To Wear His Ring Again (4 page)

‘In that case there's nothing more to be said. I'll wait to receive a new divorce petition from your solicitor, which I will sign and return immediately. I understand that the legal proceedings are straightforward in an uncontested divorce.'

‘I've instructed my lawyer to offer you a financial settlement.' Constantin frowned when she shook her head. ‘I don't understand why you insisted on signing a prenuptial agreement that awarded you absolutely nothing.'

‘Because I want nothing from you,' Isobel told him fiercely. ‘I'm lucky to be able to earn a high income, but even if the band hadn't become successful I wouldn't have accepted a handout from you.'

Impatience glittered in his eyes. ‘I see you've lost none of your prickly independence. You're the only woman I've ever known who got annoyed if I bought you presents.'

She hadn't wanted expensive gifts. What she had wanted he had been unable or unwilling to give her—love, his heart in exchange for hers, a marriage that was a true partnership. Did such a thing even exist? She'd seen little evidence of it in her parents' marriage, Isobel thought wryly. Perhaps her father had been right during one of their many rows about her doing homework rather than writing songs, when he had accused her of wasting her time chasing rainbows. Maybe happy-ever-after only happened in fairy tales.

Of their own volition her eyes fixed on Constantin's face as she committed his sculpted features to her memory. The faintly cynical curve of his lips evoked a visceral ache in her belly.

She had to get out of the house
now
, before her wafer-thin composure cracked. Never had she been more thankful for the illusion of supreme confidence that performing with the band had given her. She walked unhurriedly across the room and glanced back at Constantin from the doorway. ‘I'll instruct my lawyer to reject any financial offer from you.'

‘Per l'amor di Dio
!' He swore beneath his breath as he crossed the room with long strides. ‘Dammit, Isobel, you are entitled to receive a settlement from me. The music industry can be fickle, and, although the band is riding high at the moment, no one can say what the future holds.'

Wasn't that the truth? Isobel thought emotively as the image of her tiny baby daughter flashed into her mind. Coming back to the house where she had dreamed of living as a happy family with Constantin and their child, she felt as though a protective layer had been scraped away from the scar tissue surrounding her heart.

‘There's no reason any more for you to feel responsible for me,' she said tautly.

Her eyes clashed with his, and something in his brilliant blue gaze sent a warning signal to her brain. She sensed that he was mentally stripping her naked, and she was furious with her treacherous body as heat stole through her veins. He had always had the ability to decimate her equilibrium with one killer glance.

The sound of her phone ringing from the depths of her handbag was a welcome distraction. She retrieved the phone and glanced at the caller display before shooting an apologetic glance at Constantin. ‘Do you mind if I answer this? It's Carly, probably calling to remind me that we'd arranged a shopping trip this afternoon.'

Her friend's cheerful voice greeted her. ‘The photographer from
Rock Style
magazine wants to do the shoot tomorrow instead of midweek. Does that suit you? Okay, I'll let him know,' Carly said when Isobel confirmed she was free the next day. She cut the call and was about to drop her phone into her bag when it rang again. Assuming it was Carly with a second message, she lifted the phone to her ear and her heart jumped when a frighteningly familiar voice spoke.

‘Hello, Izzy. It's David, your darling. Remember you wrote “To my darling David” when you gave me your autograph? I know you are in London and I hoped we could have dinner together.'

‘How did you get my mobile number?' The instant Isobel blurted out the question she cursed herself. The police had advised her to stay calm and not reveal any emotion or engage in conversation with the man who had been stalking her for the past two months, but hearing David's voice filled her with panic. Her eyes jerked to the window and she scanned the pavement outside. Did he know her exact location in London? Her common sense told her it was unlikely that he had followed her here. But how on earth had he got hold of her mobile-phone number?

Without saying another word she cut the call and then checked the number of the last caller. The number had been withheld. She switched off her phone and dropped it into her handbag as if she feared it were an explosive device.

‘What was that about?'

She met Constantin's curious gaze, unaware of the unease reflected in her eyes.

‘Nothing.' Her response was automatic. There was no reason to involve Constantin. She would make a note of the call and file it with the other nuisance calls she had received from David as the police had advised her to do. More importantly, she would contact her network provider and change her mobile-phone number.

Constantin frowned. ‘Your reaction suggested it was more than
nothing.
When you answered the call, you looked worried.' He placed his hand on Isobel's arm to prevent her from sidling out of the door. ‘Do you have a problem with whoever called you?'

