Could she say yes? Rafael somehow made the decision sound so straightforward. He made everything seem possible.

But then he had no thought or care for the life she had made for herself in England. Built up so painstakingly, brick by brick, from the demolition rubble of their marriage. She had finally reached the stage where she felt financially stable and emotionally settled. Most of the time anyway.

Could Lottie really take this enormous gamble and throw caution, common sense and self-preservation to the wind? Hurl them up into the blue sky and watch to see where they fell? The same blue sky that Rafael had fallen from—that had brought her here in the first place.

It was so tempting.

Rafael waited, as if sensing that words were no longer needed. So close now she could feel the soft whisper of his breath against her face, feel herself weakening beneath the unbearable scrutiny of his gaze and the lethal, sensual intoxication of his nearness.

Sitting up very straight, Lottie pushed back her shoulders and mirrored his penetrating stare. This was her decision and she was going to make it.

The answering flash in Rafael's eyes was so intense that she had to blink against it, her mouth suddenly dry with the cotton wool words.

‘My answer is yes. I will do it.’

ANDIE BROCK started inventing imaginary friends around the age of four and is still doing that today—only now the sparkly fairies have made way for spirited heroines and sexy heroes.

Thankfully she now has some real friends, as well as a husband and three children, plus a grumpy but lovable cat.

Andie lives in Bristol, and when not actually writing could well be plotting her next passionate romance story.

This is Andie’s stunning debut—we hope you love it as much as we do!

Did you know this is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Last Heir of Monterrato

Andie Brock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my mum. Who would have been very proud.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THE SCAR that halted Lottie in the doorway. A thin, livid wound, it sliced down from his brow, skipping over the eye socket before continuing an inch along his cheekbone. The sight of it clutched at her stomach, weighted her feet to the floor.

‘Rafael?’

Silence stretched tightly between them as they stared at each other across the dark panelled office.

‘Charlotte.’

‘How...how are you?’

‘Still alive.’ As he eased himself to stand against the edge of the desk his voice was cold, flat. ‘As you can see.’

‘Yes. Indeed.’ Lottie swallowed. Upright now, he stood with his hands splayed on either side of him, fingertips anchoring him to the desk. ‘I was very sorry—to hear about the accident, I mean.’

‘Thank you.’ His clipped reply snipped at her words, clearly designed to stop any outpourings of sentiment.

Not that she intended to show him any, of course. She knew she wasn’t here to display any sort of concern, express any sympathy. Rafael wasn’t the kind of man to tolerate such emotions. Especially from her.

She watched as he moved out from behind the desk and walked stiffly towards her, tall and rigid in a sober grey suit, his height towering over her as they came together. For a second they stood there, like repelling magnets, until Rafael bent forward to brush her cheek once, twice, three times. Lottie closed her eyes as she felt the whisper of his breath, the touch of his skin; him.

He pulled away immediately, leaving her staring up at his injuries.

Scratches of various lengths and depths crisscrossed his face and a purple bruise spread colourfully down one side. The scar, Lottie now realised, resembled the lash of a whip. That didn’t help at all.

‘So...um...your face...?’ She knew she shouldn’t go on about it, that he would hate her even mentioning it, but she needed reassurance, needed to stop looking at him as if she was witnessing a pig having its throat cut. ‘I assume the injuries are quite superficial?’

‘You assume correctly.’

‘And the rest of your body?’ His unnerving stare stupidly made her blush. So much for trying to appear detached. She gave a small cough. ‘I mean, what other injuries do you have?’

‘All fairly consistent with someone who has plummeted twelve thousand feet from the sky.’

‘I’m sure.’ Lottie pulled a face at the idiocy of her question. How many people had fallen twelve thousand feet and lived to tell the tale? Anyway, she already knew the extent of his injuries; it had all been there in the newspaper article: punctured lung, dislocated shoulder, three cracked ribs. ‘Did you ever find out...what went wrong? Why your parachute didn’t open?’

‘Misfortune, fate—call it what you like.’ Rafael shrugged his shoulders as if already bored with the subject. ‘It’s of no consequence now.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ But despite his casual dismissal Lottie didn’t doubt that the accident had been thoroughly investigated. And if someone had been found responsible it would be their own life they should be worrying about now. ‘But you were very lucky, as it turned out.’

‘Lucky?’ His tone suggested otherwise.

‘I mean lucky that a tree broke your fall. It could have been so much worse.’

‘True.’ His reply was deadpan. ‘I could have been dead.’

‘Ha!’ Why was she laughing? Nothing about this was the least bit funny.

It was pure, unmitigated torture.

