His Reputation Precedes Him

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Will you marry me, Eva?’

  ‘What?’ she managed to burst out, eyes wide and disbelieving, her cheeks paling even more before colouring with a deep flush.

  Not the most encouraging reaction to his first marriage proposal—the only marriage proposal Markos intended ever making. If Eva didn’t accept him, then he couldn’t see himself ever wanting to be with anyone else.

  ‘I asked if you would become my wife,’ he replied. ‘Don’t turn it down without due consideration,’ he added quickly, when Eva seemed to be searching for the right words in answer to his proposal. No doubt a refusal that she hoped would cause the least embarrassment for both of them.

  ‘Are you serious?’ she finally managed to ask.

  He nodded tersely. ‘Think about it, Eva. I’m very wealthy. Socially acceptable—’

  ‘I’ve already been married to someone with those particular attributes,’ she reminded him huskily. ‘It was a disaster!’

  ‘I have no reason to believe I’m infertile,’ Markos continued firmly. ‘Although I’m willing to have the necessary tests to prove it, if that is what it takes to convince you to marry me.’ He grimaced. ‘Once we are married you can have as many babies as you want. One a year if you want to— Eva…?’ he prompted sharply as she sat down abruptly in one of the armchairs and buried her face in her hands. ‘Eva!’ He went down on his haunches beside her chair. ‘Do not cry, my Eva,’ he pleaded. ‘I hate it when you cry.’

  Eva didn’t doubt that for a moment. She could hear the distress in Markos’s voice, and the way his accent became more pronounced whenever he was disturbed or upset.

  But what he had just said was so unexpected, so totally beyond the realms of what she had expected him to say, that she couldn’t quite take it in.

  ‘I’m not crying, Markos.’ She gave a firm shake of her head and took her hands from in front of her face to look up at him, crouching down only inches in front of her, his expression anxious. ‘I was laughing.’

  ‘Laughing?’ he repeated incredulously as he surged abruptly to his feet. ‘I propose marriage and you laugh!’ He scowled darkly. ‘Is the idea of marrying me so amusing, then?’

  Eva sobered completely when she saw Markos’s hurt reflected in those deep green eyes. ‘No, of course it isn’t. I just— It was— I didn’t expect—’

  ‘For me to propose to you?’ he guessed. ‘If it is any consolation, it was the last thing I expected of myself when I made this move to New York just a matter of weeks ago!’

  Yes, Eva could imagine it was. She doubted that Markos had seen himself married to anyone, in his near future.

  ‘Why?’ she prompted bluntly.

  His brows rose. ‘Why am I surprised? Or why did I propose to you?’

  ‘The latter,’ Eva replied dryly.

  He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Why does any man propose marriage to a woman?’ he came back defensively.

  It was a defensive attitude that Eva knew was wholly merited when as far as Markos was concerned she had laughed at his proposal. ‘Markos, I wasn’t laughing at you just now, but at the irony of this situation,’ she told him huskily. ‘Did you mean what you said just now?’

  ‘When I proposed—?’

  ‘No, not that,’ Eva cut in firmly.

  ‘That if you married me we could have a dozen children together, if that is what you want? You really are about to cry now, Eva!’ He groaned as he saw the tears well up in her eyes. ‘I promise not to mention marriage to you again if this hysteria of emotions is the effect it has on you.’

  ‘Markos.’

  Just the husky softness of his name was enough to silence him as Eva rose determinedly to her feet, her cheeks looking hot and flushed, her eyes glowing brightly.

  ‘Markos, I couldn’t marry anyone who didn’t love me in the way I’m in love with them.’

  His breath caught in his throat. ‘You—’

  ‘In the way I’m in love with you…’

  Markos became very still, his eyes a deep and glowing emerald as he stared at her incredulously. ‘You love me…?’

  ‘So very much,’ she breathed determinedly.

  Markos blinked. ‘And after you left me yesterday I realised, at the thought of not seeing you again, how very much in love with you I am—which is why I—’

  ‘Will you marry me?’

  He gave a dazed shake of his head. ‘I do not understand. You seemed amused just now by my own marriage proposal, and now you are asking—’

  ‘Will you wait here a moment?’ she asked excitedly, before turning to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Markos called after her incredulously.

  ‘Eva, you cannot tell me you love me, allow me to tell you I love you, ask me to marry you, and then just leave the room—’

  She turned. ‘I have something I want to show you.’

  ‘Eva, now is not the time for me to look at more of your designs for my apartment!’ he told her exasperatedly, and he crossed the room in long determined strides, before taking a firm hold of the tops of her arms as he looked down at her intently. ‘I love you, Eva. I am insane with love for you. I can think of nothing else, see nothing else, but you!’

  ‘I love you in exactly the same way, Markos,’ she assured him huskily, reaching up tenderly to cup the side of his face with her hand as she looked at him with that love glowing in her eyes. ‘I’ve known how I feel about you for some weeks now—’

  ‘How many weeks?’

