Carrying His Scandalous Heir

‘I do not ask forgiveness for what I did to you—only for...understanding. If you can bring yourself to give me that, then—’

She did not let him finish. ‘I give you both, Cesare—I understand and I forgive! From my heart—believe me!’

Her voice was broken with the urgency of what she said.

His expression changed again, lightening now, and he slid the palm of one hand across her abdomen, catching his breath as he felt the ripening curve of her body. For a moment he closed his eyes, almost unable to believe that this moment had come. A great peace had come upon him, filling his every cell, suffusing his body—his mind and his soul.

He leant towards her, his lips brushing hers, and Carla met them, her eyes fluttering shut as if to contain the immensity of the joy within her. His kiss was warm and deep, and in it were the seeds for a harvest of happiness she would reap all her life.

‘My dearest heart,’ Cesare said. ‘My dearest love.’

He kissed her again—tenderly, cherishingly—this woman he loved, whom he had so nearly lost. Who would now be at his side and in his heart all his life.

For a long, long moment they simply held each other, feeling the closeness of their hearts, feeling the peace of love envelop them. Unite them.

‘My Cesare,’ she whispered.

For now he was hers—truly hers—and all her hopes had been fulfilled, all her fears and losses had gone for ever.

Her fingers slid around the strong nape of his neck, splaying into his raven hair. She knew he was hers and she was his. For all time—now and far beyond mere time.

There was the sound of a knock upon the door, the door opening. Cesare’s steward announced the doctor.

Cesare glanced at Carla. She had a look of dazed happiness on her face that made a smile curve at Cesare’s mouth. Maybe the doctor was not needed. But the woman he loved carried a gift for them both that was infinitely precious.

After greeting the doctor, he left him to his examination and, out in the hall, gave instructions for the best vintage champagne in his extensive cellars to be fetched. Then, in time-honoured fashion he paced outside the bedroom door, until the doctor emerged.

‘Well?’ He pounced immediately.

The doctor nodded. ‘Quite well,’ he pronounced. ‘Fatigue and an excess of emotion, that is all.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Would I be presumptuous,’ he asked, his eyes slightly wary, ‘in offering you, Signor Conte, my felicitations?’

Relief flooded through Cesare. He met the doctor’s eyes. ‘You would not,’ he said decisively.

He spoke deliberately. His steward had returned, ready to show the doctor out. The words Cesare had spoken would be all his steward would require. Within ten minutes every person in the castello would know that a different chatelaine from the one they had been expecting would now be in their future.

His heart, as he went back into his bedroom, was soaring. Carla possessed the one attribute that was all he needed in his wife.

She is the woman I love—and will love all my days.

And he was the man she loved.

What else could matter but that? That was what his ancestor Alessandro had taught him, through his own heart-wrenching regret.

I will not make the mistake he made.

The words seared in his consciousness again as he swept Carla—the woman he loved—into his arms.

‘The doctor tells me all is well.’

His eyes were warm—so warm—and Carla felt her heart turn over. Could she really be this happy? Could she truly be this happy? And yet she was.

This is real, and it is true—it is not my mere hopes and dreams!

Wonder filled her, and then pierced even more as Cesare drew back and with a sudden movement did what she had never seen him do before. He took from his little finger the signet ring engraved with the crest of his house, which he never removed—not for bathing, or swimming, or for any reason—and then reached for her hand again.

His eyes went to her. ‘For my contessa,’ he said, and slid the ring, still warm from his skin, onto her finger.

Then he closed his hand over hers, knuckling her hand under his. He smiled.