She had prepared herself, of course, endlessly rehearsed how she would behave, what she would say when faced with Rafael again. She’d still been running through her calm and measured responses on the aeroplane over here, her twitching lips attracting the attention of her nosy nine-year-old neighbour. She had bullied herself into believing that she was ready. That she could cope—survive this one last meeting.

But as she looked at him now, past the recently inflicted injuries to the man beneath, the man she had fallen so madly in love with, all her confident convictions seemed to slide away. She remembered every tiny detail of his face. The thick, untidy brows that arrowed above almond-shaped deep brown eyes. The harsh sweep of his jawline, the square chin where a small cleft nestled, dark with stubble.

Yep, she remembered everything. She wished she didn’t.

‘Well, thank goodness for that tree, eh?’ Shifting her position, she crossed one leg in front of the other, the balletic pose spoiled by the hand that was shoved deep into the pocket of her jeans. Her voice sounded hideously chirpy but it did at least mask her desire to ask where this tree was, so she could throw herself on its dirty roots and thank it for saving Rafael’s life. ‘I’m so glad it was in the right place.’

A curl of disdain twitched Rafael’s perfectly formed lip. ‘How nice that you should care.’

It didn’t sound nice—not at all. Everything about his cold, sarcastic manner, the harsh light in his eyes, the formal, brittle posture, was telling her one thing. He hated her.

If Lottie had hoped that time had washed over their past, smoothed the jagged edges of her actions, time had seriously let her down. It had been two years since she had left, wrenched herself away from the wreckage of their marriage and fled back to England. But being back at Palazzo Monterrato, staring at Rafael now, she knew that those two years were as nothing. The atmosphere between them was almost as horrendous, as harrowingly painful, as the day she had left.

‘Of course I care.’ Something about the absurdity of his comment made her want at least to attempt to put the record straight. Make him see that, despite her all too convincing performance, she wasn’t all bad. ‘That will never change.’

‘Very touching, I’m sure.’ Rafael’s words sliced through her tentative confession. ‘But your misplaced sympathy is of no interest to me.’ He moved back to his side of the desk. ‘You are here because there is an important matter I need to discuss with you. Please, sit down.’

Lottie took a seat opposite him, her rapped knuckles clasped in her lap, her back very straight. She knew what was coming; she had been waiting for this ever since she had received his email.

It had been just another afternoon at work when she had opened her inbox and there it had been: a message from Rafael Revaldi. To see his name like that, out of the blue, had sent a hot flush of panic through her body. She had had to count to three before she’d even dared open it, darting a look at the only other people in the exclusive London art gallery—a whispering gay couple, admiring a vast canvas they were never going to buy—in case they had noticed her alarm.

The curt, dictatorial message had stated that it was necessary for them to meet; two different dates for the following week had been marked for her consideration and flight tickets would be emailed on receipt of her confirmation. As her mind had whizzed with the flurry of possibilities it had quickly settled on the cold blanket of truth behind the message. He wanted a divorce.

Tipping her chin, Lottie forced herself to meet his gaze, affecting as much detachment as she could muster, determined to be strong now. ‘I know why I’m here. Let me assure you that I am as keen to get this over and done with as you are. I have no intention of being difficult, of trying to prolong the situation.’

There was a dangerous flash in Rafael’s eyes before they narrowed to conceal anything further. He said nothing.

‘If you have already had the papers drawn up...’ she was babbling now, in her hurry to get this over with ‘...and it’s just a matter of signature I can sign straight away and—’

‘Let me stop you there, Charlotte.’ Raising a hand, he silenced her, a gold cufflink glinting in the low afternoon light. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘The divorce, of course.’ Lottie felt heat rising to her cheeks at the very use of the dreaded d word. ‘I know I am here because you want a divorce.’

Rafael leant forward, the fine fabric of his jacket pulling taut against his broad shoulders as his elbows rested on the desk in front of him, his hands linked.

‘And what makes you think I want a divorce?’

Lottie looked down, picking at the skin around her fingernails. ‘Because it’s been two years.’ She could feel his eyes boring into the crown of her bent head and forced herself to look up and confront him. ‘And two years is the legal time necessary to apply for a consensual divorce.’

‘And you think that is why I have brought you here?’ His words were mocking, biting.

‘Well, isn’t it?’

‘Believe me, Charlotte, if and when I want a divorce it will happen. The vagaries of English law are of no interest to me.’

Of course, Lottie corrected herself, how foolish of her. She should have known that as far as Rafael was concerned laws were something other people abided by. He had the power and the cunning to circumnavigate them, adapt them to his own needs.

Quickly she scanned the face of the man opposite her, afraid to let her eyes linger in any one spot for fear of being unable to drag them away again. He presented a cold, harsh picture, with the damaged skin pulled tight across the sculpted planes of his cheeks and jawline.

