Lily gasped. “Is this a joke?”

She stared at her reflection—their reflection—in the mirror. At the darkness of his fingers against her skin, her hair wild and tumbling around her shoulders in a silky mess. Her pink cotton shirt was stained over the left shoulder, and her eyes, though tired, gleamed with fury. Nico, in contrast, was cool and unruffled. If not for his quickened heartbeat against her, she’d almost think him bored.

But, no, there it was—that flash of something in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, that spoke volumes without a sound being uttered.

“No joke, Liliana. I have broken a long-sought-after treaty between my country and Monte-verde, not to mention embarrassed my father and our allies, so that I can do what should have been done the instant you conceived my child.”

“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, searching his face in the mirror, her heart slamming into her ribs.

“Of course you do,” he replied, dipping his head until his lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. Almost, but not quite.

“You, Miss Lily Morgan, are about to become the Crown Princess—my consort and the mother of my children.”

Lynn Raye Harris read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince, and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Cavelli’s
Lost Heir

by

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom and Pop, who took me to live in fascinating

places, bought me lots of books, and didn’t blink when

I locked myself in my room for hours on end to read.

Chapter One

CROWN PRINCE NICO CAVELLI, of the Kingdom of Montebianco, sat at a fourteenth-century antique desk and reviewed a stack of paperwork his assistant had brought him an hour ago. A glance at his watch told him there were several hours yet before he had to dress and attend the State dinner given in honor of his engagement to a neighboring princess.

Nico had a sudden urge to loosen his collar—except it was already loose. Why did the thought of marriage to Princess Antonella make him feel as if a noose were tightening around his neck?

So much had changed in his life recently. A little over two months ago he was the younger son, the dissolute playboy prince. The prince with a new mistress every few weeks, and with nothing more pressing to do than to decide which party to attend each night. It wasn’t the whole truth of his existence, though it was the one the media enjoyed writing stories about. He’d been content to let them, to feed their need for scandalous behavior. Anything to keep their attention away from his emotionally fragile brother.

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose.

Gaetano had been the oldest. The delicate one. The legitimate one.

The brother that Nico had spent his childhood protecting when he hadn’t been fighting for his own honor as the product of a royal indiscretion. Ultimately, he couldn’t protect Gaetano from the ramifications of his choices, or from the fateful decision to aim his Ferarri at a cliff and jam the pedal to the floor.

Per Dio, he missed Gaetano so much. And he was angry with him. Angry that he’d chosen such finality, that he hadn’t fought harder against his personal demons, that he hadn’t trusted Nico with his secret years ago. Nico would have moved mountains for Gaetano if he’d known.

“Basta!” Nico muttered, focusing again on the paperwork. Nothing would bring Gaetano back, and nothing would change Nico’s destiny now. He was the remaining prince, and though he was illegitimate, the Montebiancan constitution allowed him to inherit. In this day and age, with modern medicine being what it was, there was no doubt of his parentage—if, indeed, there could be any doubt in the first place; Cavelli men always looked as if they’d been cast from the same mold.

Only Queen Tiziana disapproved of Nico’s new status—but then she’d disapproved of him his whole life. Nothing he ever did had been good enough for her. He’d tried to please her when he’d been a child, but he’d always been shut out. He understood now, as a grown man, why she’d disliked him. His presence reminded her that her husband had been unfaithful.

When he’d moved into the palace after his mother’s death, the queen had seen him as a threat, especially because he was stronger and bigger than Gaetano, though he was the younger of the two. That he was now Crown Prince only drove the pain deeper. He was a constant reminder of what she’d lost. It didn’t matter that he’d also loved Gaetano, that he would give anything for his brother to still be alive.

Since he couldn’t bring Gaetano back, he would do his utmost to fulfill his duty as Crown Prince to the best of his ability. It was the only way to honor his brother’s memory.

A knock on the door brought his head up. “Enter.”

“The Prefect of Police has sent a messenger, Your Highness,” his assistant said.

“I will see him,” Nico replied.

A moment later, a uniformed man appeared and bowed deeply. “Your Serene Highness, the Prefect sends his greetings.”

Nico tamped down his impatience as the man recited the ritual greetings and wishes for his health and happiness. “What is the message?” he asked, somewhat irritably, once the formalities had been observed.

Though it was indeed the Crown Prince’s duty to oversee the police force, it was more a symbolic role than anything else. That the Prefect was actually communicating with him about something filled him with an uncharacteristic sense of foreboding.

Ridiculous. It was merely the awareness of his loss of freedom that pinched at the back of his mind and made him feel uneasy.

The man reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The Prefect has tasked me with informing you that we have recovered some of the ancient statues taken from the museum. And to give you this, Your Highness.”

Nico held out his hand. The man stood to attention while Nico ripped into the envelope.

He expected the sheet of paper inside, but it was the photograph of a woman and child that caught Nico’s attention first. Their faces filled the frame as if someone had stood very close to snap the picture. He recognized the woman almost instantly—the wheat-blond hair, the green eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose—and felt a momentary pang of regret their liaison had not lasted longer. His gaze skimmed to the child.

Sudden fury corroded his insides. It was not possible. He had never been that careless. He would never do to a child what had been done to him. He would never father a baby and walk away. It had to be a trick, a stunt to embarrass him on the eve of his engagement, a ploy to get money. There was no way this child was his.

His mind reeled. He’d spent only a short time with her, had made love to her only once—much to his regret. Wouldn’t he have remembered if something had gone wrong? Of course he would—but the child had the distinct look of a Cavelli. Nico couldn’t tear his gaze away from eyes that were a mirror to his own as he unfolded the paper. Finally, he succeeded in wrenching his attention to the Prefect’s scrawled words.

Nico dropped the paper and shoved back from the desk. “You will take me to the prison. Now.”

Lily Morgan was desperate. She was only supposed to be in Montebianco for two days. She’d been here for three. Her heart beat so loud and hard in her ears that she’d half expected to have a heart attack hours ago. She had to get home, had to get back to her baby. But the authorities showed no signs of letting her leave, and her pleas to speak with the American Consulate were ignored. She hadn’t seen a soul in over four hours now. She knew because she still had her watch, though they’d taken her cell phone and laptop away when they’d brought her down here.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Is anyone there?” No one answered. There was nothing but the echo of her voice against the ancient stone interior of the old fortress.

Lily sank onto the lumpy mattress in the dank cell and scraped her hand beneath her nose. She would not cry. Not again. She had to be strong for her boy. Would he miss her by now? She’d never left him before. She would not have done so now had her boss not given her little choice.

“Julie’s sick,” he’d said about the paper’s only travel writer just a few days ago. “We need you to go to Montebianco and research that piece she was working on for the anniversary edition.”

Lily had blinked, dumbfounded. “But I’ve never written a travel article!” In fact, she’d never written anything more exciting than an obituary in the three months she’d been at the paper. She wasn’t even a journalist, though she’d hoped to become one someday. She’d been hired to work in the advertising department, but since the paper was small, she often did double duty when there was a shortage.

The only reason the Port Pierre Register had a travel writer was because Julie was not only the publisher’s niece, but her parents also owned the town’s single travel agency. If she was writing about Montebianco, there was probably a special package deal coming up.

