Her wretched body ached with shame, ran with heat and glistened with perspiration, making her thin cotton robe stick to her. And in the midst of her agitated, incoherent cogitations and distracted ponderings over whether to shower and dress, or whether to stay just as she was and shut herself in here with Sam for the rest of the day and refuse to see anyone, the baby woke.
Portia immediately clicked into maternal mode. Wiping her mind clear of all her troublesome thoughts, she rose to her feet, her face wreathed in tender smiles as she reached for her baby. ‘Who’s Mummy’s precious sweetheart, then?’ she breathed happily, and enfolded him in loving arms.
Sam had been bathed and fed and was lying on the thick-piled carpet in front of one of the open sitting room windows, looking completely and utterly adorable in a cute blue cotton romper. He was cooing and burbling, strenuously exercising his plump little arms and legs, and Portia was cooing and burbling back at him when Lucenzo walked in, uninvited and unannounced.
Her face turned a shameful fiery red, and all her bones started to quiver at once. How could a man this gorgeous, this powerful, and ridiculously wealthy into the bargain, have spent half the night making love to her and ended up asking her to marry him? It was the most unlikely scenario she’d ever come across!
‘Are you all right?’ His voice was as tender as she’d ever heard it. He sounded really concerned, Portia thought, dazzled by his physical perfection and shattered by the kindness of his tone.
‘I’m fine!’ she gasped strickenly. And that had to be one of the biggest lies in the history of the universe! As soon as he’d walked into the room she’d gone back to feeling stressed out, confused and muddled, yet strangely and wildly elated at the same time.
Nervously, she plucked at the edges of her gaping cotton robe—an attempt at maidenly demureness that seemed hugely hypocritical, not to mention ridiculous, after what had happened in that bed last night, she informed herself miserably.
‘Have you given some thought to what I said?’
Portia peered up at him through the hank of hair that was falling over her face, hoping it was hiding her violent blushes. In spite of looking swooningly gorgeous and elegant, in beautifully tailored cream trousers and a toning collarless shirt that deepened his tan and the darkness of his hair and heavily lashed eyes, he had sounded just a tiny bit unsure of himself.
He was probably regretting he’d ever asked her to marry him and was wondering how he could get out of it, she decided sympathetically. The elation, if that was what that strange squirmy feeling had been, drained right out of her, leaving her with everything else: the confusion, muddle and stress.
‘No,’ she muttered breathily, telling fibs again because she’d thought of little else. ‘Not yet.’
Emboldened by the way he hadn’t immediately jumped at the let-out she’d handed him on a plate by saying something like, Good, just forget I ever mentioned it, she said squeakily, ‘Just because—because of what happened, you don’t have to go as far as marrying me.’
‘Last night had nothing to do with it,’ he stated firmly, sitting in one of the armchairs, looking unfairly relaxed. It was the truth, after all. ‘It simply proved that there’s pretty strong sexual chemistry between us and that’s a bonus.’
‘Then why? Why should you suddenly want marriage?’ she asked tremulously, and found herself hoping with all her heart—quite probably insanely—that he would now tell her that he loved her and couldn’t possibly live without her.
‘Well—’ Lucenzo rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepled his fingers and placed the tips lightly against his mouth. ‘If you look at it logically you’ll see it makes sense. I married for love once; we were both twenty years old at the time. Two years later I lost her. I have never had the least inclination to fall in love again, hence my continuing unmarried state.’
He slanted her an assessing look. ‘Forget romantic clap-trap, Portia, and think about the situation. Free your mind up to see the big picture, if you can. I don’t mean to sound patronising, but you and Sam need this family’s support. Without it, from what I can see, all you can hope to do is merely survive. True, you can have our support indefinitely by simply staying on here, but in your present position you’d be in a permanent state of limbo. You have already said you find it uncomfortable enough to send you back to England and a life of waiting on tables and worrying about adequate childcare.’
