CHAPTER ONE
ONTHEFEWoccasions each year when Thirio absolutely had to leave the Castile di Neve, he always returned a foul-tempered beast. There was very little of the outside world that pleased him, and being forced to take part in it was an exercise that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Until finally he could fly his helicopter from whichever city he’d been obliged to visit, leaving civilisation behind, flying over the alpine forests for which these mountainous ridges were famed, drawing closer and closer to the castle he had, for the last six years, called home.
It rose from the cliff faces like a spectre of magic. On cloudy afternoons, the turrets of the towers appeared almost to hover, free-floating miles above the ravines that fell all the way to northern Italy, and, despite the romantic beauty of the centuries-old towers, Thirio felt an affinity with the ruggedness of their positioning.
They too did not belong.
And so here they stayed, two outcasts on the edges of civilisation. It was almost impossible to remember now the parties his parents used to throw here, the way the castle used to hum with life and joy.
As Thirio brought his helicopter lower, circling around the castle to the landing pad at the rear, he saw something that made him swallow a dark curse.
A car.
Small and black, parked right near the front door to thecastile.
One of the things Thirio liked most about the castle was how inaccessible it was. Sure, there was a road, but it was narrow and winding and, with thecastilethe natural end point of the road, tourist traffic never went past. Out here, he was completely alone. Which was how he damn well wanted it.
He’d woken in a foul mood—the prospect of needing to travel always did that—and his mood had only worsened as the day went on. All he’d wanted was to get home and shower, to wash away the memories of other people, of his past, his history, his guilt.
He cut the rotor blades but stayed in the helicopter as they slowed, trying to bring his temper under control. He expelled a long, slow breath, his nostrils flaring, then pushed open the side door. It was crisp up here, despite the fact that spring was reaching through the rest of the northern hemisphere, bringing flowers, sunshine and optimism. At the top of the world, the clouds were grey, the trees heavy with fallen snow. He stepped out of the helicopter, slamming the door and stalking towards the steps that would lead to the back door of his palace.
He didn’t know who’d dared to breach his sanctuary, but he would tell them to leave, in no uncertain terms. Thirio Skartos was not in the mood for being nice.
To say Lucinda Villeneuve was nervous would be an understatement. Not just because she’d arrived uninvited to the castle of a famously reclusive billionaire, proposal in hand, but because of what that proposal meant to her. If he agreed to hire her as the events coordinator for his sister’s wedding, it would truly change Lucinda’s life. The fee alone would be enough to secure a bank loan, so that she could finally buy out her awful stepmother and regain control of her late father’s business. And more than that, it would prove to her doubters exactly what Lucinda was capable of.
Shehadto convince him that she was the woman for the job.
There wasn’t a lot of information about Thirio Skartos on the Internet. Up to a point, there were tons of photographs: a young, handsome party-boy bachelor who seemed to go from one event to another—she was familiar with the type. But when tragedy struck and his parents were killed in a house fire, he disappeared from the public eye. For the last six years, he’d almost faded from existence, so it took some sniffing around for Lucinda to secure the address of his hideaway here in the Alps, on the border of Switzerland, France and Italy.
His younger sister, Evie, was easier to research. While she kept a low profile, she’d recently become engaged to the Prince of Nalvania, the fourth son of the reigning monarch, and so there’d been a spate of interviews. Lucinda had spent weeks analysing them, studying them, learning what she could about the soon-to-be Princess and weaving those titbits into her proposal. Sheknewit was good. Great, in fact. She just had to convince Thirio Skartos of that.
If he ever turned up!
Having arrived at the castle some hours earlier, she’d waited in her car a while, before moving into the foyer of the house and then, finally, going a little deeper, when the tea she’d had on the drive up had caught up with her and she’d needed to relieve herself. Only the search for amenities had taken her past the most stunning library, with triple-height ceilings and walls lined with ancient books. Was there really any harm in waiting for him there? She had decided not, and so it was here, in the library, curled up in an armchair with a very old copy ofWar and Peacein her hands, that Thirio discovered her.
Lucinda wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. His good looks were well established. She’d seen photographs of him online, taken years earlier, with his swarthy complexion, eyes darker than night, brows thick and straight, nose aquiline, jaw square—but the man who strode into the library looking as though he wanted to strangle something or someone was very, very different. Oh, his face showed the relics of that handsome young man, but his expression was so angry, so serious, that it was impossible to reconcile him with the smiling, carefree bachelor. And he was such a man—all six and a half feet of steel and strength; there was a darkness to his energy that was overpowering. Lucinda scrambled to her feet, thrusting the book guiltily onto the armchair, all professionalism forgotten in the face of Thirio’s overt masculinity.
‘Who the hell are you?’ His accent was crisper than the temperature outside. His father was Greek, his mother Swiss, and he’d been educated between London and Vienna. He sounded as though he could pass for a member of the British royal family. But his voice was rough, thick and hoarse, as though he didn’t use it often. As though he was angry to be using it now.
Lucinda swallowed past a bundle of nerves.
‘Thirio Skartos?’
‘You are in my house,’ he said succinctly. ‘Do you think you have any right to ask questions of me?’
She had not expected this degree of animosity. ‘I have been trying to contact you via phone,’ she responded haughtily, forgetting for a moment how badly she needed his business. ‘You haven’t returned my calls.’
‘Most people would take that as a hint.’
‘I’m not most people.’
His nostrils flared as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her wordlessly, so Lucinda’s pulse ratcheted up without warning, without explanation. She bit down on her lower lip, then quickly stopped, when his very dark eyes dropped to the gesture, slowly appraising it, and then, her face.
‘You are not welcome here.’
‘I just need a moment of your time.’
Scepticism tightened his face. ‘Do you not understand English?’