The Italian's Love-Child

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  For a long, tense moment, Luca thought that he was dreaming, or in the middle of a nightmare.

  ‘Turn around and look at me,’ he said softly. ‘And say that again.’

  Her hands gripping onto the sink as if for support, Eve sucked in a hot, painful breath and turned around to face him. She had expected to see anger, fury, disbelief, but there was none of these things. His eyes were as cold and as forbidding as black ice and his face was like that of a stranger. She looked at him and felt as though she hardly knew him, and she didn’t, she supposed, not really.

  And yet, even now his child was growing inside her.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  His eyes roved to her belly, looking for a tell-tale swell, but the sweater she wore told him nothing.

  He nodded. ‘That is why you didn’t want to make love.’

  Something in the calmness of his voice washed over her like a balm and for the first time since she’d found out she felt a small degree of comfort. He was an intelligent and perceptive man—he had obviously realised that no earthly use would be gained from anger.

  ‘That’s right. I just felt that it would be inappropriate in the circumstances.’

  He gave a low, contemptuous laugh. ‘Inappropriate? For whom? For you, or for your baby—or for the poor fool who fathered it?’

  She had thought that anger could only be expressed in a loud and furious storm, but Eve realised at that moment that there was another, different kind of anger. A quiet and scornful kind of anger which was far more deadly. She stared at him, her eyes full of consternation, not quite understanding—for if blame could be apportioned, then it was equal blame, surely? If fault was to be found, then they were both at fault.

  ‘Luca—’

  His icy words cut across her as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Were you already pregnant the night you slept with me?’ he hissed. ‘Or was there just a chance that you might be?’ He gave a low, bitter laugh, barely able to believe that he had been so sucked in by her offhand attitude that he had pursued her like a schoolboy!

  His black eyes bored into her like daggers. ‘Won’t this complicate things for you?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘I should not think that the father will offer support if he finds out that you have been intimate with another!’ Another low, bitter laugh. ‘Well, do not worry, cara. He will not hear it from me! I will take it to the grave with me.’

  His eyes were cold, she thought. So cold.

  ‘And I hope to God that I never set eyes on you again as long as I live,’ he finished woundingly.

  As if she were a spectator watching a play, Eve watched him get up from the chair, her lips parting in disbelief. It was as if she were watching him in slow motion and something had taken away her powers of speech, for he was almost at the door when she managed to bite the words out.

  ‘But you…you’re the father, Luca!’

  This time the silence seemed to go on for ever. He felt rooted to the spot, as if he had just been turned to ice, yet the blood which roared around his veins was as hot as the fires of hell.

  ‘What?’

  It was a single word, shot out like a threat, as if daring her to repeat her statement again, but she had to. She had to.

  ‘You’re the father.’

  He turned round and laughed. ‘I am not the father!’

  And something in his arrogance and contempt brought the real Eve back to life. The real, strong Eve, though a very different woman now. She had to be, nature had decreed it. How dared he? She thought of the life within her, created by accident and now denied by its biological father, and a slow fury began to simmer inside her.

  She held her head up proudly. ‘I can assure you that you are.’

  His heart pounded. ‘Prove it.’

  Now it was her turn to look at him witheringly. ‘I have no intention of “proving” it. And besides, I don’t need proof, Luca—I know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because I haven’t slept with another man for two years!’

  ‘You expect me to believe this?’

  ‘I expect nothing!’ she retorted. ‘I am telling you simply because I believe it is your right to know—though, God knows, I wish I hadn’t bothered now!’

  He was nodding his head, as if a blindingly simple solution had just appeared before him. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

  Eve sucked in a deep breath. Calm down, she told herself. It isn’t good for you and it isn’t good for the baby. He was bound to be shocked at first and go off at the deep end—who wouldn’t after a momentous piece of news like that? She looked at him hopefully. ‘Of course, what?’

  He nodded once more. ‘I understand perfectly now.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Sure. It’s all coming back to me. That night in London, when you told me you wanted children. I remember you saying it, it struck me at the time. And you’re a career woman, aren’t you, Eve? A woman with a high profile and a demanding job. So who needs a man around? A baby is what you wanted, isn’t it? A designer baby—women do it all the time, these days. And who better to father your baby than one of the richest men in Italy? Well, clever, clever, cara.’

  He stared at her as if she were a particularly unappealing creature who had just landed from outer space. ‘But I’m interested to know how you did it. Perhaps you deliberately scratched your pretty pink fingernails through the condom when you were putting it on? If so, it was an ingenious plan.’

  She felt as though he had slapped her. ‘Get out,’ she said. ‘Get out of here before I call the police and have you thrown out!’

  But he didn’t move. ‘How much do you want?’ he asked insultingly. ‘A one-off payment, is that what you had planned?’ He looked around at her pretty, cottagey kitchen and his lips curved into a disdainful smile. ‘I expect you earn pretty good money, don’t you, Eve? But my kind of wealth is way out of your league. With my money you can afford all the things you really want—the best nanny, a bigger house, a fancy car, holidays. Isn’t that right, cara?’