‘No—it was just someone playing a joke.' She quickly thought up the excuse. Her problem right now was the way her body was reacting to Constantin's nearness. Her heart was racing and she could feel the pulse at the base of her throat beating erratically. She fought a crazy temptation to tell him about David—a fan who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her. The police were aware of the situation and everything was under control, she reassured herself. There was no point in involving her soon-to-be ex-husband.

In a matter of weeks she and Constantin would be divorced and it was likely that she would never see him again. The knowledge felt like a knife-blade through her heart. She pulled her arm free and stumbled into the hall. Her stiletto heels sounded like staccato gunfire on the marble floor as she half ran towards the front door.

‘Goodbye, Constantin.' She could not resist one final glance over her shoulder at him. ‘I hope one day you'll meet someone who can give you whatever it is you're looking for.'

* * *

‘The role of Chairman of DSE has historically always passed to the eldest son of the next generation of the family.
It is my birthright, dammit
!'

Constantin paced around his uncle's office at the Rome headquarters of DSE, his body taut with suppressed fury like a caged tiger enraged by its captivity. His eyes glittered as he stared at Alonso sitting calmly behind his desk. ‘If I had been a year older when my father died I would have become Chairman a decade ago, but because I was seventeen, company rules dictated that the chairmanship must go to the next De Severino male who was of age—in this case,
you
, my father's brother. But now you wish to retire, and the chairmanship should revert to me. I intend to combine the role of Chairman with that of CEO, as my father did.'

Alonso cleared his throat. ‘It is the belief among many members of the board that the two roles should be separated. An independent board chairman can better protect shareholder interests, leaving the CEO free to concentrate on running the business—which you do extremely well, Constantin.'

‘Profits have risen year on year since I became CEO, but many times I have felt that I am working against the board rather than with their backing.' Constantin could barely contain his frustration. ‘It is crucial for our continuing success that DSE takes advantage of emerging markets in Asia and South America. The board are slow to embrace change, but we must move fast to keep ahead of our competitors.'

‘There is a concern that in your rush to take the company forwards, you have forgotten the standards and moral ethics of DSE that have been the backbone of the company since it was established by your great-grandfather nearly a century ago.'

Constantin slammed his hands down on his uncle's desk. ‘I have forgotten nothing. I have lived and breathed DSE since I was a small boy, in the expectation that I would one day be fully responsible for the company. In what way have I forgotten the company's moral ethics?'

Instead of replying, Alonso looked pointedly at a copy of a popular gossip magazine lying on his desk. The front cover carried a photo of his nephew and an Italian glamour model, Lia Gerodi, emerging from a casino. From the amount of naked flesh on display, Miss Gerodi appeared to be experiencing a wardrobe malfunction, Alonso noted cynically.

Constantin shrugged as he glanced at the picture that had been taken a week ago. The only reason he remembered that particular evening was because it had been the night he had returned to Rome from London after his unexpected visit from Isobel. He had been in a foul mood, he recalled. The image of her walking out of the house in Grosvenor Square and climbing into a taxi, without once looking back, had been stuck in his mind. He'd felt churned up inside and, unusually for him, unable to rationalise his thoughts.

Lia had been phoning him for weeks, ever since they had met at a social event the details of which he did not remember. When he'd received a call from her as his jet had landed in Rome he had agreed to have dinner with her purely to take his mind off Isobel. The trip to the casino had been Lia's idea, and he suspected that she had tipped off the paparazzi, knowing that a picture of her with one of Italy's wealthiest businessmen would give her valuable media exposure that might boost her modelling career.

‘This is not the image of the company that the board wishes to see advertised around the world,' Alonso said, tapping the photo with his forefinger. ‘The public's perception of DSE must be of a company that delivers excellence, reliability and honesty. But how can the public trust that the company believes in those values, when the CEO, despite being married, leads a playboy lifestyle?'

‘My private life has no bearing on my ability to run DSE,' Constantin growled. ‘Shareholders are only interested in profits, not in my personal affairs.'

‘Unfortunately that is not true, especially as you seem to have so many affairs.'

‘You know how the press like to exaggerate.' Constantin's jaw clenched. ‘If you are seriously considering not appointing me Chairman, who else do you have in mind?'

‘My sister's son, Maurio. Since I have no son of my own,' Alonso continued when it became evident that Constantin was too stunned to comment, ‘I have taken great interest in your younger cousin. I believe Maurio has many qualities that make him suitable for the role of Chairman, not least the fact that he is a happily married family man who is never likely to be photographed staggering out of a casino, clutching a bottle of Scotch in one hand and a half-naked bimbo in the other.'

