The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 5

  Lucy had been flying long enough to be able to get ready in fast time, but as she stood beneath the power jets of the shower it occurred to her that there had not really been time for what had just happened. He should have stopped. She had tried to stop him—not very hard, it was true—but she had done her level best.

  Was it an act of defiance? Or some basic and territorial instinct that had made Guido want to make love to her so passionately and so immediately?

  She was so busy selecting what on earth she should wear to go and meet the Crown Prince, and wondering why he had requested to meet her before dinner, that a vital fact completely slipped her mind.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘HIS Serene Highness the Crown Prince Gianferro Miguel Laurens Cacciatore.’

  Lucy rose to her feet as Guido’s imposing brother entered the room, aware that her pulse was racing and her mouth dry.

  It was strange—though understandable, she supposed—that she had always been remarkly unfazed by Guido’s title and position, yet she felt positively nervous about meeting the heir to the throne for the first time. Maybe it was because she had met Guido socially, at a party, when he could have been just anyone—whilst here, in the Palace, she felt rather as she imagined a small child might feel if they had been chosen out of all their classmates to present a bouquet to the Queen.

  Even though Guido had told her not to, she found herself making some kind of bobbing curtsey, and he nodded in response, a rather reluctant smile curving his lips.

  ‘Please,’ he said, and indicated a chair close to the rather more ornate one he had perched on. ‘Sit.’ He glanced at his brother. ‘Guido, you will leave us?’

  Guido gave an equable nod which belied the cold gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘I’ll stay. Lucy likes to have me around—do you not, cara?’

  Lucy had a brother of her own, and she recognised sibling rivalry and unsettled scores when she came across them. The two men were glaring at each other across the Throne Room and she felt like piggy-in-the-middle. This was hardly going to bode well for the baptism—unless she could manage to turn it around so that neither man lost face.

  ‘Yes, Guido,’ she said softly, ‘I do. But I’m happy to speak with your brother alone if you think I can manage it?’

  Guido’s eyes narrowed as they engaged in a silent, clashing duel with hers. Now she was making it sound as though he was watching over her to ensure that she did not make some monumental error of manners, leaving him no choice but to withdraw. He scowled. Why did women always play such complicated games?

  ‘I will go and say hello to my new nephew,’ he said abruptly, and shot his brother a mocking glance. ‘Perhaps you would care to direct Lucy to the nursery, Gianferro, once you’ve finished your little…chat?’

  Gianferro nodded. ‘Si.’ But when Guido had left the room he turned to Lucy, a curious expression in the black eyes which were even harder than Guido’s. ‘How strange it is,’ he observed, in a softly accented voice which seemed underpinned with a note of censure, ‘that my brothers seem attracted to women who are light-years away from them in upbringing and experience.’

  She didn’t think he had meant to insult her, but an insult it undoubtedly was—though one couched in silken terms. You are not Guido’s equal. That was what he really meant, and Lucy stared at him. Did he think she didn’t already know that? That she hadn’t been aware of the great and glaring differences right from the word go? Yet pride made her want to hang on to her dignity, not to state the obvious and pick over her humble background.

  Her training as a stewardess had given her an invaluable lesson in the making of small-talk, and she seized on it now. ‘Perhaps they enjoy variety,’ she said lightly.

  His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected that she had deliberately misunderstood him. He paused for a moment, and when he spoke the silken veneer of his words had been replaced with the harder ring of truth. ‘I understand that you have been seeing him for almost a year.’

  ‘Did Guido tell you that?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  And Lucy recognised then that whatever Guido did his movements would be monitored and fed back to the Crown Prince. No doubt Gianferro would have said that he had Guido’s best interests at heart, but wasn’t it really a not-so-subtle method of spying?

  Suddenly she felt protective of her lover. And defensive, too. ‘We meet only infrequently,’ she said quickly. ‘Because of the nature of my job.’

  ‘And his nature.’

