She flicked a nervous glance over her shoulder, as if surprised by how close he was, before spinning away and turning her attention back to the seat, running a hand along its surface. ‘I was intending to read about that today,’ she said. ‘How did it come about?’
He allowed himself a smile as she feigned complete and total interest in the ancient relic. But he could tell by the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the slashes of colour on her cheeks that she felt it too, this hunger to renew their intimate acquaintance.
Two weeks? Dio, he hoped not.
‘It was way back in the fourteenth century,’ he began, as he watched her take her place on the wide throne, testing the seat before venturing to turn her eyes towards him again. ‘A vessel carrying the royal family of Karpenthia was on its way to Genoa. At that time Karpenthia was a rich power in the north of Africa, built where the camel trade routes met the sea, while Velatte City was a seedy place of prostitutes and pirates and assorted runaways. But the King’s daughter was ill with fever and close to death, so they pulled into harbour. It was a brave thing that they did, risking the lives of everyone on board, but they had no choice.’
Her eyes widened, her interest obviously piqued. ‘What happened?’
‘A man came forward from the crowd that came to meet the vessel. When he saw who was on board, he promised to cure the girl, and so they carried her to a hut, where his grandmother, an old crow of a woman reported to have magical healing powers, concocted a remedy made from the local herbs gathered from the side of these very cliffs.’
‘The old woman saved her.’
Rafe nodded. ‘The King was so grateful he drafted up a deed declaring Montvelatte a Principality in its own right, with the grandson, the man who’d promised to cure the princess, its first Prince. That man was Vincenzo Lombardi. Two years later the princess returned and became his first Princess of Montvelatte.’
‘She married Vincenzo, to live amongst pirates and prostitutes?’
He shrugged as he leaned back against one arm of the stone seat. ‘Legend has it that it was a great love match, and one that changed the course of Montvelatte forever. Apparently the original part of the Castello, built on the remains of ancient fortresses going back over the centuries, was his tribute to her.’
‘You sound like you don’t really believe it.’
‘Maybe I’m a cynic, but I suspect that Vincenzo wouldn’t have been backward about naming his price for saving the King’s daughter.’
‘But then why would the King have brought his daughter back once they’d got away? Why couldn’t the story be true?’
‘It’s just a fairy tale. It doesn’t work that way.’
‘It’s a legend.’ She shook her head, so that her hair rippled about her head, dancing on the light. ‘But why shouldn’t it also be true? What better way to start a new nation?’
But that would mean loving someone could be a good thing!
He turned away, suddenly not wanting her to see his eyes. She had a way sometimes of piercing his shell and seeing inside him, of reaching into the deepest parts of him, the hidden parts of him, and of asking the questions no one else dared. Because no one else knew how he’d felt growing up and feeling his mother’s pain at being an outcast, discarded like a pair of worn out shoes.
‘Don’t waste your time on love,’ he remembered his mother softly singing as he’d lain tucked up in bed while she rocked his sister to sleep, crooning the words over and over like a lullaby. ‘Don’t lose your heart. Stay strong, my baby, be strong.’
And so he’d grown up determined to be strong and to make it on his own, determined to prove to the world that a title meant nothing, that it was what one made of oneself that counted.
And given the mess his half-brothers had made of things, he had more reason to believe that than ever. He stared out to sea and to the black peak that was Iseo’s Pyramid and wondered about the beast that reputedly lived there. Who needed a beast when so much darkness resided in one’s own heart?
‘So the pirate island becomes a Principality,’ he heard her say. ‘Surely the neighbouring countries objected?’
Rafe turned to see her looking up at the castle, pushing a few wayward strands of hair from her face with her hands. He bit back on a growl, forcing himself to remember his determination to wait for her. Did she have any idea how that action lifted her breasts, displaying their outline to perfection?
Sienna let her arms drop and swivelled around, and he had to prise his eyes back up to hers to meet her gaze.
‘The royal families of both France and Italy held the Karpenthian King in high regard. And while neither had been interested in the island until then, content to leave it to the pirates and criminals, they imposed the condition that only a Lombardi could take the crown, that if the bloodline was broken, so too was the agreement.’
‘And that’s why you had to come back.’
‘That’s why.’
‘What would have happened if you hadn’t?’
‘Then the pressure would have been on Marietta, as heir presumptive, to take the throne. But she’s never wanted it, her links with the island even more tenuous than mine. Besides, I couldn’t put that kind of pressure on her, and I know my mother would never have forgiven me for walking away and allowing Montvelatte to lose its status as a Principality. Its land and wealth, what’s left of it, for the taking.’
‘By Italy?’
‘Or France, depending on who makes the stronger case. Already legal teams in a dozen capital cities throughout Europe are arguing over the details, just in case.’ She nodded, and he watched her stoop to pick a flower from one of the many low-growing bushes around, holding the shell-pink flower up to her nose and breathing in its fragrance. He didn’t tell her that the update he’d received today had suggested that developments on the island were being keenly watched, the identity of the Prince’s apparent new escort and rumours of a royal pregnancy being investigated.
