Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Matteo
The Cotswolds, England
Irritation nips at me, and I impatiently drum my fingers on my thigh. My annoyance is so great that I don’t appreciate the scenic, rolling countryside.
Needing some kind of action, I snatch up my phone to study the map to see how far away we are from Elysian Hall.
Frustratingly close. But miles and miles to go. “Fuck.”
“Everything okay, sir?” Chiara asks.
She’s one of our soldiers, and she’s sitting next to me in the back seat of the SUV. Nash is behind the wheel. Though he’s driving over the speed limit, I want to urge him to go faster.
Chasing my intended bride across thousands of miles has been a massive time consumption and a frustrating waste of effort that shouldn’t have been necessary.
After the Four Corners Alliance meeting ended yesterday, I headed for the airport. I didn’t even stick around long enough to enjoy dinner with Nico and my father to celebrate the fact that all four families had signed the agreement.
I managed a few hours’ sleep on the plane, and we touched down in England early this afternoon.
The fact I’m irritated hasn’t helped my temper.
Not soon enough, the massive iron gates of Elysian Hall come into view. Behind them, Alessia is playing at being a peasant. My jaw clenches. She’s here, deliberately defying everything she was born to be.
Nash managed to get us reservations that we won’t need. Chiara is masquerading as my wife, and we’re here celebrating our anniversary, hoping for a break from our hectic lives.
After Nash repeats our cover story, the gates swing open, and we drive onto the estate.
The mansion looms ahead, all symmetry and grandeur, its Palladian facade practically screaming self-importance.
The path meanders through perfectly manicured gardens, complete with topiary animals and marble fountains. A glass conservatory juts out from one side. Under other circumstances, I might appreciate its history. Today, it’s a barrier to me getting what I want.
The moment we pull to a stop, one of the wide front doors is thrown open, and a woman all but glides down the steps.
She’s tall and willowy, dressed in an explosion of color—something between a flowing vintage dress and a painter’s smock. Wild curls escape from her scarf, and she moves with unhurried grace.
Nash opens the back door and helps Chiara out. Then I follow, already playing our roles.
“Welcome to Elysian Hall!” The woman is cheery to a fault. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
Without waiting for a response, she goes on. “I’m Artemis Whitmore. My brother and I manage Elysian Hall. You’ve picked the perfect time to visit—dinner will be at eight, sherry is served in the conservatory in an hour, once the drawing class finishes up.”
“Drawing class?” I ask.
“Gabriel Greaves is our artist in residence, and he’s instructing the class.”
Chiara and I exchange glances, and she shrugs.
“Surely you’ve heard of him?”
“Can’t say I have.” The only thing I know about art is that we hold a number of pieces in our family collection. I’m told many of them were legitimately purchased.
Artemis nods. “He’s very famous. His work is extraordinary, and we’re very lucky to have him. But enough about that. Let’s get you settled.” She waves a hand toward the house. “Come inside, and I’ll get you your room key. I can even brew you a pot of tea in the kitchen—real loose-leaf, of course. It’s just divine.”
“Actually …” Chiara begins.
“What is it, darling?” I ask.
“Would it be okay if we walked around a little first, maybe stretch our legs?”
“Of course!” Artemis responds for me. “I should have thought of that. I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.”
“Flew directly to London from Las Vegas, then got in a car,” Chiara says, her voice filled with excitement. “We couldn’t wait to get here.”
I’ve never worked with Chiara before, and I’m impressed. Nash recommended we bring her, and his advice was solid.
“Do take your time,” Artemis says. “I’ll have the tea ready whenever you’re done.”
Since civility is beyond me at the moment, I settle for nodding.
Once Artemis disappears back inside the mansion, I nod at Chiara. “With me.”
Nash leans against the vehicle, looking casual, though I know he’s anything but.
My soldier falls in step next to me, her pace matching mine as we make our way down the winding path, the crunch of gravel beneath our feet and distant birds the only sounds in the unnatural quiet.
The glass conservatory walls gleam in the late afternoon sunshine, and tension knots my shoulders.
As we near, I slow.
Seconds later, I see my future bride, lounging on a pink velvet chaise, her body draped in a gauzy material that barely hides her perfect, nude body. Her long, dark hair spills around her beautiful face and down her back in uncontrolled chaos.
What the fuck is she thinking?
A few artists stand around her, their easels set up in a semicircle, each one of them capturing a different angle of her bare form.
The instructor, presumably Gabriel Greaves, moves from one canvas to the next. Fury lashes me. He’s the same fucking blond asshole Alessia had been snuggled up to in her recent social-media post.
I want her out of here, now.
“Is that her?” Chiara asks quietly.
“Yeah.” With every damn one of her secrets revealed to the world.
Shoving down the hot burn of emotion, I pivot, and Chiara follows suit.
“She’s in there,” I say to Nash when we reach the SUV. “We’ll get her and be out of here in less than five minutes.”
With a nod, he opens the back door and then slides behind the steering wheel, ready to roll out.