Why was he denying it? Did he get some perverse pleasure from watching her squirm? If so, that pleasure had to be locked deep inside him, for she had never seen him look more severe, more forbidding. She knew he wanted to divorce her; receiving that email had only confirmed the bleak realisation that had been silently gnawing away at her for nearly three weeks now. Ever since she had innocently stumbled across that online newspaper article.

Rafael Revaldi, Conte di Monterrato, cheats death in terrifying skydiving accident.

The words of the headline had made the cappuccino shake in her hand, the bite of sandwich turn into a ball of concrete in her mouth. Gripping the computer mouse, she had frantically read on, desperate to find as much information as she could, as fast as she could, her hitherto steadfast vow not to type Rafael’s name anywhere near the search engine box vanishing like vapour in the air.

But there had been way too much information. The Italian celebrity magazines were positively bursting with sensational details about the daredevil Conte who had plunged twelve thousand feet to earth and miraculously lived to tell the tale. Any legitimate concern had soon morphed into a gluttonous feeding frenzy to find out every little bit of gossip about him that she could. And what she’d discovered—apart from the predictable images of him scaling mountains or kayaking over waterfalls—were women. Beautiful, eligible women. Glued to his side as they smiled at charity galas, shook hands with dignitaries, walked beside him on the red carpet. And all of them had one thing in common: a vice-tight grip on his arm and a look in their eye that said, Tonight he’s mine and I intend to keep it that way.

Any fanciful ideas Lottie might have had about jumping on a plane to be with him, to make sure for herself that he was really okay, had been wrenched away from her there and then as she’d stared at the frozen smiles of those women. They were all the proof she needed that Rafael had moved on. That she had no place in his life any more.

Which was fine. Even if being here with him now, talking about severing all ties with him, sliced through her like a cold blade. She just needed to remind herself how far she had come. Yes, her life was finally back on track, and that realisation stiffened her resolve.

Pushing back her shoulders, she attempted a haughty glare to match his sullen one. She needed an explanation.

‘So if, as you seem to be implying, I’m not here because you want a divorce, perhaps you would do me the courtesy of telling me exactly why I am here?’

A heavy silence hung between them, marked out by the weary ticking of a long-case clock somewhere in the shadows.

‘You are here because I have something to ask of you.’ He paused, a muscle twitching beneath the hard, tight mask of authority.

Lottie watched as he uncharacteristically twiddled a gold pen between strong, tapered fingers so that it tapped—first one end, then the other—lightly on the desk before him. She found she was holding her breath at the absurd realisation that Rafael was nervous.

‘I think we should try again.’

Shock ricocheted through Lottie’s body. And despite herself—despite everything—the see-saw carrying her heart flew into the air.

‘Try again?’ Her mouth was so dry the words sounded shrivelled.

‘Yes. I think we should try again. For a baby.’

The see-saw crashed down to the ground with a shuddering thump.

‘A baby?’ She hadn’t meant it to sound so sneery, so nasty, but incredulity had taken her words and twisted them with bitterness.

‘Yes, a baby, Charlotte. I see no reason why we shouldn’t at least consider the idea.’

No reason at all, Lottie reasoned numbly, other than the fact that their marriage had been a disaster, he hadn’t spoken to her for two years and he obviously still hated her guts. ‘Why would you even think...?’

‘I have found a new IVF specialist—someone in Iran,’ Rafael continued with baffling logic. ‘He knows the situation—that we still have one frozen embryo. He is very confident that this time it will work, that this time we will succeed.’

An Iranian IVF specialist? What on earth was going on here? Despite the controlled voice, the even tone, the powerful sense of conviction running through him was clearly, disturbingly unmistakable.

She had seen it before, of course. Rafael’s determination to get her pregnant. But that had been in a previous life, before they had split up. After Seraphina had died.

Born at just twenty-five weeks, their daughter had only lived for a few precious hours. The trauma of the accident, followed by premature labour and a complicated birth was now little more than a foggy blur—almost as if it had happened to somebody else. But the pain of watching their tiny daughter’s vain struggle for life would stay with Lottie for ever.

When Seraphina had finally died, and the clips and wires had been removed from her perfect, breathless body, Lottie had gazed at the still warm bundle in her arms, brushed an oversized finger against the soft down of her cheeks, convinced that nothing could be worse than this, that this was the bottom of the blackest pit. But fate had had one more arrow in its quiver. It seemed that the accident meant she would never be able to conceive naturally again—that IVF was their only hope of ever having another child.

