Rumours: The One-Night Heirs

CHAPTER FIVE

RAUL STEPPED INTO his suite, unexpectedly alone.

Allegra had, of course, rung ahead, and everything had been prepared for Raul to return with a female guest.

The suite was dimly lit, but Raul saw champagne chilling in a bucket. He bypassed it. Throwing his jacket on a chair, he poured a large cognac and downed half in one gulp, then kicked off his socks and shoes, wrenched off his tie and removed his shirt.

In the bathroom Raul rolled his eyes, for the sight that greeted him seemed to mock. Candles had been lit and the deep bath was filled with fragrant water. But Raul would be bypassing that too—perhaps a cold shower might be more fitting.

He soon gave up prowling the penthouse suite dressed for two and lay on the bed. He took another belt of his drink and considered extending his stay for another night in Rome.

Unlike before, when he had actually wanted to flaunt Lydia under Bastiano’s nose, Raul suddenly had a sense of foreboding.

Yes, Lydia might have stood up to her stepfather tonight, but for how long would that last? She was strong—Raul had seen that—but her family clearly saw Lydia as their ticket out of whatever mess they were in. And Bastiano, Raul knew, didn’t care what methods he used to get his own way.

It wasn’t his problem.

Over and over Raul told himself that.

He was angry with Bastiano rather than concerned about Lydia, Raul decided.

Only that didn’t sit quite right.

Tomorrow he would be out of here.

Raul had rescheduled the jet for midday tomorrow. He would soon be back in Venice and this trip would be forgotten.

Raul didn’t even want the hotel now—Sultan Alim’s words had hit home. The Grande Lucia was far too much responsibility. He wanted investments he could manage from a distance. Raul wanted no labour of love.

In any area of his life.

Raul managed to convince himself that he was relieved with tonight’s outcome.

Well, not relieved.

Far from it.

He was aching and hard, and was just sliding down his zipper, when he heard knocking at the door.

Good things, Raul realised as he made his way to the door, did come to those who waited. For just when he had thought the night was over, it would seem it had just begun!

He didn’t bother to turn on the lounge light—just opened the door and Lydia tumbled in.

She had a suitcase beside her, which would usually be enough to perturb him, but there were other concerns right now.

She was shaking while trying to appear calm.

‘Sorry to disturb you…’

Her voice was trembling.

‘What happened?’

‘We had a row,’ Lydia said. ‘A long overdue one. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that now.’

Oh, it wasn’t just that she knew the price for a night in his room—Lydia wanted to go back to feeling happy.

Preferably now, please.

She wanted the oblivion his mouth offered, not to think of the turbulent times ahead.

He was naked from the waist up and her demand was sudden. ‘Where were we?’

And her mouth found his and her kiss was urgent.

He tasted of liquor, and he was obviously aroused when she pressed into him.

Yet for once Raul was the one slowing things down.

His body demanded he kiss her back with fervour, that he take her now, up against the wall, and give her what she craved.

Yet there was more to this, he knew.

‘Lydia…’

He peeled her off him and it was a feat indeed, for between his attempts to halt her he was resisting going back in for a kiss. He was hard and primed, and she was desperate and willing.

An obvious match.

Yet somehow not.

‘Slow down…’ he told her. ‘Angry sex we can do later.’

Raul never thought of ‘later’ with women and was surprised by his own thought process, but his overriding feeling was concern.

‘I’m not angry,’ Lydia said.

She could feel his arms holding her back as he somehow read her exactly and told her how she felt.

‘Oh, baby, you are!’

She was.

Lydia was a ball of fury that he held at arm’s length.

She was trying to go for his zipper. She was actually wild.

‘Lydia?’

He guided her to a chair, and it was like folding wood trying to get her to sit down, but finally he did.

Lydia could hear her own rapid breathing as Raul went over and flicked on a light, and she knew he was right.

She was angry.

He saw her pale face and the red hand mark, and Raul’s own anger coiled his gut tight. But he kept his voice even. ‘What happened?’

‘I told Maurice that I shan’t be his puppet and neither shall I be returning home.’

He came to her and knelt down, and his hand went to her swollen cheek.

‘Did he hit you anywhere else?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Really I am.’

Raul frowned, because there were no tears—it was suppressed rage that glittered in her eyes.

‘Do you want me to go and sort him out?’

‘I would hate that.’

He rather guessed that she would.

‘Please?’ he said, and saw that she gave a small smile.

‘No.’

He would do so later.

Right now, though, Raul’s concern was Lydia. He stood and looked around. There was a woman in his hotel suite, and for the first time Raul didn’t know what to do with her.

Lydia too looked around, and she was starting to calm.

