Secret Love-Child: Kept for Her Baby / The Costanzo Baby Secret / Her Secret, His Love-Child. Catherine Spencer
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don’t want marriage, Lucia,’ he’d said. ‘Never have. No woman has ever even made me think of it. But your news changes everything. We have a baby to consider and my child is not going to grow up illegitimate. That’s all that matters to me right now.’
‘It would have made sense—on your part, at least,’ Lucy answered now, covering the lacerations on her heart with an armour of control. ‘After all, neither of us was going into that marriage with any romantic stars in our eyes. We both knew it was just a business and legal arrangement.’
‘And now?’
‘Now? I wouldn’t sign anything you asked me to without having it thoroughly checked out first.’
‘Not even if it gave you everything you’d ever wanted—more than you ever dreamed of?’
‘I don’t think that’s possible.’
If she could have Marco in her life, then she would feel as if she had been given the world and would want nothing more. But, without her son, there was no amount of money or possessions that could compensate for the emptiness his loss would leave in her life. And she knew, deep in her soul, that Ricardo would never let her have Marco.
‘Try me.’
For the life of her, Lucy couldn’t bring her numbed, bruised brain to recognise whether there was pure challenge or invitation in the two words that Ricardo tossed at her. And she didn’t really dare to hope for the latter. Any invitation from Ricardo Emiliani came hung about with so many chains of doubt and risk, so many conditions, that it was like putting your head into a noose just to consider it. And a challenge was something she dreaded.
‘Tell me what you really want—and you can have it. Anything, so long as you get out of my life and never come back.’
‘You’ll never give me what I want so there’s no need to even ask.’
‘Why not? I—’ Ricardo broke off abruptly as a buzzing sound from his pocket drew his attention to his mobile phone. ‘Momento…’
Pulling it out, he checked the screen, frowning as he did so. ‘I have to take this.’
With the phone clamped to his ear, he swung away again, listening hard and then firing sharp, incisive questions into the receiver in rapid-fire Italian that was too fast for Lucy’s schoolgirl grasp of the language to allow her to keep up.
But she caught one word, clearly and distinctly, and that fastened onto her nerves, twisting and tugging with every second that passed.
‘Marco…’ he’d said. And, again, ‘Marco…’
Whoever was at the other end of the phone had rung him because of something that was happening with Marco and just to think of that pressed Lucy’s personal panic button, sending her thoughts into overdrive. Her heart was pounding, her breathing harsh and shallow. Something had happened to her little boy and she didn’t know what.
She couldn’t stand still, finding that only by pacing restlessly around the room could she keep herself from grabbing that phone from Ricardo and demanding to know what was happening. But the dimensions of the small space were restricted so that she found she had barely started before she was forced to turn and head back in the opposite direction. And still the conversation went on until she was ready to scream, only keeping a grip on herself by clenching her fists tight, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
But then, at last, Ricardo thumbed off the phone and turned to her again.
‘What’s happened…?’
‘My apologies…’
Their voices clashed, froze, then, because Lucy couldn’t manage anything more, it was Ricardo who continued, his tone rough with impatience. ‘I have to go. My son…’
Catching the look she gave him, he at least had the grace to pause in faint acknowledgement but only for a second. Immediately he continued, emphasising that possessive claim once again. ‘My son has woken and is upset. I need to get back.’
‘Is he all right?’
The concern wouldn’t be held down. She didn’t care what Ricardo thought of her, how he might interpret her enquiry. She only knew that if Marco was distressed then she had to know more.
‘He will be when I can get to him.’
Once more the exclusion of her was deliberate, pointed. The words stung cruelly; as she was sure they were meant to.
‘You left him in that big house—out there on the island—on his own…’
‘Never on his own!’ Ricardo cut in furiously and Lucy flinched from the fire that flared in his eyes. ‘Of course he was well looked after. His nanny was with him.’
Of course, the nanny. How could she forget the nanny?
‘He was asleep when I left…but he woke and she thought he was too upset to settle. She felt he needed his papa.’
His papa. Another vicious put down, slapping her in the face with the fact that he was Marco’s father, the parent who cared for the little boy. While she was just an outsider. The woman who had given up her claim on her child when she had run out on him. For reasons she could explain if only she got the chance.
But now was not the time. Already Ricardo was turning towards the door.
‘I have to get back to him.’
‘Of course.’
But if she let him walk out of the door, let him walk away, would she ever get the chance to talk to him again? Would she ever even see his face again? And, much, much more important, how could she let him walk away when she knew that, back in the Villa San Felice, his baby son—their baby son—was awake and miserable and in need of comfort?
Not pausing to think, she snatched up the bag that was lying on the bed, stuffed her feet hastily into flat pumps and hurried after him. The speed and length of his strides had taken him out of the door and along the landing already and she had to push herself to follow him. She caught up just as Ricardo was about to let the main door swing to behind him.
‘What the…?’ The question was pushed from him as her hand clashed with his, catching the door before it slammed.
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No way…’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t know how she managed to get such strength into her voice. Determination perhaps, or just plain desperation.
What she would do if he refused point-blank to let her go with him, she didn’t know. She could stamp her feet and demand that he let her—stand in the middle of the street and threaten to scream until he agreed. The problem was that, knowing Ricardo, he was more than capable of getting into his car and driving away, leaving her behind.
So she tried the opposite approach instead. She had nothing to lose, after all.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, Ricardo, let me come with you.’
And watched his head go back in shock, his eyes narrowing sharply as he studied her face.
Please…
Ricardo felt as if he’d had a knock to his head, jarring his brain so that he couldn’t think straight.
Please. It was the last thing he had expected Lucy to say, at least in these circumstances and in that tone of voice. Correction, Lucy asking to go with him at all was the last thing that he had expected.
And she was asking. Making it sound as if it mattered to her. Making it sound as if she was actually concerned about Marco.
‘Ricardo…’ she said now, bringing his eyes to her face again.
In the light from the open door of the boarding house, she looked pale and drawn, forcing him to remember that she had said she’d been ill. What