The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011

by Catherine Mann

  He’d used protection. He would never be that careless.

  Except he hadn’t!

  He had been that careless.

  The details came back in a blinding flash. He’d heard of his half-brothers’ arrests and of their implication in their father’s death. He’d learned that Montvelatte’s existence balanced on a knife edge. And he’d been blind with anger and fury and rage that they could have been so arrogant and so self-absorbed that they had done this with pure greed in mind, and that they hadn’t seen where they were heading. So blind with anger that he hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t hesitated before burying himself one last time deep inside the woman who’d just happened to be there.

  Had that momentary loss of control done this, resulted in a child? Was it his?

  She’d almost got away. He’d been that close to letting her go, angry that she could deny him the pleasure he’d find with her, and so close to letting her walk out of his life for ever.

  Would he ever have found out if she’d gone? She might never have told him.

  Six weeks. Coincidence? Or fate?

  Whichever, she wasn’t getting away before he found out for sure.

  The doctor had finished his report. ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Certainly. Though be gentle. Right now she’s a little emotionally fragile.’

  Rafe blew out his breath in a rush. ‘I’ll just bet she is.’

  Moments later he paused outside her room, his anger festering inside him, a living thing. He’d paced the terrace for endless minutes, working out the possibilities. If she’d told him last night that she was pregnant with someone else’s child, if she’d thrown it in his face then and there, he would have left her alone. But she hadn’t said a word. And six to eight weeks? Surely she must have known something? Was that the real reason she’d declined to have any wine?

  He thought back on her determination to escape the island. She’d been desperate to get away. So desperate to escape that she’d risk flying a helicopter when she was in danger of passing out at the controls. If those facts weren’t enough to spell out her guilt, he didn’t know what was.

  She didn’t want him to know.

  Which could only mean one thing.

  It had to be his.

  He hauled in a lungful of air, felt the oxygen fuel the fury inside him until it was in danger of combusting, until he wanted to howl at the irony.

  All that time Sebastiano had been doing his utmost to find Montvelatte the perfect breeding stock.

  All that time Sebastiano had spent ensuring Montvelatte would not be left without an heir.

  And all that time there had been one all along.

  It was a disaster. Sienna pushed herself back into pillows damp with tears, unable to assimilate the new-found knowledge, unable to come to terms with the physician’s declaration.

  There was nothing wrong with her, he’d calmly informed her, in the very same breath he’d dropped the bombshell that she was pregnant and suffering nothing more debilitating than morning sickness.

  Nothing wrong. That was a laugh, when her entire world was shattering to pieces around her. Nothing wrong, when, in fact, nothing could be less right.

  And so she’d argued and remonstrated with him. It had been too late in her cycle and she’d had a period, admittedly light, but then she’d only just come off the pill. It couldn’t be possible.

  And the doctor had looked benignly down at her as he’d clicked up his bag and explained that there was no mistake, that coming off the pill so recently meant her cycle could be late, and that the light period she’d assumed she’d had was most likely no more than an implantation bleed.

  And then he’d asked her what she did for a living and warned her that she might have to think about not flying for a while. Not flying? Flying was her job. She’d just got the job of her dreams. It was her life!

  And now she knew that the churning in her stomach was nothing to do with any morning sickness, but a gut-wrenching reaction to the news.

  She was pregnant. With Rafe’s child. That alone was bad enough. But he wasn’t just a man any more.

  He was a prince.

  She screwed her face into the pillow and tried unsuccessfully to stem a fresh batch of tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not with him. Not now.

  He might be the father of the baby growing inside her, but he was expected to marry. Someone suitable. Someone worthy of being Montvelatte’s princess.

  Someone else.

  Not some no-name commoner from a dysfunctional family who’d spent one night with him and ended up pregnant.

  Which was fine, because she didn’t damn well want any man on those terms anyway.

  Sienna sniffed and sat up, grabbing a tissue to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks and blow her nose. Damn it all. Lying here crying wouldn’t help; she had to pull herself together and get moving. She shoved back the covers and eased herself up to sitting on the side of the bed, swallowing air, waiting until the rocking motion inside her settled before she trusted her feet to hold her up.

  Rafe wanted her gone from the island, he’d made that crystal clear, so she would oblige. And, let’s face it, the last thing either he or Montvelatte needed right now was the scandal of an unplanned pregnancy with someone unsuitable. So she would get dressed and fly back to Genoa as soon as this damned nausea settled down. As soon as she’d come to terms with the shock of this latest bombshell.

  Except that she was pregnant.

  How was anyone supposed to terms with something like that?

  There was a sharp rap on the door before it swung open, revealing the person she least wanted to see in the world. Her heart slammed into his chest as his dark eyes honed in on her, intent but frustratingly unreadable. Please God, the doctor had not shared her news!

  She was dressed in some kind of white nightgown that fitted over her breasts and then fell softly to her ankles and he gave a silent tick of approval for whoever had released her hair from that damned braid so now it rioted around her face in a mass of colour and curl.