Rafael had set about making it happen with a tenacious stubbornness that had bordered on obsession. They had embarked upon a series of IVF treatments, none of which had worked, and after each crushing disappointment it had seemed he was more obstinate, more insistent that they would not fail, that nothing was going to prevent him from achieving his goal. It had taken over their lives and eventually destroyed their marriage.

Lottie pushed the blonde hair away from her face with a hand that shook slightly in the way that the memory of Seraphina always weakened her limbs. She needed to put a stop to this madness now.

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Well, you have wasted this man’s time. The idea of us having a baby is totally ridiculous. Why would we even consider it now? After all this time? When our marriage is obviously over?’

Rafael stared across at the wide violet-blue eyes that were searching his face for an explanation. Certamente, their marriage was over, all right. It had ended the day Lottie had walked out on him. The day she had told him that she didn’t love him. That she had never loved him.

He cursed silently, struggling to keep his frustration inside, rein in the storm of his feelings. He had to remain calm. Not let himself be riled by her fake show of concern or her harsh dismissal of their shared past. He was already a hair’s breadth from totally screwing this up, and he knew it.

But what he hadn’t known was the way his heart would start pounding in his chest the second she walked into the room, as if jolted from a dormant slumber or poked into life by the jab of a stick. What was that? Anger? Betrayal? Lust? Whatever it was, it was damned annoying.

He’d been so sure that the two years they had been apart would have killed any desire he might have had for her. Now he knew that was not the case and he cursed her for it. She had no right to look like that—all heart-shaped face and soft pink lips, her slender body clad in skinny jeans and a plain white shirt, demurely buttoned almost to the top but still failing to conceal the unconscious jut of her breasts as she squared up to him.

Scowling, he raked a hand through his hair.

‘Because an accident like this makes you think, Charlotte—that’s why. Makes you realise that you are not invincible, that you need to plan for the future—a future when you are no longer around. Ten days in a hospital bed focusses the mind, believe me, and it gives you plenty of time to work out what’s important.’

‘Go on...’

The gentle probing of her voice was threatening to undo him, unleash a side of him that had nothing to do with the purpose of this meeting.

‘What is important is this place.’

Roughly gesturing around him, he was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain that shot through his shoulder, mocking him with its power. He would not let it show. Whatever else, Lottie must not see his weakness. He knew she was watching every movement of his lips, analysing every syllable of his words. Grimly he carried on.

‘The principality is my number one priority. Generations of Revaldis have held the title of Conte di Monterrato. Now it is my turn and I will do everything within my power to ensure its protection and prosperity.’ He paused, conviction pushing back his shoulders, swelling his chest. ‘As you well know, Charlotte, I am the last in line...’ he shot her a piercing stare ‘...and as such it is my duty to provide an heir.’

Monterrato. An heir.

Lottie felt the cold fingers of the past reach out to grasp her. So nothing had changed. It was still all about Monterrato, about providing for its future, continuing the line. The place was like an obsession with Rafael—everything to him; his life, his blood. She was also the last in line, as it happened—the sole daughter of John Lamb, deceased, and Greta Lamb, now Lawrence, remarried and living in South America. But you didn’t hear her banging on about it.

‘Well, if you are so keen to have a child I suggest you find someone else to have one with.’ Twisting her bottom on the seat, she sniped back at him, chin high, chest forward. She knew she sounded like a bitter old crow but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Judging by the number of women that seem to constantly surround you, I’m sure you could have the pick of party socialites only too happy to produce endless beautiful Monterrato heirs for you.’

Thunder rolled across Rafael’s face.

‘For God’s sake, Charlotte.’ His fist banged down on the desk, rattling the ormolu inkstand on its lion’s paws feet. His eyes were glaring wildly with some unseen force as they locked with Lottie’s, now saucer-shaped with alarm. ‘Why can’t I make you understand? It is our baby I want.’

Lottie’s mouth fell open, soft with astonishment. This was not the calm, composed Rafael that she knew. The man who was so totally in control of his emotions that she had never seen him break down—not even when their baby had died. He was certainly not the kind of man to lose his temper. At least he never had been.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. He had been in a terrible accident—an accident that had resulted in injuries to his head. Was it possible that he was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic mood disorder? Would that explain the jumpy, volatile, almost out of control man before her?

‘You are right, Rafe, I don’t understand.’ She lowered her voice to try and coax the truth out of him. ‘Is it something to do with the accident? Has it affected you in some way?’

The scrape of his chair across the polished parquet floor made Lottie start as he lunged to his feet, leaning forward across the desk with the stillness of a viper about to strike.

‘Why would you say that?’

‘I don’t know. I just wondered...’ And, judging by his attitude, she had hit the nail squarely on the head. ‘Do you want to talk about it? You never know—it might help.’

