His Wedding Day Revenge

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

T HE NARROW COUNTRY lane snaked seemingly endlessly through the English countryside, bordered by unruly hedgerows brightened by hawthorn berries beneath canopies of ancient trees. Another occasion Draco might have enjoyed this corner of rural England he had never visited before.

As he lightly gripped the steering wheel of his sleek black car, the tap of his long, tapering brown fingers was the only outward indicator of the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. The overcast sky loomed, threatening rain that reflected his mood.

He could have done without this! The finger tapping against leather got louder. A visit to the site of a development that had become controversial overnight thanks to an overzealous, impatient site manager out to impress—wow, had that one backfired—was not his idea of a fun trip.

The guy had cut corners that didn’t need cutting and outraged vocal locals, who had tapped into several media outlets during a lull in the news cycle and hit a community nerve.

A shiny monster of a tractor lumbered into view, trundling along at a pace that seemed deliberate in its disregard for Draco’s timetable. His annoyance deepened—the driver was acting as though he were invisible.

This wasn’t how the CEO of Andreas Company should spend his morning. The corners of his sensually sculpted lips lifted in a half-smile. At least he had not yet lost the ability to laugh at himself...but who would tell him when he did?

The sad truth was, these days, nobody in his life would. It hadn’t always been that way, but he hadn’t always been a billionaire. People didn’t tell billionaires what to do.

A hissing sound of triumph left his clenched teeth as on the fourth attempt he manoeuvred around the tractor and put his foot down.

This controversy could have been avoided—therein lay the core of his frustration. Draco’s initial irritation with the situation had now turned to resentment. This was precisely why he had a team—a capable team, at least in theory, which should not necessitate his personal intervention on such a low-level project. But this had gone beyond the project itself or the financial outlay; it was reputational damage that he was here to repair.

The narrow lane suddenly opened up, revealing the expansive stretch of woodland that had stirred the hornets’ nest; a few scattered houses and a church spire were visible in the distance.

He saw the site manager just as the guy spotted him and wisely slunk away into the trees. ‘Lazy, cost-cutting...’ Draco muttered before he slowed and took a deep calming breath. All it needed was a charm offensive and he did not doubt his ability to smooth ruffled feathers and win the locals over.

And it wasn’t all PR and damage limitation. Draco believed in this project and he had the facts and figures to back up his belief. The two similar upmarket eco holiday villages in his homeland Italy were up and running, bringing enormous benefits to the local rural communities they were set in.

Recognising early on the scope for financial markets to spur investment in conservation had been partly responsible for his meteoric success. Despite the hype, Draco didn’t feel his approach was revolutionary. On the contrary, it was practical and simply about recognising the limits of innovation, engaging with stakeholders and using existing tools.

He scanned the crowd as he drove slowly past, heading to a safe parking spot on the grass ahead, noting the inevitable cameras and microphone-wielding journalists as he searched for someone in the melee who looked to be in charge.

Nobody in the chanting, placard-waving crowd screamed in charge to him, but a guy with a dog collar was holding forth to a news channel; he didn’t look too rabid, Draco decided.

He manoeuvred to avoid hitting one of the protesters, who banged his placard on the windscreen, and almost collided with a sign for the Manor Hotel. He caught a glimpse of the building in question through a gap in the trees—a square structure of mellow stone—and wondered about the family who had once lived there.

His own family home in Tuscany could easily have gone the same way, but, despite the predictions that it had been inevitable that Draco would have to let it go, it hadn’t and he hadn’t.

It never would, not on his watch. He pushed away the thought. Today wasn’t about preserving his family heritage—that was safe. It was about preserving the firm’s reputation.

Then it happened.

In the periphery of his vision he caught the flash of vivid red amidst the muted greens and browns of the countryside. Draco’s foot instinctively pressed the brake pedal, his car slowing to an abrupt halt.

The world seemed to pause, the racket receded, the air for the space of a breath was sucked out of the car, leaving a vacuum.

A jolt surged through Draco as recognition, wave after wave of it, reverberated through his body like an electric shock.

Jane Smith!

He had never searched for her. He had no interest in knowing why she had humiliated him, and what her motivation had been remained a mystery. He had put thoughts of her, along with the engagement ring that had landed by courier on his desk, in a deep vault and thrown away the key, if not literally, certainly mentally for the past four years.

He had made a conscious decision not to allow her the courtesy of unpaid space in his head. He had moved on and he congratulated himself on putting the past behind him.

