by Various
‘You want to know how much it will cost you to have me leave?’
‘That was the question.’
At least she had stopped the soft-voiced attempt at seductive persuasion. The it doesn’t have to be like this…that she’d tried earlier.
She’d damn nearly had him with that. With the breathy note on the words that had made it sound as if she was totally overwhelmed at being here with him like this. Never before had he been so aware of the slender, curving shape of her in the clinging, worn jeans, the faded T-shirt. The scent of her body had seemed to surround him as he had looked down into the wide, wide eyes that had seemed almost hazy with need. And the soft touch of her hand on his skin…
Dio santo, but he had found it hard to resist that. That gentle touch had raised so many memories in his mind. Erotic memories that had had his body hardening in spite of his furious attempts to divert his thoughts onto other, less dangerous pathways. She had touched him like that on their first night together. Tentative, almost hesitant. As if she was shy and nervous.
Well, that shyness had pretty soon disappeared. It had evaporated like the mist over the lake at the first touch of the summer sun. In his arms she’d turned into a wild and seductive temptress. In his bed she had been the fulfilment of every sensual dream he could ever have imagined.
But they couldn’t live out their lives in bed.
‘So you’re offering me a pay-off?’
‘A settlement,’ Ricardo amended. ‘A generous settlement in return for a quick and quiet divorce—I’ll even take the blame, provide you with grounds if you want it that way. And then you get out of my life for good. You go and you stay away. I never want to see you again.’
How could he ever want to see a woman who was capable of walking out on her own child, leaving behind just a frivolous, careless note that told him the marriage was over and the baby—Marco—was his responsibility now?
She was considering the proposition. Considering it seriously. That much was obvious from the way that her expression had changed, the softness vanishing from her eyes just before she let her pale eyelids drop down to cover them, concealing her thoughts from him.
‘You really must want to be rid of me.’ Her tone was flat, no emotion showing in it at all.
‘Oh, I do,’ he confirmed, his tone deep with harsh sincerity. ‘Believe me, I do.’
‘And you’d pay anything I asked?’
Her jaw had tightened so much that it drew in her cheeks, narrowing the whole look of her face and making the words come out as stiffly and as jerkily as if they had come from the carved wooden mouth of a painted marionette. Blue eyes lifted briefly to look into his face in a swift glance that was coolly assessing.
‘In English law I’d be entitled to half your fortune. You should have thought about getting me to sign a pre-nup.’
If he’d had any sense then he would have done just that. But at the time the only thing that he’d been thinking of was the child they had created between them. The child that had to be born in wedlock and with his name as the father on the birth certificate. No child of his was ever going to grow up illegitimate, with all the snubs and the social exclusion that he had endured. The barriers to belonging that had blighted his mother’s life as well as his own.
He had known that it was only his money that had convinced her to marry him in the end. But, if he was honest, then at that point he really hadn’t cared. All that had mattered was getting the ring on Lucy’s finger and ensuring that her name—and her child’s—were the same as his.
He had thought that he would have longer to see if the relationship between the two of them would grow into something so much stronger than the wild, fiery passion that had brought them together in the first place and had resulted in the creation of the tiny life that Lucy had carried within her.
‘And would you have signed one?’
At the time she would have done anything, Lucy acknowledged. Ricardo had only to ask and she would have said yes. She had been in so deep, so totally besotted so that she had been unable to think straight. She hadn’t even hesitated over his proposal, though common sense should have told her that he didn’t want her. All he had wanted was the child in her womb.
‘I don’t want marriage, Lucia,’ he’d said. ‘Never have. No woman has ever even made me think of it. But your news changes everything. We have a baby to consider and my child is not going to grow up illegitimate. That’s all that matters to me right now.’
‘It would have made sense—on your part, at least,’ Lucy answered now, covering the lacerations on her heart with an armour of control. ‘After all, neither of us was going into that marriage with any romantic stars in our eyes. We both knew it was just a business and legal arrangement.’
‘And now?’
‘Now? I wouldn’t sign anything you asked me to without having it thoroughly checked out first.’
‘Not even if it gave you everything you’d ever wanted—more than you ever dreamed of?’
‘I don’t think that’s possible.’
If she could have Marco in her life, then she would feel as if she had been given the world and would want nothing more. But, without her son, there was no amount of money or possessions that could compensate for the emptiness his loss would leave in her life. And she knew, deep in her soul, that Ricardo would never let her have Marco.
‘Try me.’
For the life of her, Lucy couldn’t bring her numbed, bruised brain to recognise whether there was pure challenge or invitation in the two words that Ricardo tossed at her. And she didn’t really dare to hope for the latter. Any invitation from Ricardo Emiliani came hung about with so many chains of doubt and risk, so many conditions, that it was like putting your head into a noose just to consider it. And a challenge was something she dreaded.
‘Tell me what you really want—and you can have it. Anything, so long as you get out of my life and never come back.’
‘You’ll never give me what I want so there’s no need to even ask.’