But the mere thought of traveling to Montebianco had turned Lily’s legs to jelly. How could she enter the Mediterranean kingdom knowing that Nico Cavelli lived there?

Her boss was oblivious. “You don’t need to write it, sweetheart. Julie’s done most of the work already. Just go take some pictures, write down how it feels to be there, that kind of thing. Experience the country for two days, then come back and work with her on the write-up.”

When she demurred, he refused to take no for an answer. “Times are getting tough, Lily. If I can’t count on you to do the job when I need you, I may have to find someone who’s more willing. This is your chance to prove yourself.”

Lily couldn’t afford to lose her position at the paper. Jobs weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Port Pierre; without this one, she couldn’t pay her rent or keep up with her medical insurance premiums. She could search for other employment, but there was no guarantee she’d find anything quickly. Once she’d gotten pregnant, she’d had to drop out of college. She’d spent the last couple of years bouncing from one low-paying position to another, doing anything to take care of her baby. The job at the paper was a major break and a huge step up for her. She might even be able to return to school part-time and finish her studies someday.

She simply could not endanger Danny’s future by refusing. She’d gone without many things as a child when her mother had been out of work or, worse, had dropped everything to run off with her womanizing father again. Lily would not do that to her own baby. She’d learned the hard way never to rely on anyone but herself.

She had no choice but to accept the assignment, though she’d comforted herself with the knowledge that her chances of actually crossing paths with a prince were pretty slim. She would leave Danny with her best friend, spend two days touring Castello del Bianco, and then she would be on a plane home. Simple, right?

But she’d never bargained on winding up in a prison cell. Would someone call the authorities when she didn’t return? Had they already done so? It was her only hope—that someone would report her missing and the American Consulate would insist upon an accounting of her movements within the kingdom.

A distant clanging brought Lily to her feet. Her heart thumped harder if it were possible. Was someone coming to see her, to let her go? Or was it simply a new prisoner being brought into the depths of this musty old fortress?

Lily gripped the bars and peered down the darkened hall. Footsteps echoed in the ancient corridor. A voice spoke until another silenced it with a sharp command. She swallowed, waiting. A lifetime later, a man came into view, his form too dark beneath the shadows to distinguish features. He stopped just short of the pale light knifing down from a slit in the fortress wall several feet above his head. He didn’t speak.

Lily’s heart dropped to her toes as a fresh wave of tears threatened. Oh God, he couldn’t be here. He simply couldn’t. Fate could not be so cruel.

She couldn’t say a word as the prince—for so she had to think of him—moved into the light. And—oh my—he was every bit as handsome as the pictures in the magazines made him out to be. As her memory insisted he was. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, as if he’d cropped it closer in an effort to look more serious. He wore dark trousers and a casual silk shirt unbuttoned over a fitted T-shirt. Ice-blue eyes stared back at her from a face so fine it appeared as if an artist had molded it.

My God, had she really thought he was just a graduate student at Tulane when she’d met him at Mardi Gras? Could she have been any more naive? There was no way this man could ever be mistaken for anything other than what he was: a wealthy, privileged person who moved in circles so far above her that she got altitude sickness just thinking about it.

“Leave us,” he said to the man at his side.

“But Your Highness, I do not think—”

“Vattene via!”

“Si, Mio Principe,” the man answered in the Italian dialect commonly spoken in Montebianco. He gave a short bow and scurried up the passageway. Lily held her breath.

“You are accused of trying to smuggle Montebiancan antiquities out of the country,” he said coolly, once the echoes from the man’s footsteps faded away.

Lily blinked. “I’m sorry?” Of all the things she’d expected him to say, this had not been even a remote possibility.

“Two figurines, signorina. A wolf and a lady. They were found in your luggage.”

“Souvenirs,” she sputtered in disbelief. “I bought them from a street vendor.”

“They are priceless treasures of my country’s heritage, stolen from the state museum three months ago.”

Lily’s knees went weak. Oh, God. “I know nothing about that! I just want to go home.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. It was all so strange. Both the accusation and the fact he didn’t appear to recognize her. But of course he wouldn’t! Had she really expected it? She gave her head a tiny shake. No, she hadn’t, but after all she’d been through the last two years, it hurt nonetheless. How could he not look at her and know? How could he not be aware of her the way she was of him?

Prince Nico drew closer. His hands were thrust in his pockets as he gazed down at her, his cool eyes giving nothing away. No hint of recognition, no sliver of kindness, nothing. Just supreme arrogance and a sense of entitlement so complete it astonished her. Had she really spent hours talking with this man? About what?

Without meaning to, she remembered lying beneath him, feeling his body moving inside hers. It had all been so new to her, and yet he’d been tender and reassuring. He’d made her feel special, cherished.

Now, the memory seemed like a distant illusion, made all the more so by his lack of awareness of it.

She dropped her gaze, unable to maintain the contact. His eyes were unusual in their coloring, pale and striking, but that wasn’t the precise reason she couldn’t look at him.

No, she couldn’t look because it made her heartsick for her child. She hadn’t realized it until she was face-to-face with the prince again, but Danny was the exact image of his father.

“I am afraid that is impossible.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes beginning to tear again. No. She had to be strong. “I—I have to get home. I have responsibilities. People need me.”

Prince Nico’s gaze sharpened. “What people, signorina?”

Lily’s stomach hollowed with fear. She couldn’t tell him about Danny, not now. Not like this. “My family needs me. My mother depends on me.” She hadn’t seen her mother in over a year, but he didn’t know that.

He studied her, his quick gaze sweeping over her with interest. And something more. Her nerve endings prickled.

“No husband, Lily?”

His use of her name was like the subtle caress of his fingers against her skin: shocking, unexpected and delicious. At first she thought he must recognize her, must remember her name after all—though he’d called her Liliana in their time together. But nothing in his demeanor indicated he had. He’d gotten it from the police. Of course.

She felt like a fool for thinking otherwise. But why was he here? Did a prince really come to the prison when someone was accused of theft? She felt as though she was missing a piece of the puzzle, as though there was something she should know, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

“No, no husband,” she said. She couldn’t mention Danny, she simply couldn’t. Fear for her baby threatened to overwhelm her. If Nico knew he had a son, would he take her baby away from her? He certainly had the power and the money to do so.

She pressed closer to the bars, beseeching him, pouring every ounce of feeling she had into her words. “Please, Ni—Your Highness,” she corrected, thinking better of calling him by name. “Please help me.”

She thought he looked puzzled, but it was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure.

“How is it you expect me to help you?”

Lily swallowed the hard knot in her throat. Could she confess just a little bit? Would she endanger her baby by doing so? Or was she endangering him by not speaking? What if she never got out of here? Would Carla raise Danny as her own? “W-we met once. In New Orleans two years ago. You were kind to me then.”

If she expected awareness to cross his features, she was disappointed. He remained distant, detached.

“I am always kind to women.” His voice was as smooth and rich as chocolate. And as cool as an Alpine lake.