  She looked like a virgin on her way to a sacrifice.

  And then he took in her wide red-rimmed eyes, the eyes that looked up at him with something akin to terror, and revised the description. She looked like hell. As guilty as hell.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

  ‘I was just getting up,’ she protested, through lips inordinately pale. ‘Or I was, until you once again decided to invite yourself in unannounced. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.’

  ‘I thought you were sick.’

  ‘I’m feeling much better,’ she replied, adding a smile that didn’t go near to erasing the caginess in those hazel eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me back there. I … I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.’

  He almost growled. She was still trying to hide the truth. ‘So now you’re accusing my cook of poisoning you?’

  ‘No! I didn’t mean—’ She gave up trying and shook her head. ‘Look, I’m sorry to put you out, but I’ll be gone soon. So if you wouldn’t mind …’

  She gestured towards the door but he wasn’t going anywhere. He stood at the foot of the bed and leant a hand against one of the carved wooden posts. ‘I don’t think so. I really think leaving would be unwise right now.’

  Sienna stood up in a rush and sprang away from the bed, a blur of motion as the white gown billowed around her long legs like a cloud, her bare feet pacing the carpet. He could almost see her mind ticking over as her hands busied themselves collecting her hair into a loose pony tail before letting it go to spring back wild around her face again. ‘Look, Rafe,’ she said, turning to him, the colour of irritation high on cheeks that otherwise looked too pale to be human, ‘we’ve been through all this and I’m fed up with the way you think you can push me around. You agreed last night that I could leave today and, quite frankly, it won’t be soon enough. As soon as I’m dressed, I’m out of here.’ She was halfway to the bath
room before he caught up with her, catching her arm and swinging her around.

  ‘Not with my baby, you’re not.’

  He heard her gasp. Smelt her fear. ‘What are you talking about?’ She was still fighting, but the guilt was there, in the defensive sheen in her eyes, in the faint tremor in her lips.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

  Her breathing was shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the action. ‘I don’t know why you think it’s any of your business, but maybe I didn’t know.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s not your baby? Did you ever stop to consider that?’

  He reeled back as if she’d physically lashed out, but only for a moment, before the feral gleam in his eye returned. ‘You went from my bed to another’s? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘You threw me out. Why should you care who I sleep with?’

  ‘I care because I do not believe you. You were hiding it from me and you’re still trying to. It’s my baby, isn’t it? You’re having my baby!’

  If he hadn’t sensed her need, if he hadn’t let her go, she would never have made it to the bathroom in time. There was precious little in her stomach, nothing more than dry toast and some of the same sweet tea she’d had yesterday that had been so soothing at the time. And yet it felt like she was being torn apart from the inside with each violent heave.

  And he was there, holding back her hair and steadying her shoulders as she held onto the bowl for grim death.

  Oh, God, if it wasn’t bad enough that Rafe should see her like this, the doctor had obviously told him why.

  A total disaster had just got worse.

  At last it was over; the thrashing of her stomach calmed. She heard the sound of running water, felt the cool press of a flannel against her face and she took it gratefully, pressing it to her tear-stained cheeks and wishing that there was something that could so easily soothe her soul.

  The doctor had told him, and Rafe knew!

  What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  ‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ he said, helping her to rise on unsteady legs and steering her from the room. She went with him, the fight gone from her, her strength drained, her mind numb with it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as he eased her down on the bed, knowing that a terrible wrong had been done, knowing she was at least partly responsible, not having a clue what to say. Having even less idea of how to fix it. ‘I realize this is inconvenient. I’ll go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

  And the band that had bound his gut ever since he had heard she was pregnant grew even tighter, until even his lungs felt squeezed with the pressure. Better than any test result, it was the final confirmation he needed, banishing any lingering doubts in an instant. ‘So it is mine!’

  Her eyes looked up at him, pained and dull. ‘Nobody will ever know. I promise.’

  ‘Merda! I will know! Or are you already planning on disposing of the “inconvenience”, as you so clinically put it, in order to assure that outcome?’

  Her eyes sparked with indignation, their hazel lights suddenly flashing gold as if someone had thrown a switch, though her skin was still deathly pale and her voice was still rough and raw. ‘As it happens I haven’t had a chance to consider my options, but just what kind of person do you think I am?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what type of person I think you are. What matters is what you plan on doing with my child.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe you care? Don’t bother. I promise not to go to the papers or get in the way of your precious princess hunt.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, “no”?’

  ‘It means that’s not good enough. I will not allow another generation of Lombardi bastard children to be cast aside as if they are not family. There is only one solution.’

  She rolled her head from side to side against the pillow. ‘You can share access, if that’s what you want. I can hardly deny a child access to its father.’

  ‘I’m glad you understand that. And there is no better way to share access …’ he smiled, amazed at how neatly the whole thing fitted together—a woman he had no trouble desiring, already pregnant with his child, and an end to Sebastiano’s endless round of prospective wife interviews, all rolled into one neat solution ‘ … than to make you my wife.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  IF SIENNA hadn’t been lying down, her knees would have given way beneath her. As it was, the breath was punched from her lungs. He couldn’t be serious!

