The Bridal Bargain (9 page)

He was making love to her, she thought, and it didn’t matter that they barely knew each other in any conventional sense. It felt so good...right...perfect... she didn’t want to question it. Again her mind whispered,
Let it be, just let it be.

All the conscious knowing she had believed in with Flynn hadn’t proved true. All the planning she’d done towards their wedding...wasted in the worst possible way. Better to let life happen, not think too far ahead with this relationship. It would evolve into whatever it was meant to. Right now, all she wanted to think, to feel, was...Tony.

Isabella Valeri King
cast her eye around the grand ballroom, checking that all was as it should be for this wedding reception. King’s Castle certainly provided a splendid venue for such happy functions and usually she took pleasure in seeing that everything was running perfectly, as it seemed to be this evening. However, the joy shining from the faces of the newly married couple at the bridal table was another reminder of Antonio’s frustrating lack of co-operation in her plans for him.

She had specifically asked him to come by the castle this afternoon, ostensibly to reassure her she had chosen a good chef for
Duchess
—a perfectly reasonable request in the circumstances. Her main objective had been to gauge his interest in Hannah O’Neill, whether or not he had the good sense to see her as a possible partner for him in the journey of life.

They had definitely found each other attractive. Isabella had not missed the signs of a heightened physical awareness between them.
The chemistry,
as her very wise niece, Elizabeth, explained it, was there to draw them together. What Isabella wanted to know was what might keep them apart, and if she could play a hand in removing any problems.

She could do nothing without knowledge. Which made Antonio’s failure to visit her, as he said he would, all the more vexing. On the other hand, it wasn’t like him not to keep his word. Something must have prevented him from coming. Though he should have had the courtesy to call and let her know.

Feeling the need to talk over her discontent with Rosita, Isabella made a discreet departure from the ballroom, returning to the private quarters of the castle where she might make her own telephone call to her errant grandson. Or one to Hannah O’Neill, inviting her to afternoon tea on her day off.

A glance at her watch showed seven-fifteen. She had eaten earlier, but undoubtedly she would find Rosita in the kitchen, still half expecting Antonio to show up and maybe want something to eat. For over twenty years Rosita had been spoiling Isabella’s three grandsons. It was high time they were more considerate of the woman who had served them all so well.

She entered the kitchen in a disgruntled mood and came to a startled halt when Antonio himself entered in a rush by the other door which led through the utility room to the grounds surrounding the castle. He was in his captain’s uniform, as though he’d just come from
Duchess,
and he headed straight for the wall telephone, tossing apologetic words at her without so much as a pause in his step.

“Sorry I’m late, Nonna. Something came up and it hasn’t gone away. Got to make a call. Only be a minute or two. Hi, Rosita. And no, I don’t want anything to eat, thank you. I’ll be dining out.”

He was dialling even as he spoke. Isabella held her tongue. Antonio was emanating urgency and the fire of determination was in his eyes. She’d seen that look on his face many times, from when he was only a boy. It meant he was going into battle and nothing was going to turn him away from it, regardless of the odds against him.

She glanced at Rosita who was sitting at the island bench, paused in her self-appointed task of making pastry for whatever she planned to cook tomorrow. They exchanged a worried look, both of them aware of how Antonio acted when he was all stirred up.

In his determination not to lose, he could be dangerously reckless, taking risks that a less competitive person would never take. He counted on his force of will to carry him through and mostly it did. But this trait in Antonio’s character always struck fear in Isabella’s heart.

“Nautilis?” he said into the receiver.

Isabella frowned. The Nautilis was a very high-class restaurant, where President Clinton himself had chosen to dine when he had visited Port Douglas— certainly not the place for a battle.

“It’s Tony King. There was a couple on
Duchess
today, name of Lovett. First names Flynn and Jodie. They mentioned they’d booked a table with you tonight. Would you be able to check that for me, please?”

His tone was pitched to a matter-of-fact enquiry, not suggesting any unpleasantness—simply one local business asking a small favour of another local business.

“Thank you. What time are you expecting them?”

He checked his watch, nodding at the reply.

“I’d like to dine there myself tonight. Can you fit in another table for two? I realise this is late notice but I would appreciate it very much if...”

A grim look of satisfaction on his face indicated a positive reply. Isabella was anxiously wondering about the companion he intended to take with him. Was there some other woman entering the scene? Another one of his come-and-go relationships, wasting time and opportunity?

“Thank you. We’ll be arriving at eight-thirty. One other favour... I’d rather not be placed on the same deck as the Lovetts’ table. They caused me some trouble today...”

Trouble...
So why go looking for more of it, Antonio? The restaurant had split-level dining areas but both levels were open to each other and all guests could be easily viewed.

“They’re placed on the upper deck and you’ll put us on the lower deck. Fine! Thank you very, very much.”

He replaced the receiver, his eyes glittering with triumph at having successfully made the arrangements he wanted. The battle ground was set. But what were the issues at stake?

“Antonio...” Isabella started gravely.

He had the gall to grin at her. “Got to move it, Nonna. Shower, shave, change of clothes. I’ll chat to you tomorrow. Promise.”

“Two minutes,” she demanded. “You can give me two minutes. You’re not due at the restaurant for another hour and it doesn’t take you that long to get ready to go out.”

“Okay. What do you want to know in two minutes?”

He was tense underneath the token indulgence, wanting to go up to his room and get on with the plan he had in mind. He folded his arms with an air of patience, but Isabella read that piece of body language as sheer belligerence—nothing was going to stop him in any significant way.

“Hannah O’Neill,” she said, and felt a spark of triumph herself when she saw his hands clench. He was certainly not indifferent to Hannah. Was the battle he intended to fight linked to her in some way? “Is she fitting in well?” Isabella pressed.