She saw the champagne and the flowers, and the room that had been prepared for them, and cringed at her own behaviour. She had asked for romance and he had delivered, and then she’d thrust herself on him.

‘Can we pretend the last fifteen minutes never happened?’ Lydia asked.

‘You want me to go back to licking your feet?’

Lydia laughed.

Not a lot, but on a night when laughter should be an impossible task somehow she did.

She felt calmer.

Though she was shaken, and embarrassed at foisting herself upon Raul, now that she had stood up to Maurice she felt clearer in the head than she had in years.

‘Do you want a drink?’

She nodded.

‘What would you like?’

And she could see his amber drink and still taste it on her tongue.

‘The same as you.’

‘So, what happened?’ Raul asked, and she answered as he crossed the suite.

‘A necessary confrontation, and one that’s been a long time coming,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve hated him since the day my mother first brought him home.’

‘How long after your father died?’

‘Eighteen months. Maurice had all these lavish ideas for the castle—decided to use it for weddings.’

‘I hate weddings,’ Raul said, taking the stopper off the bottle and pouring her a drink. ‘Imagine having to deal with one every week.’

‘They’re not every week—unfortunately. Sometimes in the summer…’ Her voice trailed off mid-sentence and Raul knew why. He was minus his shirt, and with his back to her, therefore Lydia must have seen his scar.

She had.

It was the sort of scar that at first glance could stop a conversation.

A jagged fault line on a perfect landscape, for he was muscled and defined, but then she frowned as she focused on the thinner lines.

A not so perfect landscape.

Oh, so badly she wanted to know more about this man.

But Lydia remembered her manners and cleared her throat and resumed talking.

‘In the summer they used to be weekly, but the numbers have been dwindling.’

‘Why?’ Raul asked, and handed her the drink. He was grateful that she had said nothing about the scars. He loathed it when women asked about them, as if one night with him meant access to his past.

And it was always just one night.

Lydia took a sip. In truth it had tasted better on his tongue, but it was warming and pleasant and she focused on that for a moment. But then Raul asked the question again.

‘Why are the numbers dwindling?’

‘Because when people book a luxury venue they expect luxury at every turn, but Maurice cuts corners.’

He had heard that so many times.

In fact Raul had made his fortune from just that. He generally bought hotels on their last legs and turned them into palaces.

The Grande Lucia was a different venture—this hotel was a palace already, and that was why he was no longer considering making the purchase.

‘Maurice is always after the quick fix,’ Lydia said, and then stilled when she heard the buzzing of her phone.

‘It’s him,’ Lydia said.

‘I’ll speak to him for you,’ Raul said, and went to pick it up.

‘Please don’t.’ Her voice was very clear. ‘You would only make things worse.’

‘How?’

‘You won’t be the one dealing with the fallout.’

And, yes, he could deal with Maurice tonight, but who would that really help? Oh, it might make Raul feel better, and Maurice certainly deserved it, but Lydia was right—it wouldn’t actually help things in the long run, given he wouldn’t be around.

‘Turn your phone off,’ Raul suggested, but she shook her head.

‘I can’t—he’ll call my mother and she’ll be worried.’

Raul wasn’t so sure about that. He rather guessed that Lydia’s mother would more likely be annoyed that Lydia hadn’t meekly gone along with their plans.

He watched as her phone rang again, but when she looked at it this time, instead of being angry she screwed her eyes closed.

‘Maurice?’

‘No, it’s my mother.’

‘Ignore it.’

‘I can’t,’ Lydia said. ‘He must have told her I’ve run off.’ Her phone fell silent, but Lydia knew it wouldn’t stay like that for very long. ‘I’ll ring her and tell her I’m safe. I shan’t tell her where I am—just that I’m fine. Can I…?’ She gestured to the double doors and it was clear that Lydia wanted some privacy to make the call.

‘Of course.’

It was a bedroom.

Her first time in a man’s bedroom, and it was so far from the circumstances she had hoped for that it was almost laughable.

It had been an almost perfect night, yet it was ruined now. Lydia sat on the bed and cringed as she recalled her entrance into his suite.

Lydia was very used to hiding her true feelings, yet Raul seemed to bring them bubbling up to the surface.

Right now, though, she needed somehow to snap back to efficient mode—though it was hard when she heard her mother’s accusatory voice.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Lydia?’

‘I’m not playing at anything.’

‘You know damn well how important this trip is!’

A part of Lydia had hoped for her mother to take her side. To agree that Maurice’s behaviour tonight had been preposterous and tell her that of course Lydia didn’t have to agree to anything she didn’t want to do.

It had been foolish to hope.

Instead Lydia sat there as her mother told her how charming Bastiano was, how he’d been nothing but a gentleman to date, and asked how she dared embarrass the family like this.