There had been a few moments of backsliding, but he did not count the once or twice he had caught sight of a redhead and experienced a gut-clench of anger...mixed with a hunger he would not acknowledge.

On those occasions the blaze of colour in the crowd had turned out to be some generic redhead.

Not this time! There was no double take or ‘is it, isn’t it?’ moment.

Her face was turned away from him, but it didn’t matter. It was the way she held herself—almost like a dancer, slender and graceful—the way she tossed her head. The memory of her amazing full-throated laugh escaped the mental box he had walled it up in... He could hear the sound in his head, seeding itself like an old melody you couldn’t get out of your mind. A melody that evoked memories, the good among them all cancelled out by that one humiliating final scene, the one that held no laughter. For a split second, that memory was so strong, the moment he had consigned to oblivion was so here, now and in the moment, that he could taste the humiliation in his mouth.

His eyes darkened to midnight, his lack of control over the physical response of his body only adding to the humiliation. That his control, something he took for granted, failed dramatically fed the anger building inside him.

It wasn’t the only thing building—the forbidden images stored away for so long were spilling out.

The sun touching her hair and dazzling him.

His skin tingled at the memory of her touch, light like her soft silky hair sweeping his chest as she sat astride him, and her mouth, not light but... Jaw clenched, he pushed back hard at the insidious mesh of interconnected images and dragged his focus into the present.

The present where Jane Smith’s fiery curls were dancing in the wind in stark contrast to the muted tones of the other protesters.

It was only several moments later that he took in the more mundane details: her hair was shorter, more shoulder blade than waist length, and there was...a baby?

The collision of past and present shook loose a raw hoarse sound from his throat. A baby? He felt the muscles of his belly tighten in rejection of the image.

Why should she not have a baby? She had moved on, he had moved on... It was simply a twist in the tale that Draco hadn’t anticipated.

Anticipated! He mocked himself. As if he had anticipated any of this. Why would he? Jane Smith was the past and Draco was a man who lived in the moment.

He could have rejected the flashback but some masochistic part of him allowed it to play out, the moments frozen in time, snapshots of the past, the day they met. Before that day, he would have mocked the idea that the touching of fingers could be erotic.

As he stared at the slim figure, the jeans and boots vanished and she was standing there in a cloud of silk and satin, looking at him with shimmering green eyes and then... The trance broke as Draco distanced himself ruthlessly from the undertow of emotions—anger, desire. And as he released the foot brake, and the car glided silently forward, tucking into a space, he welcomed the opportunity to prove that Jane Smith meant nothing to him.

Why should he need to prove to himself what he already knew?

Jane stood at the edge of the protest. She was aware that, on her back, Mattie, cocooned in a padded suit, had fallen asleep. His little head complete with bobble hat was pressing against her neck.

He wouldn’t be asleep for long. He’d need his next feed and—She stifled a yawn. She could really do with a nap herself. Mattie had been awake most of the night. Sometimes, actually quite often, it seemed to her that he sensed she didn’t have a clue what she was doing.

Or maybe he was just angry. She was angry, but Mattie...his loss was incalculable. One minute he’d had two beautiful, loving parents and now, because of a stupid accident, he’d got lumbered with her. She glanced around the clearing. Would anyone miss her if she left now?

It wasn’t as if the numbers were so few that her absence would be noticed. The cameras, which she had assiduously avoided, had drawn a bigger crowd than expected.

She had turned up at the office of the editor of the local newspaper demanding to be seen, her determination fuelled by righteous indignation and outrage, clutching the proof she’d waved at him, photos of the bulldozers and diggers, the utter devastation, on her phone.

She didn’t know what she had expected—an article, a regional radio mention possibly, but definitely not national news. Would she have marched in there if she’d known the name attached to the project that had chopped down the precious trees while the village slept was Andreas?

Jane liked to think she would have.

Andreas... Pathetic really that the name could still evoke such a visceral reaction. It wasn’t as if this little project would have registered on Draco’s radar. A few trees and up-in-arms locals were definitely below his pay grade!

I really hope it is, she thought. Drawing his attention was the last thing she wanted. She’d moved on.

The sobbing young woman who ran through a churchyard, sidestepped a security guard who looked as if he was about to rugby-tackle her and climbed over a fence, ripping the skirt of her wedding dress to shreds in the process, before she legged it along a cobbled side street—that person seemed like a stranger to her.