  Their eyes met. Now he was telling her that Guido was not the settling-down type, and once again his words were redundant. For she knew that, too. ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly.

  ‘So it is a modern relationship?’ he continued softly. ‘You are simply lovers?’

  She would certainly never have described them as ‘simple’, yet couldn’t help the smile which broke out briefly, like the sun through watery clouds. ‘Indeed we are.’

  There was another brief silence, and then he said, so casually that it might have been a careless throw-away remark had it not been for the questioning glitter of his dark eyes, ‘And you do not hold out some hope that one day you will become a Princess of Mardivino?’

  Lucy was stung by the slur, which implied that she was socially ambitious, that she had no feelings for Guido himself—and, God knows, she did. Even though a deep, self-protective streak had made her do her best to quash them. Yet her own feelings paled into insignificance beside the realisation of just how stifling Royal life could be. No wonder Guido had rejected it!

  Her words came blurting out before she had time to think of the consequences. ‘No, I do not, as it happens!’ she retorted. ‘But if I loved him, then nothing you could say would stop me from wanting him—no matter how “unsuitable” a partner you might deem me to be!’

  A wry smile brushed the corners of his hard mouth, a combination of admiration and relief, and Lucy realised that she had given him exactly the answer he wanted. She had made it clear that they were indeed just lovers—and that Guido had no desire nor intention to make their relationship anything more than that. Gianferro could now see that she presented no danger. No threat. No wonder all the tension had left his hard, lean body.

  ‘Good,’ he said quietly. ‘I am glad that we understand each other.’

  He rose to his feet, gesturing for her to follow suit, and Lucy found herself wondering fleetingly what it must be like always to orchestrate each and every situation. To decide when to stand, to sit, to talk or not to talk. Did the burden of it all become too much sometimes, even for him? Was that why his almost cruel mouth so rarely smiled?

  ‘Yes, your Serene Highness,’ she said calmly.

  He nodded, as if in acknowledgement of her curtsey. ‘There is a member of staff waiting outside to conduct you to the infant Prince now.’

  She bobbed him another curtsey and left the room, to follow a silent servant down one of the long, wide corridors, feeling like a tiny tadpole who had just been thrown into shark-infested waters. Was this what went on behind the Palace doors, then? Behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing?

  It is what it is, she told herself—and someone like you isn’t going to be able to change it.

  Her troubled thoughts flew straight out of her head when she was ushered into the Palace Nursery. The sight which greeted her made her heart turn over with a wistful kind of longing.

  She barely noticed Guido’s younger brother, nor the tawny-haired woman who was standing beside him. All she could see was Guido—her casual lover, she thought with an unwelcome pang—cradling the baby in his arms.

  There was always something sweet about men who were unused to babies having to deal with them—although ‘sweet’ wasn’t a word which would automatically sit comfortably with a man as overtly masculine as Guido.

  But sweet he looked. Whatever she had seen him do, it had always looked utterly effortless and accomplished, but as he tentatively held the infant she surprised a bleak, almost anguished look in h
is eyes. Was that a need for reassurance, perhaps? Because he was unused to holding such a precious bundle and needed to know that he was doing it properly?

  The tawny-haired woman beamed at him. ‘Why, Guido, you’re doing just fine!’ she exclaimed, in an accent which surprised Lucy as being not unlike her own. But then, Prince Nicolo had defied convention and married an English girl.

  Lucy saw Guido tense before she moved forward. They all looked up, but everything seemed to melt away into the background, for all she was aware of was the ebony eyes which were dazzling her with their dark fire.

  ‘It’s Lucy,’ Guido said, in a tone she didn’t quite understand. ‘Back from her cosy little chat with Gianferro!’

  Was he angry that she had insisted on facing Gianferro on her own? And was that less from a sense of wanting to protect her and more from the fact that he liked to be in control?

  Putting her troubled thoughts aside, she smiled as she approached him. ‘What a beautiful baby,’ she said softly, and tentatively touched the delicate silk of his little dark head.