Neither did he tell her of the report he’d received from the security check Sebastiano had had run on Sienna’s background. And one thing shone out like a beacon. There had been no other men in her life around the time he had pursued her, or for several months before. He was the only one, confirming all he’d believed and more.
More reason then ever to get married and quickly.
They continued together, circling around the high walls of the Castello to where the hill dropped away into a steep valley behind. Terraced vineyards lined the slopes, leading down to a narrow river that curved away to the harbour where the buildings of Velatte City huddled along the shoreline. He heard her gasp as she took in the beauty before them, as mountain-bred vines gave way to the familiar white architecture of the city, which ended in a row of casinos, each more magnificent than the next, lining the white-fringed harbour far below.
‘It’s so beautiful from up here,’ she said. ‘I had no idea this path even existed.’ And he felt a stab of remorse that he’d kept her largely locked away within the Castello walls, expecting her to be entertained with dusty books and language lessons when he wasn’t parading her in front of the world’s paparazzi, with not a hint of sharing with her the real beauty of the island that would now be her home.
And now her eyes sparkled, her smile broad as she surveyed the world over which she would soon rule by his side, and he couldn’t help but take her hand in his own as she stood there, marvelling at the view. Her eyes briefly darted to his, but she didn’t pull away, and he moved closer by her side, pointing out the peaks of craggy hills just visible behind the other side of the valley. ‘The island extends another fifteen kilometres beyond Velatte City to the south. Predominantly small villages situated amongst vineyards and olive groves or on the coast. And, of course, like any Mediterranean island, you will find the obligatory hotel resorts, although Montvelatte’s main tourism thrust has been via the casinos.’
‘So beautiful,’ she repeated. He watched her as her gaze scanned from one spectacular end of the valle
y to the other, her free hand held up to shield her eyes from the setting sun while the silken fabric of her skirt shifted and rippled around her legs in the barely there breeze.
‘Without a doubt.’
And she turned towards him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes questioning.
‘You could be happy,’ he said, ‘living here.’
And the lights in her eyes dimmed a little then. ‘Rafe,’ she said softly, so softly he felt his name on her breath even as he read it on her lips. Lips that beckoned him and drew him closer. Lips that made him ache with wanting her.
She shook her head, the barest, almost imperceptible movement from side to side, which he refused to accept as meaning she didn’t want his kiss. Not when her eyes gave him a different message and her lips were already parted and ready for him.
And so he cupped her warm cheek with his hand, and on a tiny track, below the Castello Montvellate and above the magnificent sweep of valley below, his world shrank to just one woman, and one moment in time.
And that moment held its breath and hovered between them, shimmering with intensity as he lowered his mouth to hers. She shuddered into the kiss, and he slid his hand around the back of her neck to steady her, weaving his fingers into her hair, the taste of her flooding his senses and firing his blood.
She tasted of sunshine and vanilla, of warmth and woman, and the way her lips moved under his told him he was not the only one involved in this kiss. She was there, every part of her. She was his. He gathered her to him with his free arm, finding that sweet spot in the curve of her spine that brought her fully against his aching length.
She gasped into his mouth but she didn’t fight, didn’t move away. Instead she settled even closer, the subtle squirm of her hips a sweet agony that he poured into his kiss, to her lips, to her cheeks, to her eyes. And everywhere he kissed just fuelled the need that had been building ever since she’d stepped out of that helicopter, a need that refused to be compartmentalized and set aside.
I want you, he wanted to whisper, while his teeth nuzzled at her lobe. She trembled as if he’d said the words and threw her head back, forcing her breasts harder against his chest, so that he ached to free them and reacquaint himself with their satin perfection, longed to draw their pebbled peaks deep into his mouth.
Instead, he dragged in a lungful of air, fighting the urge to take her, right here, right now, on this lonely path high above the city, knowing it was madness when the paparazzi made an art form of lying in wait and holding out for the perfect shot, and yet still having to fight the beast for supremacy.
She’d already made him wait so long—too long—but soon, he told himself, encouraged by her participation, there was no doubt in his mind that very soon he would have her again.
Hesitatingly, reluctantly, he slowed the kiss, drawing back as he loosened his arms around her. She opened her eyes, and he saw her bewilderment, sensed her disappointment and very nearly changed his mind.
‘We should get back,’ he said, wishing she would argue, wishing she would demand that he stay and kiss her again, needing a damned good reason to let her go. ‘I have a meeting I’m already late for,’ he said, trying to convince himself. ‘Besides which, we don’t want you catching a chill.’
And before his eyes her back seemed to stiffen, her expression cooling so quickly that he ached to turn back the clock and take back his words.
‘Of course,’ she said, tucking the hair that had so recently coiled thick and silkily around his fingers behind her ears as she turned away. ‘I’d hate to catch a chill.’
CHAPTER NINE
SHE was a fool. Forty-eight hours later, that was the only explanation Sienna could come up with as she paced to and fro under the dappled shade of the vine-covered terrace, her various text books lying open and abandoned on the table nearby.