She could not imagine what a bedraggled sight she must have looked. The unexpected rain deluge had drenched her in seconds, and it was a miracle that someone had offered to help. God knew how the rest of that day would have gone if the driver of the big SUV with a loud noisy family inside hadn’t slowed to ask her if she needed help. Carrie, who unbeknownst to Jane had followed her out of the church, had arrived, breathless and dripping wet, while a tearful Jane was still trying to get her words out to the kind strangers.

The family had given the pair a lift to Carrie’s flat, where Jane had poured out her story, or rather dripped it out, while they’d sat draped in towels drinking wine out of mugs.

‘And you didn’t tell Draco about this?’ Carrie had asked.

Jane had shaken her head and did so now to disperse the memory. Why was she thinking about Draco so much lately? she asked herself crossly. Maybe it was becoming a mother to a motherless baby. The discovery that she wasn’t able to become a mother had been the reason she had run away in the first place.

She’d thought about writing to explain, but what was the point? He would never forgive her for humiliating him. No, his only reaction would have been relief before the next long-legged glamorous beauty drifted into his life, and not for long. His love life had a built-in revolving door... Not that I’m judging, she told herself with a sniff.

If he’d had a lucky escape, so had she. Watching from a safe distance over the last four years, she had found it pretty obvious that, even if her inability to give him an heir had not been an unsurmountable obstacle, the marriage would not have worked. When she’d been in thrall to him, so desperately in love with the idea of being in love, the future had just been some rose-tinted, lovely place.

When she’d looked back she had been shocked to realise that virtually all their conversations, such as they had been, had involved her trying to say what he wanted to hear. It had never even crossed her mind that he might be unfaithful, and if it had she would have told herself that if he ever got bored with her it would be her fault.

The entire situation had been a disaster waiting to happen. She thought about it these days as skipping the middle bit and getting straight to the end, less pain and disillusion all around in the long run.

‘Miss Smith.’

Jane blinked like a shocked baby owl as a reporter from a well-known nature programme appeared, backed by a cameraman.

Oh, God, she thought, pasting on a smile.

‘You must be pleased about the turnout today.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Pleased but not surprised that people care, that people are shocked and disturbed about this blatant act of environmental vandalism. Ten years ago a survey showed this area was home to four bat roosts, owls lived here and woodpeckers, and innumerable other wildlife have lost their homes. This is a protected habitat, there were tree preservation orders in place, the law was broken and for what? A quick buck!’

The reporter turned to camera. ‘That was Jane Smith, who alerted the authorities to this incident.’

Jane gave a deep sigh of relief when the reporter still talking to camera smiled at her, mouthing thanks before he set a new course for the vicar.

‘Oh, my, Henry is really enjoying his five minutes of fame,’ his wife observed as she joined Jane.

‘He’s welcome to mine...that was terrifying... God, did I make a total fool of myself? How did he know my name?’

‘You’re famous—you kick-started this... As for making a fool of yourself, you were actually rather brilliant. Oh, are you still on for book club or have you got another media gig...?’

Jane laughed and sought a firmer grip on her banner.

‘Oh, I haven’t read—’

‘Oh, don’t worry, neither has anyone else. Bring a bottle... No,’ she mused, then glanced at Mattie, lowering her voice. ‘Sorry, you’ll be the responsible adult in the room, and don’t worry, I’m not cooking,’ she added, laughing to herself as she walked off.

Jane had never belonged to a community before. It was nice and at the same time desperately sad that the reason she did was because of a terrible tragedy.

Carrie should be here. Jane didn’t want to be living a life that should be her friend’s, even though it was a very nice life.

She still couldn’t think about Carrie without the almost permanent lump in her throat swelling painfully. Carrie had come into Jane’s life during her last year in the care system.

It had been the attraction of opposites. Carrie outspoken, and Jane, who had over the years in care perfected the art of fading into the background, but they had instantly bonded.

Then later, while she had been at art college, Carrie had found her lovely Robert and they’d married and had their baby, though not in that order. The weekend break had been their belated honeymoon and Jane had been trusted with their precious eight-week-old new baby while they were away.

‘I wouldn’t leave him with anyone but you,’ Carrie had told her. ‘Just three nights.’

Three nights had turned out to be for ever when the train the new parents had been travelling up to Scotland on had been derailed. Five months ago the tragedy had made the headlines every day, now it got the occasional footnote or personal interest story.

For Jane and Mattie it was never going to be a footnote. It had changed their lives for ever. Jane, who had never thought she would be a parent, was, or very nearly was. The official adoption was in the final stages, and she, a townie, was living in the tiny rural cottage that Robert and Carrie had inherited from his great-aunt.

