The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House of Cacciatore 2)

‘So it is a modern relationship?’ he continued softly. ‘You are simply lovers?’

She would certainly never have described them as ‘simple’, yet couldn’t help the smile which broke out briefly, like the sun through watery clouds. ‘Indeed we are.’

There was another brief silence, and then he said, so casually that it might have been a careless throw-away remark had it not been for the questioning glitter of his dark eyes, ‘And you do not hold out some hope that one day you will become a Princess of Mardivino?’

Lucy was stung by the slur, which implied that she was socially ambitious, that she had no feelings for Guido himself—and, God knows, she did. Even though a deep, self-protective streak had made her do her best to quash them. Yet her own feelings paled into insignificance beside the realisation of just how stifling Royal life could be. No wonder Guido had rejected it!

Her words came blurting out before she had time to think of the consequences. ‘No, I do not, as it happens!’ she retorted. ‘But if I loved him, then nothing you could say would stop me from wanting him—no matter how “unsuitable” a partner you might deem me to be!’

A wry smile brushed the corners of his hard mouth, a combination of admiration and relief, and Lucy realised that she had given him exactly the answer he wanted. She had made it clear that they were indeed just lovers—and that Guido had no desire nor intention to make their relationship anything more than that. Gianferro could now see that she presented no danger. No threat. No wonder all the tension had left his hard, lean body.

‘Good,’ he said quietly. ‘I am glad that we understand each other.’

He rose to his feet, gesturing for her to follow suit, and Lucy found herself wondering fleetingly what it must be like always to orchestrate each and every situation. To decide when to stand, to sit, to talk or not to talk. Did the burden of it all become too much sometimes, even for him? Was that why his almost cruel mouth so rarely smiled?

‘Yes, your Serene Highness,’ she said calmly.

He nodded, as if in acknowledgement of her curtsey. ‘There is a member of staff waiting outside to conduct you to the infant Prince now.’

She bobbed him another curtsey and left the room, to follow a silent servant down one of the long, wide corridors, feeling like a tiny tadpole who had just been thrown into shark-infested waters. Was this what went on behind the Palace doors, then? Behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing?

It is what it is, she told herself—and someone like you isn’t going to be able to change it.

Her troubled thoughts flew straight out of her head when she was ushered into the Palace Nursery. The sight which greeted her made her heart turn over with a wistful kind of longing.

She barely noticed Guido’s younger brother, nor the tawny-haired woman who was standing beside him. All she could see was Guido—her casual lover, she thought with an unwelcome pang—cradling the baby in his arms.

There was always something sweet about men who were unused to babies having to deal with them—although ‘sweet’ wasn’t a word which would automatically sit comfortably with a man as overtly masculine as Guido.

But sweet he looked. Whatever she had seen him do, it had always looked utterly effortless and accomplished, but as he tentatively held the infant she surprised a bleak, almost anguished look in h

is eyes. Was that a need for reassurance, perhaps? Because he was unused to holding such a precious bundle and needed to know that he was doing it properly?

The tawny-haired woman beamed at him. ‘Why, Guido, you’re doing just fine!’ she exclaimed, in an accent which surprised Lucy as being not unlike her own. But then, Prince Nicolo had defied convention and married an English girl.

Lucy saw Guido tense before she moved forward. They all looked up, but everything seemed to melt away into the background, for all she was aware of was the ebony eyes which were dazzling her with their dark fire.

‘It’s Lucy,’ Guido said, in a tone she didn’t quite understand. ‘Back from her cosy little chat with Gianferro!’

Was he angry that she had insisted on facing Gianferro on her own? And was that less from a sense of wanting to protect her and more from the fact that he liked to be in control?

Putting her troubled thoughts aside, she smiled as she approached him. ‘What a beautiful baby,’ she said softly, and tentatively touched the delicate silk of his little dark head.

The woman might be a princess, but first and foremost she was a mother, and she beamed at Lucy with fierce maternal pride.

‘Isn’t he?’ she cooed, her mouth breaking into an infectious smile as she held her hand out. ‘And you must be Lucy. I’m Ella, and this is my husband, Nico.’

Nico—or Prince Nicolo Louis Fantone Cacciatore, to be more precise—was younger than Guido, but with the same lean, muscular body, black hair and dark, golden good looks. Both men were heart-stoppingly handsome, but Nico’s face was softer than his brother’s—and you could see a certain air of serenity as he looked at his wife and his son, an inner glow which only added to his masculinity instead of detracting from it.

That’s love, thought Lucy—not lust. And a cloud passed over her heart.

‘Enchanté,’ he murmured, and raised Lucy’s hand to his lips in a gesture which managed to be both courteous and gloriously old-fashioned at the same time. Then he turned to his brother, with mischief in his black eyes. ‘A woman who is both brave as well as beautiful, no doubt?’

‘Brave?’ questioned Lucy, with a frown.

‘You will have needed all the courage in the world to deal with my eldest brother,’ teased Nico.

‘How was Gianferro?’ drawled Guido.