Heat rushed to Lily’s face. How could she stand here and have this conversation with him, with the man who’d fathered her child and didn’t even know it? She’d been right about him, right not to persist in her efforts to track him down once she’d learned he was so much more than an ordinary man named Nico Cavelli.

She still remembered the shock of finding out who he really was, the endless parade of photos and sensational tabloid articles once she’d discovered his identity. Prince Nico of Montebianco was nothing more than a playboy, a jet-setter on a global scale who’d once gone slumming in New Orleans. He did not remember her, did not care about her, and certainly wouldn’t care about Danny.

Just as her father hadn’t cared about her or her mother. Of all the men in this world, how had she chosen this one to initiate her into the ways of intimacy between a man and a woman? It was mind-boggling how ignorant she’d been, how duped she’d been by his charm and sincerity. He hadn’t exactly lied about who he was, but he hadn’t told the truth, either. She’d known his name and where he was from, but she hadn’t known he was a prince until later.

Once he’d gotten what he wanted from her, he’d abandoned her to her fate. She’d stood in the rain for over two hours that last night, waiting for him. He’d promised he would be there, but he never showed.

God, he made her sick.

Before she could gather her thoughts to speak, to think of another method of approach, he whipped something from his shirt pocket and thrust it toward her. Gone was the cool facade. In its place was a wrath so deep it would have frightened her had there been no bars between them.

“What is the meaning of this? Who is this child?”

Lily’s heart squeezed. She shoved her hand between the bars, tried to reach the picture of her and Danny, but the prince snatched it away. A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. They’d gone through her things, dismantled her suitcases as if she was a common thief and passed her possessions around for comment. Worst of all—he knew her secret!

“Who is he?” the prince demanded again.

“That’s my baby! Give me that,” she cried, clawing between the bars. “It’s mine!”

He looked furious. And a little bit stunned, if that were possible. But he recovered quickly. “I don’t know what you think will happen now that I’ve seen this, but it will not work, signorina. This is a cheap attempt to blackmail me, and I will not bow to it.” His voice dripped menace.

Lily stopped struggling and stared at him, her head buzzing with emotion. “Blackmail you? Why would I do that? I want nothing from you!”

Her mind raced. Nico didn’t know anything for certain. He was only concerned about himself and his money. If she hadn’t been locked up, it might have been a relief in an odd way to have her opinion of him confirmed. She had to make sure he understood that she expected nothing from him. If he didn’t feel threatened, he might help her to leave this place.

Lily closed her eyes, struggled for calm. “All I want is to go home.”

Why had she ever been worried he would take her baby away? He was not the kind of man who would care about his child. He kept many mistresses, and had fathered several children already. She usually avoided the gossip magazines, but the occasional blaring headline about Nico still had the power to attract her attention. She knew, for instance, that he was about to marry.

A pang of feeling sliced into her and she pushed it down deep without examining it. How must his wife-to-be feel about his philandering ways, about the many children with no real father? She had certainly made the right decision not to get in touch with him two years ago. Danny deserved so much better than a father like him, a father who would never be bothered to spend any time getting to know his child. She didn’t want her baby to grow up the way she did, with a wastrel father who only came into her life whenever it suited him—and left it again without concern for the emotional wreckage strewn in his wake.

“What are you doing in Montebianco?” he demanded, his tone distrustful and suspicious. “Why did you come here, if not to try and blackmail me?”

“I was doing research,” she said, her temper flaring. “For a newspaper article. And why would I want to blackmail you?”

“Do not play games with me, signorina.” He tucked the photo back into his pocket. He looked murderous, as if he could order the guard to forget she was down here and throw away the key. A sliver of fear knifed into her; he probably could do such a thing.

“I hope you are comfortable, Lily Morgan, because you are going to spend as much time in this cell as it takes for me to learn the truth.”

“I told you my boss sent me. I didn’t come for any other reason!”

“You do not wish to tell me this child in the photo is mine? You did not come all this way to do just that? To demand money?”

Lily wrapped her arms around her body, surprised she was trembling, and looked away. “No. I want to go home and forget I ever met you.”

Nico moved so fast she jerked back a step, forgetting the bars between them. His hands were the ones gripping the metal this time, his pale gaze lasering into her. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Miss Morgan, but I assure you I will get to the truth.”

When he shoved away and strode up the passage, she didn’t make a sound. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Prince Nico had no heart.

Nico strode into his apartments in the palace and summoned his assistant. Once he gave the order to find out everything about Miss Margaret Lily Morgan—oh yes, that had been a surprise, finding out she used her middle name instead of her first; and yet it explained why he’d never found a trace of her when he’d inquired two years ago—he went onto the terrace and gazed out at the city below.

The encounter had affected him more than he cared to admit. Lily Morgan was not at all what he expected. She was not the soft, almost shy girl he remembered, his Liliana who was as pure and fine as the flower she was named after. The night in prison should have frightened her, made her cooperative. Yet this Lily was fierce, determined.

But determined to do what?

He did not know, but he would not leave her there for another night—was, in fact, somewhat appalled she’d been held there without his knowledge in the first place. Nico’s mouth twisted in distaste. It made sense that the old fortress was still used as a prison, but the conditions could be improved. Yet another thing he would change now that he was Crown Prince.

He slipped the photo from his pocket, held it between two fingers without looking at it. The photograph had been altered, he was sure of it. Any talented photographer with the right computer equipment could make a photo say anything he or she wanted it to say. How well Nico knew this. Today was not the first time he’d been presented with such a lie. The media tried all the time to place him somewhere he’d not been, or with someone he’d not been with. The photographs were doctored, easily disproved, though it was irritating and inconvenient to do so.

And yet it was the life he’d chosen, when he’d chosen to be the foil for Gaetano. Nico shoved a hand through his hair. He could handle it. He’d always been able to handle it. He would do so now, and he would send Miss Lily Morgan back to America where she belonged.

Madonna diavola, this was also not the first time he’d been presented with a paternity claim—though he’d never been presented with it in quite this way. Lily hadn’t mentioned the child at all until he’d shown her the picture. And then she’d been desperate to get the photo from him, had never actually come out and said the child was his. But it must be her intention. What else?

He lifted the photo, studied it—and felt that jolt of awareness and recognition he’d never experienced before. Unlike the children that two of his former lovers had tried to assert were his—each incident had been disproved and the claims retracted, though Nico still gave money for the children’s care since it was not their faults they’d been born without fathers—this boy had the look of a Cavelli. It was more than the eyes—something in the dark curls, the smooth olive skin, the shape of jaw and nose, the firm set—even in a toddler— of the lips. The likeness was remarkable, yet surely it was a trick.

He’d been captivated by her, he remembered it well, but not so captivated he’d forgotten to take precautions when he’d made love to her. He never forgot to take precautions. It was as necessary to his existence as sleeping or eating. He’d grown up the product of an indiscretion, and he would not ever cause a child to suffer the way he had. When he had children, they would be legitimate, wanted, and loved.

But what if those precautions had somehow failed? Was it possible? Could he be this boy’s father? And, if he was, how could she have kept him from his son for all this time?

But no, it was not possible. He would have remembered if something happened to the condom; nothing had. The child could not be his, no matter how strong the likeness. It was a photographic trick.