Turning his back Rafael strode towards the windows, the floor creaking beneath his forceful steps. ‘There is nothing to talk about. It happened. That’s all there is to it.’ He all but growled the words over his shoulder.

Maledizione. Talking about it was the very last thing he wanted to do. He felt his breath heaving in his chest with the wretched frustration of it all, felt the unfamiliar sense of powerlessness fuelling his temper.

But what had he expected? That Lottie would agree, with no further explanation, to bear him a child just like that?

He could have lied, of course. Wooed her back until he’d achieved his goal, then told her it was all a sham. Just the thought of the challenge heated the blood in his veins. He could feel her eyes scanning his rear view, sense her biting the inside of her cheek as she waited, the rise and fall of her breasts with each shallow breath, the way she slid her hands between tightly pressed thighs as she perched on the edge of her seat. All of which sent hot waves of desire through his body that would make taking her to his bed—hell, taking her across the desk there and then, for that matter—the easiest thing in the world. And who would blame him, after the way she had treated him, if he used her for his own pleasure? But, no, sex wasn’t the answer—no matter how tempting it was.

Outside the light was starting to fade, and with the lamps still not lit the room had taken on a grey, almost smoky hue. Lottie feasted her eyes on the proud silhouette, tall, muscular, brooding against the dying light, committing the image to memory before wrenching her gaze away again.

‘Well, in that case there is nothing more to be said.’ Her breath juddered and she rose to her feet. ‘There is no point in my being here.’

‘No! Stop!’ Despite his injuries he was beside her in a couple of long strides, grabbing hold of her arm as she reached down to pick up her handbag.

There was a frozen second of astonishment as they stared at each other, then Lottie’s eyes moved from the hand that gripped her forearm to the darkening face of the man it belonged to. Instantly dropping her arm, Rafael stepped back, pushing the ruffled hair away from his forehead.

‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’

‘Rafe? Whatever is it?’

Throwing back his shoulders, he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

‘Okay, Lottie, if you must know I will spell it out for you.’

His voice was harsh, but the anguish and pain held deep in his eyes sent a shiver of alarm through Lottie.

‘The fact is that, as of four weeks ago, I am no longer able to father a child. You and our frozen embryo are my only chance of ever producing an heir.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU CAN’T EVER have children?’ Lottie stared at him, her face a picture of horror.

‘Correct.’ Rafael remained where he was, his feet firmly planted, his arms behind his back.

‘You are...infertile?’

‘I think we’ve established that.’ He glowered at her. ‘And, before you let your imagination run away with you, that’s all it means. Everything else is working quite normally, thank you.’

Lottie flushed. He had, of course, read her mind perfectly.

‘But why? How?’

‘I’ll spare you the details, but basically the tree that saved my life prevented me from being able to produce another. A bizarre twist of fate, I think you’ll agree.’

The flush turned into an exaggerated wince. Lottie simply didn’t know what to say. She could only imagine the devastating effect this must have had on Rafael. Not to mention the physical pain at the time.

‘But is it permanent? I mean, won’t it heal? Or isn’t there some medical procedure that can make it right?’

‘It would seem not.’ Rafael shifted his position, alerting Lottie to the fact that she was staring at his groin. ‘Believe me, I have explored every avenue.’

‘Oh, Rafe.’ Suddenly Lottie was rushing over to him, flinging her arms around his neck and hugging his unyielding body. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Picking her arms from around his rigid neck with a look of distaste, Rafael let them drop by her sides and took a step back. ‘It’s not your sympathy I am looking for. It is an arrangement of a much more practical kind.’

Lottie gazed up at him, eyes wide with concern.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, her mind still struggling to take in this shocking disclosure. ‘This must be very difficult for you to come to terms with.’

She put a hand out to touch him but he moved out of her reach, crossing his arms in front of him to form a barrier.

‘Have you talked this through with anyone? Had any counselling? You mustn’t keep it all bottled up inside.’

‘Pah!’ Rafael gave a derisive snort. ‘I do not need counselling, thank you, what I need is a solution to the problem.’

No change there, then; Lottie didn’t know why she had even asked the question. She stared at the proud, haughty man who stood stubbornly a few feet away from her. Here was someone who would rather die than give in to his emotions, whose approach to any problem was to get it fixed and move on, rather than take time to grieve or heal.

‘Sometimes there is no solution, Rafe. You just have to accept it.’

‘Of course there is a solution,’ he bit back, ‘and it lies with you.’

So this was it, then. The reason she was here. Not to sign divorce papers, to end their marriage, but as part of a last desperate attempt by Rafael to provide a Revaldi heir. Lottie bent her head, covering her eyes with her hand as she tried to order her thoughts, formulate some sort of response, explain to him that, no matter how deeply she felt for his predicament, she simply couldn’t do it.

