Secrets of a Powerful Man

‘But—’

‘Rosa will probably respond better if I’m not here,’ he cut her off abruptly. He could tell from the glowering look Darcey gave him that she did not think him much of a father. Guilt clawed in his gut. She was right, he thought grimly. He was not the sort of father he wished he could be. The truth was he did not know how to act like a loving parent. When he had been growing up his father had been a remote figure. And as for his mother—well, the less said about her the better.

He had been five years old when Patti had left. He had never understood why she had forbidden him and his brother from calling her mamma. She had disappeared one day and taken Sergio with her. Salvatore had assumed she loved his twin and that was why she had taken him to America. It turned out that she had not loved Sergio either. Recently his brother had confided that Patti had been an alcoholic who had often beaten him when she’d had too much to drink.

Salvatore did not know if he felt better or worse now that his illusions about his mother had been shattered. For so many years he had put her on a pedestal and believed he was unworthy of being loved. That belief was still deeply ingrained on his psyche. Maybe it was why he found it so hard to show his emotions.

He wished things were different. He wished he could be an openly loving papa to Rosa, like his brother, Sergio, was to his son, Nico. But always in the back of his mind was the guilt that it was his fault Rosa was growing up without her mother, the fear that one day she would learn the truth and perhaps would hate him.

He jerked his gaze from the accusatory expression in Darcey Rivers’s bright green eyes. ‘I will be in my study. Press nine on the phone if you need anything and a member of staff will attend to you.’

Salvatore barely glanced at Rosa as he exited the nursery, Darcey noticed. She could not understand his remoteness from his daughter. It seemed as though he preferred to hand over the little girl to a nanny, but now Sharon had left and Rosa had no one to take care of her.

She glanced at the child and her heart ached when she saw the wistful expression on her face. Smiling, she walked over to Rosa and crouched down beside her. I like your dolls’ house, she signed. Can I play too?

Dark eyes studied her gravely for a few moments. Rosa had inherited her father’s eyes, Darcey noticed. She tried to block out the image of Salvatore’s ruggedly handsome face from her mind, annoyed by her inexplicable attraction to the cold and enigmatic man. She was here in her professional capacity, and she was determined to concentrate solely on the little girl who was smiling tentatively at her.

* * *

Over the next hour it quickly became clear that Rosa was a highly intelligent child, but although she was proficient in sign language she was unable or unwilling to attempt to speak. The little girl would need plenty of encouragement to develop self-confidence as well as to master language skills.

The nursery door opened and Darcey glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see that Salvatore had returned. But a butler stood in the doorway and informed her that it was Rosa’s dinner time.

‘Mr Castellano is unavoidably detained and has asked if you would accompany his daughter to the dining room.’

She could not refuse when Rosa slipped a small hand into hers and gave her a trusting smile, and she was glad she had stayed with the little girl when they walked into the huge dining room. A single place was set at one end of a long dining table.

Doesn’t your father eat dinner with you? she signed to Rosa.

The child shook he head. Papa eats later. He is always busy in his office.

Darcey felt another pang of sympathy for Salvatore’s little daughter, who was growing up in such isolated splendour. Clearly she did not lack for material things, but Darcey sensed that Rosa yearned for companionship and love.

Will you stay and play with me? Rosa signed when she had finished her meal.

Realising that there was no one else to take care of her, Darcey decided she would have to stay with the little girl and wait for Salvatore. Back in the nursery, she played a few more games with Rosa before helping her to get ready for bed. Rosa removed the battery pack she had worn during the day and the device behind her ear that was the cochlear implant processor.

I don’t like the dark, she signed when Darcey pulled the curtains and was about to turn off the bedside lamp. Will you leave the light on?

Recalling how Mina had hated the dark, because she had felt cut off when she could neither see nor hear, Darcey nodded. Rosa reminded her so much of her sister when they had been children. Perhaps that was why she felt an immediate bond with the little girl. But while Mina had grown up with the support of loving parents and family, Rosa had no one but her stern-faced father.

Darcey was appalled by Salvatore’s seemingly uncaring attitude towards his daughter. He might be the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on but beneath his devastating good looks he was as selfish as her ex-husband. It was about time someone told Salvatore Castellano a few home truths, she thought grimly.

* * *

Salvatore stared moodily out of his study window and noticed that the trees in Hyde Park opposite resembled black silhouettes in the gathering dusk. After he had spoken to his brother and learned that there had been a fire at the winery in Sicily he had been busy on the phone, dealing with the crisis, and had not realised how late it was. He felt guilty that he had left Rosa for so long, but the maid had reported that Darcey Rivers had stayed to help his daughter with her bedtime routine.

He grimaced. No doubt his absence had confirmed her belief that he was an uninterested father. The truth was far more complicated. He loved Rosa, but love was not something he’d had much experience of and he did not know how to get close to his child.

He closed his eyes, trying to control the searing pain in his head. The migraines that had plagued him since the accident four years ago had become more frequent in recent months, and were so debilitating that he was forced to resort to taking painkillers. It was no coincidence that this headache had started soon after he had spoken to Sergio and heard the shocking news his old friend Pietro was dead. The elderly vintner had suffered a fatal heart attack while trying to fight the blaze at the winery.

It was particularly poignant that Pietro had given his life for the wine that he was so proud of, he thought. Winemaking had been in Pietro Marelli’s blood. A third generation vintner, with no son to pass his knowledge on to, he had instead shared his expertise with Salvatore. But, more than that, Pietro had been a substitute father who had welcomed a lonely boy into his home and his heart. Every school holiday Salvatore had returned to the Castellano estate and rushed to see Pietro first, knowing that Tito, his father, would be working in his office and would not welcome being disturbed.