Satisfied, he dropped the photo into a potted plant. He would not be played for a fool by this woman. Soon, he would know the truth. And tonight he would formalize his engagement to Princess Antonella, would move forward with the effort to unite Montebianco and Monteverde by honoring the commitment his family had made to the Romanellis when Gaetano was still alive. Antonella Romanelli was a beautiful woman; surely he would be well pleased with her as his wife.

Nico turned from the view and strode toward the terrace doors. He only took a few steps before faltering. With a muttered curse, he retrieved the picture and tucked it against his heart.

Chapter Two

LILY BOLTED UPRIGHT on the musty cot, panic gripping her. Where was she? Why was she so cold?

A moment later, she remembered. The thin blanket she’d huddled under just wasn’t enough protection. She scrubbed both her hands through her hair and got to her feet, hugging herself against the chill settling into the damp fortress walls as night crept over the city. How had she managed to fall asleep after her encounter with Nico?

Her eyes were gritty and tired, and her head throbbed. She’d cried so hard she’d given herself a migraine, though it was thankfully nothing more than a dull pain now. The sleep had helped at least.

The sudden clanging of the metal door in the passageway startled a little cry from her. Her heart pounded as she backed toward the opposite wall of the cell. A naked bulb overhead gave off only meager light and she squinted into the darkness outside the bars. A big shape shuffled into view and thrust a key into the lock. The door swung open just as she made out the uniform of a Montebiancan police officer.

“Come with me, signorina,” the man said in thick English.

“Where are you taking me?” Fear, sharp and cold, slashed into her. Did the prince plan to have her thrown off a cliff somewhere?

Stop being silly.

“Come,” he said, motioning. She hesitated only a moment longer, deciding she might have a better chance once she was out of this cell. She could give him the slip if the opportunity presented itself, or perhaps she could scream for help. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than sitting here another night.

The policeman ushered her up into the bright light of the rooms above the ancient cells. Before she could grow accustomed to the light, she was outside in the cool night air. A Mercedes limo idled near the exit and a man in a dark chauffeur’s uniform snapped the car door open.

Lily faltered. The policeman held out his hand, motioning at the car. “Please,” he said.

She hesitated, glancing at the street beyond the black iron gates. There was no escape that way, so she climbed into the car, her mind racing with possibilities. The door slammed behind her and a moment later the car whisked into traffic. Her questions about where they were going didn’t penetrate the glass between her and the driver, so she settled into the plush leather of the interior and watched the city lights slide by as she planned her escape.

Lily gripped the door handle in a damp palm, her heart racing. When the car came to a halt at a light, she pulled, intending to slip out and disappear into the night before the driver could blink—but the door was locked. She jerked it again and again, but it refused to open. The driver didn’t even glance at her. The car started moving, climbing steadily uphill, and Lily bit her lip, tears of frustration choking her.

Soon, they passed beneath an archway and into a courtyard. The car came to a halt. Lily pulled in a deep breath as her door swung open. Whatever was about to happen, she would not be a blubbering wreck. She was stronger than her fear, stronger than Nico Cavelli could ever imagine. She’d had to be.

A man in a colorful palace uniform beckoned her. Only then did it dawn on her that they’d arrived at the Cavelli Palace. The Moorish fortress sat at the highest point of the city, its white walls gleaming in both sun and moonlight. It commanded sweeping views of the sea and sparkled like a diamond in the center of a pendant. She’d gazed at it for two days, wondering if Nico was here, what he was doing, if he ever thought of her.

She’d certainly gotten her answer, hadn’t she?

She was hurried through a door and down a series of corridors, finally arriving at closed gilt double doors. The palace guard rapped and spoke in Italian. A moment later, a voice answered and the doors swung open.

Blood rushed to Lily’s head as she crossed the threshold. The room was a confection of ornate Moorish arches, mosaics, antiques, priceless artwork and tapestries. The gilt alone could pay for Danny’s college tuition wherever he chose to go. A massive crystal chandelier threw glittering light into every corner. Her senses were overwhelmed as she tried to take it all in.

The doors clicked shut behind her and she whirled, her gaze colliding with that of the man walking in from an adjoining room.

If he wanted to intimidate her, he was doing a fine job. He was tall and broad, his body encased in a glittering uniform that surprised her with its ornate formality. A red sash crossed from his right shoulder to his waist. The uniform was dark, black or navy, and studded with gold. Medals draped across his chest in a colorful row of ribbons and polished silver discs and stars. A saber, dripping with tassels, was strapped to his side.

He lifted his hands and peeled off first one white glove and then the other while she gaped. He tossed them onto a chair with the hat she hadn’t noticed before.

Desperately, Lily tried to conjure the image of the somewhat shaggy-haired student she’d thought him to be in New Orleans. He’d smiled a lot then. Laughed. How could this person be the same? Did he have a twin, perhaps? A twin who’d given her a false name?

For once, she wished she’d read more about him. Her knowledge was limited to gossip magazines and celebrity Web sites. She’d steadfastly refused to find out anything more once she’d discovered just how colossal a mistake in judgment she’d made. What good would it have done to pore over his biography when she was never going to see him again? Lily Morgan dating a prince—yeah, that was freaking hilarious.

“This is what is going to happen,” he said coolly. “You are going to answer me truthfully and completely, and then you will call your friend Carla—”

“I want to call her now,” Lily said firmly, only mildly surprised he knew her best friend’s name. He’d been busy the last few hours, that’s for sure. “She must be frantic with worry, and I want to know my son is well.”

Nico held up a hand. “All in good time, signorina. First, you answer my question, and then you call.”

Lily was tired and achy from too little sleep and the cold prison cell, and her head still throbbed dully. Her temper was on its last thread, and she no longer cared if she was talking to a prince or not. He put his pants on the same way as everyone else—not to mention he’d once deigned to sleep with her—so that gave her as good a reason as any to speak to him as an equal. “I’m calling her now, or I’m not answering.”

Nico’s eyes gleamed with suppressed annoyance. “You do not wish to test me, signorina. Your position is precarious enough, do you not think?”

Lily’s chin nudged up a notch. “What do you plan to do, throw me back in that dungeon?”

“Perhaps. Trafficking in stolen antiquities is a significant crime in Montebianco. We take our heritage very seriously here.”

Lily’s right temple pounded. “I didn’t steal anything. If you check with the street vendor, you’ll know it’s the truth.”

“We are having some difficulty locating him. Not to mention that street vendors do not typically sell priceless artworks as if they are cheap trinkets.”

“You’re lying.” The man had a stall in the market, for goodness’ sake. How hard was it to find him again?

“I assure you I am not. He seems to have disappeared. If ever he was there in the first place.”

Lily’s bravado leached away under the weight of his arrogant surety. She was too tired to fight him, and too worried about her son to care about matching wits with this coldblooded man any longer. She just wanted it over with. “Fine—what do you want to know?”

“I want you to tell me if this child is mine.”

Lily’s lungs refused to work properly. Liquid fear softened her spine, her knees, but somehow she remained upright. “What kind of question is that?” she asked on little more than a whisper.

