The man she loved.
Enough to marry him? Enough to forget the aversion to the commitment of marriage that Philip had so forcefully instilled in her? Enough to entrust her love, the rest of her life, into Niccolo’s hands?
God, yes!
Loving Niccolo and knowing that he loved her in return, wiped away any doubts she might have had about marrying again. Because, she realised wonderingly, loving Niccolo, knowing that he loved her, made her strong, not vulnerable.
Niccolo clasped one of her hands tightly in his. ‘I will never allow anyone to harm you ever again, Daniella,’ he vowed passionately. ‘Not Philip Maddox. And certainly not your grandfather,’ he added grimly.
Dani felt some of the tension of the last few minutes leave her as she looked ruefully at Niccolo. ‘What did you say to him just now?’ she asked.
Niccolo shrugged. ‘I merely explained that I was thinking of setting up my own stables and going into the horse-training business, and that Jeffrey would be the perfect partner for that business. A move that would, of course, necessitate Beatrice and Jeffrey moving from Wiverley Hall to the more modern facilities I intend purchasing. I explained how sorry I was that this would mean he would lose his unpaid housekeeper as well as a source of income, but that I believed the move to be necessary for the happiness of my future wife.’
‘It is,’ Dani assured him happily.
‘I also informed him, without telling him that you are already pregnant, that it is our intention for any children you may or may not have in the future to be D’Alessandros and not Bells. It is our intention, is it not…?’ Niccolo prompted, suddenly touchingly uncertain.
‘It most definitely is,’ she breathed shakily, her fingers tightening about his. ‘But—Niccolo, earlier in the car, when I told you about my grandfather’s will, I thought you were angry with me because you believed I had deliberately set out to become pregnant by you.’
‘The anger I felt at that time was directed solely towards your grandfather, for threatening you and your parents in this despotic manner,’ he corrected with an impatient shake of his head. ‘No man has the right—and especially not a father and a grandfather—to use emotional and financial blackmail in that way.’ He raised one dark eyebrow. ‘If it is any consolation, I do not believe, once your grandfather has thought the situation through, that he will carry out any of his threats.’
Dani had a feeling that Niccolo would turn out to be right—that her grandfather really had no wish to end up alone and lonely at Wiverley Hall.
Just as she appreciated that it was Niccolo, in his desire to protect her and all she loved, who had made all this possible…
Because he loved her.
Niccolo loved her!
She swallowed hard. ‘You can go down on one knee and propose now, Niccolo,’ she encouraged throatily.
Niccolo looked at her intently and saw the slight flush on her cheeks, the smiling curve to her lips, the warm glow in her eyes.
He moved down onto one knee, her hand held tightly in his. ‘Daniella, I love you. I will always love you, and only you, with all of my heart. You are the woman I adore, the body I worship—that I will desire even when you are big with our child,’ he added teasingly. ‘Will you please marry me and so make me the happiest of men?’
Dani heard every wonderful word of his proposal, cherished every syllable. ‘Niccolo,’ she began shakily, ‘I love you. I will always love you, and only you, with all of my heart. You are the man I adore…’ her voice strengthened as she echoed his words ‘…the body I worship—that I will desire even when I am big with our child,’ she added ruefully. ‘Yes, I will marry you—and gladly make you the happiest of men, as it will make me the happiest of women to be your wife!’
‘Daniella…’ Niccolo groaned even as he reached up to take her in his arms and claim the warm invitation of her lips with his own.
She was finally his!
And she would remain his for all time, to be loved and adored as she so deserved to be loved and adored. And he knew Daniella would love and adore him in return.
Niccolo asked for no greater happiness….
EPILOGUE
THEY were married only three weeks later, in a wedding—despite the speed with which it had been organised—that was every bit as beautiful as Eleni’s had been the previous year.
All of the D’Alessandro family was present, with Eleni herself beaming proudly at Dani and Niccolo throughout the service as she watched her beloved older brother marry her beloved best friend.
All the Bell family were there too. Dani’s happily proud parents. Her grandfather too. Even if he was a little more subdued these days than he’d used to be.
But Dani had no doubt that he would soon bounce back to his normal obnoxious self. Once he got over the fact that his new grandson-in-law could buy him out a hundred times over, and was a man who wouldn’t allow anyone to bully or threaten the people he loved—namely Dani and her parents.
And during the months following the wedding, after Dani moved to Venice to live with Niccolo and the two of them eagerly anticipated the birth of their child, Dani knew herself to be very much loved and adored. Their love for each other became deeper and stronger as the two of them came to know each other more intimately.
Seven months later Niccolo cried unashamed tears of pride and happiness, with Dani’s hand tightly clenched in his, when their daughter, Sofia Beatrice D’Alessandro, entered the world and claimed their hearts.
