- -
- 100%
- +
When the staff finally left he pointedly waited for her to pick up her knife and fork before doing the same.
‘I suggest we eat this now, before it is completely ruined.’
He really was determined to be relentlessly bad-tempered, wasn’t he? This evening was going to be horrendous.
But the meal was delicious and, seated beside Rafael in this magnificent cavernous room, drinking mellow red wine from the ancient, vaulted cellars beneath them, Lottie could feel herself being transported back to the life of wealth and privilege that she had torn herself away from so violently two long years ago. Rafael’s world. And even though he was casually dressed now, in jeans and a soft cotton shirt open at the collar, he still looked every inch the master—every inch the Conte di Monterrato.
The conversation was limited, with Lottie’s attempt at small talk falling on stony ground and Rafael seemingly too intent on eating his meal to discuss the weightier subject, though it hovered between them like an uninvited guest at the meal.
Instead Lottie found herself surreptitiously watching him, drawn to the shape of his mouth as it moved, the sweeping line of his jaw, now shadowed with a stubble that covered some of the bruising, the way dark curls fell over his forehead when he lowered his head, only to be pushed back with an impatient hand. In the flickering light of the candelabra set on the table between them his injuries were much less visible, and he looked alarmingly like the old, impossibly handsome Rafael.
The meal finally over, Rafael suggested that they go into the salon and, reluctantly relinquishing her hold on a crumpled linen napkin, Lottie followed him across the marble hallway into the warmth of the relatively modest room. Coffee and cognac were waiting for them on a low table in front of the fire and they seated themselves side by side on the antique sofa. Rafael started to pour her a balloon glass of brandy but Lottie shook her head. She had had enough alcohol; she could feel it seeping into her bones, threatening to muddle her senses. Coffee was a much more sensible idea.
Wrestling with the heavy silver pot, she poured coffee into two china cups and passed one to Rafael. Then crossing her legs, she tried to settle herself beside him, one hand holding a rattling cup, the other one tugging her dress down over her thighs.
‘So, have you thought any more about my suggestion?’
The truce was obviously over, and the air was immediately filled with the magnitude of his question.
‘Of course I have.’ She turned to face him, the sofa springs twanging beneath her. ‘And I must say that I don’t appreciate the emotional blackmail.’
Rafael spanned the fingers of one hand across his temples, shielding his eyes as if it pained him even to look at her. ‘I was merely pointing out that you have a strong maternal instinct. There is no need to be ashamed about that.’
‘I’m not ashamed!’
‘So you are not denying, then, that in theory you would like to have a baby?’ Suddenly he was giving her the full force of his gaze again.
‘Yes...no. That is not the point.’
‘Because if you would, Lottie, now is your chance to do something about it. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that with the fertility problems you have suffered your chances of having a child with someone else might well prove...challenging.’
‘And yours would be non-existent.’
It was a cruel jibe and Lottie could feel the heat of it slash across her cheeks. But she wasn’t going to take it back; he deserved it.
‘Touché.’
He owned the few dark seconds of silence and Lottie felt increasingly bad with each one that passed.
‘So we are both in the same situation. And that has to be all the more reason to make the right decision now.’
Lottie placed her cup back down on the table. He had an answer for everything, didn’t he? Except Seraphina. He never wanted to talk about their baby daughter. Well, now she was going to make him.
She sucked in a deep, empowering breath. ‘Do you ever think about Seraphina?’ The out-breath of words whistled between them like a bullet. And she knew her aim had been sure by the immediate clench of Rafael’s jaw.
‘Of course I do.’ His voice was sharp but he still couldn’t hide the emotion behind it. Neither could the shuttered look in his eyes that were fixed on her face. ‘How can you even ask such a question? Seraphina was my baby too, in case you’ve forgotten.’
The vulnerability had gone, immediately replaced with the more familiar animosity, but she had caught a glimpse of it—heard him say her name. Seraphina. Spoken with that beautiful Italian intonation. It was all she could do not to ask him to repeat it, over and over again, until she was full to the brim with it.