His eyes flashed fire. “It is the kind of question you will answer truthfully if you wish to remain free.”

She nearly choked. “You call this free?”

“Lily,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. And something else. Pain? Weariness?

She swallowed, dropped her gaze to study the tiles at her feet. Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. It was the moment of truth, the one she’d never thought would come. Would he somehow care for her and Danny? Would he help them, be a father to her boy?

Of course he wouldn’t. He was marrying a princess, God help the poor woman, and he wasn’t about to change his ways just because he had yet another illegitimate child in this world. He might give her money to take care of Danny, but Lily knew that everything came with a price. She’d basically taken care of herself since she was fifteen years old, and she would continue to take care of herself and Danny on the strength of her will and determination. She would not accept handouts from Nico.

A finger under her chin tipped her head up. She hadn’t realized he’d moved so close. The touch stung, brought memories to the surface she’d rather forget. His eyes were mesmerizing, as pale and blue as a winter lake. She’d wanted to drown in them once. Wanted to drown in him.

Part of her still did.

“Why does it matter?” she said, fighting a wave of panic.

His gaze never wavered, piercing her to the core. The contrast of his soft words was jarring to her senses. “Is this boy mine?”

In a split second, a million possible outcomes crossed her mind. And yet there was only one answer she could give, no matter how it tortured her to do so. “Yes,” she whispered.

She was utterly still as his hand dropped. A moment later, while time stood still, he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I remember this hair,” he said softly. “It is still like the finest silk in my hands.”

He’d moved closer than she’d realized, his body mere fractions away. The hilt of his sword grazed her beneath the ribs. “You remember?” she said, then cursed herself for sounding so desperate for an affirmative answer.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered long enough that warmth blossomed between her thighs. Had she ever been kissed so thoroughly as when he’d kissed her? She stared at his lips, remembering the first brush of them. Remembering how his tongue dipped in to stroke her own, the way she’d sighed and opened to him, the utter rush of desire that flooded her as the kiss deepened into something that left them both gasping for breath and sanity when it was through.

He smelled so good, like citrus and spice and warm Mediterranean nights. She wanted to lean into him, wanted to kiss him again, wanted to know if what she’d felt with him had been real or a fluke.

“I remember you,” he said. For an insane moment she thought he might really kiss her. With a soft curse, he moved away, unstrapping the sword as he walked. It clattered to the floor beside the chair with the rest of his gear before he spun and fixed her with a glare.

“I remember that we met in Jackson Square when a pickpocket tried to steal your purse. I remember meeting you for three nights in a row in front of the cathedral. But most of all, I remember the last night. Mardi Gras. You were still a virgin.”

Lily didn’t care if she had permission or not. She moved to a plush couch and sank down on it, aware that she hadn’t showered since yesterday and that she probably smelled as musty as the dungeon. But her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.

“But when you came to the prison…” Her voice trailed off as she thought about how cold and cruel he would have to be to put her through that ordeal earlier. This was not a man to lose her head over, not a fairy-tale prince on a white stallion. This was a petty, privileged man who didn’t care about anything but his own pleasure.

“This is what you will do now,” he continued. “You will call your friend Carla and have her bring the boy to the airport. She will turn him over to a woman in my employ. Her name is Gisela—”

“No!” Lily shot to her feet. “I’m not telling Carla to give my son to a stranger—”

“Our son, is he not, Lily?”

Her heart battered her ribs. She would not lose her baby to this man! “Surely you can’t be prepared to take my word on it,” she flung at him with far more bravado than she felt. “Let me go home and you’ll never hear another thing from me, I swear.”

“That I cannot do, signorina.” Irritation crossed his features as he stalked toward her again. “And I already know the truth. Our son was born nearly seventeen months ago, on November the twenty-fifth, in a small hospital in Port Pierre, Louisiana. You were in labor for twenty-two hours, and the only person at your bedside was Carla Breaux.”

Lily sank onto the couch again as her legs gave way. He knew the truth. “Why did you ask me if he was yours if you know so much?”

“Because I wanted to hear you say it.”

Lily felt as if she were collapsing in on herself. Her body folded over, slowly, until her head was nearly between her knees. Fury and fear mingled in her gut, bubbled into a great howl of rage that erupted from her throat, astonishing her.

Astonishing Nico, if the alarm on his face was any indication.

“You are not taking my baby away from me,” she vowed. “I’ll go back to that cell and stay there, but I will not tell Carla to hand over Danny to you.”

He went to the bar set against one wall and poured a measure of caramel-colored liquid into a glass. Then he returned and held the cut crystal out to her. “Drink this.”

“No.”

“You are overwrought. This will help.”

She gripped the glass in both hands, more to make him go away than anything. When he stood so close, her head felt fuzzy. Thankfully, he retreated a few steps. He picked up a phone, issued what she assumed were a set of orders since whoever was on the other end never had time to speak before he hung up again.

“You will call your friend Carla and tell her to bring Daniele to the airport tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t,” she said quietly, resenting the way he so easily Italianized her son’s name.

“Indeed you will,” Nico replied. “You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. Should you not cooperate, you might never see Daniele again. Because you will not leave Montebianco. He could grow up motherless, and alone.”

Numbness crept over her. “You would do that to your own son? You would deny him his mother?”

She didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible clenching of his jaw. “I will do what it takes to make you see reason, cara. If you cooperate, this will not have to happen, si?”

“How can you be so cruel?”

He shrugged an elegant shoulder, and Lily saw red. The spoiled bastard! The glass tumbled to the floor and shattered against the tile as she lunged for him. Nico was faster, however. He swept her high into his arms and carried her across the room as she kicked and struggled.

“Dio, woman, you are wearing sandals. Do you want to slice your feet to ribbons?”

Lily didn’t care. She simply didn’t care about anything any longer. This man, this cold evil man, was trying to take away the one person in the world who meant the most to her. It was her greatest fear come to life. She would not allow it.

She twisted in his iron grip, throwing him off balance so that he stumbled. Lily pressed her advantage and they fell to the thick Oriental carpet together, Nico taking the brunt of the impact. A moment later, he flipped her and she found herself on her back, Nico’s hard form pressing into her, breast to belly to hip.

“Stop fighting me, cara,” he said harshly. “It changes nothing.”

Lily wiggled beneath him, tried to shake him off. His solid form didn’t budge. The point of a star-shaped medal dug into her ribs. “Why are you doing this to me?” she cried. “You have dozens of children with your mistresses, so why do you care about mine?”

Rage, disbelief, frustration—they chased across his face in equal measure. “I have one child, Liliana. Only one. And you have kept him from me.”

“I don’t believe you,” she gasped out.

Nico shifted and the medal’s point thankfully stopped pricking her. He gripped her arms, forced them above her head. He seemed to hover on the edge of control. “Have you never thought that gossip magazines might lie?”

“They can’t all be lies.” There had to be a grain of truth, right? Perhaps they exaggerated, but there must be something to it. Not one of the reporters she knew at the Register would dare write something so patently false.

Nico’s laugh was short and bitter. “You have obviously never been the victim of these carrion. They feed on outrage and misdirection. There’s hardly a single thing they print about me that is true.”

