of my soul.’
His accent was suddenly very strong. For the first time since he had walked into her office Darcey heard emotion in his voice, fierce pride in his heritage. ‘I live in a castle that was built in the thirteenth century by one of my ancestors. Torre d’Aquila has been renovated and has all the facilities of a twenty-first-century home,’ he said, mistaking her doubtful expression. ‘You will be very comfortable. There is a private pool and the beach is nearby.’
She held up her hand. ‘Mr Castellano, I’m sure your castle is lovely, but I haven’t agreed to go to Sicily. For one thing I don’t speak Italian, and I wouldn’t be able to help Rosa learn her native language.’
‘I have decided for several reasons that it will be better for her to learn English. My wife was half-English. Adriana died before Rosa was diagnosed as being profoundly deaf. I would like Rosa to learn her mother’s language, and James Forbes thinks that now she can hear with the cochlear implants she might also be able to learn to speak Italian.’
Darcey nodded. ‘I have met children with CI who are bilingual, but obviously it is important to concentrate on teaching Rosa one language to start with. I’m sure James has explained that, even though your daughter is now able to hear sound, developing language skills can be a slow process. She will need support and patience from her family as well as extensive speech therapy.’
‘She is able to communicate using British sign language, which James tells me you are competent in.’ Salvatore leaned across the desk and trapped Darcey’s gaze. ‘James spoke highly of your professionalism and skill, but more importantly, he said that you have a special empathy with deaf children.’
‘My sister lost eighty percent of her hearing after she had meningitis when she was a child,’ she explained. ‘It was seeing how Mina struggled at first to cope with her deafness that made me decide that I wanted to work with hearing-impaired children.’
Salvatore heard the emotion in Darcey’s voice and sensed she was softening. Determined to seize his advantage, he took his wallet from his jacket and pulled out a photograph of his daughter.
‘Rosa is a shy child who, as a result of her disability, finds it hard to connect with people. I hope that the gift of language will help her self-confidence. I believe you can give her that gift, Darcey. James Forbes is confident that you are the best person to teach my daughter to speak.’
Oh, heavens! The way he said her name, in his gravelly, sexy accent, sent a little shiver down Darcey’s spine. His dark eyes were mesmerising and his words tugged on her emotions. He was right, she thought. Language was a gift, but most people took the ability to hear and speak for granted. Darcey remembered how Mina had once confided that when she had lost her hearing she had felt lonely and isolated.
She studied the photo of a startlingly pretty little girl with a mass of dark curls framing a delicate face. Of course nothing in the photo revealed Rosa’s deafness. Only when she looked closely did Darcey notice that there was no sparkle in the child’s eyes but a sense of loneliness that was heart-wrenching.
It wouldn’t hurt to see the child and make an assessment of her needs, Darcey mused. She could hand the case over to one of her colleagues who had also been made redundant and might be interested in working with Rosa.
Unbeknown to Darcey, her indecision was reflected in her eyes. She had beautiful eyes, Salvatore noticed. They were an unusual light green colour—the exact shade of the peridot pendant she was wearing suspended on a chain around her throat. He was surprised by the flicker of interest he felt. It was a long time since he had been intrigued by a woman. The delicate fragrance of her perfume—a sensual musk of jasmine and old-fashioned roses—teased his senses, and his eyes were drawn to the scattering of golden freckles on her nose and cheeks.
His mouth firmed as he reminded himself of the reason for his visit. His daughter needed the help of a speech therapist and Ms Rivers came with the highest recommendations. The fact that she was attractive was immaterial. There was no likelihood he would find her a distraction. During his lonely childhood he had learned to impose iron control over his feelings, and the loss of parts of his memory four years ago had only furthered his sense of emotional detachment.
‘All I am asking at this stage is for you to visit my house in London to meet Rosa,’ he said. ‘We can take things from there.’
Darcey chewed her bottom lip. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help your daughter, Mr Castellano—’
‘Good,’ he cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I think the best thing would be for you to come and meet her now.’ He got to his feet and towered over her, so that Darcey had to tilt her head to look at him. ‘Can you postpone whatever plans you had for this afternoon?’
She wondered if he recognised the word no. He was like a steamroller, flattening any opposition to what he wanted, she thought ruefully. But she could not help but be impressed by his single-minded determination to help his daughter.
‘I...I guess so.’ Her cheeks grew pink as she recalled her white lie that she would be busy later. ‘But I’m packed and ready to leave for France on Friday, so I don’t really see the point.’
His dark eyes trapped her gaze. ‘You would not say that if you were my daughter. Sadly, Rosa cannot say anything. She is unable to voice her thoughts, her hopes...her fears.’
He was deliberately playing on her emotions, Darcey recognised. But his ploy had worked.
She threw up her hands in surrender. ‘All right, I’ll come and meet your daughter. I’ll assess the level of speech therapy she needs and then, if you wish, I will hand her case over to one of my colleagues. But I have to warn you, Mr Castellano, there is no chance I will go to Sicily with you.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘I’LL TAKE MY car,’ Darcey told Salvatore as they walked across the car park. Despite his injured leg his stride was twice the size of hers, and her stiletto heels tip-tapped on the tarmac as she tried to keep pace with him.
‘There’s no need for you to drive through the centre of London. I’ll drop you back here later so that you can collect your car.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know you, Mr Castellano, and I’m not going to get into a stranger’s car.’
Personal safety was an issue she took very seriously. Her parents also owned a touring theatre company and ran drama workshops in schools and youth clubs to promote ways for young people to stay safe. Before she had become involved in her own career Darcey had frequently performed with the company, Speak Out, which also promoted drama for the deaf community.
‘I promise I have no plans to ravish you on the back seat,’ Salvatore said drily.
He glanced at the petite woman at his side and idly wondered if the spark of fire in her green eyes would live up to its promise. Outwardly Darcey appeared cool and collected, but beneath her smart suit he sensed she was an explosive bundle of sexual energy.
He frowned, annoyed by his unexpected train of thought. ‘You are welcome to sit in the front with my chauffeur.’
Through the Bentley’s smoked glass windows Darcey made out the figure of a driver sitting behind the wheel and she felt like an idiot.
‘As for not knowing who I am,’ Salvatore continued, ‘do you drink wine?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Occasionally. My father is interested in fine wines and has built up a large collection.’
‘Then he will almost certainly know that the wines from the Castellano Estate are the finest in Sicily.’ Reaching inside his jacket, Salvatore withdrew a business card and handed it to her.
Darcey glanced at the logo on the card and recognition dawned.
‘Castellano Wine! I’ve seen the label on wines in supermarkets and specialist wine shops. My father says the Castellano vineyards produce the best wine that has ever come from Sicily.’ She looked