  Her lashes lowered at his continued incredulity. ‘Almost from the beginning, I think…’

  ‘From the beginning?’ Markos’s fingers tightened about her arms even as the love he felt for this beautiful, wonderful woman welled up strongly inside him. ‘The night we met at Senator Ashcroft’s drinks party?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not quite then.’ She looked up, her eyes alive with amusement. ‘Admittedly Donna’s lies didn’t help the situation, but I was still feeling more than a little jaundiced about the whole idea of love and marriage then. So it came as something of a surprise to me when I found myself attracted to you anyway,’ she acknowledged ruefully. ‘When I continued to fall for you a little bit more each time we met.’ She gazed steadily into his eyes. ‘I believe I fell all the way in love with you after we went to Jonathan’s party and you were so protective and caring of me.’

  ‘Before or after we made love?’ he teased gruffly.

  ‘Oh, definitely before,’ Eva answered him without hesitation. ‘Markos, there has never been anyone else for me. Not before I was married. Or in the three years since. And I don’t believe I would have made love with you that day if I hadn’t already been in love with you.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I love you so much that I just want to be with you all the time,’ she admitted softly. ‘With or without marriage.’

  ‘And I will settle for nothing less than to be married to you for the rest of our lives,’ Markos told her firmly.

  ‘Does that mean you accept my marriage proposal?’

  Markos felt the last of his tension leaving him as he grinned down at her. ‘On the understanding that you realise after accepting I will then tease you mercilessly for the next fifty years about your having been the one who proposed!’

  ‘I would expect nothing less,’ she assured him unconcernedly.

  Markos gave a triumphant laugh as he drew her fully into his arms and hugged her tightly against him. ‘I love you so very much, Evangeline Grey-soon-to-be-Lyonedes!’ he murmured huskily, and at last he claimed her mouth with his own.

  * * *

  It was a long, long time later before Eva remembered she had something else she wanted to tell Markos, to show him. The intensity and wonder of their lovemaking had wiped everything else from her mind but Markos and the joy of being in his arms.

  She looked at him almost shyly as he lay back against the pillows in her bed, holding her cradled tenderly against him in the aftermath of that lovemaking.

  ‘Markos, I have an
early wedding present I would like to give you.’

  He looked down at her indulgently, all the strain and tension now erased from his wonderfully handsome face. ‘I have no need of anything else but the love you feel for me, my darling Eva, and the love I feel for you, and the long and happy life we are going to have together,’ he assured her emphatically.

  Eva sat up beside him to kiss him lingeringly on the lips before straightening. ‘I’m hoping that you’ll love the gift I’m about to give you just as much.’

  Markos reached out to grasp one of her hands in his as she would have risen from the bed. ‘Believe me when I tell you I could never love anything or anyone as much as I love you, my Eva.’

  Her eyes glowed deeply golden with the love she felt for him. ‘Wait and see…’

  Markos lay back against the pillows, feeling his desire returning as he watched Eva get up and leave the bedroom, knowing that he would always feel this way about her.

  It had been an agonisingly long and sleepness night after he and Eva had parted so badly the evening before. A long and restless night during which Markos had realised that in just a few short weeks Eva had not only taken possession of his heart but become the centre of his world, that he loved her, would always love her, more than life itself.

  To be here with her now and know that she loved him in exactly the same way was joy beyond imagining.

  ‘Here.’

  Markos looked up uncomprehendingly as Eva sat down beside him on the bed, holding out what looked like a thermometer. ‘I do not understand—’

  ‘It’s blue, Markos!’ She glowed at him, looking heartbreakingly beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her eyes fever-bright.

  He gave a puzzled shake of his head. ‘What—?’

  ‘We’re pregnant, Markos!’ She smiled widely, joyously. ‘I hadn’t even considered the possibility until you mentioned it last night. But once I did I stopped off at a pharmacy on the way home and bought one of these instant pregnancy kits. It’s positive, Markos. We’re pregnant!’ she said again excitedly. ‘I think I was in shock last night, once I’d found out, and by the time I recovered I thought it was too late to call you. And then the hours seemed to go by so slowly until I felt it was late enough to call you this morning—but then you called me instead, and— Markos…?’ The flow of words came to a halting stop as she realised he hadn’t yet said a word in response to her announcement.

  Markos was in shock. He felt as if his heart had stopped beating, that no air could enter his lungs. His whole world had tilted on its axis before tilting back again, leaving himself, Eva and the baby—their baby!—having miraculously taken up residence in her gloriously beautiful body. Not only did he have Eva’s love, but the two of them were going to have a baby together.

  The important word being together…

  ‘You’re going to be a father, Markos,’ Eva told him excitedly, still hardly able to believe the wonder of it all herself.

  All those years of trying to have a baby, of longing for a baby, and when it had finally happened she hadn’t had a clue until Markos had put forward the possibility of it yesterday.

  Her initial shock the evening before had quickly been followed by a feeling of absolute awe. She was pregnant at last. Nestled safe inside her was the baby of the man Eva loved so much she ached with the emotion.