She looked down from his injured face to the hand that was resting on his muscular thigh, the back of it crisscrossed with the scars and scratches from his accident, reminding her yet again just what he had been through.
Impulse made her reach towards it, tentatively rest her own pale hand over the top of it. ‘Maybe I have. I’m sorry.’
The connection between them was immediate, tingling with the sharp pinpricks of recalled intimacy, until Rafael quickly pulled away, running the same hand through his hair as if to cleanse himself of her. He moved slightly in his seat as he took control again.
‘I know we can never replace Seraphina, nor would we want to, but there is nothing to stop us having a healthy child, Lottie. I want you to understand that.’
‘Rafe...’
‘Just imagine, Lottie...a year from now we could be parents. We can make this happen—I know we can.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Trying to hang on to the last vestiges of sanity, Lottie challenged him. ‘Even if I agreed to the embryo transplantation there is nothing to say that it will work.’
‘But there is one certainty.’ His commanding voice was very low. ‘If we don’t try we will never know.’
Suddenly the room was stiflingly hot, its silence only broken by the hiss and rustle of the logs settling down on the fire. With the intensity of Rafael’s dark eyes boring into her Lottie felt the heat sweep through her body, softening her bones, melting away the layers of resolve that had settled comfortably over her like a blanket of snow.
Could she say yes? Rafael somehow made the decision sound so straightforward. He made everything seem possible. But then he had no thought or care for the life she had made for herself in England. Built up so painstakingly, brick by brick, from the demolition rubble of their marriage. She had finally reached the stage where she felt financially stable and emotionally settled. Most of the time anyway.
Could she really take this enormous gamble and throw caution, common sense and self-preservation to the wind? Hurl them up into the blue sky and watch to see where they fell? The same blue sky that Rafael had fallen from, that had brought her here in the first place.
It was so tempting.
Rafael waited, as if sensing that words were no longer needed. So close now she could feel the soft whisper of his breath against her face, feel herself weakening beneath the unbearable scrutiny of his gaze and the lethal, sensual intoxication of his nearness.
Sitting up very straight, she pushed back her shoulders and mirrored his penetrating stare. This was her decision and she was going to make it.
‘Right, I have made up my mind.’
The answering flash in Rafael’s eyes was so intense that she had to blink against it, her mouth suddenly dry with the cotton wool words.
‘My answer is yes. I will do it.’
CHAPTER THREE
THERE WAS A long second of astonishment. Then, jerking back to life, Rafael clasped Lottie’s hands in his, squeezing them tightly in his strong grasp.
‘You mean it?’ He angled his head to see her face better, to make sure he had understood correctly.
‘Yes.’
‘You agree to using our frozen embryo?’
‘Yes. That is what we are talking about here, isn’t it?’ She attempted a short laugh but it came out as more of a squawk, the panic of what she had just agreed to throttling her vocal cords.
‘Then I thank you.’ Deeply serious now, Rafael let go of her hands and, tipping her chin with his fingers, captured her gaze with his own. ‘Vi ringrazio dal profondo del mio cuore. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
‘That’s okay.’
Lottie cringed at her vapid reply. Okay was hardly a fitting response to Rafael’s heartfelt gratitude. Or to the magnitude of what she had agreed to, come to that. But she couldn’t think straight—not when he was so close, not when he was looking at her like that, with the soft touch of his fingertips searing against her skin. She needed to get away—away from Rafael and the way he was making her feel. If she had just made the most crazy decision of her life she wanted to be alone now, so that she could scream at herself in peace.
‘Well, I think I’ll go to bed.’ She wobbled to standing. ‘I am rather tired.’
‘Of course.’ Rafael was immediately beside her, holding her elbow. ‘We can discuss all the arrangements tomorrow.’
That little statement did nothing to calm her nerves. She went to move away but Rafael held on to her, drawing her closer, his strong arms encircling her body, pressing her against his chest. Lottie froze beneath his embrace.