Chiara on my heel, I head for the mansion, taking the front steps two at a time. Within five minutes, we’ll be off the property, and Alessia will have learned a few things about me.
I pull open the massive door and enter a world hundreds of years old. The floors are polished marble, veined with swirls of deep gray and gold. The soaring ceilings are adorned with intricate plasterwork. A grand staircase curves upward, flanked by dark wood banisters, and soft piano notes drift from an unseen room. Animated conversation hums in the distance.
By unspoken accord, we move toward the conservatory.
Inside, the humid air hits me, thick with the scent of orchids and paint. Jealousy and desire war in my chest—she’s more beautiful than any photo suggested, and the knowledge that others have seen her like this makes me murderous.
She startles, her beautiful, hazel eyes going wide.
Then she gasps as recognition flashes across her face—she’s seen my photos too. “Oh my God.”
As I stalk toward her, I shrug out of my suit jacket. The need to cover her, to hide her from these vultures, overwhelms me. “Show’s over.”
Gabriel steps between us. Brave, stupid man.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands. “This is a private session?—”
“Back off.” Chiara moves in front of him and presses a hand forcefully to his chest.
Instantly he backs away. Smart choice. In my current mood, I might have snapped him in half. Or at least destroyed his hand.
Alessia scrambles to her feet, and the gauzy material slips from her. It pools around her feet, leaving her exposed.
Even now, she has no idea how much danger she’s in.
In two long strides, I’m in the middle of the room.
I wrap my jacket around her. The brief contact with her silky skin sends electricity through my fingers. “You’re coming home. Where you belong.”
“Like hell I am!” She twists away from me, then runs for the door.
Effortlessly I capture her, scoop her from the floor, and toss her over my shoulder, desperately trying to keep her covered. She kicks her long, shapely legs, and the feeling of her nearly naked body against mine threatens what little control I have left. “Don’t test me, little rebel.”
Yelling, demanding to be released, she struggles even harder.
“That’s enough.” In a flash, I land my palm on her upturned, sweet ass. The crack echoes through the room.
Instantly she freezes, and she yelps in shock.
The sound goes straight to my groin.
“Let her go!” Gabriel is pale and shaking, his hands clenched at his sides. “I’ll call the police?—”
“Do it.” My tone is curt, heavy with possession. “But my fiancée is leaving with me.”
“Put me down! I am not marrying you!” Alessia thrashes again, fighting against my hold as I stride from the room and through the mansion toward the exit.
Chiara hurries past me to open the front door, and she remains on the stoop to protect my back while I jog down the steps.
Once we reach the car, I put Alessia down. “Get in.”
Her chin set mutinously, she defies me and attempts to run, even in bare feet.
Once more, I snatch her up.
The jacket falls to the ground. “Keep fighting me, and you’ll leave here naked. Your choice.”
Chiara strategically places herself in front of the gathering crowd. Gabriel is yelling—from a safe distance, I note—and Artemis is speaking rapidly into the cell phone that’s pressed to her ear.
I shove Alessia into the car and lean in to press her against the leather seat. She’s wild-eyed, chest heaving. The sight of her like this—disheveled, with beautiful feminine curves, and hard nipples pointing toward me—makes my dick hard.
I’ll conquer her, and I’ll own her.
“Gabriel!” she cries out.
I capture her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. My words are clipped as I harness my anger. “You’re mine. No one touches what belongs to me.” He pauses for emphasis. “Understood?”
“Go to hell. I’m not yours and never will be.” She glares, but her pulse is jumping in her throat, and there’s a slight dilation of her pupils.
You feel it. The energy crackling between us.
Silently Chiara hands me my suit coat, and Alessia snatches it from me.
“We gotta go, boss,” Nash warns, looking at the small crowd now gathered near us.
“Yeah.” I enter the passenger compartment, scooting Alessia over to make room for me.
Chiara slams the door behind us.
As she jumps in beside Nash, the vehicle is already rolling.
“You’re out of your mind,” Alessia snaps, her voice shaking.
“Am I?” I reach around her to fasten her safety belt.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Keeping you safe.”
“From what?” she demands. “You’re the only danger to me.”
I meet her gaze. “You have no idea, Alessia. No idea.” But you’re about to find out.
Nash drives away from the mansion, just over the speed limit, as a police car, lights flashing, sirens blaring, jets past us.
Helplessly Alessia pounds on the window, as if trying to get their attention. The tint on the glass makes it too dark for anyone to see inside.
“Where are you taking me?”
Unshed tears cling to her eyelashes, and for a moment, remorse stabs me. Quickly I shove it aside. She’s had plenty of opportunities to do her duty. Now we’ll do things my way.
“I asked you a question.”
“Where do you think?” I counter.
“To hell?” she asks.
The consuming urge to grab her shoulders, pin her hard against the seatback, and kiss her senseless gnaws at me.
I harness my demanding urges and instead lean even closer toward her, breathing the same air, letting her sense the menace she’s so close to unleashing. “Little rebel … That depends entirely on your behavior. What’s it to be?”