One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (10 page)

Maintaining the deception with Nico's mother was fast becoming an unbearable agony. And one she had brought on herself, Carrie reflected, straightening up. She would keep her promise and meet Nico's mother as arranged. How could she not when she still had to thank Princess Laura for the loan of the beautiful gown?

Everything had changed in the space of a few hours, forcing him to examine his feelings for a woman whom he knew to be a liar, and yet who last night had worn the mantle of integrity like a shining cloak. No one could infuriate him more than Carrie; no one could soothe him as she could, either. But she had withdrawn her comforting hand, her calming presence, and had chosen to drive him away. His lips curved briefly with appreciation, remembering her show of spirit at the very moment when he had been so certain she was his. It had made him want her like never before and perhaps had enabled him to see her clearly for the first time. He had certainly seen enough to make some significant changes to his thinking. Carrie's quietness masked her determination and her indomitable will. In that he had underestimated her hugely. She might look like a delicate wildflower in comparison to the woman his grandfather had chosen for him, since Anastasia reminded him of a garish silk bloom in an undertaker's window, but Carrie was strong. If she hadn't lied to him he would have wanted more than sex from her, but how could he pursue a relationship based on deception? The fact that she was pregnant by another man was tearing him up inside, but even that wasn't enough for him to want her out of his life.

Princess Laura's tour had been so interesting and informative, and the princess herself so kind and generous with her time. Carrie felt guiltier than ever. She wanted nothing more than to tell Princess Laura the truth about her baby, but she couldn't say a word until Nico accepted his child.

Princess Anastasia's name had come up several times during the day, and Carrie had been surprised to hear Princess Laura say that she found Anastasia tiresome. It had made Carrie wonder what kind of stepmother Anastasia might make if she and Nico did decide to marry.

By forcing Nico to acknowledge his child would she be condemning her baby to the very life she so desperately wanted to protect it from? A life where her child would always fall short in Anastasia's eyes? Not to be loved was the greatest pain imaginable, and it was the last thing she wanted for the baby growing inside her.

Carrie's agitation grew to the point where she considered leaving Niroli without saying another word to Nico. She could leave a discreet note of thanks propped against the dainty clock on Princess Laura's dressing table…She could call a cab to take her to the airport, and then disappear somewhere so impenetrable that no one would ever find them…

It took a huge effort of will to banish the doubt as she had banished the weakness, but she did so by reminding herself that at some point she had to believe in Nico. She had to believe he was the man she thought he was, the man who would always protect the weak, and who would protect his children with his life.

She fixed a smile to her face as the young maid hurried back to her side with some fresh flowers that she had picked herself to pin to Carrie's dress for that evening. The young girl still believed in happily ever after and it wasn't fair to stamp on her dreams. ‘Once again you've made the perfect choice for me,' Carrie assured her. She could live the dream for one more night, couldn't she?

The simple gown was ankle-length in honey-coloured silk. It had long sleeves and was demure, yet the cut showed off her figure to best advantage. When she was dressed the maid insisted she must secure her long hair behind a simple headband and then leave it loose.

‘But I look so young,' Carrie complained. And she wasn't sure that that was such a good thing where Nico was concerned. Having taken a giant step forward in standing up to him, she didn't want him mistaking her this evening for someone who would be grateful for his guidance. But then she caught sight of the maid's expression in the mirror and knew she had disappointed her. The fact that she was wearing her hair loose wouldn't make her any less determined.

The maid smiled with relief when she agreed to the hairstyle. ‘I hope you enjoy your evening,
signorina,
' she said, having added the finishing touches.

Somehow Carrie doubted it, but she found a confident smile. ‘I'm sure I will,' she said with resolve.

T
HE MEAL HAD
dragged on for far too long. Nico's gaze lingered on Carrie's face. It shone with vitality, and with honesty, and with all the qualities that constantly challenged his opinion of her.

Sensing his interest, she turned to look at him, but almost immediately turned away again. Her chin was firm and her mouth set in a determined line. She was gaining in confidence every hour under his mother's expert tutelage, to the point where tonight she might have been the princess and Anastasia the impostor. The king was clearly enchanted by her, his mother, too, and only he remained to be convinced. And yet it pleased him to see how well she conducted herself under the most shameless barrage of patronising remarks he'd ever heard from Anastasia. The woman had no class at all. The only reason he hadn't stepped in to defend Carrie was because she had given him one of her looks, warning him to keep out of it. After that, he had to admit he had rather enjoyed watching her parry and thrust as if she had been schooled for years in repartee. She had behaved with all the dignity and restraint of a woman to be admired, a woman who knew her own mind and would defend her own corner to the last…
A woman who would defend her children with everything she had…

With a frown of impatience he looked away. Whether or not Carrie made a good mother was no concern of his.

