all this way to berate her over the comparatively small amount of money she’d spent?
‘I used the money to pay for the funeral,’ she stated bluntly. Surely even Lorenzo wasn’t so hard-hearted that he would begrudge that.
‘You should have asked me,’ he said coldly.
‘I didn’t need to ask,’ she said. ‘The account is in both our names. I never wanted to use a penny of that money, but I’m not going to apologise for it, because I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Liz deserved a proper funeral.’
Lorenzo stared down at Chloe, registering an undercurrent of uncertainty showing through her expression despite her continued defence of her actions. He knew she was still emotional, and he felt unwelcome feelings churn in his own stomach in response.
This was not what he had expected when he’d married Chloe—that three months after their wedding they would be meeting for the first time in an English churchyard and arguing over a stranger’s funeral expenses.
He’d chosen her to be his wife because he thought she’d be reliable and stable, the way she’d been as his PA. He wanted his marriage to be straightforward and uncomplicated, not like the often hysterical and unpleasant scenarios he’d witnessed growing up as his father worked his way through a string of unsuitable wives.
But nothing had worked out the way he intended. Chloe had walked out on him. Then she’d chosen not to get in touch—even when she was in financial trouble.
‘You were too proud to ask for help,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You’d sooner steal my money than talk to me.’
Chloe let out her breath with a resigned sigh and looked straight up into his eyes.
‘I didn’t think you’d let me use the money. I thought you’d freeze the account or something,’ Chloe said. ‘You didn’t really know Liz. You only met her a couple of times.’
Lorenzo swore with sudden violence. Then frowned at the baby as she started to grizzle and fuss in Chloe’s arms.
‘What kind of man do you think I am?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You truly think I’m so petty I would not pay for a funeral?’
Chloe stared up at him with wide eyes that seemed huge in her pale face, looking as startled as the baby by his loud outburst.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice sounding shaky and uncertain. ‘We might be married but it seems I don’t know you at all.’
Then she looked away, down at the baby in her arms.
‘I can’t do this now.’ She rocked Emma gently and murmured soothing words to her. ‘She’s probably hungry. It’s been a long afternoon and I need to get her back to the cottage.’
She looked small and awkward standing there, wearing an ill-fitting charcoal-grey suit that swamped her tiny frame and was pulled out of line by the baby in her arms. The unforgiving colour drained any speck of warmth from her fair complexion and her light blonde hair hung down in a shapeless curtain nearly to her shoulders.
Next to the fresh green grass and colourful pink blossom she looked starkly monochrome, almost as if she’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie—some old-fashioned, overblown melodrama.
She didn’t belong here—not like this.
The anger that had gripped Lorenzo suddenly dissipated. He had to get her away from this place. It was impossible to talk to her in the churchyard.
‘We’ll go together—just to pick up what you need,’ he said. ‘Then you’re coming with me.’
Chloe stared up at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to start issuing orders—although that was exactly how Lorenzo was used to behaving with most people in his life. And it was how he had been with her too, back before they became personally involved.
‘I know you’re angry with me,’ she said, ‘but you can’t just sweep in here and boss me about. I don’t work for you any more.’
‘No. You’re my wife,’ Lorenzo grated, the tone of his voice telling her that he was far from happy about that. ‘And you are coming with me.’
‘But I have Emma now,’ she protested, tightening her hold on the infant protectively.
‘What about her father?’ Lorenzo asked, studying the crying baby with a crease between his brows.
‘He never wanted anything to do with her,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m the only one she has now.’
Lorenzo lifted his eyes to Chloe’s face, and an expression she couldn’t read passed across his features.
‘Let’s go.’ He reached out and took her arm before she realised what he intended.
As his hand made contact it was as if a jolt of energy surged through Chloe. She gasped and looked down automatically, staring as his strong fingers closed around her upper arm, tanned and vital next to the dull grey fabric of her jacket.
Her heart started to beat faster, and at that moment she felt the numbness that had deadened her over recent days start to thaw.
Lorenzo was only holding her arm, but suddenly she was fully aware of him physically—aware of his sheer size and strength. And shockingly aware of the body heat radiating from his powerful, athletic form.
She found herself drawn towards him, like a flower turning towards the sun.
She’d been so cold and lonely. All at once she found herself longing to feel his strong arms around her—to press herself against the solid masculine expanse of his chest.
Suddenly she realised that Lorenzo had stopped moving. He was standing utterly still. And she knew, even without looking up at him, that he was taking in her reaction to his touch.
A flash of alarm shot through her. She couldn’t let Lorenzo see how vulnerable she was feeling, how in need of physical comfort. He’d always been able to read her like a book, and right at that moment her defences were lower than normal.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Chloe said, trying to shrug out of his grip. But his fingers simply tightened, and with Emma in her arms it was impossible to struggle too much.
‘There are matters we must discuss,’ Lorenzo said, turning her round so once again they were facing each other.
Chloe shook her head, staring directly ahead—straight at his broad chest. She did not want to talk to him any more. And she definitely did not want to look into his perceptive eyes.
She had the terrible feeling she would reveal herself to him in some way—let him see how naked her emotions were, how much she craved his presence. The day had already been too painful. The thought of him driving away and leaving her alone again suddenly seemed unbearable—but there was no way she would admit that to him.
‘Your desertion on our wedding day made it clear that you are no longer happy with our arrangement,’ he said, cupping his free hand under her chin and lifting her face to his.
Her gaze was locked to his clear blue eyes again and the touch of his fingers against her skin