‘Maurio is spineless. He would be completely out of his depth as Chairman,' Constantin said harshly.

He swung away to stare out of the window while he fought the temptation to shake some sense into his uncle.
He
was the best person to take on the combined role of CEO and Chairman. It was what he had been born to do.

DSE was more than a business; it was his life, his identity. After he had witnessed the deaths of his father and stepmother when he was seventeen, Constantin had focused exclusively on the company as a way of preventing himself from thinking about the shocking tragedy. For ten years he had planned for the day when he took absolute control of DSE, but now there was a real danger that his destiny was going to be snatched away from him.

The hell it was
, he thought grimly. DSE was his, and he was
not
going to lose it. He turned back to his uncle. ‘So, if the only problem you and the board have is with my image, I'll change it. I'll become a recluse. I'll live the life of a hermit if that's what it takes for you to choose me as your successor.'

Alonso looked at him steadily. ‘I don't expect anything quite so drastic, Constantin. I simply ask that details of your love life are not a matter of media curiosity and titivation. I suggest that you resume your marriage. Prove that you can uphold the personal commitment you made when you married, and you may convince me that I can entrust complete control of DSE to you rather than your cousin.'

Constantin's eyes narrowed. ‘That sounds like blackmail.'

His uncle's gaze did not falter. ‘I don't care what it sounds like. The responsibility of appointing the next chairman is mine and mine alone, and unless I see you change your lifestyle to reflect the core values of DSE, I cannot be certain you are the right man for the job.'

CHAPTER THREE

I
T
WAS
A
PITY
,
Constantin thought bitterly later that night as he let himself into the house in Grosvenor Square, that the conversation with his uncle had not taken place a week ago, before he had made it clear to Isobel that their marriage was over.

It was past midnight and Whittaker had retired for the night, but the butler had left a decanter of malt whisky on the table in the sitting room with a note informing him that there were sandwiches in the fridge. Constantin had not eaten since lunch, but it had been a hell of a day, with meetings in Milan, Paris and London, and he had no appetite for food. He poured himself a large drink, sank down onto the sofa and picked up the television remote to flick through the channels.

How could Alonso consider handing the chairmanship of DSE to Maurio? His cousin was a pleasant enough young man, but he wouldn't last five minutes in the cut-throat corporate world. Constantin took a long swig of whisky and savoured its subtle warmth at the back of his throat. Nerve, daring and vision were the qualities required to head the billion-pound business that DSE had grown to be since
he
had become CEO. He had great plans for the future development of the company, but if his cousin was made Chairman, certain board members who were set in their ways would undoubtedly try to influence Maurio against him.

He took another gulp of whisky, and it occurred to him that maybe he drank too much. He shrugged. Alcohol worked well as an anaesthetic when he needed to blank out painful memories. If he drank enough, he might be able to snatch a few hours' sleep. Ever since Isobel's visit a week ago, his old nightmares had returned to haunt him and remind him of why he could not risk being with her.

He frowned as he recalled her strange reaction to the phone call she had received as she had been about to walk out of the door. He had not imagined the fearful expression in her eyes, although when he had asked her about the call she had denied anything was wrong. Beneath her air of self-confidence he had seen her vulnerability that had reminded him of the shy young secretary who used to watch him with her big, hazel eyes when she thought he was not aware of her.

He swore, and swallowed the rest of his drink before refilling his glass. He accepted that he bore most of the responsibility for the disintegration of their marriage, but Isobel was not completely blameless. He had lost count of the times he had come home from work to an empty house, and spent the evening alone while she had been singing with her band in pubs and clubs. Isobel had accused him of not understanding how important music was to her, and if he was honest he
had
resented the fact that the Stone Ladies had become an increasingly big part of her life.

When she had left him two years ago, he'd told himself it was best for both of them. Isobel had gone on to establish a hugely successful career. But now
his
career was under threat and the only way he could secure his rightful position as undisputed head of DSE was to persuade her to come back to him, days after he had admitted that the only reason he had married her was because she had been pregnant with his child. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. The expression that he had ‘burned his bridges' could not be more apt, Constantin thought sardonically.

The wildlife documentary on the television failed to hold his interest. He flicked over the channel to a popular chat show and his attention was suddenly riveted on the screen.