“Now I know you’re lying. I’ve seen photos of you with lots of women—”

“I have had many mistresses,” he said, cutting her off. “This is to be expected—”

“Why? Because you’re some kind of God’s gift—”

“Basta! You seek to exasperate me, signorina, and you succeed. Nevertheless, I have one child.”

Lily’s chest heaved in frustration as she stared up at him. But her eyes closed as the truth of his words sank in. Gossip magazines thrived on scandal. She knew that. But she didn’t want to believe he spoke the truth. Because if he did, so much she’d thought about him would be wrong. The blood drained from her head as the implications sank in.

“But if Danny really is the only one, that would mean—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, uncertain what to say next. Was Danny in line for a throne? Impossible.

Nico said it for her. “Yes, cara, our child is my heir and second in line to the throne of Montebianco.”

Her insides were jelly. “How is that possible?” she managed. “We aren’t even married.”

“It just is,” he said, his accent thickening suddenly as she moved.

Lily took advantage of his distraction to try and buck him off. She arched her back and flexed her body upward, shoving into the cradle of his hips. His arousal sent a jolt of sensation sizzling through her.

In spite of her anger and frustration, the feeling was delicious.

Dangerous.

Nico’s breath caught as she shoved against him. The sound was slight, but she heard it nonetheless.

And just like that she was on fire, absolutely aflame with longing. How could it be possible? How could she feel sexual desire for him when he wanted to ruin her life? He’d given her the most precious thing in her world, and now he wanted to take it away. And her body didn’t seem to care. She redoubled her efforts to throw him off.

“Maledizione,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Stop moving—or would you like to take this into the bedroom and do it properly?”

Lily’s palms pushed against the crisp material of his uniform. A desperate, greedy part of her did indeed want to do it properly. But her common sense, her anger, her sheer dislike of the man won out. “Get off me.”

“As you wish,” he said, then bounded up and left her to climb to her feet alone.

Lily hugged herself, her body still tingling with the shock of desire. How could she want him? She closed her eyes, squeezed her arms tight around her middle. My God, she really was her mother’s daughter.

She could not afford the distraction of such thoughts. She had to focus. “What now?”

He whirled on her, his uniform as crisp and perfect as if he hadn’t just been rolling on the floor with her. His royal bearing was absolute. She wondered that she’d never noticed it in the three days she’d spent with him in New Orleans.

“You will call your friend and instruct her to turn over the child.”

Lily shook her head. “Why? So you can marry your princess and raise my child with her? Not just no, but hell no.”

Nico’s brows drew together. “We will need to work on that mouth of yours. It’s unfit for a royal.”

Lily snorted. “But not unfit enough for you two years ago when you seduced me, huh? Go to hell, Nico,” she said, stressing his name without the title.

“You most definitely require etiquette lessons, cara mia.” His gaze raked her from head to toe. “And a suitable wardrobe.”

Lily stiffened. Her clothes might not be the height of fashion, but they were usually clean and neat. Unlike now, when she’d spent the last twenty-four hours in a prison cell and just wrestled on the floor with a prince.

Nico retrieved a cell phone from a table. “You and your son will never want for anything again. You will no longer have to work. I will take care of you both.”

Lily stared at the gleaming phone held so casually in his hand, his words more seductive than she cared to admit. Never to have to struggle again? Never have to worry about keeping her apartment or her health insurance? Money and freedom from the fear of not having enough to take care of her baby?

But no. What was he offering her—the chance to be a kept woman while he married his princess and had babies with her? She’d work herself half to death before she accepted such treatment. She’d taken care of Danny this long; she could continue to do so just fine on her own.

“I can take care of my son without you,” she said.

His expression grew so chilly she had to suppress a shiver. “Apparently I have not expressed myself in a manner you understand. There is no choice, Liliana. You and the boy belong to me.”

Lily snorted. “Even you can’t own people, Nico.”

He merely smiled at her. A frisson of warning raced down her spine and pooled in her belly. A moment later, he lifted the phone to his ear and began speaking in Italian. This time, it was a conversation, not simply a set of orders. When he finished, he laid the phone on a nearby table.

“What did you do?”

His self-satisfied smile did nothing to ease her tension. “Five million dollars is a lot of money, no? Do you think your friend will turn this down for you?”

Black spots swam before her eyes, but Lily refused to buckle. “My God…”

“Si, it is not likely, is it?” He moved closer, shadowing her like the predator he was, impossibly male and utterly beautiful in spite of the hatred she felt for him in that moment. “She will not turn it down, Liliana. Shall I tell you why?”

When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Carla has a boyfriend with a little problem. He likes the game tables in New Orleans a bit too much, yes? He has taken much from her in the last three years. Her savings are gone, her house leveraged in excess of its current value. This money represents a new life, cara mia. She will not say no.”

Lily blinked up at him. She knew she was defeated. Carla hadn’t told her the extent of Alan’s problems, but Lily had known that it worried her. Carla was almost as bad as her own mother when it came to her slavish devotion to a man who cared more for himself than for her.

His fingers stroked down her cheek, impossibly tender when compared with his actions. She shuddered in spite of her vow not to react. “What do you plan to do with my baby?”

His eyes hardened, his hand dropping away. “Our baby, Liliana.”

Lily faced him squarely, ready to do battle, heartsick and heartbroken all at once. “You can’t buy me off, too, Nico. I will never leave Danny with you willingly.”

“Clearly not,” he said, his voice deepening with anger. “But you will not need to do so.”

Lily gaped at him. “My God, you are unbelievable—how do you think your wife-to-be is going to feel about me and Danny, huh?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“What? Are you insane?”

Nico grabbed her by the arm and propelled her toward the opposite wall, her puny resistance not slowing him in the least. He approached a door, and for one crazy minute she thought it was a bedroom and there was a woman inside. He would throw open the door and there she would be, the Princess Antonella Romanelli of Monteverde, a black-haired gray-eyed beauty, sprawled across silk sheets and pouting prettily because her lover was taking too long to get the baby mama under control.

Abruptly, they slammed to a halt, Nico pivoting behind her, the full length of his body pressing into her. She tried to jerk away, but he gripped her chin—more gently than she expected—and forced her head forward.

Lily gasped. “Is this a joke?”

She stared at her reflection—their reflection—in the mirror. The darkness of his fingers against her skin, her hair wild and tumbling around her shoulders in a silky mess. Her pink cotton shirt was stained over her left shoulder, and her eyes, though tired, gleamed with fury. Nico, in contrast, was cool and unruffled. If not for his quickened heartbeat against her, she’d almost think him bored.

But no, there it was, that flash of something in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, that spoke volumes without a sound being uttered.

“No joke, Liliana. I have broken a long-sought-after treaty between my country and Monteverde, not to mention embarrassed my father and our allies, so that I can do what should have been done the instant you conceived my child.”

“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, searching his face in the mirror, her heart slamming into her ribs.

“Of course you do,” he replied, dipping his head until his lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. Almost, but not quite.

“You, Miss Lily Morgan, are about to become the Crown Princess, my consort, and the mother of my children.”