‘I realise that you hold all the power,’ Rafael cut in quickly, hurrying to fill the empty silence before Lottie could say anything negative, ‘and that puts me at a disadvantage.’

Power? Disadvantage? Why was he talking like this? As if it were some sort of business merger instead of the birth of a baby, the creation of a new life that should be born of love and commitment and caring. That explained the suit, she thought suddenly. Rafael was simply trying to broker a deal.

‘I will agree to your terms, Lottie. Anything. Just say the word and it will be yours.’

‘No, Rafe.’ She had to stop him now, before this got any worse.

‘If it’s a question of money...’

Too late. Lottie felt heat rising up her neck, sweeping across her face, as the hideousness of his suggestion took hold.

‘Stop it!’

She was starting to shake with a mixture of outrage and sadness—sadness that he could get her so wrong, that he had never understood her at all.

‘Do you seriously believe that you can buy me? Buy our baby?’

‘There’s no need to be so melodramatic.’ Pushing back his shoulders, he regarded her coldly over the jut of his chin. ‘I’m merely trying to find a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Don’t tell me you enjoy working in that...’ he paused, distaste written all over his face ‘...so-called art gallery in London.’

‘It’s called earning a living.’ Lottie glared at him. ‘It’s what normal people do. And, anyway, how do you know where I work?’

‘I made it my business to know.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Even as she asked the question the answer hit her like a snowball in the face. ‘You have been spying on me?’

‘You might call it spying. I call it research. Obviously I had to make sure I had all the available facts at my disposal before I contacted you.’

His calm, rational voice was stoking the fire that was already roaring away inside Lottie.

‘There were certain things I needed to ascertain: your career, for example, the state of your finances, whether there was a man in your life.’ He shot her a cold, penetrating stare.

Lottie gasped. How dared he? And, worse still, how dare he look at her now as if this was perfectly acceptable behaviour? She felt violated, exposed, as if he had stripped away the thin layer of her composure and left her standing naked and shivering in front of him.

‘You are telling me that you have hired some private investigator to follow me, lurk in the shadows, pick through my rubbish bins, train his grubby little binoculars on my windows?’ The words were tangling around themselves in their hurry to get out and strangle him.

Rafael gave a short laugh. ‘Charming though your old-fashioned image is, things have moved on a bit since long macs and trilby hats. The wonders of the internet have taken over.’

‘Well, however you did it, it’s despicable.’ Lottie swept back the hair from her heated face, lifting its weight from the nape of her neck in an attempt to cool herself down. ‘You had absolutely no right to go poking about in my life.’

Scowling, Rafael lowered his brows to an aggressive V. ‘Needs must, Lottie. Exceptional circumstances call for exceptional measures. Believe me, I wouldn’t be doing any of this if there was any other way.’

And that little statement was supposed to make her feel better, was it? If so, then time had clearly not improved Rafael’s understanding of the female mind.

Lottie held her glare in place, fearing that, despite her very real anger, her face might easily crumple with the intense sadness of it all. Because of course Rafael wasn’t trying to make her feel better, was he? He was just being his usual brutally honest self. Even at a time like this he wasn’t able to dress up the situation for his own gain. His nature was to say it as it was and achieve his aim through the sheer power of his conviction.

Quietly she turned away from him, knowing what she had to say but not trusting herself to look into his eyes as she said it. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe, but my answer has to be no. We both know that it would never work.’

Instantly Rafael came towards her, repelling her words with a dismissive arm gesture and an expression to match.

‘You don’t know that.’ His voice was hard, uncompromising, as his eyes bore down on her. ‘There have been major advances in IVF procedures even in the past couple of years. I’m sure we have every chance...’

‘I’m not talking about IVF procedures.’ Throwing back her head, Lottie confronted the full force of his gaze. ‘I’m talking about us—me and you as a couple. I’m saying that we would never work.’ The hostility in her voice was there to mask the knot of pain of their failed marriage that sat deep in her stomach, refusing ever to go away.

‘Perhaps I am not making myself clear.’ Rafael gave her a look of pure disgust, turning his back on her, then swinging round again with eyes that pierced the gloom. ‘I’m not asking for any sort of reconciliation. I am asking you solely to be the mother of my child. Nothing more.’

Nothing more? Despite the darkly oppressive atmosphere it was almost laughable, the way he described it—as if he were asking her to redesign his kitchen or landscape his garden. Except that it didn’t make her feel like laughing. More like crying.