A child created by their love.
A cherished and beloved daughter who would one day be joined by two younger brothers: Daniele Niccolo D’Alessandro and Pietro Cesare D’Alessandro.
The D’Alessandro heirs….
KEPT FOR HER BABY
KATE WALKER
~ DARK NIGHTS WITH A BILLIONAIRE ~
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE heat of the day was fading from the atmosphere and the warm air was slowly beginning to cool. The shadows of evening had started to gather as Lucy carefully brought the small, scruffy rowing boat up to the beach where the edge of the tiny island sloped down to the lake and jumped out.
The cool shallow water swirled around her bare feet, coming up ankle deep, just below the rolled up cuffs of her blue cargo pants, as she tugged the small craft onto the shore, biting her lip as she heard the raw, scraping sound its hull made in the sand.
Would anyone hear that? She couldn’t afford to be caught now, still too far away from the house to achieve her aim. If one of the small army of security guards that Ricardo employed had heard the noise and came to investigate then she was lost before she had even started. She would be escorted off the island, taken back on to the Italian mainland and dumped back into the tiny, shabby boarding house which was the only place she could afford to stay this week.
This vital, desperately important week.
If she managed stay in Italy at all. Once Ricardo knew she was back he was far more likely to decide that he wanted her out of the country as well. Out of Italy and out of his life for good. Just as he had believed that she was already.
‘Oh, help.’
Realising that she was holding her breath, she let it go again on a raw, despondent sigh, pushing a hand through the tumbled blonde hair that had escaped from the band she had fastened it back with as her clouded blue eyes flicked rapidly, urgently from side to side, trying to see if she could spot anyone approaching. If someone had been alerted by the sound of the boat on the sand then surely they should be here by now?
It had to be safe to move. Dipping into the boat
, she snatched up her canvas shoes, carrying them to the edge of the beach before she sank down onto the grass to dust off her feet and pull on the footwear.
She wished she could pull the rowing boat up further on the shore. Perhaps even cover it with leaves or branches so that it was more fully concealed from view. But she didn’t have the strength to move it any further and the impatient, nervous thudding of her heart urged her to take other action, move on quickly.
Now that she was here, she really couldn’t delay any more. She’d waited and planned for this so long, making careful preparations, and she couldn’t do so any longer. From the moment that her letter to Ricardo had been returned to her unopened, she had known that this was her only way. She had to take matters into her own hands and do the only thing possible.
She’d tried the polite way, the civilised way and had been firmly rebuffed. She’d tried to appeal to Ricardo’s better nature but it seemed that he didn’t have one—at least not as far as she was concerned.
And so she’d been forced to come here like this, in secret. Like a thief in the night she had come back to the island in the gathering dusk, finding her way to the one spot where she knew that, tight as Ricardo’s security was, it was just possible to sneak up close when hidden behind some bushes that overhung the lake. Paddling rather than rowing so as to be as silent as she could, she’d managed to get onto the shore without being spotted and now she could only hope that her luck would hold as she made her way to the house.
Pausing under the shady protection of a big cypress tree, Lucy found that she was blinking back bitter tears as she stared up at the huge neo-Gothic villa that rose up before her at the top of the lushly green sloping gardens. Carefully shaped terraces with ornate stone balustrades linked by flights of steps led up to the sprawling white-painted building that had once been a monastery and then later a palace.
The glass in the Gothic windows reflected the glow of the setting sun, and in the south western corner a tall tower rose, crowned by battlements sculpted in stone with floral decorations. From those windows in the Villa San Felice she knew you could look out across the calm blue waters of Lake Garda and see the provinces of Verona to the south-east, and Brescia to the west. Directly opposite was San Felice del Benaco, which gave both the island and the villa its name.
This amazing place, this fantastic house had once been her home.
But it was her home no longer. Not for many months now. And it hadn’t ever felt like home in all the time she’d lived there…
Lucy shivered in spite of the mildness of the evening as memories assailed her. Distress made her skin prickle with cold goose bumps and she shuddered at the images that passed through her thoughts, reminding her of how it had once felt to be here. To live here and yet never feel that she belonged.
‘I can’t do this!’ she muttered aloud to herself. ‘I can’t go through with it. Can’t face…’
Abruptly she shook her head, fighting to drive away the unhappy thoughts. She had to face things, had to go through with it. Because inside that villa, as well as the terrible memories of some of the worst months of her life, there was also the one thing that mattered most to her in the world. The one thing that made her life now worth living.
Her feet followed the indistinct path with the ease of instinct built up in her time living on San Felice. She found the small gate into the private gardens in the same way, easing it open carefully and wincing in distress as the weathered wood creaked betrayingly.
‘Please don’t let anyone come,’ she prayed under her breath as she dashed across the soft grass and into the concealment of the lush shrubbery that grew beside the lowest level of the stone paved terraces.