Chapter Three

SHE LOOKED UTTERLY STUNNED. Not that he blamed her; he was still somewhat stunned himself. He had a son with this woman, a fact that had the power to punch him in the solar plexus and leave him gasping for breath every time he thought of it.

A son she’d kept secret from him. The electric current zapping through him as he pressed against her was most certainly rage, nothing more.

“You can’t be serious,” she finally squeaked out. Her green eyes were huge as she blinked at him in disbelief. The platinum color of her hair made her almost ethereal. Surely, this is what had attracted him to her in the first place. That and the fact she’d been blissfully unaware of his identity. The experience was so novel that he’d quite possibly been more attracted to her than he would have otherwise been. She’d treated him like an ordinary person and he’d found it refreshing.

“I am indeed serious, Liliana.” He’d gotten his answer in the moments before he’d left his quarters to attend the State dinner. His investigators worked remarkably fast, and what they’d turned up was evidence he could not ignore. She’d given birth almost nine months to the day from the night he’d made love to her. She could have found another lover right away, true, but the child’s resemblance to him was too strong to discount. He would of course take the official step of verifying the child’s parentage, but it was merely a formality at this point.

When he considered how he’d missed the first seventeen months of his boy’s life, how this woman had kept his son from him, he wanted to shake her and demand to know how she could do such a thing. He let her go before the urge overwhelmed him and took a step away.

He would marry her because his personal code of honor would permit nothing less. It was his duty. But he didn’t have to like it. Or her.

She spun around to face him. “B-but I’m not a princess, I don’t know how to be a prin—”

“You will learn,” he said harshly. She wasn’t the ideal bride for him, but she could be trained. She was attractive enough, and she’d already proven she had the moxie required to stand up beneath the pressure. When she was coiffed and dressed appropriately, she would no longer appear so common. She was not as beautiful as Antonella, but she was quite lovely in a natural way. Antonella didn’t affect him one way or the other. He could take or leave the Monteverdian princess.

But Lily—

Nico crossed to the bar and poured another cognac. This time he downed the liquid himself, welcomed the burn of fine Montebiancan brandy. Per Dio, it’d been a hell of a night thus far. And he wasn’t finished fighting with himself.

Part of him, a mad and primal part of him, was so completely aware of the woman across the room that he wanted to haul her to his bed and strip her slowly before burying himself inside her for the rest of the night.

Madness. Sheer madness. The urge filled him with both hunger and rage, and he worked to force it down deep and put a lid on it.

In the two months since Gaetano had died, he’d mostly ignored the sensual side of his nature as he’d worked to further Montebiancan interests and be the kind of heir to the throne that his people deserved. He was sorely regretting the lack at the moment. It made Lily Morgan seem far more irresistible to him than she should be.

“Surely we can work this out another way,” she said, her voice small and hesitant. “You can have visitation and—”

“Visitation,” he exclaimed, slicing her words off before she could finish. He shrugged out of the sash and tossed it aside, then worked the buttons of his uniform jacket with one hand, throwing it open with an angry gesture to let the air from the terrace door he’d left ajar cool his body. This night had thrown him so far out of balance that he half wondered if he would ever recover his equilibrium. “You are quite lucky this is no longer the Middle Ages, Liliana. As it is, you are getting far more from me than you deserve.”

If he thought she would be chastened by his words, he was in for a surprise. She lit up like a firecracker. Dio, she was lovely. And she’d just cost him five million dollars, a trade treaty with a neighboring kingdom, and every last shred of credibility he’d built since becoming the Crown Prince. Being illegitimate, and having the playboy reputation he’d had before his brother’s death, he’d had to work doubly hard to prove himself.

Now, all his effort lay in tatters around him. The thought fueled the anger roiling in his gut.

“More than I deserve?” she said, her voice not small any longer but large and strong. “How dare you! I’ve been on my own for these two years, enduring what you could not begin to imagine in your ivory tower, taking care of a baby and—”

“Silence!” There was no way on this earth he would listen to her berate him for what had been essentially her decision to keep him in the dark about their child. She would pay for what she’d done. He was far too angry, far too close to losing the last shred of his control. “If you are aware of what is good for you, cara, you will not speak of this any further tonight.”

She opened her mouth, and he slapped the crystal on the table and moved toward her. When she scurried backward, her eyes widening, he checked his progress. He was on the edge of emotions he’d never felt before, torn between wanting to protect and destroy, and it made him reckless.

He snatched up the phone and pressed the button that would summon his housekeeper. When he put it down, Lily was chewing her lip, arms folded beneath her breasts as if to protect herself. Or to keep warm. The night was probably cooler than she was accustomed to in her native Louisiana. A tremor passed over her, confirming his observation. Beneath her shirt, her nipples peaked, small and tight, and goose bumps rose on her skin.

Nico swallowed, remembering how perfect her breasts had been when he’d first bared them to his sight. How responsive she’d been as she’d moaned and clutched his shoulders when he kissed the tight little points.

Dio, this was insane.

Nico shook the memories away and peeled off his jacket. “You are cold,” he said as he closed the distance between them. “Take this, cara.”

He placed the jacket on her shoulders and she clutched the material around her, thanking him softly. He turned his back on her and moved away.

He heard the intake of her breath, braced himself for what she might say next—but there was only silence.

Finally, she spoke. “Nico, I’m sorry that—”

The door opened and the housekeeper entered, interrupting whatever she’d been about to say. Nico didn’t look at her again.

“Please show our guest to her room,” he told the woman awaiting his instructions. “And send someone to clean up the broken glass.”

Signora Mazetti gave a short bow and waited for Lily to join her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily remove the jacket and place it carefully over the back of the settee closest to her. Then she followed the housekeeper without complaint.

Lily awoke to the sound of china and silverware delicately clinking together. She sat up, yawning, and blinked as she tried to take in her surroundings. Brocade curtains hung from a canopy and were drawn back to let light filter into the giant bed. For a moment, she thought she’d been upgraded to the best suite the hotel had—but then she remembered.

She was in the palace, in Prince Nico’s apartment. If you could call a wing of a royal palace an apartment. And she was as much a prisoner here as she’d been in the dungeon cell of the old fortress.

A woman in uniform stood off to one side, fussing with a tray. She turned and dropped a curtsy before coming forward and settling the tray laden with bone china and thick silverware across Lily’s lap.

“His Highness says you are to eat and dress, signorina. He wishes you to join him in precisely one hour.”

The woman curtsied again and slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Lily started to set the tray aside, but the scents of coffee and food wafted up to her, reminding her how hungry she was. She’d been unable to eat during the twenty-four hours she’d spent in prison. Last night, all she’d wanted was to shower and sleep—but now her stomach rumbled insistently.

She thought about tossing on her clothes and trying to find a phone—maybe she could call Carla and explain she was being held against her will. Or maybe she could call her boss and tell him she’d been kidnapped. She’d call the consulate herself except she couldn’t waste precious time looking for the phone number. Someone would help her, she was positive.

Her suitcase had arrived, but her laptop, cell phone and passport had not been returned, naturally. Nico had cut off not only her contact with the outside world, but also any chance of escape. But Lily Morgan did not give up so easily, damn him.

