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

In spite of herself, Lucy laughed. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that Guido had come to her bed as a virgin! ‘When was that?’

‘Oh…ages ago. Last fall, I think. Yes. I’d flown to New England, and then called in to see Guido on the way back here.’

The sounds of chatter retreated and were replaced by a sudden roaring in her ears. Lucy’s mouth dried and she quickly drank some more champagne, which made it even drier. She was aware that a pulse was slamming somewhere in her temple, as if someone was repeatedly knocking a hammer hard against it.

Last fall? Autumn?

So when would that have been?

September, maybe? Or even October?

But she had started her affair with him in June!

She felt the bitter taste of betrayal which made the champagne a distant memory. Had he been…oh, that horrible phrase…two-timing her?

How she kept her face from reacting she never knew. Maybe she had become an expert through hiding her real feelings from Guido. But whatever it was, she just managed a cool, grown-up smile. After all, there could be any kind of explanation…wasn’t that what always happened in books? That the sooty-eyed blonde was really his sister?

But he didn’t have a sister!

His cousin?

She kept the cool smile pinned to her lips. She would not jump to conclusions. Nor would she put Sasha in an uncomfortable position. She would ask him herself. Later.

And then, disturbing her thoughts with the rippling precision of a flat, round pebble thrown into an already turbulent pool, she heard his deep, dark accent.

‘Are you having a good time, cara mia?’ he murmured.

She turned her head to look up at him, grateful for the large hat which shaded her face and the troubled look in her eyes. He was wearing a suit and a snowy shirt, and a silken tie as sapphire as the blue waters of the sea which could be seen quite clearly through the Palace windows.

Last night he had been edgy, almost irritable, but it was amazing what a night of brilliant sex could do—for today he was as sunny as it was possible for a man like Guido to be. His black eyes were glittering with life and fire, and his olive skin gleamed with a kind of soft inner luminescence. He looked vibrant and vital and thoroughly irresistible, and her pulse began to scramble in a thin and thready way.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said quietly, because in a way it was. If you had shown someone a photograph of the scene, they would have longed to be there themselves. The baby was now sleeping, and there was the smooth and easy flow of chatter which came at the end of a very agreeable gathering. ‘Quite lovely,’ she repeated, looking around as if she wanted to freeze-frame the scene, to lock it away in her mind so that she would never forget it.

Guido’s eyes narrowed. There was something in her expression which he couldn’t quite read, and he thought—not for the first time—what an enigmatic person she really was. She seemed to buck the modern trend of spilling her innermost feelings and thoughts within a nanosecond of knowing someone—and wasn’t there something both intriguing and devastatingly appealing about a woman who always kept something back?

He bent his head even closer, so that his words were murmured enticements in her ear. ‘Things will be breaking up here soon. What do you say to going back to our room—for a siesta? Mmm?’

Lucy swallowed. She would bet that his idea of a siesta didn’t fit the traditional definition, but in a way wasn’t that exactly what she needed? Not the physical part—which was doubtless his reason for asking her—but the opportunity to ask him about the blonde, and to ask him something else, too…

She smiled. ‘Only if you’re sure your brother and sister-in-law won’t think we are rude to leave.’

‘Are you crazy?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother would consider me lacking in any kind of sanity to do otherwise. Come.’

Quietly, they slipped away, and Lucy felt almost light-headed as they stole through the cool marble corridors. For this was all a farce—this pretence that no one knew where they were going, or guessed what their—his—intention was. The other guests would notice their absence, but it was more than that—there were servants along the way—always servants. Sometimes, like now, knowing they were not wanted, they would melt away—as if they were not composed of flesh and blood at all.

Yet Lucy knew that if Guido had the slightest wish or desire—for a drink, say, or a newspaper or book—then those self-same faceless servants would magically interpret what he wanted and would appear discreetly by his side to do his bidding.

Did that kind of attention all your life change you? It must do. When you became used to having a small world revolve around you then surely you could be forgiven for thinking that the normal rules of restraint and fidelity did not apply.

Did they?

Well, she was soon going to find out.

Once they were back in their suite, he carefully took her hat off and then, with equal care, unpinned her hair so that it spilled down over the green jacket of her suit. The suit that he’d bought for her. If you allowed a man to buy you clothes, then weren’t you selling something of yourself into the bargain?

‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?’ he murmured, stroking at the tip of her chin and then lifting it slightly with his fingertips, as if wanting to examine her face more closely.

She had planned not to let him touch her, but oh, how seductive a gentle, almost protective touch could be. Perhaps if he had gone all out for a blatant and hot-blooded seduction then she might not have been so responsive. As it was, all her nerve-endings seemed acutely sensitised, as if her skin was raw and new, craving the healing of his caress.