‘You won’t regret this decision, Lottie.’
She could feel his breath fanning the top of her head, lightly moving her hair.
‘I will make sure of that. This time it will work—I know it will.’
‘I hope so.’ Her words were muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt.
She had no idea whether it would or not, but right now she had a more pressing concern—literally. The shocking way her body was reacting to his. The initial forbidden twitch of desire had spread through her body, stopping somewhere low in her abdomen, where it now sat, throbbing inside her, waiting for something to happen.
‘I know so.’
He pulled her even closer and Lottie felt any resolve fade away as the heat between them intensified. It felt so good, yet so wrong, encased in his muscular arms, with the hard planes of his chest crushing her breasts against him with alarming effect, the lengths of their bodies touching, meeting all the way down.
Ignoring every screaming warning, she found herself arching her body very slightly, to push her pelvis closer to him, to feel more. And she wasn’t disappointed. The rock-hard length of his arousal was instantly evident, making its presence felt against her, and her own body immediately went into clenching spasms of desire in response. A thrill of triumph rushed through her that she could still do this to him—that he wasn’t as impervious to her as his icy façade would suggest. Up on tiptoes now, she tentatively moved her arms around his neck, wanting more, for him to want more.
She heard the guttural growl, followed by a soft Italian curse, then felt her arms being wrenched from his neck, left to fall by her sides as he jerked himself away from her.
‘No!’
The word was like a lash-stroke across the exposed flesh of Lottie’s desire.
‘That is not what this is about.’
Standing alone, rejected and exposed, Lottie could only stare at him, watching with wide-eyed confusion as he strode over to the fireplace, kicking a stray log back into the hearth with a shower of sparks.
‘I think we need to lay down some ground rules.’ He barked the words over his shoulder at her. ‘I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.’
The wrong idea.
Lottie pulled her gaze from the rigid tension of his back to the empty space where he had stood. Her body was still twitching with desire, her legs trembling beneath her. But his words had shrivelled her heart. We wouldn’t want Lottie getting the wrong idea, would we? As if he might actually have any feelings for her.
Pushing the hair away from her face, she straightened her dress and cleared her throat. She needed to take control now—convince him that she wasn’t bothered, that he was overreacting.
‘That’s okay.’ She attempted a throwaway laugh. ‘It was nothing. There’s no need to get all heavy about it.’
Rafael spun round and gave her a look that bordered on hatred. Swallowing back the bile, he planted his feet firmly apart, glaring at her. ‘Si, certo. Nothing.’
Lottie bit down on her trembling lip. Well, what did he want her to say, for God’s sake? She was trying to make this better. The shameless way she had wanted him, the humiliation of being abandoned, the look of pure disgust on Rafael’s face now—all conspired to make her feel suitably wretched. Now she had to put up some form of defence.
‘What I mean is I am fully aware of the situation.’ Her voice was surprisingly cold, clear. ‘I have agreed to try for this baby with you, Rafael, not to resurrect our marriage.’
Rafael swung round to face her, thunder in his eyes. ‘As long as we both know where we stand.’
‘I’m sure we do. You have made your feelings towards me perfectly clear.’
‘And yours towards me.’
‘Yes.’
Lottie flinched. Her big black lie. Impossible to remove now. It was stitched into the fabric of Rafael’s being. It was there in every twitch of his muscles, every hitch of his shoulders, every coal-black stare of his eyes.
With a couple of strides he was before her again, glowering down on her defensive body. Lottie faced the wall of his hostility, watching him struggle to control his breathing, his temper, his dislike of her. Struggling with all the things he would not say.
Finally he stepped back, his eyes refusing to leave her face.
‘Then I am glad there is no confusion.’
* * *
Rafael drained his brandy glass and banged it down on the coffee table in front of him, the emotional roller coaster ride of the evening still wreaking havoc on his body. He ran a hand over his forehead, the ridge of his scar a timely reminder of the accident that had started all this.
