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

He surveyed her with a small sigh of satisfaction—for her heart was deep and generous. With each day that passed his regard for her as a woman increased, and sometimes he wondered what he had ever done to deserve such a woman as this.

‘No, my love,’ he answered simply. ‘We cannot. For one day Gianferro will be King, and Kings must always reign alone.’

Lucy’s heart melted. ‘How lonely it must be.’

‘Inevitably.’

‘And he doesn’t even have a wife—nor any sign of one!’

Guido’s eyes narrowed. ‘That, of course, is an entirely different concern—and one which it is within his power to change. For he needs to have children if he wants to continue his bloodline. If not, then our own children stand in line to rule Mardivino one day.’

Lucy had known this on some unacknowledged level, but hearing Guido say it made the prospect seem frighteningly real. Her eyes widened. ‘You don’t want that for them, do you?’

He tried to imagine his little Nicole as Queen and his mouth tightened. It was hard to think of any child of his having to endure the trappings and tribulations of Majesty, but he forced himself to let his misgivings go, as Lucy had taught him. For what was the point of worrying about something which might never happen?

‘No, I do not,’ he said softly. ‘But I cannot fight what might come to pass—I must embrace it wholeheartedly. We will wait and see what transpires.’

‘Perhaps we ought to try and find a wife for Gianferro!’

He raised his dark eyebrows by a fraction as he pictured quite clearly his eldest brother’s reaction to such an attempt at matchmaking. He would be outraged! ‘Or perhaps not,’ he said drily.

Lucy bit her lip. ‘Do you think…do you think he’ll ever marry for love?’

‘Ahh…’ He held his hand out to her and Lucy took it, going to sit on his knee, her hands holding on to his broad, strong shoulders as if he were her anchor in a choppy sea. He shook his head. ‘No, I do not—he is not in a position to allow himself such a luxury.’

She affected indignation. ‘So you think that love is a luxury, do you?’

He smiled. ‘No, my darling,’ he said softly, and lifted his fingertips to touch the silken surface of her cheek. ‘I think it is a necessity.’

She saw the sudden fierceness of his expression, heard the intensity behind his words, and she waited, a little flicker of hope burning away in her heart as she looked at him expectantly. For while Guido had learned to show his love in every way that counted he was still slow to speak it. It was as though—even for a man who could already speak four fluently—the language of love was the hardest of all!

‘You are my world, Lucy,’ he said simply, and he could see her beautiful mouth begin to wobble. That fleeting trace of insecurity both wounded him and spurred him on to tell her how much she meant to him. How very much. ‘As vital to me as the water I drink and the air that I breathe. You are the sun that rises in the morning and the moon that lights my evening sky.’ There was a pause, heavy with emotion, as he lifted her chin and dazzled her with the ebony fire from his eyes. ‘I love you, cara Lucy. And I lay down my life for y

ou.’

‘Oh…oh, Guido…Guido.’ She was not aware that a tear had begun to trickle its way down her cheek—not until he gave a soft smile and traced its path with the tip of his finger, then solemnly lifted the finger to his mouth to suck the salt away.

‘No tears,’ he said. ‘No tears. Why are you crying when I have just told you how much I love you?’

She nodded, gulping them back. ‘Because…because that’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me!’

‘I should think so, too!’ he said fervently. ‘For I am your husband!’

‘Yes.’ Her husband. Her lover. Her friend. Father to her child and—oh, so much more than that. For he was her sun, too—and her moon and her stars. As vital and vibrant as the mighty sea which filled their house with such incomparable light. ‘I love you so much, Guido,’ she said shakily.

He took her into his arms and began to stroke her until she relaxed, as molten and as malleable as soft wax, and at some point the stroking stopped and the kissing began. Deep, searching kisses—silent declarations of feelings which were bigger than both of them.

And some time after that he pulled her down onto the wooden decking of the moonwashed terrace. He slipped off the bikini she wore, and slid off his shorts—and when he entered her it felt like the most elemental thing which had ever happened to her. And the most precious. As if all those acts of fulfilling love had merely been a rehearsal for this, the real thing.

There was just the sound of lips exploring and small sighs of wonder as their bodies moved in harmony—like the planets which danced in the heavens around them—until at last their cries of mutual pleasure rang out and were lost in the music of the waves.

‘I love you, Lucy,’ he murmured against her lips.

‘I love you, too,’ she murmured back.

He kissed her hair and yawned, and began to wriggle into sleep, and Lucy rested her face against the muffled pounding of his heart and sighed with pure happiness as his naked body enfolded hers.

It was a very good thing, she decided, just before her eyes closed, that theirs was such a private house…