The Italian's Bride

‘I’ve changed him for you,’ he told her softly. ‘And made up his bottle—don’t worry, I read the instructions on the formula pack! It’s cooling now; I’ll fetch it through for you.’ He frowned slightly. In the dim light it was not possible to be sure. He leant forward, lifting her chin in his cupped fingers. ‘You’ve been crying.’

There was no way she could deny it and seeing her there, her hair wildly disarrayed around her lovely tear-stained face, her baby in her arms, lit a bright light of sudden inspiration inside him.

He hadn’t meant last night to happen, but it had, and he couldn’t regret it. She had been fantastic. He should have been spending the time warning her off accepting Eduardo’s proposal. But he hadn’t. He’d given in to his baser instincts and made love to her instead, and because of that he now knew exactly what he must do to make amends. And stop his father marrying her and making a fool of himself at the same time.

‘There’s no need to cry. I don’t want to make you unhappy,’ he whispered. ‘I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, Portia?’

From the east-facing window of his room Lucenzo watched the sun rise, casting long fingers of shimmering light over the valley. He’d been right to leave Portia to think about what he’d said, he told himself firmly. And that almost irresistible temptation to stay right with her, cajole her into accepting his offer, spend the rest of the night with her, had been a temporary aberration, nothing more.

Spending the rest of the night with her would have meant making love to her again. And again. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself. He frowned with deep irritation as heat pooled in his loins and his body surged at the mere idea. The ease with which she aroused his baser instincts quite frankly amazed him, and definitely proved he’d been right to do the sensible thing and remove himself.

He had seen the beautiful logic of his offer of marriage perfectly clearly in that one blinding flash of inspiration. But Portia went with her emotions, not her brain. He could have swept her along with great sex, he was fairly sure of that, but he wanted her to use her intelligence, her logical thought processes, and figure out the advantages of such a union for herself. And that might take some time.

He had too much respect for her to cajole, coerce or seduce her into doing something that might turn out to be wrong for her.

That his father might be furious when he learned he, Lucenzo, had beaten him to it, suddenly occurred to him—provided Portia agreed to marry him, that was. Madre di Dio! What did that matter! He’d square it with him, make him see that he was a caring son, shouldering the burden of duty for him!

Running his fingers through his already wildly tangled hair, he stalked through to the adjoining bathroom to take yet another cold shower.

Portia crept back into her own suite feeling dreadfully guilty. She’d smuggled the untouched supper tray for two down to the kitchen, quickly putting the wasted food into the bin, stacking the plates and cutlery and bowls into the dishwasher and making a hasty exit before Cook came in to start the working day.

It would have been truly shame-making if whoever had come to collect the tray had noticed the untouched contents, put two and two together and come up with the right answer!

The news would have been all over the villa in next to no time, and what had happened last night was her secret—hers and Lucenzo’s.

Already events were taking on a quality of unreality, and his stunning proposal of marriage was even more unreal—quite unbelievable, really. For ages after he’d left her she’d felt brain-dead!

Puffing from her exertions, she checked on Sam. It would soon be time for his bath and early-morning feed. Disappointed that he was still sound asleep, she pattered back to the bedroom and launched into the task of making the bed look normal, not as if a dozen rugby players had spent the night in it practising scrums.

That finished, she dragged herself back to the nursery, sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting for Sam to wake, her head bowed. She really wished she could think straight, make sense of it all. But her mind was numb and

shivers of reaction were making her skin come out in goosebumps.

His shock proposal of marriage had been the most tempting, tantalising, wonderful offer in the whole wide world. But she couldn’t understand it, no matter how hard she tried.

Much as she would like to believe that he’d suddenly fallen head over heels in love with her, she did have enough common sense—despite her parents’ conviction that she didn’t have a grain of the stuff—to know that it simply could not be true.

Watching his dearly loved wife and their unborn child die in that tragic accident had traumatised him so badly that the poor darling must be incapable of falling in love again, she thought mournfully, her big grey eyes filling with sympathy.

However, that had been ten years ago, she’d learned. It would be perfectly understandable if he’d met a really beautiful woman now, one who was clever, witty and wise and full of grace, who came from his own social strata, and had finally put the past behind him and found himself falling in love.

But her? Ordinary Portia Makepeace, single mother with no skills to speak of, no graces that you’d notice? It simply wasn’t on, no matter how she tried to delude herself into thinking it could be.

And then a truly appalling thought hit her, making her feel nauseous. If she knew anything at all, she knew Lucenzo was a man of integrity. Had he looked at her and decided she was begging for it? And goodness knows she had been more than willing. She had been provocative and, let’s face it, greedy! No normal man would have turned down such an opportunity, she thought with deep mortification.

She was a guest in his home, he’d spent half the night having rampant sex with her and they hadn’t taken precautions. How could he present his father with yet another illegitimate grandchild? He’d probably felt honour-bound to offer to marry her.

Her wretched body ached with shame, ran with heat and glistened with perspiration, making her thin cotton robe stick to her. And in the midst of her agitated, incoherent cogitations and distracted ponderings over whether to shower and dress, or whether to stay just as she was and shut herself in here with Sam for the rest of the day and refuse to see anyone, the baby woke.

Portia immediately clicked into maternal mode. Wiping her mind clear of all her troublesome thoughts, she rose to her feet, her face wreathed in tender smiles as she reached for her baby. ‘Who’s Mummy’s precious sweetheart, then?’ she breathed happily, and enfolded him in loving arms.

Sam had been bathed and fed and was lying on the thick-piled carpet in front of one of the open sitting room windows, looking completely and utterly adorable in a cute blue cotton romper. He was cooing and burbling, strenuously exercising his plump little arms and legs, and Portia was cooing and burbling back at him when Lucenzo walked in, uninvited and unannounced.

Her face turned a shameful fiery red, and all her bones started to quiver at once. How could a man this gorgeous, this powerful, and ridiculously wealthy into the bargain, have spent half the night making love to her and ended up asking her to marry him? It was the most unlikely scenario she’d ever come across!

‘Are you all right?’ His voice was as tender as she’d ever heard it. He sounded really concerned, Portia thought, dazzled by his physical perfection and shattered by the kindness of his tone.

‘I’m fine!’ she gasped strickenly. And that had to be one of the biggest lies in the history of the universe! As soon as he’d walked into the room she’d gone back to feeling stressed out, confused and muddled, yet strangely and wildly elated at the same time.