Billionaire's Secret. Chantelle Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ Dio, he had looked at the poor chambermaid, who had been horrifically scarred in the fire and yet was pathetically grateful to him for saving her, and his world had crumbled.

      Faced with the evidence of his culpability, he had been forced to acknowledge he was not the hero that everyone, including Marissa, believed. The ugly scars covering his body were his punishment for his childhood crime. After meeting Marissa he had wanted to crawl away and hide beneath a stone like the worthless creature he was. But the chambermaid’s lack of self-pity shamed him further. He had realised that he had a choice. He could sit around feeling sorry for himself, or he could turn his life around and do something worthwhile.

      And so he had set up a charity to help other burn victims, and for the past eight years he had devoted himself to raising funds for the charity. He wasn’t a hero, Nicolo thought bleakly, but he was doing his best to atone for the sins of his past.

      For a moment he tried to imagine Sophie Ashdown’s reaction if he told her the truth about himself. No doubt she would be disgusted. She might even rush back to London to tell her boss that Nicolo Chatsfield had no moral right to be involved in the family’s hotel business.

      Nicolo was impatient for Sophie to leave Chatsfield House, yet he could not bring himself to admit the truth to her. He did not want to risk seeing the same horrified expression in her eyes that he had witnessed when she had noticed the scars on his hand. He could only imagine her reaction if she ever saw the grotesque scars that covered one side of his chest. Beneath his clothes he had the body of a beast, and he was sure Beauty would recoil from him if he ever revealed his true self to her.

CHAPTER THREE

      EVIDENTLY SHE HAD touched a nerve with Nicolo when she had mentioned the fire, Sophie mused. She only knew a few sketchy details about the incident that had happened almost twenty years ago. According to the newspaper report Nicolo had risked his life to save a member of the hotel staff from the blaze but he had been severely burned.

      She had no idea why he had reacted so violently to her calling him a hero. He was a complicated man, she thought with a sigh.

      She had not seen him since he had stormed into his study forty-five minutes ago. The trout had taken ages to bake in the old range cooker because Sophie had forgotten to change the thermostat to a higher heat setting. The delay had given her a chance to find the guest bedroom, unpack and take a quick shower, but now her stomach was protesting that it was hours since she’d eaten a couple of apples in the car on her journey to Buckinghamshire.

      ‘You’ve already had your dinner,’ she told Dorcha as the wolfhound nudged her with his big head. She could not resist the appeal in his liquid eyes and gave him another dog treat. ‘You’re gorgeous, and so friendly—not like your bad-tempered master.’

      ‘I’m hurt by your opinion of me,’ drawled a sardonic voice.

      Sophie looked across the kitchen and flushed as Nicolo strolled through the door.

      ‘I don’t think you are. I don’t think you give a damn about anyone’s opinion of you,’ she said meditatively.

      He gave a careless shrug that drew her attention to his broad shoulders. She guessed from his damp hair which fell past his collar that he had showered recently. He had changed out of jeans and boots into tailored black trousers and a white shirt with long sleeves that fell low over his wrists but did not completely hide his burned hand.

      The ugly scars did not lessen the impact of his smouldering sensuality. His dark, brooding looks reminded Sophie of a Byronic hero from a nineteenth century novel. No wonder Heathcliff and Mr Rochester were regarded as archetypal sex symbols, she thought as she quickly looked away from Nicolo and took a deep breath to try and steady her racing heart.

      There was an air of mystery about him, and the cynical half smile on his lips both repelled and attracted her. His arrogant, devil-may-care attitude threw out a challenge to women to try and tame him, but Sophie had a feeling that no woman ever would.

      She busied herself with taking the trout from the oven and draining the potatoes over the sink. ‘I didn’t know if you usually eat in the kitchen or the dining room, and you weren’t around to ask,’ she said pointedly, ‘so I decided to lay the dining table.’ She picked up the plates of food. ‘Can you bring the salad?’

      ‘Are you always this bossy?’ Nicolo asked drily as he followed her.

      ‘I prefer the description “organised and efficient.” It’s why I’m good at my job. To be honest you could do with a bit more efficiency around here,’ Sophie told him. ‘The house is a mess inside, and outside it’s even worse. You can’t expect one cleaning lady to manage a house this size. Why don’t you employ more staff to take care of Chatsfield? I’m sure you can afford to. Christos said—’ She broke off when Nicolo frowned darkly.

      He sat down opposite her at the dining table and leaned back in his chair, studying her from beneath heavy eyelids. ‘Christos said what?’

      ‘That you have made a fortune on the stock market. Obviously I can’t tell you how to spend your money …’

      ‘But I sense you are going to tell me anyway.’

      She flushed at his sarcastic tone. ‘It seems a shame to let this grand old house fall to ruin. You grew up at Chatsfield, didn’t you? Surely you have happy memories of living here?’

      ‘A few, but I also have some not so happy memories.’

      Sophie looked surprised. ‘I would have thought that living in a great big house with your brothers and sisters, and having the huge Chatsfield estate to play in and explore, must have been wonderful—running wild in the countryside, having picnics and coming home to your parents at the end of the day.’

      ‘It’s a nice fantasy,’ Nicolo said drily, ‘but my childhood wasn’t as idyllic as you seem to think. My parents weren’t around that much. My father was away in London running the Chatsfield Hotel business and my mother was—’ he hesitated ‘—unwell a lot of the time.’

      He guessed depression was a form of illness. When he had been a young boy he had not understood the reason for his mother’s frequent crying bouts, or why she locked herself in her room and refused to see any of her children.

      Memories resurfaced of him standing outside her bedroom, begging to be allowed in.

       ‘I want to see you, Mamma. I want to hug you, and then you will stop crying.’

       ‘Go away, Nicolo. Leave me alone.’

      His mother’s rejection had hurt. He had thought perhaps he had done something wrong that had made her not love him anymore. Nicolo recalled how he had spent hours sitting on the floor outside his mother’s bedroom, because he had wanted to be near her.

      ‘So who took care of all the children in place of your parents?’ Sophie’s voice pulled Nicolo back to the present.

      ‘We had nannies. But none of them stayed for very long because our bad behaviour made them leave,’ he admitted wryly.

      The baked trout was delicious, and for a few minutes Sophie concentrated on eating, but she was curious to learn more about her reluctant host.

      ‘What happened after СКАЧАТЬ