Frowning at the way she seemed to be suddenly afflicted by complete dumbness, because he was sure he’d put the facts precisely and succinctly, he asked, perhaps more sharply than he’d intended, ‘Isn’t that so?’
‘Suppose so,’ she snapped back, stupidly hurt because he’d openly stated that being in love with her was the last thing he’d ever think of. ‘But you can let me worry about how Sam and I will survive,’ she muttered chokily, fighting tears as she saw a fairy-tale marriage to the man of her dreams, a man who loved her as much as she loved him, go down the drain.
‘No, Portia, I can’t do that.’ He sprang to his feet and sauntered over to where she was kneeling, her head sinking down into her shoulders. ‘I like you too much, and I respect you. Vito treated you badly and I don’t want to see you or your child suffer in consequence. As my wife you would have financial security, respect. On our marriage I would legally adopt Vittorio’s son. He would be legitimised and brought up here, as he should be. He would have every advantage,’ he stated. ‘Surely you can see the logic in that?’
‘And what would you get out of it?’ Portia asked crossly, swallowing salty tears. ‘Why tie yourself to a woman for life just because you’re sorry for her?’ She wished he’d go away and stop tormenting her. He was looming far too close. She’d got cramp in her legs, if she tried to stand up she’d fall over, and all she wanted to do was to cry her eyes out in private.
But he said, with a trace of gentle humour that made her want to cry even harder, ‘I’m not in the least sorry for you, cara. I just want to take care of you.’ And then he bent down and lifted the gurgling baby in strong capable hands, asking, ‘May I take him? Promise you’ll think carefully of what I’ve just said before you join us for breakfast on the terrace.’
And he was gone before she could draw breath to tell him it didn’t need thinking about because she’d already made up her mind.
She wouldn’t marry him. Of course she wouldn’t. No matter what he thought she wasn’t a charity case, and she refused to be treated like one.
Repeating that to herself all the while she was under the shower made her feel slightly better, in control of her life and of her emotions. She dressed in a pair of pale cream linen trousers and a dramatic red silk shirt, and finished off with high-heeled sandals that gave her much needed added height.
To tie herself to a man who couldn’t love her when she loved him to pieces would be the cruellest thing she could ever do to herself. Bed would be wonderful; there was no doubt about that. But sexual chemistry wouldn’t last if love wasn’t there to cement it, so it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Joining the others for breakfast was the last thing she wanted right now, but for some unknown reason Lucenzo had taken Sam with him, and where her baby was she had to be.
Though perhaps his reasons weren’t entirely inexplicable, she fretted as she descended the stairs. Hadn’t he said he’d adopt Vittorio’s son when they married? If they married!
Maybe he was already beginning to look on little Sam as his own. Her lower lip trembled. That would be wonderful, all she could want, if only they could form a loving family unit.
But he didn’t love her so they couldn’t. And that, Portia Makepeace, she scolded herself, is that! She might be a romantic dreamer but she did have her feet on the ground. Well, one foot maybe.
And to prove it she would tell Eduardo of her decision to leave when she saw him later this morning, she decided as she stepped out onto the sunny terrace.
A table had been set beneath the dappled shade of the old fig tree. A spa
rkling white cloth, bowls of fresh fruit, baskets of bread, jars of honey, tall pots of coffee. And there was laughter, a family warmth she could almost reach out and touch.
They were all there, even Eduardo, who for as long as she’d been here had eaten breakfast in his room. Donatella was holding Sam, her gaunt face wreathed in smiles of pleasure, while Eduardo watched with doting eyes. Even Giovanni was grinning, leaning over to tickle the chortling baby’s tummy. While Lucenzo, his back to her, watched over the proceedings.
Portia swallowed painfully and briefly closed her eyes. Like every Italian family, they adored the new arrival. Particularly in this case. Sam was all they had of the lost Vittorio.
Only her pride, her refusal to be seen as a charity case, her fear of seeing boredom in the eyes of the man she loved when, for him, the sexual chemistry he’d spoken of wore off, as it must, was about to deprive her precious baby of all this love, of his Italian heritage.