  The woman might be a princess, but first and foremost she was a mother, and she beamed at Lucy with fierce maternal pride.

  ‘Isn’t he?’ she cooed, her mouth breaking into an infectious smile as she held her hand out. ‘And you must be Lucy. I’m Ella, and this is my husband, Nico.’

  Nico—or Prince Nicolo Louis Fantone Cacciatore, to be more precise—was younger than Guido, but with the same lean, muscular body, black hair and dark, golden good looks. Both men were heart-stoppingly handsome, but Nico’s face was softer than his brother’s—and you could see a certain air of serenity as he looked at his wife and his son, an inner glow which only added to his masculinity instead of detracting from it.

  That’s love, thought Lucy—not lust. And a cloud passed over her heart.

  ‘Enchanté,’ he murmured, and raised Lucy’s hand to his lips in a gesture which managed to be both courteous and gloriously old-fashioned at the same time. Then he turned to his brother, with mischief in his black eyes. ‘A woman who is both brave as well as beautiful, no doubt?’

  ‘Brave?’ questioned Lucy, with a frown.

  ‘You will have needed all the courage in the world to deal with my eldest brother,’ teased Nico.

  ‘How was Gianferro?’ drawled Guido.

  ‘Charming,’ said Lucy diplomatically, and Ella shot her the briefest of sympathetic glances.

  I bet she had to go through the same kind of interrogation with him, thought Lucy. But in her case it was warranted. She was in love with Nico, and he with her. Whereas in her case she was just here because…because…

  Behind her fringe, her brow creased into a tiny frown. Just why had Guido brought her here? To keep his bed warm at night? Surely not. He had never seemed in need of close, intimate companionship in the past.

  With an effort she pulled herself away from unanswerable thoughts and looked down at the sleeping bundle in Guido’s arms, thinking what a contrast it made—the tiny baby cradled within his powerful grip.

  ‘What’s…what’s his name?’ she questioned.

  ‘It’s Leo,’ answered Ella, and her wide mouth crinkled into a smile. ‘Well, Leonardo Amadore Constantinus Cacciatore, actually—but Leo for short! Would you like to hold him?’

  ‘Oh, I would! Can I?’

  ‘Of course you can! That’s if Guido can bear to let him go!’ said Ella impishly.

  ‘You like babies?’ questioned Nico softly.

  She looked up into a face which was so like Guido’s yet a million miles away from his hard, handsome stare. ‘I love them.’ Lucy’s voice was fervent, but then she had always been hands-on with her friends’ children.

  Guido’s eyes narrowed. ‘Here, Lucy.’ His voice was a murmur. ‘You’d better take him.’

  It seemed almost too intimate as she took the child which Guido passed over to her with the care he might have employed if it had been handling a ticking time-bomb, and at first she held the child in a similarly over-exaggerated way. For a moment she was acutely aware that this was a Royal prince, perhaps the future King of Mardivino, since neither Guido nor Gianferro had shown any sign of producing an heir. All babies were precious, but this baby…

  But those thoughts were forgotten the instant she smelt his particular baby smell and saw the easy warmth and trust of his innocent sleep. Instinctively she pulled him closer to her. With equal instinct the baby jerked his head, blindly searching for her breast, and Lucy blushed. Ella’s peal of laughter quickly dispelled any embarrassment, but she looked up to meet the steely stare of Guido and her feeling of apprehension increased.

  Was he wondering—as she was—what had happened to the independent sex-bomb of a girlfriend he had brought with him? It was true that she had played her sensual part back in the suite, but it seemed to displease him that she was now cradling his nephew and cooing and blushing like any normal woman.

  But surely that was the whole point—that underneath it all she was just a normal woman with normal desires? It was all very well in principle to tell yourself that you were just going to have a wild and passionate affair, without letting any constricting emotion get in the way. But that was what women did. It was the way they were made—programmed to react in a certain way, especially when there were babies around.

