jab of concern for him went through her as she took in the pained expression on his face. There were dark circles under his haunted eyes and his jaw was shadowed black where he hadn’t taken the time to shave.
‘Are you all right?’ She spoke instinctively, momentarily forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to care whether he was all right or not. She tried to turn to face him, but her feet were still buried under the sand and she stumbled.
Marco was at her side in an instant, gently holding her steady. For a moment she thought he was going to pull her into his embrace—that was what she longed for him to do—but then, once he was certain she had regained her balance, he let go of her and stepped away.
Her heart sank, although she told herself she was stupid to even think about Marco embracing her ever again.
‘My feet got stuck.’ She said the first thing that came to her mind and lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘You look awful,’ she added. ‘What happened? Has something gone wrong with your plan?’
‘Everything was wrong with my plan,’ Marco said. ‘It was my plan that made me hurt you so badly.’
Claudia frowned up at him, letting his dark eyes delve deep into her eyes for the longest moment. He looked sincere. But, despite the small spark of hope that ignited within her, that maybe he’d realised that he’d been wrong about her, she had to be cautious.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am sorry for everything—I’ve been so wrong. I am entirely to blame.’
‘It’s not your fault that Primo and Francesca tried to blackmail me,’ Claudia replied, trying to keep her emotions steady. She didn’t know where Marco was going with this unexpected apology but she had no reason to trust him. She’d done that in Wales, even knowing how he’d left her so coldly four years earlier, and it had brought her nothing but distress.
That wasn’t entirely true, a tiny voice inside her head insisted. She’d been happy that evening in Wales. He’d brought her comfort, despite the fact that he was working towards his own goals. And he’d taken her to Turin and discovered that her father was not terminally ill.
