Claimed by the Sicilian. Kate Walker

appalling life sentence, a unendurable term handed down by the cruellest of judges—the fates who had her future in their hands.

      ‘I don’t want this!’

      ‘And neither do I,’ Guido assured her darkly. ‘But right now it seems that we have no choice. We’re married—linked together for better or for worse and we have to accept that. The only thing we can consider is what we are going to do about it.’

      That ‘we’ unmanned her. It took her breath away; made her legs tremble. She had thought that she was going to have to face this all on her own—that he had destroyed everything she believed, had taken everything away and now…

       The only thing we can consider is what we are going to do about it.

      But she didn’t want it to be ‘we’—because that meant a connection with him and she didn’t want to be with him for any reason whatsoever.

      ‘We aren’t going to do anything!’ she declared, somehow finding the strength to bring her chin up high, green eyes blazing as she faced him out. ‘I don’t want anything to do with you and I certainly don’t want you interfering in my life ever again.’

      ‘You left me no choice,’ Guido pointed out with a coolly controlled reasonableness that chilled her blood just to hear it. ‘Someone had to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life.’

      ‘Oh, no, this wasn’t the worst mistake I’ve ever made.’

      Amber shook her head so violently that another set of strands of hair escaped from their elaborate pinning and fell loose around her face.

      ‘That was when I married you—and unfortunately for me, there was no one around to stop me making such a terrible mistake as I did then. This is small potatoes compared with that.’

      If only she could believe that. It would help if she could convince herself, because then she might be able to deliver the words in a tone that would also convince this dark, hard-faced monster standing before her with his arms folded tight across his powerful chest, his heavy-lidded eyes scrutinising her face intently, watching every play of emotion as they came and went across her features.

      ‘You’ve ruined my life, destroyed my hopes of a future and I most definitely do not want you staying around, making things even worse, and forcing me to endure your hateful presence as an added form of torture. I’ll handle this myself!’

      Gathering up the long silken skirts of her dress—her wedding dress, she reminded herself on a choke of bitter distress—she whirled away from him and set off, marching away from the altar and down the aisle, the sound of her heels on the stone flags seeming appallingly loud in the silence.

      ‘And what do you think you can do?’

      He flung the challenge after her with such force that she almost believed she could feel it hitting against the back she had turned on him, running down her spine in a cold, brutal shiver. But she refused to let it, or the scepticism in his tone deter her in the least.

      ‘I’ll think of something!’ she tossed over her shoulder at him, forcing herself to keep moving, to not let the sudden weakness in her legs slow her or hold her back. ‘I’ll do anything—anything at all.’

      ‘Even face the divorce courts?’

      ‘That will be the first place I’ll be heading as soon as I get out of here.’

      ‘And the papers?’

      ‘Papers?’

      In spite of herself she couldn’t control the sudden tremble of nerves that threatened to make her miss her footing, slowed her furious stride, made it wobble a bit from side to side.

      ‘What would the papers want with this?’

      Try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to go on, stumbling to an abrupt halt before her legs gave way altogether. She had to struggle to make it look as if she had just turned in genuine curiosity, half-leaning against the end of a nearby pew, but keeping her face turned towards the door as much as she could.

      ‘I can see the headlines now—“Society wedding ends in chaos…”’

      Guido’s voice floated down the aisle towards her, the dark vein of mockery making her wince inwardly and clench her teeth tight against the whimper of protest that almost escaped.

       ’“Baronet’s son jilted at the altar by deceitful fiancée.”’

      ‘I didn’t…’ Amber began protestingly but Guido ignored her and carried on with his cold-hearted litany, his tone growing harsher, darker, more brutally triumphant with each word.

       ‘“Bigamous bride outed as she prepares to lie her way into a title and a fortune.”’

      ‘I wasn’t lying! I didn’t know!’

      ‘You’re not denying the title and the fortune part, I see.’ The statement stabbed like a stiletto between her ribs.

      ‘I’m not denying anything—or confirming anything, for that matter.’

      Somehow Amber found new strength to make herself move again, putting one foot in front of the other to get herself to the end of the aisle, reach a point where she could put her hand on the door.

      ‘I’m not even going to talk to you about this any more!’

      She had to get out of here! Get away from him and his cruelty and accusations. Away from the tidal waves of bitter memories that swamped her each time she so much as looked at him. Just seeing him had been bad enough—but that kiss…!

      Just what had she been thinking of to let him kiss her like that—to respond as she had? Had she no strength, no pride—no…?

      All thought died away in a rush as she pulled the heavy door open and, blinking for a moment in the sunlight, saw just what was waiting for her outside.

      Or, rather, saw just who was waiting for her.

      The small crowd of people who had gathered to watch her arrive for the wedding had grown. There was now what looked like a sea of people milling around at the lych-gate and as soon as they saw her appear in the doorway they started to rush forward.

      ‘Miss Wellesley! Just a word…’

      Something flashed, hard and bright, making her blink desperately, eyes suddenly watering in shock. Another flash followed—and another—so that she put up her hand to shield her face.

      ‘Is it true that you’re already married, Miss Wellesley—to Guido Corsentino?’

      ‘Did you really think you could get away with bigamy?’

      ‘Just how many husbands do you have, Amber?’

      Amber reeled back as microphones were pushed at her, almost into her face. The crowd had surged forward, hemming her in, and they were not, she saw now, the friendly, smiling villagers she had waved to on her way into the church. Some had microphones, others notebooks, and everywhere, on all sides, were those flashes that she now saw came from cameras. Cameras that were pointed directly at her and clicking furiously.

      ‘I…’ she began, but both her mind and her voice failed her in the same minute. Panic clutched at her throat so she couldn’t force any sound from it and the same fear fused her thought processes so that she couldn’t have found a thing to say anyway.

      ‘I…’ she tried again, only to break off on a squeal of fear as the crowd surged forward, threatening to engulf her.

      Her frantic step backwards made the narrow heel of her shoe catch in the hem of her long silk skirt, throwing her off balance, and she would have fallen but for the strength of a hard male arm that came round her, clamping tight about her waist and holding her upright. Another hand reached for the door, pushing it forward so that it formed a barrier against the pushing, shouting mob.

      ‘No comment!’