father gave him that right.’
‘My father needs to see sense and put my sister in charge. Lucilla knows the business better than anyone, including Giatrakos.’
‘I understand your loyalty to your sister …’
‘You understand nothing,’ Nicolo growled. The soft expression in Sophie Ashdown’s hazel eyes was the last straw. For a split second he had felt an inexplicable urge to admit that he believed his father had betrayed the family by handing power over to an outsider. Nicolo was not a man who shared personal confidences even with his few close friends and he could not understand why he had been tempted to reveal his thoughts to a woman he had never met before.
Standing close to her in the doorway, he could smell her perfume, and immediately recognised it as the Chatsfield signature scent. The notes of cedarwood, bergamot and white rose, with a hint of lavender, evoked mixed emotions in him, reminding him of his early childhood when he had visited various Chatsfield Hotels around the world with his parents. To this day every Chatsfield Hotel was subtly scented with the perfume, diffused through the air conditioning and also reflected in the range of toiletries provided for the guests.
They had been happy times, Nicolo recalled. His parents had seemed devoted to each another, and he had grown up in the security of a stable family unit. But then it had all fallen apart. His mother had walked out and he had not seen her again. He had felt devastated and abandoned, and when he had discovered the truth about his father he had felt disgusted.
The familiar scent of Sophie Ashdown’s perfume mocked him. He did not want to think of the past, the things he had done, the regrets that ate away at his soul. He had found some measure of peace hidden away here with his computers and his work and he resented her intrusion of his privacy.
He steered her out of his study. ‘You managed to find your way into the house so I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding the way out again,’ he said sardonically.
A deep rumble of thunder made the hundreds of small panes of glass in the original Victorian windows tremble.
‘I’d get a move on if I were you, Miss Ashdown. The lane is prone to flooding when it rains and it’s a long walk back to the village if you get stranded.’
FOR THE SECOND time in the space of ten minutes Sophie found herself on the wrong side of the door to Nicolo’s study. Damn his stubbornness, she thought grimly, rubbing her shoulder where he had gripped her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had a bruise there.
Christos had warned her that Nicolo would be no pushover and she would have to use all her powers of persuasion to get him to agree to attend the shareholders’ meeting. But so far she hadn’t even managed to talk to him. However, she had glimpsed a chink in his armour when he had mentioned his sister. He clearly believed that Lucilla should be CEO of the Chatsfield. If she could somehow assure him that Christos was prepared to listen to some of Lucilla’s suggestions for running the business, then perhaps he would agree to come to London for the all-important meeting.
The brief flare of emotion she had seen on Nicolo’s granite-like features reinforced Sophie’s determination not to give up. She just needed to try a different tack. If she went back into his study now she could guess what kind of reception she would get, but if she returned with a peace offering perhaps he would be more amenable and inclined to listen to her.
She walked back to the kitchen. It was lunchtime, and it seemed like a good idea to tempt Nicolo with some sandwiches. But she quickly discovered that the contents of the fridge consisted of a lump of out-of-date cheese and a couple of raw steaks. Investigation of the kitchen cupboards proved just as unsuccessful. Sophie was desperate for a cup of tea but she had to make do with preparing coffee in a cafetière, and from the back of a cupboard she unearthed a packet of biscuits which she placed on a tray and carried back to the study.
There was no response when she tapped on the door. Undeterred, she walked in and smiled brightly as she placed the tray on the desk in front of Nicolo.
‘I thought you might like some lunch but I couldn’t make any sandwiches because you don’t seem to have any food, apart from a couple of steaks in the fridge and half a dozen more in the freezer. I guess all that red meat is for Dorcha. What on earth do you eat for dinner?’
‘Steak,’ Nicolo growled, ‘cooked rare.’ His eyes narrowed on Sophie’s face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Miss Ashdown? I told you to leave—not scavenge around in my kitchen.’
‘To be honest there wasn’t much to scavenge. And it would have been nice if you had offered me a cup of tea after I’d had a long drive here.’
‘It was your choice to come and not my problem that you had a wasted journey. I made my feelings about the goddamned shareholders’ meeting clear to Giatrakos.’
Sophie had drawn up a chair beside the desk, but before she sat down she reached for the cafetière. ‘I’ll pour, shall I?’ she said brightly.
‘Santa Madre!’ Nicolo exploded. ‘What part of get out of my house do you not understand, Miss Ashdown?’
‘I have no intention of leaving,’ she told him calmly.
‘In that case I am perfectly entitled to force you to leave.’ Nicolo jumped to his feet and strode around the desk, propelled by a surge of anger that surprised him with its intensity. For years he had stifled his emotions, determined that he would never again allow his temper to flare out of control. The scars covering one side of his body were a constant reminder of what he was capable of when he lost his temper, he thought grimly. Dio! But Sophie Ashdown had pushed him to his limit by barging into his home and disturbing his peace.
Sophie’s heart sank as she stared up at Nicolo’s furious face. His skin was drawn tight over his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes were no longer expressionless but were glinting with a warning that she was beginning to wish she had heeded. A purely feminine instinct noted that he had interesting eyes; the light brown irises were ringed with a distinctive band of olive-green and the unusual two-toned effect was strangely mesmerising.
She edged away from him and her spine came into sharp contact with the edge of the desk. It occurred to her that she should have told him she had his father’s permission to be at Chatsfield House, but she had kept that trump card to herself in case there was an occasion when it might be useful. The occasion was now, she realised. But before she could speak, Nicolo seized hold of her waist and, ignoring her startled cry, lifted her off her feet and hoisted her over his shoulder.
‘Hey—put me down….’ The room swung dizzily in front of Sophie’s eyes as he walked over to the door. She could feel her blood rushing to her head, but worse than the discomfort of her position was the loss of her dignity. She was outraged at being carried like a sack of potatoes.
‘How dare you!’ She curled her hand into a fist and thumped his back, but he took no notice and continued walking out of the study and across the hall to the kitchen.
Her handbag was on the worktop where she had left it. He picked it up. ‘Are your car keys in here?’
‘Yes. Put me down. I promise I’ll leave.’
‘You had your chance, Miss Ashdown.’ His tone was uncompromising.
It
