Secret Love-Child: Kept for Her Baby / The Costanzo Baby Secret / Her Secret, His Love-Child. Catherine Spencer
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needed back at the villa where, if the experience of the past few nights was anything to go by—and the sound of the nanny’s voice on the phone had certainly seemed to indicate that it was—at this moment Marco was wide awake and roaring his head off in protest at the discomfort of having another tooth come through.
Oh, yes, Donna Lucia would just love that…
And that was the thought that made up his mind for him.
‘OK,’ he said abruptly, expecting and seeing the shock and blank confusion that crossed Lucy’s face. ‘You can come. Get in the car.’
A wave of his hand indicated the vehicle parked at the roadside.
‘I…do you mean that?’
‘Lucy—’ his tone made his fierce impatience plain ‘—if you’re coming with me, get in the car or I’ll leave you behind.’
She moved then, hurrying to the car door and sliding into the seat as soon as he opened it for her.
Did she know what was ahead of her? Ricardo wondered. He doubted it. When Marco got into one of his crying jags then he made certain that the whole world knew that he wasn’t happy. And, as far as his father could see, a baby boy in a bad mood didn’t come with a volume control.
One thing was sure, if she hadn’t already had enough of being a mother, as she had declared in the cold-blooded note she had left behind when she’d walked out, then the next couple of hours were going to push her as far as she could go. For even the least reluctant mother, Marco’s screams could be positively the last straw.
And that was why he had finally agreed to let Lucy come back to the house with him.
If she needed any encouragement to persuade her to go, get out of his life and stay out of it for good, then the sight and sound of his baby son in a tantrum was probably the most likely thing to provide it.
Which suited him perfectly, Ricardo told himself, slanting a swift glance at the woman beside him as she fastened her seat belt and sat back. A faint cynical smile curled the corners of his mouth as he started the engine, put the car into gear and set off down the road.
This was going to be interesting.
THE noise hit Lucy’s ears as soon as she stepped through the main door of the villa and into the huge tiled hallway from where the big marble staircase curved upwards towards the first floor. Even in a place the size of the Villa San Felice, the furious, distressed baby yells could be heard right through the house. And, hearing them, Lucy had a terrible fight with herself not to just forget everything that had happened, forget her ambiguous position in this house and run up the stairs as fast as she could, her arms outstretched to take her little son into them.
She had even moved part way to the foot of the staircase when Ricardo came past her, taking the steps two at a time, long legs covering the ground so fast that Lucy had to put on a burst of speed as she reached the wide landing in an attempt to catch up with him.
She only made it just in time as her husband pushed open the door to the nursery and strode inside.
‘Marco…mio figlio…’
The soft words should have been drowned out by Marco’s wails but somehow the quiet tones cut through his distress and had him pausing in the middle of his sobs to look up and see his father.
‘Marco…’ Ricardo said again, crooning the name, and immediately the baby recognised his father. The wailing paused and from his nanny’s arms Marco held out his hands.
Reaching for Ricardo, Lucy suddenly understood, knowing an appalling, terribly cruel sense of loss as she realised that she had been about to step forward. Only to recognise, painfully and belatedly, that she didn’t have the right to hold her son. Not here, not now.
And besides—wasn’t she fooling herself to imagine that there might be any chance that Marco would recognise her? She had been away from him for so long. And he had been just a tiny infant when she had left.
She had to force herself to stand back, putting her hands behind her on the wall as both a source of support and a way of keeping herself from reaching out as she watched Ricardo take on the responsibility of comforting their child.
Her heart was thudding violently, just as it had done from the moment that the call had come through that Marco was refusing to settle. Although Ricardo had made it plain that he didn’t think there was anything more seriously wrong with Marco than a bad night and cutting some teeth, she had still found herself imagining every possible worst thing that could happen as the car had made its way down to the shore where the boat was moored.
Luckily the speedy motorboat that Ricardo used to cross the lake made the trip in a tenth of the time that it had taken her earlier that evening in the heavy old-fashioned rowing boat that was all she had been able to hire for herself. But, all the same, the short journey had seemed endless as Lucy stood at the prow of the boat, hands clenched tightly together, watching the lights of the big house coming closer, willing it to move faster—faster—so that she could be sure.
And now she was sure. Although miserable and irritable, Marco was clearly not seriously unwell. But somehow, knowing that didn’t make her feel any better. Seeing him safe in Ricardo’s arms, the tones of a familiar voice reaching to him as his sobs eased, only made everything so much worse. She couldn’t help but imagine how many other times this had happened, as the result of a banged knee or a miserable cold. How many times had Marco woken in need of a cuddle and she—his mother—hadn’t been there? The doctors had said that she should forgive herself for that, but how could she forgive what she couldn’t bear to think of?
‘Calma, tesoro,’ Ricardo soothed, pacing slowly up and down the room, the little boy in his arms. ‘Calma…’
At last the wails stopped, the sobs subsiding to a low murmur and then a snuffling silence, broken occasionally by a faint hiccup, a slightly gasping breath. A small hand came out and patted Ricardo’s cheek, gently, lovingly. Seeing the gesture, Lucy caught back a moan of longing and loss.
She would barely have recognised him. He was not the tiny, hairless little doll she had last seen but a small boy. So clearly his father’s son, with the Emiliani jet-black hair and wide dark eyes. Eyes that stared up into his father’s face with total confidence, total devotion.
Another shaft of pain ripped through her, tearing at her heart. She couldn’t hold back a small choking sound as she struggled with her distress.
The noise brought the child’s head round towards her. From the safety of his father’s arms, his head pillowed on the man’s strong shoulder, the little boy regarded her with wide-eyed curiosity, his soft brown gaze focused directly on her face.
‘Oh, Marco…’ It was just a whisper.
Did he recognise her? Was it possible? She longed to be able to believe it, prayed he might show some sign—however small…
But then those heavy eyelids drooped, his head lowered, the small cheek, flushed with the effects of teething and his crying jag, pressed against Ricardo’s shirt. A small thumb was pushed into his mouth and sucked on hard.
It was the last thing that Lucy saw with any clarity. The tension that had been all that had been holding her upright suddenly seemed to evaporate, leaving her whole body sagging weakly. Her vision blurred as the stinging tears filmed her eyes and all the fierce blinking in the world wouldn’t clear it for her. Her head was swimming, there was a buzzing sound in her ears and she had to put a hand to the wall for support.
‘Excuse me…’
She didn’t know if Ricardo heard her, but the truth was that she was past caring. If she stayed she would be a problem. She had to get out of the room, get some air. She didn’t dare to look back at Marco for fear that seeing him would finish her completely and she