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What mattered was that here was an opportunity. A very unexpected opportunity.
Isn’t revenge a dish best served cold?
After his parents had been killed, the old family feud with the de Rieros had seemed like something out of the Middle Ages. A hold-over from a different time. But he’d been young back then, and naive. He hadn’t yet learned that people lied and that they couldn’t be trusted. He hadn’t yet learned just how far the depths of grief and loss could go.
He’d learned eventually. Oh, yes, he’d learned that lesson well.
And now here was his chance to pay that lesson back in kind.
Tension crawled through him, making his jaw ache as he came to the desk and turned around to the bookshelf again.
He couldn’t deny that he liked the thought. Relished it.
Victor de Riero had taken his son, so wouldn’t it be the sweetest revenge of all if Cristiano took his daughter? The daughter who’d been presumed dead for fifteen years?
An eye for an eye keeps the feud alive.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have considered it if Leonie hadn’t turned up. Perhaps he’d have gone through his life pretending he didn’t have a son and that he’d never been married for the rest of his days. But she had, and now he could think of nothing else.
It seemed the old Spanish warlord in him wasn’t as dead as he’d thought.
Maybe he’d make her his duchess. Invite de Riero to the wedding. He’d pull up her veil and then there she’d be—the daughter de Riero had thought was dead, marrying the man he’d once thought he could humiliate in front of the entire world.
And maybe to really pay him back Cristiano would have an heir with her after all. Pollute the pure de Riero bloodline with Velazquez blood.
After all, if de Riero could do it, why couldn’t he?
He stopped mid-pace, his fingers curling inside his pockets, vicious pleasure pulling tight in his gut.
And then you can move on.
Not that he hadn’t moved on already, but that jagged shard of glass was still embedded deep inside his heart, ensuring it could never heal. Perhaps if he took the revenge he was owed it finally would.
Certainty settled inside him like the earth settling after an earthquake, forming a new landscape.
First on the agenda would be Leonie—because she was vital to his plan and would have to agree to it. Which might be a problem when she was so stubborn, wary and distrustful. Not so surprising, given the circumstances under which he’d found her, but not exactly conducive to his plan. Then again, money seemed to motivate her. She could consider being his bride part of her job, for which she’d receive a very healthy bonus.
Revealing that he knew who she was could be a concern, however. She hadn’t given him her name for a reason, and everything hinged on how she felt about her father. Had she ever wanted to return to him? Did she even know she was supposed to be dead?
He frowned at the wall opposite. Perhaps telling her about his discovery immediately would be a mistake. Now she was here, within his grasp, he couldn’t afford for her to run, and he’d be at risk of scaring her away if he wasn’t careful. No, maybe it would be better to gain her trust before he let her in on his secret—an easy enough task to accomplish with a beautiful woman. All it would require was a bit of careful handling.
Galvanised in a way he hadn’t been for years, Cristiano turned towards the door, heading out of his study and going in search of the newest member of his staff.
He found her, as he’d expected, in the big library that faced onto the walled garden at the rear of the house. She was kneeling on the floor before one of the big bookshelves with her back to him. Her dirty clothes were gone—clearly Camille had found her something else to wear—and she now wore the staff uniform of plain black trousers and a fitted black T-shirt. Nondescript clothes that should have made her blend in, and yet the skein of silken hair that fell down her back in a sleek ponytail effectively prevented that. The colour glowed against her black T-shirt, a deep red-gold tinged with pink.
Beautiful.
His hands itched with the urge to run his fingers through it, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. To touch that vibrant colour, wind it round his wrist, examine the contrast against his own skin...
Except that was not what he wanted from her. Her name, yes. Her body, no. He might find her more attractive than he’d expected, but he could get sex from any of the women in his extensive little black book. He didn’t need to expend any effort on a skittish, homeless, much younger woman, no matter how pretty her hair was.
But what about your plans for an heir?
Ah, yes, but there would be time for that later.
He hitched one shoulder up against the doorframe and gazed at her.
It was clear she wasn’t actually cleaning, since her cloth and polishing spray were sitting next to her. Her head was bent, as if she was looking at something, and it must be very absorbing since it was clear she hadn’t heard him and he hadn’t exactly been quiet.