Back in England his life would be bleak by comparison. Her parents had made no secret of the fact that they resented the intrusion of a baby into their quiet, boring and rather joyless lives. And her own earning power was low so it could be ages before she could save enough to afford to rent a couple of rooms. Then there would be the question of proper childcare. She would manage it somehow, she knew that, but it would always be second best.
Could she deprive her precious son of what he deserved—the very best?
The prickling of his spine alerted Lucenzo to her presence. He turned slowly in his chair and saw her. His heart jumped and his breath came short and fast. Not because she looked so fantastic, though the scarlet of her shirt made her silvery blonde hair look even paler, the figure-moulding light coloured pants bringing back X-rated reminders of last night. And not because she looked strangely vulnerable, excluded and lost. No, not at all.
He pushed back his chair and stood up. This urgency inside him was down to needing to stake his claim before his misguided father attempted to put his own head into the matrimonial noose.
Forcing himself not to rush to her side, he made his pace leisurely. Surely she’d had enough time to recognise the practical sense of marriage to him? Or was she still thinking it over? Was that why she seemed so unwilling to join the breakfast party?
Whatever.
Reaching her side, he said, ‘Portia?’ and watched her heavy lashes flutter open.
He saw the unusual dullness of those normally sparkling grey eyes and experienced the headiest sense of satisfaction of his entire life when she told him tonelessly, ‘I will marry you, Lucenzo.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘LUCENZO, my son—you’ve made me a very proud man!’ Eduardo beamed, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Though I’m happy to say I’m not altogether surprised!’ He put down his coffee cup and held out his arms. ‘Portia, my darling girl, come and kiss your future father-in-law!’
Watching Portia move easily into his father’s embrace, Lucenzo narrowed his eyes. He’d fully expected his father to greet the announcement of his wedding plans with a look of downright pique or, at the very least, annoyance at the way his own ridiculous intention to marry the girl himself had been thwarted.
But the wily old devil was genuinely delighted and that ‘I’m happy to say I’m not altogether surprised’ said it all. Didn’t it just!
He, Lucenzo Verdi, acting head of Verdi Mercantile, had been set up! The old man must have gambled on his own unsuitable suggestion of marrying Portia for the honour of the family sending his remaining son off hotfoot to do his duty for him and keep Vittorio’s son here, where he belonged!
A smile of wry admiration curved his mouth. Even though this was the first time in his adult life that someone else had manipulated him, instead of the other way round, it was good to know the old fox hadn’t lost his cunning! And in all honesty he couldn’t regret the way he’d been goaded into making that proposal.
Being married to Portia wouldn’t be a problem. She knew the score, he’d been open about that, and she was obviously happy with it and had sensibly settled for the practical advantages of their union.
She wouldn’t demand the things he couldn’t give her—emotional commitment, protestations of undying love.
His deep involvement in business matters would keep him away on a regular basis, but that wouldn’t be a problem, either. Portia was adaptable. She’d proved that when she’d fitted in here, stealing a place in the hearts of his father and Nonna, not to mention the entire complement of staff. Even Lorna had taken to her, now looked on her as an amusing much younger sister. And she would want for nothing. So, yes, Portia would be fine.
And when he was here at the Villa Fontebella he would have the nights to look forward to. Sharing a bed with his wife would be no problem at all!
Portia extracted herself from Eduardo’s embrace and shakily took her place at the table. Lorna gave her a friendly congratulatory hug, whispering mischievously, ‘Well done, you! You’ve just landed the most eligible man in Italy!’ Which didn’t make her feel any better, but more of a hypocrite than ever, in fact.
Donatella, after gently putting Sam into Eduardo’s loving arms, gave her a stiff nod and said, her eyes stony, ‘Welcome to the family,’ then walked back into the villa.
Portia gulped a mouthful of the coffee Lucenzo had poured for her to wash down the lump in her throat. Donatella would treat her with that quelling brand of icy politeness from now on, instead of those acid barbs of hers, but she would never like her. In her eyes she would never become an accepted member of this exalted family.