  ‘Don’t ever call me that again!’ she spat out. ‘I’m giving you one last chance to leave, Luca, and if you don’t, then God help me, but I will call the police!’

  He glanced at the clenched fists by her sides. His temper was on such a knife-edge that he knew he had to get away. For all their sakes. And the fact was the she carried his child, and, though the method she had used was unforgivable, that fact remained.

  ‘I am leaving,’ he said coldly.

  ‘And don’t come back! I never want to see you again!’

  He plucked a wallet from his jacket pocket, and for one awful moment Eve thought that he was going to throw some money down in front of her. But instead he extracted an expensive-looking business card and placed it on the table with calm and steady fingers.

  ‘That’s the address of my lawyer,’ he said carefully. ‘I’ll let him know that you’ll be in contact.’

  And with those damning and insulting words ringing in her ears, Eve listened in disbelief as his footsteps echoed down the corridor and the front door slammed shut behind him.

  This was getting to be something of a habit, she thought tiredly. But once he had gone, she felt oddly lighter—as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and until it had gone she hadn’t realised just how much she had been dreading telling Luca.

  His reaction had been even worse than her worst imaginings, but at least now it was over. The obstacle had been faced and overcome. Whatever happened now, nothing could be as bad as that had been, surely.

  And then she remembered the cold anger on his beautiful face and she bit her lip, tears threatening to well up in her eyes, but she swallowed them down. There was no point in thinking about it, or him. It was over.

  She heard a protesting rumble in her stomach, and for the first time since she had found out the news, she felt hungry.

  You’ve got a baby to feed, Eve Peters, she told herself sternly as she op
ened the fridge door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘THERE has been no phone call?’

  The lawyer shook his head. ‘Nothing, signore.’

  ‘And you telephoned her, as I instructed?’

  ‘I have attempted to telephone Signorina Peters on four occasions, and on each occasion she has steadfastly refused to take my call.’

  Beneath his breath, Luca swore. He turned to the window, his mind turning over the facts in his cool, clear-headed way.

  But for once, he was perplexed.

  This had been the last thing he had expected. Her words of protest he had naturally assumed to be false, her declaration that she never wished to see him again he had thought was the defiant words of a woman who meant no such thing but was simply playing a clever game. He hadn’t been sure what it was she had wanted—him or his money, or both—but he had been certain that he would find out soon enough.

  But indeed it seemed that she had severed all contact.

  He continued to stare unseeing as the midday sun illuminated the magnificent spectacle of Roman rooftops, and then his heart clenched in fear.

  Unless…unless there was a very good reason why she hadn’t contacted him. Inside the pockets of his trousers, his fingers clenched themselves into tight fists.

  What if…what if there was no longer any reason for her to do so? What if the pregnancy no longer existed?

  For a moment Luca felt physically sick, and, for a man who had rarely known a day’s sickness in his life, it was an unwelcome sensation. But then, he was getting quite used to those.

  ‘Signor Cardelli?’

  Luca turned around, surprising the look of concern on the face of his lawyer.

  ‘You are sick, signore?’

  Resolve returned to fill his blood with the fire of determination and Luca shook his head. ‘No, my friend. Not sick at all,’ he said grimly. It was time to take matters into his own hands. Something that he should have done weeks ago.

  Eve cheerily said goodbye to the crew, but once she was headed for her car and her driver her smile faded. It was hard work trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, and she didn’t know how much longer she would be able to keep it up.

  Sooner or later she was going to have to tell Clare, her editor, and it had better be sooner rather than later, before she, or someone else on the show, guessed her secret. And it wouldn’t take a member of the regional crime squad to do that.

  Twice this morning she had had to leave the set, trying not to rush out to the bathroom, where she had been violently sick. She had stood before the mirror, trembling, before rubbing some blusher into her cheeks and hoping she looked halfway decent. She wasn’t going to be much use as a breakfast presenter if she spent all her time throwing up.

  But even if, as the doctor had suggested, the sickness passed—and, infuriatingly, by the end of the show all the nausea had passed—the fact remained that she was soon going to become very obviously pregnant.

  No. She was going to have to make an appointment to speak to Clare.

  She walked out into the bracing air, glad of the welcoming coolness after the stifling atmosphere of the studio, and as she looked around for her car her heart missed a beat.

  For there, leaning against an unfamiliar silver car, stood a figure, as still and as all-seeing as if he had been hewn from a deep, dark marble. He was dressed all in black, and it made his hair and eyes look like the night. For one wild and crazy moment she thought about running inside, like a woman seeking refuge from the storm, but she knew that she could not.

  She had to face him.

  He studied her almost obsessively, searching for signs. Any signs. But the thick, sheepskin coat she wore enveloped her like a big, warm cloud and all he could see was her pale face and the green-grey eyes which glittered so warily at him.

  He began to walk towards her.

  ‘Hello, Eve.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’ Desperately, she looked around the car park, deserted save for the swish silver car he had been standing beside. Where the hell was her driver? He was never late.