‘The Stone Ladies are arguably the most successful British folk-rock band of the past five years,' the chat-show host said. He went on to list the band's numerous music awards, but Constantin was only half listening as he stared at the image of Isobel that filled his TV screen. She was wearing a black leather minidress and thigh-high boots that drew attention to her endlessly long legs. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and her lovely face was animated as she charmed the chat-show host with her quick wit and impressive self-assurance.

It was hard to believe that she was the same Isobel who had been painfully shy and overawed when he had invited her to spend the weekend with him at his penthouse apartment in Rome, Constantin brooded. He had patiently drawn her out of her shell, but he had still been shocked on their first night together when he had discovered that she was a virgin. His gut clenched as memories flooded his mind. What she had lacked in experience she had more than made up for in her eagerness to please him, he remembered.

On the television, the chat-show host had turned the interview with the band to questions about their personal lives. ‘Ben and Carly, you announced your engagement a few months ago, and I believe you are planning your wedding for later this year?'

The couple, who were the drummer and keyboard player, confirmed that they were planning to marry in the autumn. The interviewer then turned to Isobel and the fourth member of the band, Ryan Fellows. ‘And how about you two?' the chat-show host asked coyly. ‘You have never confirmed or denied the rumours that you are more than good friends. So, what is the exact nature of your relationship?'

Constantin gritted his teeth as he watched the long-haired guitarist put his arm around Isobel's shoulders. ‘It's true that Izzy and I are
very
good friends.' Fellows grinned at Isobel and she smiled back at him. ‘I may be making an announcement in the near future,' the guitarist added.

What did the blasted pretty-boy rock star mean by that? Anger boiled Constantin's blood as it occurred to him that the reason Isobel had insisted he could not cite her desertion as a reason for their divorce might be because she did not want to look bad to her fans when she went public about her relationship with Ryan Fellows.

Santa Madre!
It was clear she had already got another man lined up to take
his
place. She had insisted that her relationship with Fellows was an innocent friendship, but as Constantin watched Isobel and the guitarist on the TV the closeness between the golden couple was evident for the world to see. Bile rose in his throat. How dared she flaunt her lover in public when she was still married to him? When they had married three years ago, their low-key wedding had gone unnoticed by the press.
But, hell, he felt like a cuckold.

Constantin reached for the whisky bottle and filled his glass once more, while his mind worked furiously. If Isobel was involved with Ryan Fellows, why had she looked at
him
with a hunger in her eyes that had tempted him to bend her over the arm of the sofa and pull her jeans down so that he could give them both the satisfaction they craved? Could it be that the pretty-boy guitarist did not satisfy her?

His wife was a highly sensual woman, Constantin brooded.
Dio!
The scorching sexual chemistry between him and Isobel had been beyond anything he'd ever experienced with any other woman. When they had first been married they had spent hours indulging in erotic and highly satisfying lovemaking.

Did Isobel miss those wildly passionate sessions? When she had surprised him in the gym the other night, the sexual chemistry between them had been tangible. He had come so close to tumbling her down onto the gym mat and taking her hard and fast—and she would not have stopped him. She had pretended to be outraged, and had denied that she wanted him, but her body language had betrayed her.

Constantin's thoughts turned to his uncle's threat to deny him the chairmanship of DSE. When he had stormed out of Alonso's office it had not entered his mind to comply with the old man's ultimatum to resume his marriage in order to secure the position of Chairman. But as he stared at the TV screen and watched Isobel rest her hand on Ryan Fellows's thigh as they sat close together on the sofa, the burning rage inside him grew cold and congealed into a hard knot of fury.

DSE was his birthright. The company was the only thing that made him feel proud of being a De Severino. What was he otherwise? He was the son of a monster, taunted a voice inside his head. He dared not look too deeply inside himself for fear of what he might discover. He could not risk having a relationship that involved his emotions. DSE was his all-consuming mistress, his raison d'être, and he would do whatever it took to claim what was rightfully his.

By walking out on him two years ago, Isobel had jeopardised his chance of becoming Chairman of DSE. But if he could persuade her to return to him, his uncle would appoint him Chairman—and once his position as head of the company was unchallengeable he would have no more need of his beautiful, fickle wife.

* * *

‘Come in.' Isobel turned away from the mirror when she heard a knock on the door of the hotel room that she had been allocated as a dressing room.

‘Wow,' Ryan said when he saw her, ‘you look stunning.'