‘What I am trying to say is that I will expect nothing else of you.’ Relentlessly, Rafael pushed on. ‘I know that that side of our marriage is over. Rest assured I will not be making any...’ he paused, firing a look of icy contempt at Lottie ‘...any demands of you.’ Distaste soured his mouth, contorted his handsome features. ‘You have my word on that.’

Lottie felt something die inside her. She knew it was true, of course, that sexually she was of no interest to him any more. That side of their relationship had floundered after Seraphina had died, bashed against the rocks of invasive fertility treatments and crushing disappointment. But still, hearing him say the words stretched the sadness inside her until she thought she might snap in two, fold over with misery.

But she had to accept it. Rafael had coachloads of women only too happy to cater to his needs now. Flashes of those internet pictures rose, unbidden, in her mind—the dazzling white teeth and pertly sculptured breasts.

She looked down at herself, at the faded skinny jeans she had worn to travel in and her favourite well-worn ankle boots, then switched her gaze to Rafael. There he stood, ramrod-straight before her, that aura of intense concentration almost shimmering around his dark form. The sombre suit was so beautifully cut that you weren’t really aware of it—just of the way his body looked in it: powerful, immaculate, sexy. He epitomised everything that she wasn’t, and being back at the Palazzo Monterrato only emphasised that fact.

Gathering together the last shreds of her composure, she raised her chin defiantly. ‘Thank you for explaining that, Rafael.’ Her voice sounded shrill, uneven, like an incompetent schoolteacher trying to keep control of a class. ‘Though you really didn’t need to point it out. When I said it would never work between us I meant in terms of the practicalities of our relationship.’ On firmer ground now, she pressed on determinedly. ‘Even supposing I ever did manage to get pregnant, how could we possibly raise a child together? We don’t even...’ She paused. There were so many don’t evens that she didn’t know which one to pick. ‘We don’t even live in the same country.’

With the silent step of a panther stalking its prey Rafael closed the space between them, and Lottie suddenly found herself staring at the broad sweep of his chest.

‘Practicalities can always be sorted out.’

As he spoke over the top of her head Lottie realised too late that she had chosen a foolish argument. Rafael was the supreme master of being practical, sorting things out. As Conte di Monterrato that was what he did on a daily basis—oversaw the running of the principality, planned for its future, solved the problems. And that was exactly what he was doing now.

So close to him now, Lottie breathed in his familiar scent—the faint tang of cologne mixed with soap and something else, something indefinably, yearningly Rafael. She could almost feel the intensity that emanated from him, rolling her way, threatening to engulf her.

‘I don’t want you to think for one minute that I am underestimating the enormity of what I am asking of you.’ His voice was very low, earnest. ‘But at the same time...’ his eyes ruthlessly scanned her face ‘...I don’t believe it is an entirely selfish request. I know what being a mother would mean to you.’

Lottie gulped back the lump in her throat, her eyes widening at his startling assumption. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I saw you, Lottie.’ His pause shimmered with raw emotion. ‘I saw the look of euphoria on your face when we found out that you were pregnant—saw the way your maternal instinct kicked in, stronger than any other bond. And then...’ He carried on, even though he looked as if he was hurting inside. ‘I saw the way you held our daughter in your arms.’

‘No. Stop!’ This was more than Lottie could bear and her hands flew to cover her ears.

‘Admit it, Lottie. It was never me that you wanted, was it?’ Relentlessly he surged on. ‘It was the baby. The baby was the only thing that mattered. The only reason you ever agreed to marry me. And our marriage was nothing more than a sham. Your final brutal declaration—everything about your behaviour, in fact—points to that one undeniable truth.’

‘I won’t listen to this any more!’ Turning away, Lottie stumbled towards the door, but he was still there—following her, beside her.

‘You can still have that dream, Lottie. Even though our marriage may be over in all but name we can still be parents—you can still be that mother.’

‘I have no idea why you are saying this.’ Blinking back the emotion that was stinging her eyes, Lottie rounded on him, drawing on every last bit of strength she possessed. ‘I can only assume you are confusing this with what you want, not me.’

‘Maybe I thought that too at first.’ Rafael positioned himself in front of the door, his towering shape blocking Lottie’s exit. ‘Until I saw the look on your face just now. I’m right, aren’t I? You want a baby every bit as much as I do.’

‘No, you are not right.’ Futilely trying to move him out of the way, Lottie grabbed hold of the door handle and tugged at it forcefully.

The door opened two inches before it slammed against Rafael.

‘Be careful what you decide, Lottie.’ He looked down at her calmly, totally ignoring the door battering against his heels as she continued to tug at it. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let your contempt for me influence your decision—get in the way of your own happiness.’

Finally he moved to one side and the door flew open, sending Lottie teetering off balance.

