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It wasn't that easy. He couldn't let her go. The woman who might be the mother of his child. Unthinkable! He'd give her a chance to calm down and then he'd go to her and make her see reason. ‘Take your time to think about what I said,' he called after her as she left the room.

He couldn't be sure she heard him, and stood motionless until he could no longer hear the report of her angry feet on the stone steps. He took one last look around at the offer she'd rejected and then he followed her down.

It irritated him to know she was right about many things. How had he ever thought her a mouse? She had more character than he knew. He mustn't rush this. He'd take a stroll around the grounds to give her time to come to her senses. Staying with him was a big decision, but she'd come round to it.

He loved having Carrie around, Nico reflected as he strolled across the lawn. Being with her was a real roller-coaster ride but even now he found himself looking for her in her favourite spot by the lake. He felt alive when he was with her, and even his days as an adrenalin junkie seemed numbered with Carrie who was enough adrenalin for anyone.

And she was having his baby.

The rush that hit him was the best he'd ever known. He didn't need the test to be sure. She was the only woman he had ever wanted; she was the only mother he wanted for his child. The mother of his child would be brave and have spirit like Carrie. He would do anything it took to make her see his point of view, and if that meant renouncing the throne of Niroli, then he'd do that, too.

S
EALING
the envelope, Carrie got up from her dainty seat at the delicately carved escritoire by the window in her sitting room to ring the bell. When the footman arrived she handed the letter to him. ‘Would you be kind enough to deliver this to Princess Laura for me, please?'

‘Certainly,
Signorina
Evans.' With a dip of his head the footman went swiftly about his duty.

As Carrie took a last look around she knew she would never forget these few days in Niroli, or the kindness she had been shown. She was sad to be leaving, and knew how lucky she was to have been invited to stay in a palace, and luckier still to have made a friend like Princess Laura.

The note she had written to Nico's mother was the coward's way out, but she couldn't risk the princess trying to persuade her to stay. After a bout of morning sickness Princess Laura had guessed she was pregnant, though as yet, she didn't know who the father was. She had to leave Niroli before Princess Laura discovered the truth. Things had reached such a pitch with Nico she had no alternative. She had to go before Princess Laura found out and decided to take up her case with him, or, worse still, concluded she was nothing but a conniving trickster who had wormed her way into her affections for the sole purpose of engaging the support of a powerful ally.

She wouldn't risk losing the friendship of a woman she had come to admire, Carrie thought as she locked the catches on her suitcase. The best way forward for her was to seek legal advice in England. She had wasted enough time on some schoolgirl notion that Nico was entitled to know about his baby. Nico had forfeited his right with his suggestion of a marriage of convenience. She had to go home and get on with her life. All that remained was to wait for the taxi to take her to the airport and her time in Niroli would be over.

‘Under what circumstances did Ms Evans leave the palace?' Nico was seething with rage as he towered over the royal attendant. ‘Why wasn't I informed of her departure immediately?' He bit down on the rest of the questions thundering in his brain. He had always believed hectoring servants to be the mark of a bully. And if the man had known, it was more than his job was worth to pass on below-stairs gossip. ‘Never mind,' he said crisply.

Closing the door, he leaned against it and exhaled heavily. Having failed to contact Carrie by telephone, he had visited her apartment only to find it empty. He had searched the grounds and the palace, and even the old town, finally bringing himself to confront his mother who had refused to see him and had sent her manservant to tell him that thanks to him Carrie had flown home to London.

Flown home to London? London was a big place, and, as far as he knew, she didn't have a home to go to.

Crossing the room, he picked up the phone. It wasn't in his nature to chase after something, or someone in this case, without proper preparation. In this instance the only preparation he needed to make was one call to Airport Security to have Carrie stopped at the departure gate.

It should have been simple, but he was stopped by a phone call from the king's office. His grandfather wanted to see him at once. ‘The king will have to wait.' He ignored the gasp of astonishment on the other end of the line, though he softened his refusal with a brief apology. And then his mother rang, begging him not to throw away his one chance of happiness.