Two nights ago she’d gone to sleep—eventually—with the memories of that cliff-path walk playing through her mind. They’d walked together along a cliff top path breathing fresh sea air scented with a myriad different wild flowers and herbs, and then he’d wrapped her hand in his as they’d gazed out over a view that was to die for. And then he’d kissed her, and the defensive walls she’d built around herself, and that he’d been unsettling ever since he’d found her poolside and asked her to walk with him, had been rocked apart.
He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t demanded a thing from her, and yet one simple kiss and all her defenses had been ready to crumble, like some impressionable teenager on her first date.
And for a moment there—just one tiny moment, when they’d looked out over the view and he’d asked her if she could be happy here—she’d almost imagined that he’d meant it, that he cared that she might be happy, and that he wanted her to stay. In that precious moment, and in the kiss that had followed, she’d felt the barriers she’d put up around herself tremble and shake, and her emotions tilt and slide within their unsteady walls …
And then, with one simple line, he’d firmed her emotions and her resolve. He hadn’t wanted her to catch a chill. The temperature must have been in the mid-twenties Celcius with no more than a slight onshore breeze, and he had been worried about her catching a chill.
And his concern hadn’t been for her benefit.
She’d ceased being someone who merited concern in her own right when she’d become his own personal incubator.
Of course he wanted her to be happy here—he needed to know the mother of his children wasn’t about to take off unexpectedly, with or without them—but he’d done nothing to ensure her happiness. Merely expected it, just like he expected her to marry him.
Sienna looked wistfully over to the vacant helipad, wondering what she’d be up to and where she’d be flying now if she wasn’t trapped here on this island. And then she remembered why she was trapped and that she probably wouldn’t be flying anyway, and her heart sank even lower.
She turned her eyes in the direction of the books that lay open and accusing in front of her, and she questioned herself why it was that she was going along with everything as though she’d agreed to this marriage.
Maybe her work options were limited, at least while any shred of morning sickness remained, but after finding out how Rafe had betrayed her by continuing to plan a wedding she hadn’t agreed to, why the hell was she still here? It wasn’t as if one kiss on their walk that night was going to make Rafe forget the tiny detail she was pregnant and want to marry her for her own sake.
Fat chance.
He’d kissed her, and she’d felt—at least, she’d thought she’d felt—that there was something there, some hint of caring for her, and it had taken her unawares and she’d kissed him back.
But that faint hope had turned to nothing more than dust when he’d turned around and urged her to go back inside for the sake of her unborn babies.
Was it too much to hope that he might actually care for her for her own sake? Was that really too much to ask?
What kind of man would expect her to be able to marry someone who didn’t love her?
She gazed out over the view, the blue sea and azure sky totally wasted on her. She’d promised herself it wouldn’t happen. Years of watching the pain her mother felt, loving a man who’d been forced into a marriage he didn’t want, years of watching her parents’ marriage stagnate and fester until it had imploded in grand style, had convinced her that she could never marry a man who didn’t love her.
And years of bearing the guilt that she’d been the one who’d forced her parents into a pointless marriage had made her more determined than ever that any child of hers would never be forced to bear that same burden.
‘If it weren’t for you, I could have made something of my life.’
‘If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a care in the world.’
‘If it weren’t for you …’
How many times, in how many different ways, had her father made her realize that everything wrong in his life was all down to her? All because he’d been forced into a ma
rriage he didn’t want. All because of an unplanned pregnancy.
Rafe might be a different man from her father, but his motives were hardly pure. She couldn’t bear for her children to realize they hadn’t been born in love, to know that their father had only wanted them for political purposes.
She couldn’t bear it.
If she had to marry anyone, there was only one way it might happen, only one way it could possibly work. If she had to marry anyone, he was damn well going to have to love her first.
Which meant that she couldn’t just wait for Rafe to have the time to notice her. Whatever had motivated Rafe into taking her for a cliff-top stroll last night—probably guilt that she’d found out his duplicity—he’d not bothered to seek her company today. She knew work was his priority right now. She knew and understood that his focus was on getting Montvelatte back onto a sound financial footing, but it was also clear that if she wanted him to fall in love with her, then she was going to have to try something more than a friendly conversation.
Sienna picked up the nearest phone and dialed the number that she knew would put her instantly in contact with Sebastiano’s office. The phone was answered almost immediately, the transfer to Sebastiano taking only moments longer.
‘Where can I catch up with Rafe tonight?’
‘Prince Raphael should not be expected back at the Castello before eleven p.m., possibly later.’
‘And where can I find him before then?’
There was hesitation at the end of the line. ‘Prince Raphael is currently attending a meeting of the casino finance managers at Casino de Velatte after which he’s due at a recital in the casino’s Crystal Ballroom.’
‘Perfect,’ said Sienna, already mentally trawling through the myriad evening gowns that hung in her endless closets. ‘Can you take me there?’
This time the pause was longer. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, signorina. He’s not expecting you—’
‘Please, Sebastiano, I know you don’t think me a suitable candidate for Montvelatte’s Princess, but if you won’t help me get off the island, you have to help me try to make this marriage work. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
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