The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

“I can’t sleep here,” she said to Nico. “Unless you expect me to sleep naked.”

All four men in the foyer stared at her, startled. It took several seconds before any of them recovered. The butler was the first to clear his throat.

“We have ladies’ pajamas,” he ventured, “clean and never worn that I believe might fit.” Honora looked incredulously at Nico. Ladies’ pajamas! Did he bring lovers here on a regular basis? The butler continued, “And if you’ll just leave your clothes outside your door tonight, they’ll be washed, pressed and ready in the morning.”

“You don’t need to fuss over me,” she told the butler. “My grandfather’s a member of staff. I can catch a train back later tonight.”

Nico said sharply, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re cold and wet, and clearly you’ve had a difficult night. If you’re the mother of my unborn child—”

“If?”

“Then I must insist you take care of yourself. Go take a hot shower. We can speak after you’re warm.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Nico growled, moving closer. “I would. And if you don’t go with Sebastian right now, I’ll take you upstairs myself.”

Honora’s eyes went wide at his threat. The two of them, alone in a bedroom? Even if he couldn’t remember their night together, she did. Every moment of shocking pleasure would be forever burned on her skin, on her body, on her soul. Even if the secret sensual dreams she still had of him made her hate herself. She’d never forget. Especially not now that she was carrying his baby inside her.

“Fine,” she bit out. Following the butler, Sebastian—she wondered whether it was his first name, or his last—she went up the sweeping staircase and was escorted to an elegant, feminine room all in pink, where she found a brand-new, freshly laundered white silk nightgown and robe, as well as men’s pajamas and a white cotton bathrobe. The soaps and shampoos were Italian and imported.

This guest room had been meant for someone, she thought. But who?

The shower warmed her up and made her feel human again, as well as sleepy and comfortable. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping here rather than shivering on a rattling, cold train through all hours of the night seemed like an excellent plan. Which made her mad. She didn’t want Nico to make her feel good. She hated him for what he’d done, for what he was continuing to do.

I will marry her, indeed! She ground her teeth. Saying that to her grandfather! How could he!

Going downstairs in the soft silk nightgown and matching white robe that she was amazed fit her pregnant body so well, she found Nico in the grand living room off the stairs, beneath the wall of tall, curved windows overlooking the dark night. He was sitting in a sleek sofa beside a roaring fire.

For a moment, Honora hesitated, her gaze tracing over him unwillingly. It looked as if he’d had a shower, too. His dark hair was just long enough to be wavy, which looked impossibly sexy and Italian over his high chiseled cheekbones. He’d changed into comfortable clothes. A thin white T-shirt clung to his hard-muscled torso and low-slung sweatpants hung over his powerful thighs. His aquiline profile was facing the fire. His mood seemed pensive, even sad. She felt instinctive sympathy rise inside her.

She fought it with fury. Nicolo Ferraro feel sad? Not about anything but a dip in the stock market or a sudden drop in commercial rental rates!

Still. Best to get this conversation over with so they could move on with their lives. And she could go to bed. Striding forward purposefully, Honora sat next to him on the sofa. She was careful not to touch him.

“Look, I know you were trying to help,” she started,

“but you’ve only made it worse with your lie.”

Nico looked at her, his handsome face bemused. “What lie?”

“Telling Granddad you wanted to marry me. Sure, that solved today’s problem, but long term it will be ten times worse. Do you think he won’t notice when you swan through the penthouse a week from now with some Instagram model?”

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, sipping a glass of amber liquid. “I’m going to marry you.”

She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why?” He turned when Sebastian brought in a white ceramic mug on a silver tray.

“I apologize it took so long, Mr. Ferraro. Apparently the grocer had to be awoken to find and deliver the chocolate.”

“It’s fine.” But as Nico reached for the mug, he drew his hand back in irritation. “But it’s cold.”

The man bit his lip. “It was ready some moments ago, but as the young lady was upstairs—”

“Make another,” Nico said impatiently, leaving the mug on the tray.

“I don’t actually like cocoa,” Honora said.