What chance of happiness? He stamped down hard on the accelerator pedal of his sleek grey Aston Martin. Only he knew what it took to make him happy, and so far everyone in Niroli had gotten it spectacularly wrong. It wasn't the throne of Niroli, or an advantageous marriage to Anastasia. It was Carrie, Carrie Evans, his mouse.

Before leaving the palace he had written a formal letter renouncing all claim to the throne of Niroli. He had claimed exemption through one of the ancient rules: ‘No member of the royal house may be joined in marriage without previous consent and approval of the ruler. Any marriage concluded against this rule implies exclusion from the house, deprivation of honour and privileges'. He was going to marry Carrie for love, not convenience, and she meant more to him than some arcane hokum. Carrie had shown him an alternative way to live his life. His answer had been to throw the opportunity she had given him back in her face. And now he had to catch the London flight before it left or risk losing her for good.

He was too late. He couldn't have put his feelings into words if he had tried. Gazing at the empty sky, he couldn't even find a vapour trail to track her journey back to London. He had no idea where she was heading, and she hadn't left a forwarding address.

Because she had none, Nico reminded himself, already concerned about Carrie's welfare. Turning from the wall of windows, he vented his frustration with a vicious curse.

She had been staying in a modest guest-house until she found a suitable apartment to rent. It had taken her less than a week. She knew the small mansion flat was the right one for her the moment she walked outside onto the glazed balcony.

‘I'll take it,' she said without hesitation, oblivious to the chaos left by the previous tenant. With the small bequest from her parents she could afford the three months' deposit—as well as a bag of cleaning products.

And this wasn't a tainted dream like the studio in the turret; this was happy reality, which she had made happen. Not that it was enough to keep the sadness at bay. But as she stared at her paint-smudged reflection in the mirror she knew she should be thankful that she could pay for every inch of space and every pot of paint herself. She had done with office suits and crisp white blouses. She had done with standing in line waiting for Nico to notice her, or to come up with any more cold-blooded schemes. She had her life back, and very soon there would be another life to consider. But it still hurt when she thought about Nico Fierezza, and perhaps it always would.

Digging deep in the pocket of her jeans, Carrie found her paint rag, but mopping her eyes made her feel worse. With a gust of frustration she flung the rag on the floor. It was time to toughen up, and if just thinking about Nico made her cry and she thought about him all the time, she wouldn't think of him at all.

Until the next time.

She had avoided all newspapers like the plague, and she didn't have a clue what was happening in Niroli. Maybe Nico was engaged to Princess Anastasia by now. Now that he had proof he could father an heir, what was stopping him? He didn't have to resort to blackmail to keep Anastasia at his side, she was sure.

To avoid all complication she had cut herself off from her old life. She hadn't even given her new telephone number or address to Sonia at the office. Maybe she would one day, but not yet; there didn't seem any point. This wasn't just a few days out for her to lick her wounds; this was a new life. It was the only way she could think of to keep her baby safe.

Without Nico to organise security Carrie had come to the conclusion that the only way to ensure her baby's safety was to disassociate herself in every way from the richest royal family in the world. The decision to live in London wasn't ideal, but it had occurred to her that sometimes the best way to hide was in a crowd, and with all the galleries and offices she reasoned she'd have a better chance of earning a living in London than anywhere else.

The one thing that had turned out better than she had hoped was that her first paintings, created in a fever of heartbreak, had attracted more attention than she had dared to hope. Her preliminary sketches, along with the first painting she had completed, had received a favourable response from one of the smaller London galleries and now she was working on a collection for them, which she hoped to have finished before the busy Christmas-shopping season began.

She was an artist, a professional artist. It was all she had ever wanted.

Almost all…

Not nearly all…

Shaking herself out of it, Carrie picked up her palette knife and angled her head to view her latest creation. It showed purple and cerise bougainvilleas spilling down the palace walls…She had to grit her teeth to try and block out Nico and, still, it didn't work. There he was smack bang in the centre of her work. He was everything and everywhere; he always would be.