Jane had been determined to adapt to rural living for Mattie’s sake but, in the end, it hadn’t been as difficult as she had anticipated. She had felt an immediate connection with the countryside, and had immersed herself in all it could offer, joining a rambling club, learning about foraging the hedgerows and woodland for ingredients for the weekly cookery classes given by a local chef in their village hall. She had been roped into picking litter from the village green with the local schoolchildren and spent an evening joining a guided bat-watch walk.

For the first time she understood the urge people felt to protect the countryside for future generations, for Mattie’s generation. This was Mattie’s home, his heritage, and the wanton destruction had made her react on a visceral, very personal level.

The sadness that hit her at intervals like a great black crushing wave settled on her shoulders and her placard lowered. Jane edged away. She needed a break and no one would miss her.

Then it happened!

During the interview she had been distantly aware in the periphery of her vision that a big sleek car was drawing attention, but not hers. She had never been into shiny cars. So her glance was incurious as it swivelled that way, no longer incurious when she identified the figure behind the wheel. Everything froze inside her, her breath hitched.

Dark eyes met and held her own... She was fighting for breath.

Her heart rate climbed.

She could hear the blood drum in her ears, so loud it drowned out the little cry of shock that left her parted lips.

It was him—Draco Andreas!

The memories flooded back, not a smooth flow, but a series of staccato images, from a time when she was infatuated by the idea of being in love. She had been blissfully oblivious to his fame and wealth or, for that matter, even the fact, initially, that London was not his home, but that he was there temporarily, for two months.

Back then, he was just Draco—the man who made her laugh, the one who seemed to genuinely care about her, not the CEO of Andreas Company, the man who was now renowned for changing his lovers the same way a normal person changed their socks.

Even his feet had been perfect!

Now that was a weird thing to remember, but it was a lot better than dwelling on perfect other bits!

The baby on her back woke, cried out, perhaps alerted by her tension, and began to fidget. She tightened her grip on the placard, sensed rather than heard the ripple of conversation trickle through the crowd as the tall, exclusive figure got out of the car.

Total mind-freezing panic bubbled up. This wasn’t the moment for a confrontation.

That moment didn’t exist!

With a quick furtive glance around, Jane seized the opportunity and was relieved when her legs obeyed the order and slipped away into the shadows of the trees.

As she distanced herself from the protest, the sounds faded into an indistinct hum. The familiar terrain of the untouched woodland welcomed her, the solace and peace it normally provided eluding her. It was a shock. She was fine. She just needed a moment—or maybe a year—to gather her thoughts, to reconcile that past with this present without gibbering.

Hands pressed against a moss-covered tree absorbing the texture, Jane closed her eyes. The gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the crowd might have created a soothing symphony, only it didn’t.

Her thoughts were total and utter chaos. All she could think of was Draco’s face—the golden toned skin drawn tight across sculpted razor-sharp cheekbones, a broad forehead and a strong firm jaw. The devil, it was said, was in the detail, but Draco had always made her think of a fallen angel, dark and devastating. The details of his symmetrical features were fascinating, mesmerising.

Her stomach muscles lurched as she dwelt on his deep-set midnight-dark eyes set beneath the thick bands of his brows and framed by dark, lush lashes. His carved cheekbones with their knife-sharp angles, dominant blade of a nose, contrasted in a dramatic, stomach-melting way with his mouth, sensual and full.

Authority clashing with sensuality and all utterly, totally male.

She clenched her soft jaw, refusing to be swept away by nostalgia, lust or longing, a weird combination of all three, and she was in no condition to analyse.

She just had to keep telling herself, for sanity’s sake, that her life was different now, it centred around little Matthew and the responsibilities that came with guardianship. A gentler life with friendship and kindness, book clubs and village-hall yoga, which had its issues because she was the only person under sixty there—she couldn’t include Maud, who had the flexibility of a ten-year-old.

With a determined breath, Jane steeled herself. Draco Andreas might be a part of her past, but she wouldn’t let him disrupt the life she had built for herself and the child who depended on her. As she slipped further into the sanctuary of the trees, her thoughts circled around a decision—how to navigate the inevitable confrontation with the man who had once been the centre of her universe. He had surely either forgotten her existence or hated her.

Was it even inevitable?

Would she prefer he hated her than had forgotten her?

How would she play it?

Well, fancy seeing you here.

Oh, gosh, long time no see...