“Fine!” he answered tersely. “The crew like her. She can cook fish. I intend to keep her on. Satisfied?”

He started moving, assuming he’d said enough.

“I take it Hannah is still in the Coral King apartment Alessandro gave her?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, frowning slightly. “Why do you ask? Monday is her first day off. She’s too busy to look for a place before then.”

“Oh, I was just thinking of giving her a friendly call. Now that you’re finished with the telephone and too busy to chat with me yourself...”

“Don’t!” The word was shot at her so fast it had the impact of a bullet being fired from a battle line.

Isabella drew herself up with straight-backed hauteur and gave him an arched look of reproof. “I beg your pardon?”

The aggression pumping from him was reined in. He made a curt, dismissive gesture, realising he had no authority whatsoever over her decisions or actions. “Sorry, Nonna. I happen to have a situation with Hannah that needs careful handling. If you want to call her, please do it tomorrow, not tonight.”

“You just told me everything was fine with her.”

“It will be,” he muttered darkly.

“But it isn’t right now,” Isabella claimed with utter certainty.

Another sharp, dismissive gesture. “Hannah almost walked out of the job today because of a couple who came on board. She doesn’t want to talk about the past history they’ve obviously shared but they’re not letting go, Nonna. They want to get their hooks into her again and I’m not about to stand for that.”

“So...it’s Hannah you’re taking to the Nautilis tonight.”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed with ruthless intent. “She needs to be free of that pair. One way or another I’m going to kill their games stone-dead.”

Violent feeling shimmered from him. Without a doubt he was deeply engaged with Hannah O’Neill. But was he getting it right for her?

“Antonio, does Hannah know what you plan?” she asked pertinently.

“She’ll be with me,” he answered with such passionate emphasis Isabella knew instantly that Antonio was taking this fight into his own hands.

“You will throw her into the ring with these people she wishes to avoid?”

“You think running away solves anything, Nonna?” he flared back at her. “Two years she’s been running from them and she would have run again if I hadn’t acted fast this morning.”

Isabella shook her head, having sensed none of this fear in Hannah O’Neill. She had seemed such a happy person, happy, confident, carefree...

“Are you sure this is so, Antonio?”

He nodded grimly. “It stops tonight. Hannah will stay with me.”

The possessive ring in his voice should have warmed Isabella’s heart, giving her hope that Antonio had at last found a woman he might come to love and cherish, but again she was lacking knowledge, crucial knowledge.

“You are doing what you want. But is it what Hannah wants? You say she hasn’t talked of this past. You are taking on an enemy without knowing what it is.”

“They’re like a cancer on her soul,” he retorted vehemently. “That’s enough reason for me to get her to face them and choose to be rid of them.”

“Ask her, Antonio,” she urged. “Ask her if this is what she wants.”

“Stay out of it, Nonna,” he warned. “Just stay out of it. It will be how I want it to be.”

He strode off, not prepared to listen to reason.

“He wants to rescue her,” Rosita said quietly.

“He might be telling himself that, Rosita, but he is acting like a bull who is blindly intent on driving off another bull.”

“You mean he is protecting his territory.”

Isabella heaved a sigh of exasperation. “This could go badly.”

“You don’t think Antonio will win?”

“What makes a woman run from a married couple? What if the cancer on Hannah O’Neill’s soul is an unfulfilled love? A love that was forbidden to her?” She shook her head, wishing she knew more. “There is a reason why Hannah will not talk of these people.”

“If the man is married, then he is no good to her,” Rosita argued, picking up the roll of pastry, slamming it down on the marble square and kneading it with far more energy than she needed to.

Antonio’s energy making her jumpy, Isabella thought. The power of it was still hanging around, making them both feel highly unsettled. “This Flynn Lovett cannot be happily married,” she pointed out. “Antonio sees him as a threat. A happily married man is no threat. If this man is considering a divorce...”

“Divorce is not good,” Rosita declared firmly, giving the pastry a good punch. “I think Antonio should save her from such bad things.”

Which was all very fine if she wanted to be saved, Isabella thought, but it was her experience that these days young women preferred to make their own independent choices.

Rosita was in her sixties and very Italian in her thinking. A man took care of such things. That was what a man was for—to fight for his woman and make the world a better place for her. A woman looked after the household and the children.

Isabella was wishing life could be that simple and people a lot less complicated when Rosita paused in her pummelling of the pastry and looked at her with all too knowing eyes. “There is no stopping Antonio, Isabella. You know there isn’t. What will be will be.”

This fatalistic view did not sit at all well. “He cannot make Hannah choose what he wants,” she fretted. “It’s all too fast. He should have moved her out of their way, taken the time to win her first. It’s the wrong hand to play. He’ll ruin everything.”

“You thought Alessandro had ruined everything with Gina by acting too quickly,” Rosita reminded her.

“Yes, but we knew Gina’s background. We knew he could surmount her fears and objections.”

“We know Hannah O’Neill’s background, too. It is one of strong family. No divorce. That girl does not want a messy life. She ran away from it. Perhaps Antonio is right to make the stand and fight for her.”

“It’s a risk he didn’t need to take.”

“That is the man he is. If it is wrong for her, then
he
is wrong for her and they will not be happy together.”

It was a line of logic Isabella could not refute.

Antonio was...Antonio. Totally elemental. No subtlety. All the polish she’d tried to give him...no more than a very thin veneer. His genes were probably a direct throwback to the genes from her husband, born and bred in the Outback, one of the Kings of the Kimberley.

Edward...

She remembered he’d taken one look at her—such a look it had made her toes curl—and said, “You are mine, Isabella Valeri.”

And she was.

There had never been another man for her.

But that was sixty years ago and times had changed.

Whether Antonio was right or wrong for Hannah O’Neill...well, that was in the lap of the gods now.