  ‘That’s why I was going to call you this morning. I couldn’t wait to share the wonderful news with you.’ Her excitement wavered slightly as she looked down at Markos uncertainly. ‘Markos, please say something, my darling…’

  He sat up to take her gently in his arms. ‘Thank you, my Eva,’ he murmured gruffly into the silkiness of her hair.

  ‘You’re pleased about the baby?’

  Markos pulled back slightly when he heard the uncertainty in Eva’s voice, his hands moving up to cradle each side of her face. ‘I am ecstatic about the baby,’ he assured her firmly.

  The way in which Eva had told him the news—the way in which she had said, ‘We’re pregnant, Markos!’—not I’m pregnant, but we’re pregnant—and that he was going to be a father—dear Lord, the wonder of such a thing! It told Markos more than anything else ever could have done that those plans Eva had once had to have a baby on her own, without the complication of a man in either her bed or the life of her baby, no longer existed. She had wanted to share their baby with him from the moment she knew of its existence.

  ‘I love you, Eva. I will always love you!’ His arms tightened about her with a possessiveness he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling until this moment of holding Eva and their baby in his arms.

  Eva was his.

  As Markos was hers.

  And the baby she carried was and always would be theirs to share, and love, and nurture…

  Together.

  * * * * *

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  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘YOU say it was your grandparents’ wish that their ashes be buried here, in the graveyard of the church of Santa Maria?’

  The dispassionate male voice gave away as little as the shadowed face. Its bone structure was delineated with strokes of sunlight that might have come from Leonardo’s masterly hand, revealing as they did the exact nature of the man’s cultural inheritance. Those high cheekbones, that slashing line of taut jaw, the hint of olive-toned flesh, the proud aquiline shape of his nose—all of them spoke of the mixing of genes from the invaders who had seen Sicily and sought to possess it. His ancestors had never allowed anything to stand in the way of what they wanted. And now his attention was focused on her.

  Instinctively she wanted to distance herself from him, to conceal herself from him, she recognized, and she couldn’t stop herself from stepping back from him, her ankle threatening to give way as the back of her pretty wedged shoe came up against the unseen edge of the gravestone behind her.

  ‘Take care.’

  He moved so fast that she froze, like a rabbit pinned down by the swift, deathly descent of the falcon from which his family took its name. Long, lean tanned fingers closed round her wrist as he jerked her forward, the mint-scented warmth of his breath burning against her face as he leaned nearer to deliver an admonishment.

  It was impossible for her to move. Impossible, too, for her to speak or even think. All she could do was feel—suffer beneath the lava-hot flow of emotions that had erupted inside her to spill into every sensitive nerve-ending she possessed. This was indeed torture. Torture…or torment? Her body convulsed on a violent surge of self-contempt. Torture. There was no torment in this man’s hold on her, no temptation. Nothing but self-loathing and…and indifference.

  But her whispered, ‘Let go of me,’ sounded far more like the broken cry of a helpless victim than the cool, calm command of a modern and independent woman.

  * * *

  She smelled of English roses and lavender; she looked like an archetypical Englishwoman. She had even sounded like one until he had touched her
, and she had shown him the fierce Sicilian passion and intensity that was her true heritage.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she had demanded.

  Caesar’s mouth hardened against the images her words had set free from his memory. Images and memories so sharply painful that he automatically recoiled from them. So much pain, so much damage, so much guilt for him to bear.

  So why do what he had to do now? Wasn’t that only going to increase her deserved animosity towards him, and increase his own guilt?

  Because he had no choice. Because he had to think of the greater good. Because he had to think, as he had always had to think, of his people and his duty to his family line and his name.

  The harsh reality was that there could be no true freedom for either of them. And that was his fault. In every way, all of this was his fault.

  His heart had started to pound with heavy hammer-strokes. He hadn’t built in to his calculations the possibility that he would be so aware of her, so affected by the sensual allure of her. Like Sicily’s famous volcano, she was all fire, covered at its peak by ice, and he was far more vulnerable to that than he had expected to be.

  Why? It wasn’t as though there weren’t plenty of beautiful, sensual women all too ready to share his bed—who had, in fact, shared his bed before he had been forced to recognise that the so-called pleasure of those encounters tasted of nothing other than an emptiness that left him aching for something more satisfying and meaningful. Only by then he’d had nothing he could offer the kind of woman with whom he might have been able to build such a relationship.

  He had, in effect, become a man who could not love on his own terms. A man whose duty was to follow in the footsteps of his forebears. A man on whom the future of his people depended.

  It was that duty that had been instilled into him from childhood. Even as an orphaned six-year-old, crying for his parents, he had been told how important it was that he remember his position and his duty. The people had even sent a deputation to talk to him—to remind him of what it meant to stand in his late father’s shoes. By outsiders the beliefs and customs of his people would be considered harsh, and even cruel. He was doing all he could to change things, but such changes could only be brought in slowly—especially when the most important headman of the people’s council was so vehemently opposed to new ideas, so set in his ways. However, Caesar wasn’t a boy of six any more, and he was determined that changes would be made.