But one thing was certain: this wasn't for him. He shifted restlessly in his gilded chair. He'd sat down long enough. The stifling restrictions at court took his mind back to his reasons for leaving Niroli in the first place. But he had no intention of leaving the island until he had settled all outstanding issues. Only then could he give the king his final answer.

Standing up, he bowed first to his grandfather and then to his mother. ‘Carrie…I believe you wanted to speak to me?'

The silence at the table was complete as Carrie, having curtsied prettily, came round the table to him. He felt a surge of triumph at her quick compliance after her rebellion the previous night, but he masked it as he murmured politely to his mother, wisely avoiding her perceptive gaze.

‘I'm glad you took the hint,' he said to Carrie, easing his shoulders as the footmen closed the doors behind them. ‘I couldn't have stood another minute of that woman's company.'

He had to be referring to Anastasia, Carrie realised, but was that a sop to her feelings, Nico's way of opening negotiations and encouraging her to lower her guard? She had no intention of lowering it, but outright conflict wasn't the way to win with Nico, so she would seize the opportunity he'd given her to talk to him in private.

As Nico matched his stride to her much shorter one Carrie thought he had never looked more handsome, or more desirable. She could feel the tension between them that had always led to passion in the past. And now she noticed a scar at one corner of his mouth. Why had she never noticed that before? What else had she missed? The scar only added to the impression of a hard man trapped in a world of cloying ceremony. But for how much longer? Did Nico seriously intend to accept the throne?

‘We'll go straight to my apartment,' he said, heading in that direction.

He had taken it for granted she would follow him. Her words last night might never have been spoken. He found it inconceivable that she could hold out against him, and believed everything was back to normal now. Why shouldn't he think that? She had left the banquet promptly at his signal, and now she could read his intentions perfectly: Nico was impatient; Nico wanted exercise, and not just to stretch his limbs or his intellect; Nico wanted sex. She was on hand, she was available, and time was wasting…

‘Well?' he said, stopping mid-stride. ‘What's wrong? Why are you holding back?'

‘I thought perhaps the library…' She glanced away from him across the hall.

‘The library?' He frowned.

‘I'd like a coffee…Or tea, if you'd prefer.' She held his gaze steadily, hardly daring to breathe.

‘I thought you wanted to talk to me in private?'

It was a code between them. His hard mouth had softened in a way that she knew so well. ‘While everyone's at dinner, the library should be empty, don't you think?' She watched a muscle work in his jaw, and knew she'd made him angry. For one nerve-wrenching moment she was sure he was going to turn on his heel and walk away from her, but then he inclined his head abruptly in a gesture that invited her to lead the way.

Her heart was pounding as she walked into the library. Resisting Nico never got any easier, but she had to stay strong or each time she weakened he would tighten his control over her, and she wanted more for her baby than a mother who provided extra services for her boss. She loved Nico with all her heart, but, however much it hurt her to admit it, it was the love of good sex that fuelled his interest in her. Plus Nico was attracted to anything different from the norm, and she was the surprise beneath the plain brown paper wrapping, the mouse no one suspected of being a tigress in his bed. She was the perfect mistress, in fact, the woman who was interested in no other man.

She would never stop loving him, Carrie accepted as the library doors closed behind them, because she loved Nico for what he could be, and not for what he was.

Their order for coffee was taken immediately. That was how Nico's life was run, Carrie reflected. His every whim was accommodated, even anticipated, and as far as he was concerned she was just another member of his staff to provide services as and when required.

While they waited he stood with his back to her, showing his disapproval of her change in manner from eagerly compliant to unpredictable. She remained perched on the edge of a leather chesterfield and didn't move until the maid returned with a tray. At that point Nico turned to say he didn't wish for them to be disturbed, and that he would ring for the tray to be removed when he was ready.

Carrie didn't wait to be asked, she poured coffee, and then offered one to Nico, which he refused.

‘I think we both know we're not here for coffee.' He was prepared to be reasonable, if only to inhale the special scent she wore. He liked it. It soothed him. It was light and delicate like the wildflower he often thought her…the wildflower that could turn into a thistle, he reminded himself impatiently.

He gave her more than enough time to say what she had to say, and he made sure to listen intently to every word. He even maintained his impassive expression when she repeated the lie, uttering the words he had been longing to hear all his adult life. She was pregnant, and, she wanted him to believe, by him.

He closed his heart to her, comforted by the knowledge that the test he was about to take would prove her a liar. Knowing it to be pointless, he had never taken a fertility test before, but he had booked one now. As a member of the ruling family he was assured absolute discretion and priority treatment.

What was wrong with Nico? Carrie wondered as his stare hardened even more. His manner had encouraged her to choose this moment to speak to him, but now she felt she had misjudged it. It was almost as if he knew something she didn't, and that it was something to her disadvantage. “The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear…” The quotation sang in her head, prompting her to say again, ‘Whatever you choose to believe, I am pregnant, and you are the father of my child.'