‘Why not? I—’ Ricardo broke off abruptly as a buzzing sound from his pocket drew his attention to his mobile phone. ‘Momento…’
Pulling it out, he checked the screen, frowning as he did so. ‘I have to take this.’
With the phone clamped to his ear, he swung away again, listening hard and then firing sharp, incisive questions into the receiver in rapid-fire Italian that was too fast for Lucy’s schoolgirl grasp of the language to allow her to keep up.
But she caught one word, clearly and distinctly, and that fastened onto her nerves, twisting and tugging with every second that passed.
‘Marco…’ he’d said. And, again, ‘Marco…’
Whoever was at the other end of the phone had rung him because of something that was happening with Marco and just to think of that pressed Lucy’s personal panic button, sending her thoughts into overdrive. Her heart was pounding, her breathing harsh and shallow. Something had happened to her little boy and she didn’t know what.
She couldn’t stand still, finding that only by pacing restlessly around the room could she keep herself from grabbing that phone from Ricardo and demanding to know what was happening. But the dimensions of the small space were restricted so that she found she had barely started before she was forced to turn and head back in the opposite direction. And still the conversation went on until she was ready to scream, only keeping a grip on herself by clenching her fists tight, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
But then, at last, Ricardo thumbed off the phone and turned to her again.
‘What’s happened…?’
‘My apologies…’
Their voices clashed, froze, then, because Lucy couldn’t manage anything more, it was Ricardo who continued, his tone rough with impatience. ‘I have to go. My son…’
Catching the look she gave him, he at least had the grace to pause in faint acknowledgement but only for a second. Immediately he continued, emphasising that possessive claim once aga
in. ‘My son has woken and is upset. I need to get back.’
‘Is he all right?’
The concern wouldn’t be held down. She didn’t care what Ricardo thought of her, how he might interpret her enquiry. She only knew that if Marco was distressed then she had to know more.
‘He will be when I can get to him.’
Once more the exclusion of her was deliberate, pointed. The words stung cruelly; as she was sure they were meant to.
‘You left him in that big house—out there on the island—on his own…’
‘Never on his own!’ Ricardo cut in furiously and Lucy flinched from the fire that flared in his eyes. ‘Of course he was well looked after. His nanny was with him.’
Of course, the nanny. How could she forget the nanny?
‘He was asleep when I left…but he woke and she thought he was too upset to settle. She felt he needed his papa.’
His papa. Another vicious put down, slapping her in the face with the fact that he was Marco’s father, the parent who cared for the little boy. While she was just an outsider. The woman who had given up her claim on her child when she had run out on him. For reasons she could explain if only she got the chance.
But now was not the time. Already Ricardo was turning towards the door.
‘I have to get back to him.’
‘Of course.’
But if she let him walk out of the door, let him walk away, would she ever get the chance to talk to him again? Would she ever even see his face again? And, much, much more important, how could she let him walk away when she knew that, back in the Villa San Felice, his baby son—their baby son—was awake and miserable and in need of comfort?
Not pausing to think, she snatched up the bag that was lying on the bed, stuffed her feet hastily into flat pumps and hurried after him. The speed and length of his strides had taken him out of the door and along the landing already and she had to push herself to follow him. She caught up just as Ricardo was about to let the main door swing to behind him.
‘What the…?’ The question was pushed from him as her hand clashed with his, catching the door before it slammed.
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No way…’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t know how she managed to get such strength into her voice. Determination perhaps, or just plain desperation.
What she would do if he refused point-blank to let her go with him, she didn’t know. She could stamp her feet and demand that he let her—stand in the middle of the street and threaten to scream until he agreed. The problem was that, knowing Ricardo, he was more than capable of getting into his car and driving away, leaving her behind.
So she tried the opposite approach instead. She had nothing to lose, after all.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, Ricardo, let me come with you.’
And watched his head go back in shock, his eyes narrowing sharply as he studied her face.
Please…
Ricardo felt as if he’d had a knock to his head, jarring his brain so that he couldn’t think straight.
Please. It was the last thing he had expected Lucy to say, at least in these circumstances and in that tone of voice. Correction, Lucy asking to go with him at all was the last thing that he had expected.
And she was asking. Making it sound as if it mattered to her. Making it sound as if she was actually concerned about Marco.
‘Ricardo…’ she said now, bringing his eyes to her face again.
In the light from the open door of the boarding house, she looked pale and drawn, forcing him to remember that she had said she’d been ill. What the hell had been wrong with her?
But he didn’t have time to hang about here any longer. He was needed back at the villa where, if the experience of the past few nights was anything to go by—and the sound of the nanny’s voice on the phone had certainly seemed to indicate that it was—at this moment Marco was wide awake and roaring his head off in protest at the discomfort of having another tooth come through.
Oh, yes, Donna Lucia would just love that…
And that was the thought that made up his mind for him.
‘OK,’ he said abruptly, expecting and seeing the shock and blank confusion that crossed Lucy’s face. ‘You can come. Get in the car.’
