The Last Heir of Monterrato

Well, he wasn’t falling for that—he wasn’t going to let her hurt him again.

He could still feel the searing pain of her cruel statement, even after all this time, and that gave him strength. The strength he so badly needed to stop himself from reaching out to her, from holding her tearstained face in his hands, from raising her lips to meet his and kissing away the heartache of this whole wretched business.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

Lottie’s anguished voice cut through the silence and she gazed, petrified, across at him.

‘What is there to say?’

Rafael turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to look at her—knew that if he did he would weaken, that all the resolve he had built up over the last two years would be swept away in the tidal wave of emotion that the very sight of her beautiful tortured face threatened to unleash.

‘You obviously think you know it all already. You have brutally choreographed my life without ever actually asking me if that was what I wanted.’

His livid gaze swept across the overgrown graves.

‘Had you done so you would have known that you couldn’t have been more wrong. I never viewed our marriage purely in terms of having children. However...’ He allowed himself a quick glance in her direction, saw the tears that were silently rolling down her cheeks, dripping off her chin. He had to keep strong. ‘If it makes you feel better to think that, if it eases some of the guilt you presumably felt, then go ahead—be my guest. It’s not as if any of it matters any more. Just don’t expect me to believe you.’

‘Rafe!’ Lottie uttered his name with a strangled cry. ‘I am just trying to explain how I felt, that’s all—explain why I left you.’

‘Well, don’t bother.’ As he raised his hand to silence her his eyes were jet-black. ‘It’s way too late for that. I was taken in by you once, Charlotte. It’s not going to happen again.’

Twisting away from her, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and kicked at the moss-covered path.

‘I’m going back to the palazzo now. I suggest you do the same. Freezing to death out here is not going to solve anything.’

Lottie watched as his tall figure turned and marched its way between the ancient gravestones. At the top of the steps he paused, turning back to look at her, his anger channelled into uncompromising authority.

‘And don’t even think about running away again, Lottie.’ His words cut through the cold air. ‘I will be watching you.’

Back at the palazzo Rafael crashed into his office, kicking the door shut behind him. Away from the pitiful sight of Lottie, he felt the anger kicking in, slowly building and building until it threatened to engulf him completely. He had never felt like this before, so consumed with frustrated bile.

Turning on the computer, he realised his hands were shaking as they hovered over the keyboard. How could she talk about running away? Again. How dared she do this to him? And this time she was carrying his child, for God’s sake. His chest heaved with the fury and injustice of it all.

He logged on to his email, desperately looking for a distraction to steady his heart-rate, regulate his breathing, stop him from marching out and doing something really stupid. Like finding Lottie again and demanding that she stayed here, with him. Not just for now, not until after the baby was born, not even for the next twenty years while they watched their child become an adult. He wanted to make her swear that she would stay with him for ever.

His mind flashed back to the dinner last night, the agony of sitting beside her all evening. She had looked so enchanting in that silk gown, the pale colour against her skin giving her an ethereal beauty, a tenderness that had made him want to both protect her and ravish her—not necessarily in that order. She had somehow twisted her hair into a plait over the top of her head, fastening it in a bun at the back. And with the violet earrings he had given her catching the light in her eyes he had never seen her look more beautiful.

He had known then, more forcefully than ever, that his decision to move her to the south wing was the right one. If he had any chance of holding on to his sanity he was going to have to keep away from her. Or keep her away from him.

He had woken this morning knowing that something was wrong, fear clutching at his heart, tightening its grip when, hours later, there had still been no sign of Lottie. Eventually he had given in to temptation and knocked on her door, but had expressly forbidden himself from looking in when there was no answer. Instead he had charged around the palazzo and its grounds looking for her, finally tracking her down at their daughter’s grave. Only to hear the devastating revelation that she was leaving.