He should have been feeling elated. If nothing else he had managed to persuade Lottie to agree to using their frozen embryo. Now he needed to get things moving before she changed her mind—or, worse still, went back to England, met someone else, forgot all about him. He had been fortunate, he had to concede, that that hadn’t already happened. That she hadn’t already taken up with some uncomplicated young man and started living a happily-ever-after that certainly didn’t include him. But his investigations had revealed nothing apart from that slimeball of a boss at the gallery where she worked.
He flexed his fingers. There was a guy asking for a punch on the nose if ever there was one. But even if she was unattached now he had had no way of telling for how long. He’d had to act fast.
But not in the way he just had. Dio... His hand came down over his eyes. What the hell had he been thinking of, pressing himself up against her like a horny teenager? Displaying, oh, so physically, just how easily she could still turn him on? Because she did, didn’t she? Every little maledetto thing about her sent his logical brain into a tailspin south. And to the trouble that was waiting for him there.
Though it hadn’t just been him. The memory of the way Lottie had responded still pulsed through his veins. Had that been deliberate? A test to see what it would take to make him react? If so, he had shown himself to be the weakest of creatures. She had eventually swept from the room, seemingly not able to get away from him fast enough, presumably gloating with the satisfaction that she could turn him on just like that, just the way she always had.
Well, enough. Getting up from the sofa, he stretched back his shoulders, circling them up and around to ease the stiffness, almost enjoying the physical pain that shot down one side of his body. He had to resist, be strong. Moving over to the fireplace, he caught sight of his battered reflection in the enormous gilt mirror, demonstrating yet again the mess he had made of his life. He looked away quickly, only to be confronted by the carved marble cherubs on either side of him, mocking him with their adoring faces.
Sometimes it felt as if the whole world had it in for him.
* * *
The next morning dawned bright and clear and Lottie witnessed every stage of it. After a few fitful hours of sleep she had given up and spent what was left of the night huddled on the window seat, her duvet pulled around her. There she had watched the starlit night giving way to the first flush of pink, the curved sliver of the sun making its miraculous appearance, rising with surprising speed until it hung above its unmade bed, ready for the day.
Those silent hours had given her plenty of time to go over everything—over and over, until she had thought her head would burst with it. But now, up and dressed, warmed by the coffee from her otherwise untouched breakfast tray, she found her mind was surprisingly clear and she knew what she had to do.
Pulling her phone out of her bag, she first texted her friend and flatmate Alex, spelling out that she planned to stay at Monterrato ‘for a few weeks more’. There was no way Alex would be up yet, so at least she was excused having to speak to her and face the barrage of questions that this breezily worded statement would no doubt produce.
Pressing ‘send’, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Alex’s reaction, already envisaging her colourfully worded reply.
The next one was more difficult. Informing Ibrahim, her boss at the gallery, that the ‘three or four days’ she had taken off work to come here might actually now be more like three or four weeks was not going to go down well. He was prone to bouts of hysteria at the best of times and this was undoubtedly going to ramp up his rage levels. Still, it had to be done. So, punching his number into the phone, Lottie tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat and waited for the soothing buzzing of the connection tone to be shattered by his familiar bark.
* * *
The palazzo was quiet and still when Lottie finally stepped out onto the landing, the air smelling of polish and freshly cut flowers. Descending the stairs, she looked cautiously around her, feeling the smooth mahogany banister run beneath her hand. She crossed the hall and, pulling open the heavy studded front door, took in a deep, restorative breath.
The Monterrato estate spread out in all directions, as far as the eye could see, sparkling with early-morning dew. In front of her stretched two rows of towering poplar trees, casting strong diagonal shadows across the long driveway that cut through the manicured lawns on either side.
Lottie descended one of the twin flights of stairs and crunched along the gravel path that followed the side of the palazzo. The crisp, cold air felt good against her cheeks and she breathed it in greedily, feeling it scour the insides of her body.
With her hands pushed deep inside her coat pockets she strode purposefully on, knowing exactly where she was going—past the kitchen gardens and the outbuildings, the deserted stables and the swimming pool, to a winding path that threaded through a wooded area.
