The Fiorenza Forced Marriage - By Melanie Milburne Page 0,3

you, Miss March?' he said. 'I must confess my mind is having a bit of a field day with that information.'

'Then I would say your mind needs to drag itself out of the gutter, Signore Fiorenza,' she returned with a deliberately haughty look.

His smile went from cynical to devilish. 'So how do you feel about becoming my bride, Miss March?'

Emma tightened her mouth. 'I have no intention of doing any such thing.'

He stood looking down at her for a pulsing silence, his eyes unwavering as they held hers. Emma tried her best not to squirm under his piercing scrutiny but in the end she was the first to drop her gaze.

'I suppose you put him up to it, did you?' he asked. 'In a weak moment of his you talked him into signing away a fortune.'

'That's a despicable thing to say,' she said, looking back at him in affront. 'I had no idea what he had planned. The first I heard of it was when his legal firm contacted me about the terms of the will.'

'Do not take me for a fool,' he said. 'You were living with my father for a year and a half. That is the longest relationship he has had since my mother died. Everyone knows you were sleeping with him. It has been in the papers numerous times.'

Emma felt her cheeks burning but forced herself to hold his gaze. 'I did not have that sort of relationship with your father. The press made it up just to sell extra copies. They do that with anyone rich or famous.'

His dark eyes glittered with disdain. 'Come on, now, Miss March,' he said. 'You surely do not expect me to believe my father wrote you into his will at the last moment just because you smiled sweetly at him on his deathbed, do you?'

Emma sent him a flinty glare. 'I have never slept with your father. It's totally preposterous of you to even suggest it.'

His expression communicated his disbelief. 'My father was a well-known womaniser,' he said. 'You lived with him for well over a year before he publicly announced he was ill. It would be all too easy to assume you wormed your way into his bed to secure yourself a fortune.'

'I did no such thing!' she protested hotly. 'I only agreed to live with your father so long before his health deteriorated because he didn't want a profusion of carers coming in and out of his life. He was also concerned if people knew he was terminally ill when he was first diagnosed, his investment clients would leave him in droves. His illness progressed slowly at first, but a couple of months ago he realised the end was near. I did my best to support him through the final stages.'

'I just bet you did,' he said with a little curl of his lip. 'Although I must say you are not his usual type. He usually went for busty, brassy blondes. Pint-sized brunettes must have been a taste he had recently acquired.'

Emma felt the scorch of his dark gaze run over her again and inwardly seethed. 'I resent your reprehensible insinuations,' she said. 'I can see now why your father refused to even have your name mentioned in his presence. You have absolutely appalling manners.'

He had the audacity to laugh at her. 'What a prim little schoolmarm you are,' he taunted. 'Miss March suits you perfectly. I bet my father loved you putting him to bed.'

Emma was almost beyond speech and to her immense irritation she could feel her face flaming. 'You...you have no right to speak to me like - '

'I have every right, Miss March.' He cut her off rudely. 'My father would not marry you, would he? He swore he would never marry again after my mother died. But you obviously thought of a way to get your hands on the Fiorenza fortune by suggesting you marry me instead.'

Emma clenched her teeth as she battled to contain her temper. 'You are the very last man I would consent to marry,' she threw at him heatedly.

His eyes were like twin lasers as they held hers. 'You want more money, is that it, Miss March? I am sure I can afford you. Just tell me how much you want and I will write you a cheque here and now.'

Emma bristled at his effrontery. 'You think you can wave your wallet around and pay me?'

He gave her a scornful smile. 'That is the language of women such