It was strange that he could remember his childhood but had no memory of the accident, Salvatore brooded. He had a clear vision of himself as a ten-year-old boy, walking through the vineyards with Pietro to inspect the grapes, but no recollection of the events that had happened after he had got behind the wheel of his car and driven Adriana away from that party. All he remembered was waking to find he was in hospital and being told that his wife had been killed when their car had spun out of control on a mountain road and plunged over the edge.

The doctor had told Salvatore he had been lucky to escape with his life, albeit with a seriously mangled right leg and a head injury. It had caused no permanent brain damage. His amnesia, so the specialist suspected, was psychogenic. In layman’s terms, his inability to remember the accident, or much of his marriage, was his brain’s defence mechanism in order to blot out the grim fact that he was responsible for his wife’s death.

Salvatore felt a familiar surge of frustration as he tried to cast his mind back in time and hit a wall of blackness. It seemed inconceivable that he could have married a woman, who had given birth to his child, and yet he had no recollection of their relationship. His mother-in-law had put photographs of Adriana everywhere in the castle, but when he looked at the pictures of his wife he felt no connection to her.

The specialist had told him it was likely his memory would eventually return, but until it did Salvatore felt he was trapped in a dark place, with no past and no future, unable to forgive himself for robbing his daughter of her mother.

He kneaded his throbbing temples with his fingers and thought about the rest of his conversation with his brother. Sergio had reported better news about the estate workers who had been burned in the fire. Their injuries were serious, but thankfully not life-threatening.

Hearing a tap on the study door, Salvatore turned his head and watched Darcey enter the room. Her silky copper-brown hair framed her face, and she had taken off her jacket. He could see the shape of her small, firm breasts beneath her blouse. His analytical brain registered that she was very attractive, but he was surprised by the bolt of awareness that shot through him. Earlier, in her office, he had ignored the sexual chemistry between them, but tonight, to his annoyance, his eyes were drawn to the curve of her mouth and he fleetingly imagined covering her soft lips with his.

None of his thoughts were revealed on his hard features, however. ‘Is Rosa asleep?’

‘Do you care?’ Green eyes flashed fire at him. ‘Your daughter went to bed forty minutes ago and stayed awake for ages, waiting for you come and wish her goodnight.’

‘I apologise.’ Salvatore’s eyes narrowed on Darcey’s furious face. ‘I had to deal with an important matter.’

‘It’s not me you should apologise to. Rosa was disappointed when you didn’t show up.’ Darcey’s mouth tightened. As she had watched Rosa struggling to stay awake she had recalled doing the same thing when she had been a child, waiting for her father to come home from the theatre. On the nights when Joshua had remembered to come up and kiss her goodnight she had fallen asleep feeling happy, but sometimes he’d forgotten and then she had cried herself to sleep.

Salvatore seemed to be unaware of how much his little girl needed him. Darcey glared at him, wishing she could ignore his potent masculinity. He had discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal darkly tanned forearms covered with a mass of black hair. His brooding sensuality was dangerously attractive—but she wasn’t looking for danger or excitement, wasn’t looking for a man at all. And certainly not one who made her feel so acutely aware of her femininity.

‘What could possibly be more important than your daughter?’ she demanded. ‘How could you have left her for several hours with a complete stranger?’

‘You work with children in your professional capacity. I knew you would take care of her. The butler told me that Rosa seemed quite happy with you.’

His casual attitude inflamed Darcey’s temper. ‘So your butler is an expert in child psychology, is he?’ she said sarcastically. ‘You are unbelievable!’

She turned back to the door. It was none of her business that Salvatore was so distant from his daughter, she reminded herself. Rosa was a sweet little girl, but Darcey was not going to allow her soft heart to overrule her common sense, which was telling her she needed to walk out of this marble house and away from Salvatore Castellano and his sad-eyed little daughter.

‘I can’t believe your uncaring attitude to Rosa,’ she said disgustedly. ‘The poor little scrap doesn’t have a mother and, to be frank, from what I’ve seen she doesn’t have much of a father.’

Her words hit Salvatore as if she had physically slapped him, but he revealed no emotion on his chiselled features. He was not used to being criticised and was irritated that he felt the need to explain himself to Darcey.

‘I usually visit Rosa to wish her goodnight, but I’ve already said that unfortunately I was detained this evening.’

‘You were too busy working to spare a few minutes for a lonely little girl?’ Darcey said scathingly, recalling how Rosa said that her father was always busy in his office.

Salvatore’s jaw tightened. ‘Earlier this afternoon there was a fire in one of the warehouses at my winery in Sicily. Hundreds of barrels of prized wine have been destroyed, but much worse than that, three of the estate workers were injured in the blaze. I have been making arrangements for the men to be flown to a specialist burns unit on mainland Italy and organising for their families to be with them. I had not forgotten about Rosa, but I admit I was so involved with the crisis at home that I did not realise how late it was.’

He raked a hand through his hair and Darcey noticed the lines of strain around his eyes. He hid his emotions well, but he was clearly concerned about the workers injured in the fire.

‘The agency that sent Sharon does not have another nanny on their books who is able to use sign language, and I haven’t had time to try a different agency.’ His dark eyes sought Darcey’s. ‘But thank you for taking care of Rosa this evening. The least I can do is offer you dinner here with me tonight.’

‘No, thank you. I have to go.’