A Proposal To Secure His Vengeance. Kate Walker

here for the wedding? How could he have been invited when no one but her knew him well enough to offer him an invitation? She sure as hell had never let anyone know that for a brief space of time he had once been such an important part of her life. Her short-lived summer love affair and its bitter consequences would neither have concerned nor interested her father.

      ‘Do I look as if I’m joking?’

      He looked supremely confident, totally at ease, and with not a trace of amusement on his carved features.

      ‘My father would never invite you here. And definitely not for this wedding.’

      ‘Why not?’

      There was the flash of challenge in those golden eyes now, clashing with the disbelief in her own stare.

      ‘Not good enough, is that it? You think, ma belle, your father would not want to invite a simple olive farmer to his daughter’s wedding of the year?’

      ‘Oh, come on!’

      She had to cover up her reaction to that casual ‘ma belle’, needing to hide the way it had the bite of acid. Once she had loved to hear him call her that, had gloried in a new-found sense of feeling beautiful in his eyes. But now the bitter memory of how quickly she had gone from being ma belle to a mere nothing, a plaything tossed aside and abandoned on the beach where they had first met, curdled in her stomach.

      ‘We both know you’re no simple olive farmer and you never were.’

      That had been the pretence he had hidden behind when they’d met. He’d let her believe he was a hard-working farmer who was delighted to meet this young Englishwoman on holiday and spend time with her. His friend Rosalie had been the one to warn her that there was more to Raoul Cardini than that. But even she had never revealed the full story. It was only when Imogen had got home and, still nursing the hurt in her heart, had been unable to resist looking up the beautiful island of Corsica on the Internet that she had found the truth that had rubbed salt deep into the wounds his rejection had inflicted on her.

      ‘I don’t think the Cardini olive oil empire could ever be described as just farming!’

      What had she said? It was only the truth, after all, but it was as if she had flung some vile insult into his face so that his head went back, bronze eyes narrowing, beautiful mouth clamping tight, turning his lips into a hard, thin line.

      ‘Not just the olive oil empire,’ he said. ‘At least get your facts right.’

      ‘Of course there’s more, isn’t there? More you didn’t trouble to tell me. Did you think it wasn’t worth me bothering my head about?’

      She flicked her eyes at him, there and away again fast, wanting him to see that she really couldn’t give a damn about anything else he hadn’t revealed to her. At one time, discovering the fact that, like her family, he was a dedicated breeder of fine horses might have brought them together. But the time to care about the lies he had told, the secrets he had kept from her, was long gone. The memory of the one secret she had kept from him burned in her soul, threatening to destroy her if she let it free.

      ‘Your father thinks it is. That’s why he agreed to a deal I proposed. And he wanted to mix business with pleasure.’

      Could he make that last word sound any more toxic? She knew something was very wrong—it had to be. How could her father have agreed to a business deal when there was nothing left of the family business? If there had been any other possibility then she wouldn’t be here, living through her last days of freedom before she walked down this aisle with Adnan Al Makthabi. The marriage was supposed to save the Blacklands Stud from complete ruin. It was supposed to ensure they didn’t have to sell off the few remaining horses, including the magnificent stallion Blackjack.

      The cost of the stallion had crippled their already overly strained finances, the loan her father had insisted on taking out to pay for him depleting further an already empty bank account and adding thousands to the interest repayments. But at least Adnan and his family wanted Blackjack—perhaps more than they wanted Imogen herself.

      ‘He suggested I come now and share in the celebrations. And he offered me a room in Blackland House for the week so we could discuss the deal at the same time.’

      He made it sound perfectly reasonable, natural even, but the nasty twisting sensation in Imogen’s stomach told her it couldn’t possibly be that way. Her father couldn’t discuss any sort of ‘deal’—he had nothing to offer! From the date of her wedding, he wouldn’t even own the stud—or Blackjack.

      ‘So tell me—what did you use to buy my father’s interest?’

      She’d gone too far with that. Dangerously so. She could see it in the way a muscle ticked in his cheek, the glare that had turned the warm colour of his eyes to ice in the space of a heartbeat.

      ‘I don’t buy my business partners. Ask your father. You might not want me here but, believe me, your father does. He invited me to stay and be a guest at your wedding—so, naturally I said yes. I wanted be here to watch you plight your troth to your perfect bridegroom.’

      Raoul spat the words at her before he spun on his heel and marched away, down the aisle and out of the church. The staccato sound of his angry footsteps echoed through the silent interior of the church until the heavy wooden door slammed loudly behind him.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE SUN WAS burning away the fine dawn mist that had clouded the distant hillsides as Imogen turned the bay mare and reluctantly headed back to the stud. The long, solitary gallop on her favourite horse had been a welcome time of peace and quiet in the bustle of the weekend. Time to reflect and draw breath before considering what her next move might be where Raoul Cardini was concerned.

      Because of course Raoul was the real problem she had. The preparations for the wedding were well in hand, everything would have been fine if it hadn’t been for Raoul’s unexpected arrival and the crazy scheme that her father had embarked on to bring him here.

      ‘Oh, why now!’ she exclaimed aloud, making the mare’s ears prick in response to the sound as they trotted down the path that led to the stables.

      But she knew why. Adnan had revealed last night at the pre-wedding dinner that her father had mentioned Raoul’s approach, his interest in the stud services and the stallion Blackjack in particular. But they had agreed to wait until the wedding was over, he said. Or that had been the original plan.

      It was obviously not what Raoul believed, Imogen reflected now, slowing the mare to a walk as her hooves rang on the cobbled stones of the stable yard. Last night she’d finally managed to get the truth out of her father, discovering to her horror that things were as bad as she’d thought. Her father had planned to get the deal for stud services for Blackjack signed and sealed before the magnificent horse became the property of the Al Makthabi stud—which he would on the day of her marriage. Adnan had agreed to clear her father’s debts, save Blacklands from destruction and restore it to something of its former glory, but only on condition that Blackjack became his as part of the deal.

      If she couldn’t get her father to cancel the whole thing then the wedding would be off. And even if she could she would still have to worry that Raoul would reveal everything to Adnan.

      If that was everything. The mare danced sideways and whickered a protest at the way Imogen’s grip had suddenly tightened on the reins.

      ‘Sorry, Angel!’

      She gave the sleek bay neck a reassuring pat as she struggled with the bleakness of her thoughts. Just remembering how Raoul had appeared at the dinner last night, dark and sleek in immaculate evening dress, made her throat close up. This was the man she had once thought of as her future, only to have that hope thrown back in her face. She couldn’t believe he was here only to discuss a business deal with her father, so she was forced to wonder just what other wicked schemes were brewing behind that cold-blooded, heartless facade of his.

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