And then, finally, her mother was honest.

‘It’s time you stepped up…’

‘Bastiano doesn’t even know me,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘We’ve spoken, at best, a couple of times.’

‘Lydia, it’s time to get your head out of the clouds. I’ve done everything I can to keep us from going under. For whatever reason, Bastiano has taken an interest in you…’

Lydia didn’t hear much of the rest.

For whatever reason…

As if it was unfathomable that someone might simply want her for no other reason than they simply did.

It was Lydia who ended the call, and after sitting for a few minutes in silence she looked up when there was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ Lydia said, and then gave a wry smile as Raul entered—it was his bedroom, after all.

‘How did it go with your mother?’

‘Not very well,’ Lydia admitted. ‘I’m being overly dramatic, apparently.’

‘Why don’t you have a bath?’

‘A bath!’ A laugh shot out of her pale lips at his odd suggestion.

‘It might relax you. There’s one already run.’

‘I’m guessing I wouldn’t have been bathing alone, had I come up the first time.’

‘Plans change,’ Raul said. ‘Give me your phone and go and wind down.’

‘You won’t answer it?’ Lydia checked.

‘No,’ Raul said.

Her family was persistent.

Raul, though, was stubborn.

The phone continued to buzz, but rather than turn it off Raul went back to lying on the bed, as he had been when Lydia had arrived.

And that was how she found him.

The bath had been soothing. Lydia had lain in the fragrant water, terribly glad of his suggestion to leave her phone.

It had given her a chance to calm down and to regroup.

‘They’ve been calling,’ Raul told her by way of greeting.

‘I thought that they might.’ Lydia sighed. ‘I doubt they’ll give up if Bastiano hasn’t. Apparently Maurice has said he’ll meet him tomorrow and I’m supposed to be there.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘No, of course—but it’s not just about dinner with Bastiano…’

‘Of course it’s not,’ Raul agreed.

‘I think he wants sex.’

‘He wants more than sex, Lydia. He wants to marry you. He thinks you’d make a very nice trophy wife. Bastiano wants to be King of your castle.’

He watched for her reaction and as always she surprised him, because Lydia just gave a shrug.

‘I wouldn’t be the first to marry for money.’

And though the thought appalled her it did not surprise her.

‘I doubt my mother married Maurice for his sparkling personality,’ Lydia said, and Raul gave a small nod that told her he agreed. ‘Would you marry for money?’ Lydia asked.

‘No,’ Raul said, ‘but that’s not from any moral standpoint—I just would never marry.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve generally run out of conversation by the morning. I can’t imagine keeping one going with the same person for the rest of my life.’

He did make her smile.

And he put her at ease.

No, that wasn’t the word, because ease wasn’t what she felt around him.

She felt like herself.

Whoever that was.

Lydia had never really been allowed to find out.

‘You’d have to remember her birthday,’ Lydia said, and sat next to him when he patted the bed.

‘And our anniversary.’ Raul rolled his eyes. ‘And married people become obsessed with what’s for dinner.’

‘They do!’ Lydia agreed.

‘I had a perfectly normal PA—Allegra. Now, every day, her husband rings and they talk about what they are going to have for dinner. I pay her more than enough that she could eat out every night…’

Yes, he made her smile.

‘Do you believe in love?’ Lydia asked.

‘No.’

She actually liked how abruptly he dismissed the very notion.

It was so peaceful in his room, and though common sense told her she should be nervous Lydia wasn’t. It was nice to talk with someone who was so matter-of-fact about something she had wrestled with for so long.

‘Would you marry if it meant you might save your family from going under?’

‘My family is gone.’ Raul shrugged. ‘Anyway, you can’t save anyone from going under. Whatever you try and do.’

The sudden pensive note to his voice had her turning to face him.

‘I wanted my mother to leave my father. I did everything I could to get her to leave, but she wouldn’t. I knew I had to get out. I was working a part-time job in Rome and studying, and I had found a flat for her.’ He looked over at Lydia briefly. ‘Next to the one I told you about. But she wouldn’t leave. She said that she could not afford to, and that aside from that she took her wedding vows seriously.’

‘I would too,’ Lydia told him.

‘Well, my mother said the same—but then she had an affair.’ It was surprisingly easy to tell her, given what Lydia had shared with him. ‘She died in a car accident just after the affair was exposed. I doubt her mind was on the road. After she died I found out that she’d had access to more than enough money to start a new life. I think her lover had found that out too.’

He wanted to tell her that his mother’s lover had been Bastiano, but that wasn’t the point he was trying to make, and he did not want to make things worse for her tonight.

‘Lydia, what I’m trying to say is you can’t prevent anyone from going under.’