She painted on, finding a relief of sorts as she always did. She became absorbed and was oblivious to the thunder rolling overhead until the dark clouds gathering in sullen force stole her light away. Frowning, she stepped back from the canvas. Staring up at the gloomy sky, she concluded the weather wasn't about to improve anytime soon. Which meant it was as good an opportunity as any to replenish her paints. She worked so fast they ran out all the time….

Carrie didn't turn as the bell rang over the door of the small arts-and-craft shop. Why should she? She didn't know anyone in this part of London and no one knew her….

But there was something different in the air as the sound of the bell faded into silence. Something had changed, something fundamental, something that made all the tiny hairs rise on the back of her neck. And then she detected a strand of familiar scent on the musty air and, inhaling deeply, she let out the breath on a ragged sigh.

‘Carrie?'

Clutching the countertop for support, she slowly turned around. ‘How…' Her voice faded before she could say anything else. It must have been Nico's strength reaching out to her that stopped her sliding to the floor. He was dripping wet from the rain and had his collar turned up. He needed a shave and his jeans were soaked through. He looked exhausted, but…

‘At last.' He gave her one of his crooked half-mocking smiles, stuffing the photograph he was carrying back in his pocket.

‘How did you find me?' She felt as if she were suspended in a net above the action, watching it, not taking part in it. She wanted to pinch herself to prove she wasn't dreaming, but didn't dare to move in case he disappeared.

‘Your painting…' He sighed, exhaling long and slow with relief.

His voice strummed a long lost chord deep inside her that made her want to laugh and cry all at the same time.

His eyes were bright with triumph, with humour, and with something more she refused to see. ‘But there are dozens of art shops in London….'

‘Hundreds,' Nico assured her softly.

Carrie paid over her money in a trance. Nothing seemed real. Even taking hold of the bag with the tubes of paint and a bottle of linseed oil inside assumed a surreal quality.

‘Let me take that for you—'

‘No.' As Nico reached out to help her she clutched the paper bag to her chest. ‘No, thank you, I can manage…' Manage? She could hardly exist in this strange situation. She wanted to get out of the shop and feel the rain on her face and still see Nico. Then she might believe he was here. His eyes were as bright as steel as he looked down at her, but it was impossible to read his thoughts. She could feel his aura…She could feel the energy coming off him and wrapping round her. She had to fight through it to get her own thoughts in order. Was he genuinely pleased to see her, or was it just the end of the chase? He had tried to blackmail her and she had eluded him. He hadn't changed that much. Nico would never let that pass…

And she didn't want any more pain in her life. That was her overriding feeling as they walked out of the shop. She couldn't go back to the constant humiliation and uncertainty. She didn't want to go back into a one-sided relationship. But neither could she bear to lose Nico again, Carrie thought, glancing up at him.

But what if his agenda hadn't changed? What if he still thought she was malleable and would do anything he asked…anything he ordered? But she couldn't keep running for ever. She wanted a happy life for her baby, and that meant a life with stability. She was going to settle down and call some place home, even if that home was a tiny apartment….

And then Nico sneezed, presenting her with a more immediate problem. ‘You'd better come back to my place and dry off before you catch pneumonia.' Aware of how this might sound to him, she quickly modified, ‘Or we could have a hot coffee somewhere?' But her cheeks were already on fire, giving away how much she loved him, how much she'd missed him, how much she cared for him.

‘Good thinking,' he said lightly.

Crossing the road, he steered her towards the restaurant district where she took him to a local café, thinking the noise and bustle would cover any awkward silences between them. Beneath her excitement she was still wary, still vulnerable and she was frightened to read too much into his visit. Yes, he had gone to a lot of trouble finding her, but that didn't mean that Nico had suddenly developed a caring side to his nature. Nico simply couldn't accept defeat.

Buying two coffees for them, he secured seats by the window.

‘I need you to come back to Niroli with me, Carrie.'

She was stunned. She couldn't believe Nico had launched straight in with that. He was acting as if they had never been apart. She was equally decisive with her answer. She told him no.

His gaze held hers. How could she have forgotten what it was like to be up against Nico's will when his engines were running on maximum revs? ‘You tried to blackmail me into staying with you,' she reminded him. ‘You can't do that, Nico, and you can't force me to come with you now.'