Had Donato seduced her just to turn the screws tighter on her father? To make his revenge sweeter?
Call her a fool, but she couldn’t believe it. Donato was relentless and tough, but he wasn’t cruel. Their passion had been real. After the way Donato’s mother had been used by men, Ella couldn’t imagine him using sex as a weapon in his schemes.
But Ella had been a convenient pawn in his plot. He’d kept her onside so as not to spoil the charade of a wedding. She looked at the white flounces trembling around her feet.
Whatever they’d shared was over now.
He had no need for her any more.
As for a future for them—her breath snared. How could there be? She was his enemy’s daughter. That would always lie between them.
‘You look like you need a drink.’
Still Donato kept his distance but Ella read the hollow look in his eyes. That was what finally stiffened her resolve.
‘So do you.’
* * *
Donato shrugged. Facing Ella with the truth was every bit as bad as he’d feared. He couldn’t drag his eyes from her, half-sitting on the wide arm of the chair. Her eyes looked bruised and the bright dress she clamped to her breast only emphasised the pain drawing her features tight.
Yet she kept her chin up, ready to deal with whatever else he might reveal. She really was something. Strong—unbelievably strong and decent and caring. Funny and gentle and passionate.
Her mother must have been an amazing woman to have produced a daughter like her despite Sanderson’s influence.
‘Can I get you something?’
She nodded. ‘Something strong.’
‘Whisky? Brandy?’
‘Vodka. A double.’
Her chin rode even higher at his questioning look. Who was he to question? Wasn’t he craving alcohol to deaden the feeling he’d destroyed something precious with his revelations?
Donato turned away, grateful for something to do. Behind him came the rustle of fabric. She must be getting more comfortable, sitting properly on that chair. Good.
His fingers didn’t work properly and it took him a while to fumble the lid off the bottle and pour their drinks.
‘I’m sorry to have shocked you.’ The words sounded trite but it was true. He regretted causing her pain, even though she deserved to know the truth.
‘Here. This should help.’ He swung around, two glasses in his hands, then stopped, staring.
On the floor where Ella had been was a mound of white—her discarded dress. She must have stepped out of it and walked, naked from the room. Belatedly Donato registered the sound of movement overhead. She was in his bedroom.
His fingers tightened on the glasses.
He needed to talk with her, find out what, if anything, could be salvaged from the wreck of their relationship.
Except she’d made her feelings clear. She hadn’t even wanted to share a drink with him. No doubt she couldn’t bear the sight of him. He was the harbinger of doom, the man who’d destroyed her father and shattered any remaining illusions she might have had about Sanderson. He was the man who’d used her to further his schemes. He’d had no compunction about leading her on and making use of her.
No wonder she’d walked out on him.
And the dress on the floor?
He looked at the gleaming pile of pure white with its sprinkle of stardust. He’d seen Ella in it and his heart had shuddered to a stop. Not just because she was beautiful, but because he recognised how much he wanted her.
She was his. He felt it in the very marrow of his bones.
Donato lifted one glass and downed the double vodka, grimacing.
It took everything he had not to race up the stairs. She needed time. He owed her that at least.
His eyes turned back to the glimmering white dress on the floor, feeling as if one touch from him would mark its purity.
Ella was a world away from him. What could she possibly want with him now the truth was out?
Donato sank into a chair rather than follow his instinct and confront her. He had to allow her some privacy and dignity while she came to grips with what she’d learned.
He lifted the second glass and drank deeply. The neat alcohol burned his throat but didn’t touch the arctic freeze at his heart.
He made himself sit for a long time, listening to the occasional faint sounds as Ella paced above him. Finally, when he could wait no longer, he put down the empty glasses and rose.
The empty bedroom surprised him, as did the leap of emotion in his chest. By the time he’d tried the bathroom and walk-in wardrobe and found them empty of Ella, not even a stray hairclip remaining, a clammy hand had closed around his hammering heart.