  ‘You have to be joking. There’s no reason on earth why I should marry you.’

  ‘It is the only solution. I need a wife and an heir.’

  ‘You need a princess, not a pilot. You need someone off that list of titled wannabes.’

  ‘But you have something they can only promise. You have conveniently proven your ability to conceive.’

  ‘Forget it. There’s no way I’m marrying you just because I’m pregnant. No way in the world.’

  ‘You need not be frightened of the royalty angle. You will be coached in our language and history.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say yes even if you weren’t a prince! A baby is no basis for a marriage. I would never do that to a child.’

  ‘And yet you would be happy to let that child grow up without its father. How is that fairer?’

  ‘You can’t force me to do this. Your father never married your mother simply because she was pregnant.’

  ‘He didn’t think he needed to. He already had his heir and a spare. My sister and I were surplus to requirements.’

  ‘But your mother—’

  ‘Had no choice! She received a substantial settlement and an annual pension on the condition she never returned to Montvelatte, and she never told anyone who her children’s father was.’

  Sienna threw back her chin. ‘I would be more than happy to comply with the same conditions. For nothing. It wouldn’t cost you a thing.’

  He shook his head. ‘You are kidding yourself. There is no way I would allow you to bring up our child in near poverty.’

  ‘I have a job!’

  ‘For how long? How can you fly in the condition you found yourself this morning? How long do you think anyone will employ a pilot who could faint at any minute? Who in their right mind would want to fly with you?’

  ‘I have some savings. I’ll take time off. Morning sickness doesn’t last forever.’

  ‘And after the baby comes, how do you expect to keep working when you have a child to care for?’

  ‘Like plenty of other woman in my situation do. I’ll cope.’

  ‘Not with my child. Simply coping is not an option. How long do you think you’ll keep the origins of your baby secret?’

  ‘Your mother obviously managed to.’

  ‘More than thirty years ago when there was still a measure of respect for privacy. Whereas these days, any hint of scandal, any hint of a royal baby born out of wedlock and the paparazzi will come baying at your door. How long do you think you can hide the truth?’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone if you won’t!’

  ‘And when I marry and have a wife and a family, and then the truth inevitably comes out because of something the doctor today tells his secretary or his wife, you would be happy to humiliate the woman I married with the news that I already had a child? How do you think that would look splashed across the gutter press? How do you think this child will feel when he learns that he was the rightful heir of Montvelatte and you denied him that birthright?’

  ‘Why do you assume it will be a boy?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Girl or boy, you will be denying this child its place in the Montvelattian monarchy.’

  ‘Only if it finds out. And who is going to tell?’

  His arms came down on the bed either side of her, his face bare inches from her own, and it was all she could do not to cower back into the pillows at the anger and pain so starkly reflected in his features. />
  ‘I will tell. Do not think you can deny me access to my child simply because you would rather forget who his father is. I am not like my father. I will not abandon a child I sired or hide it away merely because I was not married to its mother.’

  Sienna watched his eyes while he made his speech, watched the way the pain coursed so deeply through them. He’d missed out on having a father all his life. He’d been cast away, exiled with his mother, unwanted by the father who’d sired him.

  And he was right. One way or another, no matter how close she played her cards to her chest, there was no way she could shut Rafe out of her child’s life. But in allowing Rafe access to her child, there was no way its parentage could ever be kept secret.

  So where did that leave her?

  It was all too much to take in. She’d only just discovered she was pregnant, and now he was demanding that she marry him, a man she’d spent one short night with and the last twenty-four hours trying to get away from, a man who would, without a second thought, bully her into a marriage she neither wanted nor needed.

  A shotgun wedding, just like her mother’s. Except this time there were no parents holding a gun to Rafe’s head to persuade him to do the right thing by their daughter. This time it was Rafe holding a gun to her head.

  Was it because it was the right thing to do by their child? Or was it simply because it was convenient to him?

  Either way, his wanting to marry her clearly had nothing to do with her.

  ‘You can’t make me do this.’ She’d wanted to sound strong and sure but her voice came out sounding more like a plea.

  ‘It’s the only thing to do. I’ll inform Sebastiano and have him make the necessary arrangements.’

  The necessary arrangements? Rafe had it sounding like a royal wedding was no more hassle than a trip to the local corner store.

  ‘No! I haven’t agreed to anything. You can’t make me do this.’

  ‘You have no choice.’

  ‘I have a choice! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.’ She scooted to the other side of the bed, swinging her legs over the side and pushing herself off, but he was already there, standing in front of here like a storm cloud, angry and potent and thunderous. But the hand he put to her face was gentle and warm, and she trembled into his touch. His eyes studied her face, his thumb traced the line of her lips, and her heartbeat jagged, and when his words came, it was more a promise than a threat.