But she, along with the rest of them, would love and cherish Vito’s son. And that was all that mattered, she consoled herself, hoping she didn’t look as miserable as she felt.
‘Cara,’ Lucenzo said from behind her. ‘Shall we go?’ He put his hands on her shoulders, his touch both intimate and reassuring as he excused them to his father. ‘Portia and I have much to discuss today. You will have to forgo her company this morning. But under the happy circumstances I’m sure you will forgive us.’
Beyond making any objections, because for one she couldn’t really think of any and two she’d used up the last remaining scraps of her mental energy when she’d decided she had to accept Lucenzo for her son’s sake, Portia mutely shadowed her brand-new fiancé as he took Sam to Assunta’s safekeeping. He instructed Ugo to see Eduardo back to his room and wait with him until the physiotherapist arrived, then ushered her to the rear of the villa, to the garage complex and handed her into an open-topped sports car.
‘Where are we going?’ she enquired in a small voice. She quivered as heat ignited inside her—his hand had accidentally brushed against her breasts as he leant over to fasten her seatbelt. This agonising awareness of him had been her undoing almost from the first time she’d set eyes on him, she mourned. Without her being fully conscious of how it was happening it had led her to this unreal situation, as the promised wife of a man who had made no bones about telling her he didn’t love her.
‘Out,’ Lucenzo replied laconically. He glanced at her, his dark brows lowering. There were smudges of fatigue around her eyes, and beneath the soft golden tan she’d acquired while she’d been here in Italy there was a pallor that concerned him. He hoped she wasn’t already regretting her decision. ‘We need to grab some relaxation before we get swamped in wedding arrangements.’
He turned the ignition key and the engine growled to life. Portia said ‘Oh’ in a small die-away voice. Another glancing sideways look took in her slumped shoulders, the down-curve of her soft mouth, the limp hands lying loosely on her lap.
She was simply tired, that was all, Lucenzo concluded, his spirits lifting with a surge of relief that took him by surprise.
Of course she wouldn’t be regretting her decision. Why should she? It was eminently sensible for all concerned. She’d probably slept as little as he had last night. The recollection of just why neither of them had spent much time sleeping overwhelmed him with a sensation that was entirely primitive
male.
When he’d collected himself enough to speak he told her, ‘We’ll stop off in the village and I’ll show you the church where we’ll be married.’ His voice sounded strangely thick and husky. He swallowed. ‘Then we’ll head for the hills.’
The short drive through the steep, winding roads brought them to the village, perched high above the valley, and to Portia its fairy-tale quality reinforced the feeling that she was living in a dream, one there would be no waking from.
Lucenzo took her hand and she clutched it gratefully. At least he was solid and real, and her fingers tightened round his as they wandered into the square. It was surrounded by little red-roofed houses and narrow medieval streets. Geraniums spilled from window boxes and the tiny gardens overflowed with courgettes and tomatoes ripening in the hot sun.
Avoiding the ducks and chickens wandering about the square, Lucenzo led her into the church, which was small and austerely beautiful.
‘Tomorrow I will start making all the necessary arrangements for our wedding,’ Lucenzo imparted unemotionally, glancing down at her when she shivered convulsively. ‘You are cold?’
‘No.’ It was cool in the church, but pleasantly so. Her eyes fixed on the carved pulpit, she asked quietly, verbalising the thought that had chilled her, ‘Were you married here—before?’ She pulled her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around her body.
There was a slow beat of silence, while Portia battled with an emotion she couldn’t put a name to, then Lucenzo said, ‘No. Flavia was Venetian. She was married from her home.’ He cupped her chin in one hand, forcing her to meet his eyes, and asked gently, ‘Is it important?’
‘No, of course not. I just wondered.’ Portia’s lashes lowered heavily. She couldn’t look at him while telling lies. Her own eyes might reveal the truth: that it mattered very much indeed.
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