A wave of his hand indicated the vehicle parked at the roadside.
‘I…do you mean that?’
‘Lucy—’ his tone made his fierce impatience plain ‘—if you’re coming with me, get in the car or I’ll leave you behind.’
She moved then, hurrying to the car door and sliding into the seat as soon as he opened it for her.
Did she know what was ahead of her? Ricardo wondered. He doubted it. When Marco got into one of his crying jags then he made certain that the whole world knew that he wasn’t happy. And, as far as his father could see, a baby boy in a bad mood didn’t come with a volume control.
One thing was sure, if she hadn’t already had enough of being a mother, as she had declared in the cold-blooded note she had left behind when she’d walked out, then the next couple of hours were going to push her as far as she could go. For even the least reluctant mother, Marco’s screams could be positively the last straw.
And that was why he had finally agreed to let Lucy come back to the house with him.
If she needed any encouragement to persuade her to go, get out of his life and stay out of it for good, then the sight and sound of his baby son in a tantrum was probably the most likely thing to provide it.
Which suited him perfectly, Ricardo told himself, slanting a swift glance at the woman beside him as she fastened her seat belt and sat back. A faint cynical smile curled the corners of his mouth as he started the engine, put the car into gear and set off down the road.
This was going to be interesting.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE noise hit Lucy’s ears as soon as she stepped through the main door of the villa and into the huge tiled hallway from where the big marble staircase curved upwards towards the first floor. Even in a place the size of the Villa San Felice, the furious, distressed baby yells could be heard right through the house. And, hearing them, Lucy had a terrible fight with herself not to just forget everything that had happened, forget her ambiguous position in this house and run up the stairs as fast as she could, her arms outstretched to take her little son into them.
She had even moved part way to the foot of the staircase when Ricardo came past her, taking the steps two at a time, long legs covering the ground so fast that Lucy had to put on a burst of speed as she reached the wide landing in an attempt to catch up with him.
She only made it just in time as her husband pushed open the door to the nursery and strode inside.
‘Marco…mio figlio…’
The soft words should have been drowned out by Marco’s wails but somehow the quiet tones cut through his distress and had him pausing in the middle of his sobs to look up and see his father.
‘Marco…’ Ricardo said again, crooning the name, and immediately the baby recognised his father. The wailing paused and from his nanny’s arms Marco held out his hands.
Reaching for Ricardo, Lucy suddenly understood, knowing an appalling, terribly cruel sense of loss as she realised that she had been about to step forward. Only to recognise, painfully and belatedly, that she didn’t have the right to hold her son. Not here, not now.
And besides—wasn’t she fooling herself to imagine that there might be any chance that Marco would recognise her? She had been away from him for so long. And he had been just a tiny infant when she had left.
She had to force herself to stand back, putting her hands behind her on the wall as both a source of support and a way of keeping herself from reaching out as she watched Ricardo take on the responsibility of comforting their child.
Her heart was thudding violently, just as it had done from the moment that the call had come through that Marco was refusing to settle. Although Ricardo had made it plain that he didn’t think there
was anything more seriously wrong with Marco than a bad night and cutting some teeth, she had still found herself imagining every possible worst thing that could happen as the car had made its way down to the shore where the boat was moored.
Luckily the speedy motorboat that Ricardo used to cross the lake made the trip in a tenth of the time that it had taken her earlier that evening in the heavy old-fashioned rowing boat that was all she had been able to hire for herself. But, all the same, the short journey had seemed endless as Lucy stood at the prow of the boat, hands clenched tightly together, watching the lights of the big house coming closer, willing it to move faster—faster—so that she could be sure.
And now she was sure. Although miserable and irritable, Marco was clearly not seriously unwell. But somehow, knowing that didn’t make her feel any better. Seeing him safe in Ricardo’s arms, the tones of a familiar voice reaching to him as his sobs eased, only made everything so much worse. She couldn’t help but imagine how many other times this had happened, as the result of a banged knee or a miserable cold. How many times had Marco woken in need of a cuddle and she—his mother—hadn’t been there? The doctors had said that she should forgive herself for that, but how could she forgive what she couldn’t bear to think of?
‘Calma, tesoro,’ Ricardo soothed, pacing slowly up and down the room, the little boy in his arms. ‘Calma…’
At last the wails stopped, the sobs subsiding to a low murmur and then a snuffling silence, broken occasionally by a faint hiccup, a slightly gasping breath. A small hand came out and patted Ricardo’s cheek, gently, lovingly. Seeing the gesture, Lucy caught back a moan of longing and loss.
She would barely have recognised him. He was not the tiny, hairless little doll she had last seen but a small boy. So clearly his father’s son, with the Emiliani jet-black hair and wide dark eyes. Eyes that stared up into his father’s face with total confidence, total devotion.
Another shaft of pain ripped through her, tearing at her heart. She couldn’t hold back a small choking sound as she struggled with her distress.