  ‘Here, Lucy. I’ll take him,’ said Ella, holding her arms out. ‘I’d better feed him before we go down to dinner. Gianferro may be a total walk-over where his nephew is concerned, but I doubt he’d appreciate it if I started breastfeeding my son at a State Banquet!’

  State Banquet! Guido hadn’t mentioned that! Though when she stopped to think about it what had she expected—all of them having dinner on trays, clustered around a television set?

  Lucy again looked at Guido, but this time he wasn’t even glancing in her direction. Instead, his gaze was roving rather distractedly around the Nursery suite. As if he was seeing it for the first time.

  As if he was wondering what the hell he was doing there.

  When she went into dinner Lucy thanked her lucky stars that she had let Guido buy her some suitable clothes for this trip, because otherwise… Otherwise she would have been left looking like an outsider, instead of just feeling like one.

  As it was, the sleek black sheath was perfect. Silk-satin and cut on the bias, it seemed to have the magical properties of managing to emphasise all her good bits and completely disguise the bits she wasn’t so fond of. Consequently, her breasts looked lush and her waist a mere handspan of a thing, while the curve of her hips seemed both shapely yet slim. Oh, how different the world would look if all the women in it could dress in couture!

  She had pinned her hair up—the way she sometimes did for work—its Titian colour a lustrous red-brown gleam and its stark lines adding to the impact of the beautifully simple dress.

  She had seen Guido’s eyes darken as they watched her, but even as part of her had thrilled in the light of his silent and sensual appropation there had been something about his stern countenance which had made her wary.

  For there was something so distant about him tonight. And not just physical distance—the fact that he was sitting far away from her at the long table, which was awash with beautiful flower arrangements and laid with ornate crystal and china.

  It was as if he were a helium balloon and someone had cut the string which bound him to earth—sending him soaring ever higher into this lavish aristocratic stratosphere in which he moved so easily. While she was the little girl left staring at a fast-retreating, bobbing dot, knowing that she would never get it back again.

  Oh, do stop it, Lucy, she urged herself, and pull yourself together. Just because he isn’t smiling across the table at you!

  For a woman who hadn’t been going to read anything into anything she was doing a pretty good job of it!

  So she fixed a smile to her lips and accepted a glass of champagne, and laughed obediently at the aged but rather amusing Count on her right side. After a while her lau
ghter grew relaxed and natural, and she chatted to some visiting Lord on her other side, who was obviously out to flirt for Britain! And it was easy to ignore the women who were vying outrageously for Guido’s attention—like a pack of fancy-plumaged vultures who were circling an especially delectable morsel.

  Guido watched her, wondering why things which seemed so perfectly simple had a habit of complicating themselves.

  What had prompted his strange sense of unease and the fleeting pang of some long-forgotten pain when he had been holding the baby? Thoughts of his mother and her death? Or was it merely that bringing a woman made everything seem so different? He was being treated differently, as if having a partner made him seem more human and approachable.

  But it wasn’t like that! Lucy was here as his lover and his distraction—and not just for him. As his partner she would send out a powerful message to the conniving matrons of Mardivino who were always so intent on manufacturing introductions to their precious daughters!

  Hadn’t he always longed for a relationship with a woman who thought as a man did? Who enjoyed the good things, like sex and laughter, and didn’t produce the whole gamut of female emotions which made life so impossibly dreary and tortuous?

  Was that what was troubling him? The fact that she had started coming over all gooey-eyed when she saw Leo? Or that she’d started looking a little too much at home? The trouble was that you got an image of a woman in your head, and when she started acting outside that image it made you feel you didn’t know her.

  He stared across the table at her. She was giggling at something the Englishman was whispering to her. His mouth hardened.

  That was the whole point, surely? That he didn’t really know her—and neither did he want to. That was what killed the excitement—once you started getting into that trap of caring and sharing and analysing every last damned thing. Or rather, when they did. Guido had never met a woman he could spend time with, day in and day out, in that parlous state they called commitment.