  ‘I think we need to talk,’ he said steadily. Last time he had been caught off guard in all kinds of ways. He had flown off the handle and raged in a manner which was guaranteed to achieve nothing. And Luca had always been an achiever.

  She turned to him, unprepared for the effect he had on her. The way her heart crashed against her ribcage. The way her legs felt weak. She should feel nothing but contempt for him, the same as he so obviously did for her—so why wasn’t it that easy? Why did she still feel outrageously attracted to him? But that was purely physical, she reminded herself. And she was more than just a physical person. Much more.

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Luca,’ she said quietly. ‘In a minute my driver will be here and I will get in the car and go home. Without you.’

  ‘I am afraid that is where you are wrong.’

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Your driver has gone. I sent him away.’

  ‘You sent him away?’ she repeated disbelievingly.

  He pointed to the long, low silver machine. ‘I have a car and I will take you anywhere you want to go, but I need to talk to you and I will talk to you. You owe me that.’

  She hugged her coat tighter around her. ‘I owe you nothing after the despicable things you accused me of.’

  Again, he nodded, sucking in a deep, dry breath. ‘I had no right to make those accusations, but I was…’

  Her eyes were curious. ‘What?’

  He sighed. ‘I felt as though my whole world had been detonated.’

  ‘So the thought of fatherhood didn’t appeal?’ she said flippantly, because that seemed the only surefire way to hide her hurt. She shrugged. ‘Then there’s nothing left to say, really, is there?’

  He froze. ‘Are you telling me that there is no baby?’

  It took a moment for the meaning of his words to dawn on her and, when they did, it was once again like being hit by a hammer-blow. Did he think…did he really think…?

  ‘God, Luca,’ she gasped, as if he really had struck her. ‘Could your opinion of me get any lower?’

  ‘What am I supposed to think?’ he demanded heatedly. ‘When you refused to take my calls!’

  ‘Your lawyer’s calls,’ she corrected him. ‘Because I didn’t want to do business, that’s why I didn’t take them.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Yes, there is still a baby,’ she said slowly. ‘But don’t worry your head about it—it’s my baby and it won’t have anything to do with you.’

  He could see her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Get in the car,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please.’

  The voice was deceptively soft and Eve felt so weak from the flurry of emotions he had provoked and simply from the impact of seeing him again that she could not have possibly refused. ‘Oh, damn you,’ she said indistinctly, but she did not walk away.

  He opened the passenger door, but she shook off his arm as he attempted to guide her into the seat.

  ‘I am not an invalid! Just pregnant!’ And then, terrified that someone from the crew might be lurking around, she cast her eyes around anxiously, but there was no one except for them, and she expelled a sigh of relief.

  He noted her reaction and it told him a great deal. So no one knew; of that he was certain. She had kept the pregnancy hidden. Why?

  He started the engine. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Home.’ She leaned her head back against the rest and closed her eyes, daring him to talk to her, to accuse her and harangue her, but to her surprise he didn’t. The warmth and movement of the car lulled her, reminding her of just how tired she was. But tiredness came in great strong and powerful waves these days.

  He glanced over at her, watching as her breathing became deeper and steadier. She was asleep. Around the steering wheel of the car, his leather-covered hands relaxed a little.

  The sheepskin coat
had fallen open, and her thighs were indolently apart and relaxed in sleep and he felt an unexpected and unwelcome shaft of arousal. Damn her! he thought. Damn her and her unstudied sensuality. He fixed his eyes on the road ahead.

  The car drew to a halt and Eve snapped her eyes open, momentarily disorientated. She was outside her cottage, with Luca in the driving seat beside her.

  She fumbled for the handle. ‘Thank you for the lift.’

  ‘I’m coming in.’

  ‘No, you’re—’ But she heard the note of determination in his voice and knew that she was fighting a losing battle. And besides, had she really thought that he would come all this way, drop her off and then just go off again with a little wave goodbye? She would hear what he had to say, and then he could go.

  The cottage felt cold. Stiffly, Eve took her coat off and didn’t protest when he took it from her fingers and hung it up in the hall. She shivered. ‘I’m going to light a fire.’

  ‘Let me do it.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you know how?’

  He actually laughed. ‘Of course I do. There are many things you do not know about me, cara.’

  ‘I’m going to make some tea,’ she said. Anything to get away from his presence, which, in the small, dim hall, seemed to overwhelm her.

  When she returned with the tray he had managed to produce a roaring blaze. She put the tray down on a small table and watched him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there would be much cause for fire-making in your fancy apartment.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed as he threw a final log on. ‘But we had a place out in the country where we used to holiday when I was a little boy. Very basic. That’s where I learned.’

  It was odd to think of this assured, arrogant man as a little boy. Would she have a boy, she wondered, and, if she did, would he look like Luca? A beautifully handsome little boy, a permanent reminder of passion and its folly.

  He moved from the fire to the tea-tray and poured them both a cup, and while part of her felt slightly resentful that he had walked into her house and now seemed to be taking over, the other part was so tired that she was glad to let him.