‘You don't think the dress is over the top?' She gave another doubtful glance in the mirror at the gold sequined evening gown that hugged her body like a second skin and left one shoulder bare.

‘The Duke of Beaufort's charity dinner is one of the most prestigious events in London's social calendar, and everything about tonight is going to be over the top. You look perfect for the occasion,' Ryan assured her.

‘I can't believe the Stone Ladies have been asked to perform tonight.' She threw Ryan a wry smile. ‘Did you ever imagine when we were playing gigs in pubs that we would one day be top billing at a grand party held in a five-star hotel?'

He laughed. ‘It's crazy how fast things have happened. Sometimes I'm scared I'll wake up and find I'm back in Derbyshire working behind the bar of the ex-miners' social club.' Ryan hesitated. ‘I reckon your dad would be proud of you, Izzy,' he said softly.

Her smile faded. ‘I doubt it.'

Isobel recalled the conversation she'd had with her mother when they had stood at her father's graveside on the day of his funeral three months ago. Ann Blake had sobbed quietly, but Isobel had found it impossible to cry for her father, whose dour moods and abrasive temper had cast a shadow on her childhood so that she had tried to avoid him as much as possible when she had lived at home.

‘Your father was a good man,' her mother had said suddenly. Catching Isobel's look of surprise, she had continued, ‘I know he wasn't always easy to live with, especially when he was in one of his black moods, but he wasn't always like that. When I married him he was fun to be with and he had such hopes for us and for the future. But he changed after he had his accident, and he was no longer the strong, fit man he had been. When the coal mine closed and he couldn't find work it destroyed his pride, and losing his dream of making a better life for his family crushed his spirit.'

‘It seemed as though he was determined to crush my spirit and my dreams of a different life,' Isobel had said fiercely. ‘I know Dad often made you unhappy. I used to hear you crying in the kitchen when you thought I was in bed. I never understood why you stayed with him.'

‘Part of him died with your brother. He never got over losing Simon—and he needed me. I took my marriage vows seriously—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.' Her mother had looked at Isobel curiously. ‘You made the same vows when you married Constantin. You've never explained why your marriage ended. It's not my place to pry into your private life, but I can't help wondering if you gave up too soon. A year isn't a long time, and marriage isn't all hearts and flowers. You have to work at a relationship and make compromises to hopefully gain a better understanding of each other.'

She
had
tried to understand Constantin, Isobel thought grimly. But she need not have bothered, because she'd now had her darkest suspicions confirmed: that he had only married her because she had conceived his child. She had never told her mother about Arianna. It would have been cruel to tell Ann that she had lost a granddaughter as well as a son and husband.

Isobel dragged her thoughts back to the present when she realised that Ryan was speaking. ‘I would never have met Emily if I'd stayed in Eckerton village, that's for sure.' He ran a hand through his fair hair, and said awkwardly, ‘Izzy, I've done it. I've asked Emily to marry me—and she said yes.'

‘Thank heavens for that,' Isobel said in a heartfelt voice as she flung her arms around Ryan's neck. ‘You two were made for each other and I know you're going to be very happy together.'

Ryan's expression clouded. ‘Emily makes me the happiest man in the world, but I don't deserve to feel like this. I keep thinking about Simon, and how he never had the chance to grow up and fall in love. If only I'd stopped him going into the reservoir that day.'

‘Don't.' Isobel pictured her brother's mischievous grin. She could not imagine him as an adult. For her, Simon would always be fourteen, always laughing and fooling around. ‘You know what a daredevil Simon was. He wouldn't have listened to you. I know you did everything you could to try and save him, and you have to stop blaming yourself.' She squeezed Ryan's arm. ‘You and my brother were best friends. He would be glad that you're going to marry the woman you love.'

Ryan nodded slowly. ‘I guess you're right. Thanks, Izzy.' He glanced at the clock. ‘Hey, we'd better get moving. We're due on stage in ten minutes. How do you feel?'

‘Nervous,' Isobel admitted. ‘I always am before a performance, but I'll be fine once I start singing.' She was about to follow Ryan out of the room when her phone rang, and she walked back over to the dressing table where she had left it. Because she was in a hurry, she unthinkingly answered it without checking the identity of the caller, and she tensed when a familiar voice spoke.

‘I'll be watching you tonight, Izzy. It is written in the stars that we are destined to be together for ever.'

She cut the call and the phone slid out of her trembling fingers. Was David here at the hotel? Could he be a guest at the charity fund-raising event?