Carrying His Scandalous Heir

And that time seemed to be now.

He could not ask her to delay—not given the information she had shared with him in her letter. Whatever his reluctance to make that decision now, it had to be done.

He stared out over the valley one long, last time. Slowly, very slowly, his thoughts reached their conclusion. Slowly, very slowly, he exhaled, inclined his head.

Decision made.

* * *

In the bedroom that had been hers since her teenage days, up until the time she’d moved out to her own apartment, Carla lay in bed, sleepless, staring up at the painted ceiling. Her eyes were huge, distended. Words ran like an endless litany round and round the inside of her skull—like rats in a trap. Desperately seeking escape.

I’m not in love with Cesare! I’m not! It’s just passion—desire—that’s all! The way it was from the very start! He makes my heart beat faster just looking at him—but that isn’t love! I won’t let it be love. I won’t.

But even as the litany was repeated she could hear another voice speaking.

So why do you fear not knowing how long he’ll want you? Why would you fear a future where you have nothing of him any longer? Why have you kept trying to prove to yourself that you have no need to cling to him, no need to want to be with him more than you are? Why did you make yourself turn down his invitation to stay longer with him today in Milan?

She knew the answer to those questions—knew why she did not want to hear them, did not want to answer them. Did not want to face the truth of what had happened. Fear beat up in her, firing through her veins.

It mustn’t be love—what she felt for Cesare, what she felt about him. It just mustn’t...

I’m not that stupid! Dear God, I’m not that stupid! To have fallen in love with Cesare di Mondave...

But as the dawn came she knew, with a hollowing of her heart, that what her mother had feared—what she herself had guarded against, right from the start—had happened. And in her head, her mother’s warning tolled like doom.

‘There can be no happy ending for you—’

A fearful coldness filled her.

CHAPTER SIX

CESARE HANDED THE keys of his car to the valet parker and headed into the restaurant. He was running late, and he knew why. Emotions spiked across his mind, troubling and unwelcome. Tonight was not going to be easy—but it had to be faced. He had to say what he had to say, do what he had to do. No escaping it.

And take the consequences.

Emotion struck again—powerful, like a leopard on a leash. His life was privileged—immensely privileged—but the responsibilities that came with it required a price. A price that he did not wish to pay.

He felt the leashed emotion tug again, bringing to his mind’s eye the portrait of his ancestor, Count Alessandro, whom Luciezo had captured for posterity.

You had it easier—you kept your privileges and did not have to pay for them at all!

The triptych was testament to that. The Conte di Mantegna—flanked by his wife and his mistress. And he had kept them both—enjoyed them both. Had had to give up neither—give up nothing at all. Paid no price at all for the life he’d led.

Cesare’s jaw tightened. Well, that was then, not now, and now, in this current century, no such arrangement was possible. Not with honour. To marry Francesca meant giving up Carla. No other option.

As he strode into the dining room he saw her immediately. Saw how her blue-violet eyes fastened on his, simultaneously felt another, different emotion seize him.

Her crepe dress in a luscious plum colour graced her full figure, her rich, brunette hair was coiled at her nape, and those lustrous eyes, the generous, sensual mouth, would draw male eyes from everywhere. But her attention was only for him. It had always been that way, and he was accustomed to it.

Yet into his head at that thought came another.

I will have to see her lavishing that same unwavering attention on another man—another man who will have her to himself...

The thought jabbed in his mind like a spike being driven in. As he reached her, sat himself down, he found himself lifting her hand and dropping a light kiss on it.

‘Mi dispiace. I was delayed.’

Her smile was instant, and he could see relief in it. But as he looked into her face he could see more than relief. He could see a sudden veiling of her expression. As if she were hiding something from him.