Her stomach growled so hard it hurt, and she had to acknowledge that if she didn’t eat something now she wouldn’t get very far. Lily wolfed down the fresh bread and thinly sliced meats and cheeses along with a soft-boiled egg and two cups of strong coffee with cream.

Half an hour later, after she’d showered again and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she tried the door. It was unlocked and she slipped into the corridor, looking right and left. Which direction had she come from last night? She couldn’t remember, so she started down the hall and tried doors. When she emerged into the living room where Nico had coldly informed her she would be his wife, she stumbled to a halt, a shocked “Oh” escaping her. With bright sunlight spearing through the windows and through the terrace doors, the room glittered with gold and colored glass mosaic.

She dragged her gaze from the opulence of the room and searched for a phone, finally finding it on an inlaid cherry-wood table beside one of the velvet couches. Lily snatched it from the cradle, not sure who she should call first.

“You have to go through the palace operator, I’m afraid.”

Lily jumped and slammed the phone back down. Nico stood across from her, a newspaper in one hand, a cup in the other. He was so tall and elegant. She didn’t usually think of men as elegant, but Nico was. Elegant, gorgeous and so masculine he shot her pulse through the stratosphere just looking at him.

He wore a dark gray suit that was clearly worth more money than she’d ever made in six months of work. The fabric looked beyond expensive, perfectly tailored. He also wore a crisp white shirt with no tie, and black loafers. A ruby signet ring glittered on his right hand.

“I want my phone back.”

“You will have a new phone, Lily. And many other things besides.” His gaze raked her from head to toe and she bit the inside of her lip. No doubt he saw a poor ragamuffin, a woman unfit to be a princess, and was disappointed. Well, by God, she was unfit to be a princess. Nor did she want to be one. She would never, ever fit in here. It was preposterous.

Lily thrust her chin in the air. “I’ve reconsidered your offer,” she said. “You can visit Danny whenever you like, and I will bring him to Montebianco often, but it’s impossible for me to marry you. We’ll just have to manage another way.”

“Manage?” He set the cup and paper down and came over to where she stood, looming above her. He seemed surprised—or maybe he was amused—but quickly masked it with his trademark arrogance. “You have misunderstood once again, Liliana. There was no offer. There is simply what will be.”

“You can’t possibly want to marry me,” she said softly, staring up at him with her heart thudding into her throat. Did he have to be so darn breathtaking?

“What I want is of no consequence.”

“It’s not what I want.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that two years ago.”

Lily blew out a breath. “I don’t think either of us was thinking much that night, were we?”

A muscle in Nico’s jaw ticked as he watched her. “Clearly not. But what about after, Lily? What about when you learned you were pregnant?”

She studied her clasped hands, suddenly unable to look at him. “I didn’t know who you really were.”

“But you found out. Why did you not contact me then?” His voice was controlled, as if he were struggling with his temper.

Lily put distance between them, instinctively wrapping her arms around herself. How could she tell him she’d been afraid? Afraid he would take her baby away and paradoxically afraid he’d be the kind of father she’d had growing up? Instead, she focused on the one truth that was easily explainable. “Assuming I could have figured out how to get past the layers between you and the public, would you have believed me?”

“Eventually.”

Lily bit back a bitter laugh. “Oh yes, how lovely that would have been.”

Nico sliced a hand through the air, as if cutting through their conversation. “None of this is important now. What is important is that you still had no plan to inform me. Had you not found yourself detained here, I would never know of our son’s existence, would I?”

“No,” Lily said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Nico’s eyes hardened. “Trust me, cara, if there were another way, I would send you far from Montebianco and never see your deceitful face again. As it is, I think we shall have to make do with the situation, si?”

“I’m deceitful?” she said, her voice rising. “Me? What about you? Not only did you fail to tell me you were really a prince, but you also seem to have forgotten you were supposed to meet me in front of the cathedral—”

“I was called back to Montebianco unexpectedly,” he cut in, his voice rising to match hers. “I sent someone to inform you.”

“I didn’t get the message.”

His expression didn’t change. “You have only yourself to blame. When my man was unable to find you, I sent out inquiries. Had I known your real name was Margaret, I might have been able to contact you.”

Lily bit down on her bottom lip, surprised at how quickly she found herself on the verge of angry tears. She would not allow this man to affect her so strongly. Not now. It was too late to discuss what-ifs.

“I’ve always gone by my middle name. Why would I have told you my legal name as if you were a prospective employer or something? It simply didn’t occur to me.”

She shook her head. Wasn’t it just the story of her life to have something so vital hinge on something as simple as a legal name? “I don’t want to be unhappy. I don’t think you want to be unhappy, either. And if you force me to marry you, we will both be miserable. You have to see this is true, right?”

“It is too late for that,” he said harshly.

Lily tried to sound reasonable. “Why? You could still marry your princess and have children with her. And how can Danny be in line for the throne anyway? Don’t princes have to be born legitimate?”

Nico’s face was a stone mask. “In Montebianco, royal is royal.”

“I don’t want this for my child,” Lily insisted. “I want him to grow up normal.” The wealth frightened her. And not only Nico’s wealth, but the atmosphere he lived in. How could Danny be anything but spoiled rotten if he grew up here? How could he become a decent young man, and not a womanizing lothario like the prince standing before her? It terrified her, the thought her boy would be lost to her once he arrived. And that he would become the kind of man she despised most.

Oh God, how could she be tied to a playboy prince for life? Because no matter that she was the only woman he’d ever gotten pregnant—and it must be true considering the lengths he was going to in order to keep her here—he was still the worst sort of Casanova. Would she become just like her mother, desperate for one man’s affections and willing to put up with whatever he dished out just to be with him?

Worse, would Nico be a fair-weather father?

“He is our child, Lily. You have already tried to deprive him of his birthright with your selfishness.”

She blinked. Selfish? Was she? Was it possible?

“That’s not true,” she said. She sounded defensive to her own ears. And perhaps a bit guilty. In protecting her baby, had she really been trying to keep him all to herself? Had she really been afraid Nico would take him away? Or had her motives been purely because she’d believed he was not the kind of man who could be a good father?

“You will do so no longer,” Nico continued. “Daniele is my son and I will be his father in truth from this moment forward. If you expect to remain in his life, then you will stand before the authorities and agree to be my wife. That is your choice, Lily.”

“That’s not a choice,” she said, her throat aching with the effort to speak normally. “It’s a command.”

Nico’s gaze was unreadable. “Then perhaps we finally understand one another.”

When Nico had said she needed a suitable wardrobe, Lily hadn’t realized he’d meant to fly her to Paris to visit couture shops that very afternoon. While they were winging their way to France, he’d finally let her call her boss and explain that she wouldn’t be back at work tomorrow as planned.

Hell, she wouldn’t be back at all it appeared, though she didn’t say that. Darrell was curious, but Lily had no words to explain what had happened. She assured him she was safe, said she would e-mail him her impressions of Montebianco along with the photos she’d taken, and ended the call.

Then she looked over at Nico. He was typing something on his laptop. “I need to use a computer,” she said firmly. “I have a job to finish.”

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