‘Please don’t let anyone see me.’
She had barely hidden herself again when she heard the sound of a door opening above her. The patio doors that led from the big sitting room, she recalled. The same doors through which she had made her escape not quite seven months before when she had fled this house, not daring to look back, terrified of what might happen if someone realised what she was planning and stopped her.
‘Buona sera…’
The voice from inside the house floated down to her, making her heart stop dead in her chest so that she gasped in shock. A moment later it had kick-started into action again, setting her pulse racing.
Ricardo.
She recognised that voice instantly; would know it anywhere. Only one man possessed those dark, sultry tones or had that slightly husky note in every word he spoke.
How many times had she heard him speak her name in so many different ways? In amusement, in scorn, in anger. And yet, at other times—times she could no longer bear to remember—she had heard him speak to her in burning ardour, taking the simple ordinariness of her name and turning it into magic as he called her his Lucia, his delight, his passion…
...His wife.
Her heart flinched away from the memory of that word and the way that Ricardo Emiliani had once used it with a note of pride—or so she had thought at the time.
‘My wife,’ he had said as he took her hand to lead her away from the altar where the priest had just declared that they were married. ‘Mia moglie.’
And for a time she had gloried in the title. She had let herself enjoy being called Signora Emiliani. She had buried the doubts that assailed her deep under the cloak of happiness that shielded her from reality. She had smiled until her jaw ached and she had played the role of the happy young bride who had all that she could dream of.
When all the time, deep down inside, she had known the truth—the only reason why Ricardo had married her in the first place.
And love had had nothing to do with it.
‘If you hear anything more, then let me know…’
The once-loved voice came again, startling her because it spoke in English and not his first language of Italian.
So who was he talking to in English? And why?
A nervous shiver ran down Lucy’s spine as the sudden thought struck her that perhaps she might have made a fatal mistake in coming out of hiding and getting back in touch with Ricardo after so long. By writing to him, however desperate her need, she had let him know where she was. And Ricardo, being the hugely wealthy, hugely powerful man that he was, would have no difficulty in using that information to find out more. He had only to click his fingers and he had an army of men at his disposal—private detectives, investigators, ready to do anything needed to find out more, to track her down and…
And what?
What would the man who in one last dreadful row had declared to her face that marrying her had been the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life do once he found out where she was?
‘I want to see this matter sorted out and finished with.’
‘I’ll get on to it right away. The contracts will be ready for you to sign tomorrow.’
Somehow it was the other man’s voice that brought her back to reality with such a bump that she almost laughed out loud, only just catching herself in time before she gave herself away.
Who was she trying to kid? Why would Ricardo want anything to do with her? He had let her go without a second thought, hadn’t he? No one had come after her to try and drag her back to this house and all she had left behind in it. And hadn’t the message of the letter returned to her been loud and clear?
Contracts and signing—of course. What else would be on Ricardo’s mind other than his huge luxury car business?
Ricardo Emiliani wanted nothing to do with her. He would never forgive her for what she had done, so now he was glad that she was out of his life and he wanted it to stay that way. She was a fool if she allowed herself even to dream that it could be anything else.
She shrank back into the shadowed space between the shrubs and the stone wall of the terrace as slow, heavy footsteps brought Ricardo down the last flight of steps and into the garden. Watching him stroll away from her, Lucy felt as if something or someone had suddenly punched her hard in the che
st, driving all the breath from her body and making her heart jump painfully in her throat.
Even from behind like this, he still had such a potent physical impact that it made her freeze and just stare, unable to look away.
He had been walking away from her when she had first seen him. So the first impression she had had been of that proud, black-haired head, held so arrogantly high on a strong, deeply tanned neck. Her eyes had been drawn to those broad, straight shoulders, the powerful length of his back sweeping down to narrow hips and long, long legs. Then, as now, he had been wearing denim jeans so worn and tight that they had clung to his powerful thighs like a second skin. But that day on the beach, two years before, he had been wearing no shirt, nothing to conceal the bronzed skin of his torso, stretched tight across honed muscles that flexed and tightened with every movement, making her mouth dry in sensual response as she’d watched. He’d been barefoot too, seeming nothing but the casual holidaymaker she was herself, his appearance giving no sign of the wealthy, powerful man he really was.
She had been halfway in love with him before she had found out the truth.
Today he wore a white polo shirt, untucked at the waist and hanging loose. But she knew what was under that shirt. She had let her hands slide underneath his clothing so many times, stroking hungry fingers over the warm satin of his skin, feeling his shuddering tension as he responded to her provocative caress. She had closed her palms over the tight muscles of his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh in yearning hunger as she had ridden his passion hard and hot until it had taken her right over the edge into ecstasy.
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