her own. ‘There’s no need to get upset.’
‘My father is dying.’ She paused, struggling to speak past the sadness that was closing her throat. ‘How can you say it will be all right?’
‘I meant we can keep him happy and comfortable,’ Francesca said. ‘Protect him from any more worries.’
Claudia pressed her teeth gently into her quivering lip, momentarily overwhelmed by a barrage of conflicting emotions. She’d spent most of her life longing for a loving mother who could take care of her and comfort her when she was upset.
Now, for the first time she could remember, Francesca was trying to offer comfort. But, coming straight after joining forces with a man Claudia despised, with the purpose of blackmailing her into marriage, it was a hollow pretence.
‘You don’t care about him,’ Claudia cried. ‘You’ve never cared about him—you’ve only ever been interested in his money.’
Francesca withdrew her hand stiffly, but she did not respond to Claudia’s impassioned comment.
‘This will cheer you up,’ she said, pulling a wedding dress brochure out of her designer bag. ‘Just for inspiration, of course. After tea let’s pop down to Harrods and see what they have.’
‘I’m not going to Harrods to choose my wedding dress.’ All Claudia wanted to do was get away on her own.
‘Just for inspiration,’ her stepmother repeated. ‘Nothing off-the-peg for you, darling, but what do you think about something like this?’
Claudia looked at the fur trimmed December bride gracing the cover of the brochure.
‘It’s not exactly suitable for the Caribbean, is it?’ She picked up her bag and was on her feet before she fully realised what she was doing. She couldn’t bear to think of flying to the Tropics to present herself as a trophy bride to the despicable and vile Primo Vasile.
But the thought of her father ending his days in prison was absolutely unbearable. She would do whatever it took to spare him pain in his last few months of life.
‘Where are you going?’ Francesca asked. ‘We have plans to make.’
‘You don’t need me to make plans,’ Claudia said as she turned to leave. ‘You just need me to carry them out for you.’
They said that revenge was a dish best served cold. And, as Marco De Luca waited outside the Ritz Hotel for Claudia Hazelton to appear, his heart felt as cold and hard as steel.
He stared straight ahead, oblivious to the hordes of Christmas shoppers thronging the streets in London’s fashionable West End. He was completely disinterested in the Christmas lights that sparkled everywhere because, at any moment, Claudia would leave the hotel.
It was more than four years since he’d seen her, but he could still picture her face perfectly. Porcelain fair skin with a dusting of freckles. Fine bone structure and delicate features, framed by rich coppery hair that tumbled past her shoulders. Those large eyes that gave the appearance of angelic innocence.
But Marco knew Claudia was far from innocent. She had betrayed him and she’d made the unforgivable mistake of conspiring to hurt his sister.
And now, unbelievably, she planned to marry Primo Vasile—the man who had viciously ripped Marco’s family to shreds twelve years earlier.
A knot twisted nastily in his stomach as he thought about Claudia and Vasile together. Their forthcoming marriage was utterly repellent to him—but it proved just how low Claudia was prepared to stoop. The only possible reason she could have for marrying a man like Vasile was to get her hands on her trust fund early.
Marco would make sure that marriage never happened.
A movement from the hotel’s entrance caught his eye.
It was Claudia.
A sudden surge of unexpected emotion powered through him and his heart started to thud. Even though he’d been waiting for her, actually seeing her in the flesh hit him like a punch to the solar plexus.
He jerked into motion, falling into step behind her as she set off along Picadilly. She walked swiftly, weaving her way with single-minded determination through the crowds of Christmas shoppers filling the London street.
She looked every bit the sophisticated city woman, wearing a sleek chocolate-brown suede coat over tailored trousers and high-heeled boots. But in his mind’s eye he suddenly saw her dressed in the faded T-shirt and old jeans she had worn the last day they’d spent together, trekking along the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.
He pictured her lying on the springy grass on the cliff top, the scent of wild thyme mingling with the sea breeze as he’d leant forward to kiss her. It had been an amazing day, for both of them he had thought, until he’d discovered it was all a smokescreen. She’d been deceiving him in the worst possible way—for the worst possible reasons.
‘Claudia.’ His voice caught in his throat and a strange sensation burned through him—a combination of the betrayal he’d felt when he’d discovered what she had done and the memory of the red hot passion they’d once shared. ‘Claudia, is that you?’ he asked, reaching out to lay his hand on her shoulder.
He felt her jump as his hand made contact, as if an electric shock had run through her.
‘Marco.’ His name formed soundlessly on her lips as she turned to face him, an expression of profound shock on her fine features.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. In the thin colourless light of the winter afternoon her skin glowed with almost ethereal paleness, but there was something achingly fragile about her that he didn’t recall. His eyes roamed over her, trying to detect even the smallest changes in her appearance.
There were dark smudges under her eyes and her cheekbones seemed more pronounced than before. But maybe it was simply knowing what he had planned for her that made her seem vulnerable to him.
Despite her elegant London grooming, she looked slightly dishevelled. Her gorgeous copper toned hair was caught up inside her collar, as if she’d thrown her coat on hurriedly, and his fingers longed to slip under its silken weight and ease it free.
Then, as she lifted her gaze to meet his, he found himself looking down into her golden brown eyes.
‘Marco.’ Claudia repeated his name out loud this time, hardly able to believe it as she stared up at his face. Her heart was racing and it was impossible to think straight.
It truly was him—Marco De Luca.
He had filled her thoughts for four long years and now he was really here, transported out of her dreams on to the London pavement beside her—except everything about the flesh and blood man was more vivid than the memory.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said. His voice tingled down her spine, deliciously deep and sexy, setting her quivering inside. ‘I saw you walking.’
Claudia opened her lips and tried to speak again, but all she could think was how badly she’d missed him. He’d hurt her terribly when he’d dumped her four years ago, but he’d been in her thoughts every day since then. And now he was here, completely out of the blue, on what had seemed
