Ravelli's Defiant Bride. Lynne Graham

the matter and said he would look into it, and at the time Belle had had so many other things on her plate that she hadn’t pursued it.

      Cristo strolled back into the drawing room with the lithe, unconscious grace of a male who was confident that he was in the strongest position. ‘I’m afraid you don’t own the Lodge,’ he spelt out softly, his Italian accent edging his vowel sounds.

      ‘That’s not possible,’ Belle countered, her chin rising in challenge. ‘Your father told me it was mine—’

      ‘But for your lifetime only, after which it reverts back to the Mayhill estate,’ Cristo qualified smoothly.

      Suddenly Belle felt as if the ground below her feet had opened to swallow her up. ‘That’s not what Gaetano led me to believe.’

      ‘My father had a way with words and may have wished you to believe that you owned the Lodge but, in fact, you only have the use of it.’

      A shot of rage flamed through Belle like a lightning strike. That hateful, manipulative man whom her wretched mother had loved! How could he have misled her like that over something so important? Hot colour sprang into her cheeks as she parted her dry lips. ‘And this right to live there while...er I am alive, does it devolve to the children after my...er death?’ she prompted sickly.