Blackmailed For Her Baby. Elizabeth Power
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until her new husband had taken her to meet his parents in their restored castle in Italy that she had realised how strongly they’d objected to Luca’s marrying her. Regardless of her studies, she was just a part-time waitress with no money and no prospects, and in their eyes an opportunist and a gold-digger. Their unveiled coolness towards her could have been chipped at with an ice-pick, his mother’s unrestrained remark privately to Libby that she had anticipated a far more suitable match for her son leaving Libby in no doubt as to exactly where she belonged. Anywhere but in the close-knit Vincenzo family circle!
As she steered her car through the slow-moving, increasingly heavy traffic, it still hurt to remember her in-laws’ attitude towards her, even though she had tried desperately to win their respect. Because of the conditions his father had laid down, she had had plenty of opportunity. They were to live in the castle, he had stipulated unswervingly. Otherwise he would take it to mean that their son was no longer a Vincenzo.
Luca had been all for walking out, Libby recalled, until she had persuaded him against it. The last thing she had wanted was to be responsible for a break-up between her husband and his family.
‘They’ll come round. You’ll see,’ she had naïvely reassured him, unaware of how influencing him to stay only served to reinforce her in-laws’ derogatory opinion of her. After all, she thought with cutting poignancy now, if she had allowed Luca to oppose his father she would have been walking away from the fortune he would have eventually inherited, wouldn’t she?
The van in front of her stopped dead, causing her to ram on her brakes. Through her obscured vision she could just make out that there were traffic lights ahead.
Berating herself for her lack of concentration, she tried to steer her thoughts back to the present. But the floodgates of her past, blown apart by that earth-shattering visit from Romano, had unleashed a torrent of unwelcome memories and, now that they had free passage, nothing could stem the flow.
Romano had been working abroad, she remembered, when Luca had taken her to Italy, but had come home within a few days of their arrival, sent for, she was sure, to meet, vet and generally dissect his younger brother’s new wife.
At twenty-seven, Romano Vincenzo had already been a powerful player in the family’s global commercial empire. Where Luca was warm, witty and handsome, Romano Vincenzo was cold with a serious mind and an incisive intellect, linked with that raw animal attraction that transcended mere good looks. It wasn’t just the hard structure of his face and that athletically built physique that made one notice him, Libby accepted resentfully, watching the rain streaming down the windscreen. It was everything about him—and he had it in bucketfuls. Presence. Personality. Poise.
Standing there in the castle’s imposing drawing room, he had intimidated her from the first, asking her questions about herself, innocent enough on the surface but leaving her feeling as though he was testing her with every perfectly articulated syllable, while his richly accented English ran like honey off his well-trained, interrogative tongue! Consequently, nervous and awkward in his presence, she had cloaked herself in a confidence she was far from feeling.
Sometimes during that first trip home of his she’d glanced up to catch him watching her, the dark absorption in those penetrating eyes disturbing her as much as she was sure it had been his intention to, before he’d resumed whatever it was he had been doing and turned dispassionately away.
It was the day he was due to fly back to whatever area of the Vincenzo empire was calling him that stood out in her memory. Having said his goodbyes to the rest of the household, he had come out onto the terrace, where she had been emerging from the pool after seeking some relief from the strained atmosphere inside the house.
‘It’s been more than…interesting meeting you, Libby,’ he’d told her silkily, his dark, executive image doing untold things to her equilibrium as she’d stood there in nothing but her skimpy bikini. ‘In fact it’s been rather remiss of me, but I do believe I haven’t yet kissed my brother’s new bride.’
She’d held herself rigid as he’d placed his hands on her wet shoulders, heart thumping against her ribcage, back stiffening in rejection as his lips impinged in no more than a brotherly gesture on her burning cheek.
‘You claim to love Luca, but I think we both know differently, don’t we?’ he’d challenged with a menacing softness, his warm breath fanning her hair, his scent and sound and touch an assault on her screaming senses before he’d picked up the briefcase he’d set down on the tiles and stridden away.
Staring broodingly after his broad back, she had wondered if he’d sensed the way that simple gesture had made her blood race through her, and if he’d guessed at her mind’s screaming rejection of the sensations that had ravaged her even from that briefest contact with him.
He probably thought he was irresistible to her! she remembered thinking hotly, because his ego was enormous enough and because, just like his parents, he believed that her interest in Luca lay only in what she could gain financially.
The incident, though, had unsettled her. Even remembering it now caused an icy little shiver to course down her spine. It was the cold realisation that it was entirely possible to love one man while still being shockingly aware of another—even if you didn’t like him, she thought, grappling with the gear stick as an impatient hooting from the car behind jolted her into realising that the lights had changed. And she certainly hadn’t liked Romano Vincenzo! The feelings he’d aroused in her had been irrational, born only out of a kind of warped fascination coupled with dislike, and nothing like the warm, tender feelings she’d shared with Luca.
On the move again, she recalled how elated she had been when she’d become pregnant almost immediately, and how her joy had been tempered by the sudden worrying turn of her father’s health. With no one to look after him, she’d made frequent visits back to England, the long periods she’d spent caring for him instead of being in Italy with her husband adding yet another detrimental mark against her in her in-laws’ eyes.
As she brought her car into the familiar tree-lined square, the memory of that time and everything that followed pressed down on her like a dark, suffocating cloud.
When she had gone into labour, unexpectedly here in England, given birth to a healthy baby boy, her life should have been complete. But it hadn’t worked out that way, she reflected achingly. Luca had had that accident rushing to the airport to be with her, and his parents, already despising her more than she could have believed possible, had no qualms about blaming her for his death. After all, if she’d been there where she belonged instead of abandoning her husband and her responsibilities, their son would still be alive, his mother had sobbed accusingly to her over the phone.
It was something Libby had been all too conscious of, but having it spelt out by someone else—someone who loved him just as much as she did—was almost too much to bear.
It was several weeks later when she’d gone back to Italy to collect a few of her and Luca’s things that they had dropped their bombshell.
They wanted to adopt Giorgio. Bring him up as their own. Couldn’t she see that the boy would have a far more privileged and stable upbringing with them than he would with a sick grandfather and a single mother? How could she allow their grandchild to be deprived of all they could offer him? How could she be that selfish? they had asked her when, horrified, she’d refused at first even to give any headroom to such an unthinkable idea. She’d wanted to look after her baby herself—and care for her father. She’d known there would be difficult times ahead, but she’d manage, she’d determined. Wouldn’t she? After all, other girls did. It had continued to be impressed upon her, though, how selfish she was being. That she didn’t have her child’s interests at heart. Even her father had tentatively suggested that perhaps she ought to consider the Vincenzos’ offer very carefully. She was young—had her whole life in front of her. Had she considered the enormity of what she was taking on?
Tortured and afraid, she had clung desperately to Luca’s child. She could never give him up! She couldn’t! Though the pressure to do so had been almost overwhelming, she might not have given in. Not if Marius Vincenzo, determined to wear down her resistance,