The doctors had been quite specific when they had told him he had been lucky to survive the childhood illness that had struck him down as a youth. The fact that he would never have children was a small price to pay for his life, they had assured him. He expected nothing from the fertility test, but as Carrie held his gaze a kernel of uncertainty crept into his thinking. To even accept the possibility he could father a child would require one of two things: a sizeable change of mind-set, or a scientific test. He'd go with science.

The knowledge that he couldn't father children had for ever been a deep-seated grief that had always prompted Nico to risk more, to fly higher, race harder, jump farther. And when his father had been killed he had seen how life could end in a moment, which had been all he had needed to keep on challenging fate in the belief that he had nothing to lose.

Until now…

If there was the smallest chance Carrie was carrying his child she must stay with him. Medical reversals were not unknown, and this was one risk he was not prepared to take.

‘I'll leave you to think it over,' she said, reclaiming his attention.

He bridled as she opened the door. Was the conversation over? He didn't recall drawing it to a conclusion. She was defying him again, perhaps to see how far she could go, but she had picked the wrong man to try these tactics on. ‘Sleep well,' he said, knowing she would toss and turn without the comfort they always brought each other.

He fully expected her to turn, to stop at the door, to relent and run back into his arms as she always did.

‘You, too, Nico…' Opening it quietly, she slipped through it like a mouse.

He didn't read the report they handed him in the hospital. Instead, he tucked it inside the pocket of his trousers, and didn't look at it again until he was miles out of town.

He had a stallion to prepare for the annual Palio race, and the horse had been only too pleased to allow him to work off his frustration. Reining in at last, he dismounted and slipped the reins over its head, allowing it to graze on the thin brown grass, which was the only nourishment to be found on the lower slopes of the mountain.

‘You'll drink later, when you've cooled down,' he promised as the stallion whinnied and nudged his arm.

The horse had scented the icy water that ran in torrents from the peaks, but he couldn't allow it to drink yet, not while it was still sweating. Bringing his face close to the velvet muzzle, he shared a breath with the beast he was sure would win the Palio. ‘Not yet, Fuoco, I'll tell you when it's safe to drink, just as I'll keep you safe in the race.'

The horse was well named—fiery both by name and by nature. He would win…if they stayed alive. The race through the old town was full of risk. It took less than two minutes, but involved fierce and dangerous competition. The cobbles were unforgiving to a horse's hooves. ‘We'll keep each other safe, Fuoco,' he murmured, and then with a confident laugh he slapped the horse's neck and moved away.

Taking the envelope out of his pocket, he found a suitably dramatic vantage point to read the single sheet of paper. Lodging his foot on a rock at the edge of a cliff, he gazed out, knowing he could drown in the glories of nature if all else failed. Right now he felt as if there were a firework display going off in his head…a firework display full of colour and possibility; the possibility of a child….

He prepared himself for disappointment. Before reading a word he balled his hand into a fist and watched the knuckles turning white. Concentration helped him to steady his breathing. He hadn't hesitated over anything in his life before, but this was different.

He could have a child. The knowledge overwhelmed him in waves, and with them came a sense of urgency such as he had never experienced before. If he was the father of Carrie's child, he wanted to be with her immediately. If her child was his then it was his to love and to protect, and there was no question of her giving him ultimatums, he would decide what they did from here.

He could hardly contain his relief when he saw her, and it took a supreme effort of will for him to hold back on what he had to say to her until lunchtime. There was no question of failure and so he had made certain preparations first. He had sent a message with one of the footmen, inviting her to eat with him on the terrace overlooking the lake. He had left nothing to chance. He wanted to surprise her, but above everything, he would control the situation.

‘I'm glad you decided to join me,' he said when she arrived on the terrace. She had made a particular effort with her appearance, which he took as a good sign. The soft colours suited her, and the casual clothes were perfect for what he had in mind. ‘Shall we take a stroll, first?' he suggested. ‘Or would you like to eat right away?'

‘I'd like to talk, Nico.' Her gaze was steady and her voice was annoyingly firm.

‘But there's something I'd like you to see…'He rose from his seat. He wasn't prepared to accept defiance.

Her answer was to dip her head in a way that might have meant yes, or no.

‘I think you're going to be surprised,' he said, waiting impatiently for her to fall into line.

‘Pleasantly, I hope?' she said, and there was a touch of humour on her mouth.

‘I hope you think so…'He heard the bite of irritation creep into his voice, and had to work to suppress it. ‘Shall we?' He offered her his arm. She declined and chose to walk alongside him…not close enough.

He took her on a leisurely tour of the palace, wondering where on earth he found the patience to do so. He was consumed by the knowledge that he could be a father. He wanted to take her into a room, shut the door, tell her the truth, and demand she follow him into the world of testing and certainty. But that was no way to gain her trust, and if he wanted a good relationship with the woman who might be carrying his child, he had to show more subtlety.