The first signs of spring were starting to appear: snowdrops and crocus were defiantly poking their heads through the cold soil, scattered around the feet of the trees. The path gradually ascended until the trees stopped and there, perched on the top of a hill, was the Monterrato chapel, its burnt umber walls stark against the pearly blue morning sky.
A shallow flight of stone steps, overgrown with moss and weeds, led up to the chapel and the graves that were spread out around it, their headstones tipping drunkenly in the cold sunshine. This was the final resting place for generations of Revaldis, at peace in these beautiful surroundings.
Lottie moved respectfully between them, picking a pathway towards one particular very small grave. The sight of it clutched at her heart. There was the carved angel, still faithfully guarding the slab of painfully clean white marble, one cheek resting on her hands, her wings spread out behind her.
Squatting down, Lottie took a moment to steady herself as the memories came flooding back: the sight of the tiny white coffin being lowered into the ground, the sound of the first handful of soil as it had landed on the lid. Reaching forward, she touched the headstone, her cold fingers tracing the inscription, the words carved into her heart.
Someone had placed a posy of fresh flowers in a small urn and as she absently rearranged them a robin perched on the angel’s head, watching her with its beady eyes. All was peaceful and still. Savouring the precious moment, Lottie uttered a small, silent prayer to her daughter and watched as the robin took off, carrying her blessings up into the sky.
‘Lottie?’
Lottie swung round with a start. Rafael was standing a few yards away, tall and dark in a long black overcoat, the raised collar skimming his bruised jawline, like some dashing Victorian villain.
‘I thought I might find you here.’
Stumbling to her feet, Lottie pulled her coat closer to her. ‘I...I just needed to think—to be with Seraphina.’
‘Of course. You don’t need to explain. I will go...leave you in peace.’ He was already turning away.
‘No.’ Suddenly she knew she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stand with her, beside their daughter’s grave, together. Not to distance himself in the way he always had. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
If the words sounded flippant they both knew the very real intent that they held. Lottie watched as Rafael hesitated, wariness, uncertainty and pride crossing his face before he quietly moved between the overgrown graves to join her, standing sentry-tall beside the towering angel.
There was a short moment of painfully poignant silence, abruptly ended when Rafael shifted his position and gave a small cough.
‘You look cold, Lottie. We should go back to the palazzo. There are things we need to discuss.’
‘I’m fine.’ A shiver so violent that it shook her shoulders said otherwise.
Registering the challenge in her voice, he increased the authority of his own. ‘Then come into the chapel. It will be warmer in there.’
There was no point in arguing. Lottie followed him to the arched doorway of the chapel and watched as he turned the heavy iron ring on the door.
The small space welcomed them in with its domed sky-blue ceiling, sprinkled with hundreds of gold stars and the gilded altar at the back watched over by the Madonna and child. There was that particular, evocative smell—a mixture of wood and damp and incense.
Walking between the rows of ancient pews, Rafael went to light a candle at the altar, then joined Lottie on the front pew, his long legs stretched before him. They were quiet for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell.
‘So...’ Eventually Rafael spoke, his voice low and respectful of their environment. ‘Your decision last night...’
He turned guardedly to face her, and Lottie noticed that the cold had puckered his scar to a white slash.
‘...it still stands?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She returned his look defiantly.
‘Good.’ He let out a breath that lowered his shoulders. ‘Then I thank you again. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much this means to me.’
‘No, you don’t Rafael.’ Lottie clasped her cold hands together. ‘And, despite the novelty, please don’t think that you have to keep thanking me either.’
‘As you wish.’ He looked at her curiously, trying to gauge her mood. ‘Perhaps you would prefer me to move on to the practicalities?’
Lottie wouldn’t prefer it, as it happened, but she knew that she had no choice. She scuffed her feet against the ancient tiles.
‘Dr Oveisi will be arriving at two-thirty tomorrow.’
‘What?’ That stopped the breath in her throat.