‘That would never do.’

* * *

Kicking off her boots, Lottie threw herself down on to the four-poster bed and stared at the tapestry drapes above her, her breath heaving unsteadily in her chest, tears now threatening to spill. How could he do this to her? Taunt her with her failed attempt at motherhood using the preciously painful memories of Seraphina. It was simply cruel.

But that was Rafael. She knew he would stop at nothing to achieve his goal—use anything at his disposal to get what he wanted. Even if it meant tearing open her heart in the process.

Like a double-edged sword, the pain cut both ways, and one slash undoubtedly revealed the truth. She had always wanted to be a mother. Not in the vague, one day it would be nice, mentally picking out cute names way that her girlfriends seemed to view motherhood, but with a deep, unfathomable yearning that was intrinsically a part of who she was.

Maybe her own dysfunctional upbringing had made her realise that being a mother was the most important job of all and, rather than putting her off having children, had instilled in her a longing do it right. There was no doubt that when she had discovered she was pregnant with Rafael’s baby it had flooded her with euphoric exhilaration. This was her chance to be the sort of mother she had always wanted, rather than the one she had had.

As the only child of a woman who, frankly, had had better things to do than pander to the whims of an annoyingly childlike child, Lottie had been largely raised by au pairs or home helps or whatever neighbour happened to be around. This had left Greta free to indulge in her real passion: travelling. Or, more specifically, cruising the world on luxury liners while Lottie had lived in a perpetual state of terror that one day there would be nobody to meet her at the school gates at all.

Funded by Lottie’s much older father, who had thoughtfully taken out a comprehensive life insurance policy before he’d dropped dead when Lottie was still only seven, Greta had become addicted to the glamour of the cruising lifestyle: the handsome stewards in their crisp white uniforms, the perma-tanned dance hosts, the dashing captains. Eventually she had ended up in dry dock with one of the latter, when she had remarried and made a new life in Argentina.

But the other slash of Rafael’s sword... Lottie screwed up her eyes against its searing pain, at the realisation that he’d got it so wrong. ‘It was never me that you wanted... The baby was the only thing that mattered.’ Was it possible that he actually believed that? That she had really done such a good job of fooling him? And, if so, why did it make her feel so hollowed out with sadness?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up against the feather pillows and gazed at the room around her. It was the same bedroom she had shared with Rafael—well, half of it, at any rate. The huge double doors across the middle of the room were now firmly closed, like a metaphor for their marriage.

How different would things have been if they hadn’t lost Seraphina? If there had been no accident? If everything hadn’t gone so disastrously wrong? Their daughter would have been three now, running around this crusty old mausoleum, breathing fresh life into it, maybe even joined by a little brother or sister.

But it had happened, and the sequence of events afterwards had happened, leading to her going back to England, starting a new life in London and putting the past behind her. Even if that new life had meant studiously avoiding babies of all descriptions—babies in buggies, baby adverts on the television—and even turning away from babies smiling gummily at her over their mothers’ shoulders on the bus.

But she had never lost her yearning to have a baby, Rafael’s baby. And she had never forgotten their last remaining embryo. The tiny blob of shared cells stored in a tank of liquid nitrogen represented the last vestiges of their relationship and it was always there, locked away deep in her subconscious. Occasionally she would find herself fantasising about the sort of child it might grow into, before hurriedly pushing the thought back in its box and turning the key once more.

And now...now the embryo was being offered its chance of life. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that circumstances would bring about a possibility like this. It was a mad, crazy, ridiculous idea.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

Rafael paced up and down the length of the grand formal dining room, pausing only to check his watch once again. Where the hell was she? She knew that dinner was to be served at eight-thirty and she was now an hour late. Was she deliberately taunting him?

It was half an hour since he had gone up to find her, when the sudden, irrational fear had gripped him. He’d pounded his feet along the corridor to her room, convinced that she had gone—run away as she had before. He’d rapped sharply on the door, and the thirty seconds of silence before he had heard her moving about had seemed like an eternity.

But then the door had opened and there she’d been—all sleepy eyes and tousled hair, straight from a rumpled bed still warm from her body. And the sight of her, and that bed, had twisted a coil of lust deep inside of him.

Now that she still hadn’t appeared he could feel the same fear spreading through him again. Ten minutes, she had said—just enough time for a quick shower. Pacing back towards the head of the table, he told himself to calm down, get a grip. Stop behaving like an idiot.

He was glaring at the heavy panelled door when it finally opened and Lottie hurried in, all breathless apologies and pointed lack of eye contact. Reaching behind him for the bell that rang down in the kitchens, he waited in cold silence as she walked the interminable length of the table to join him. He watched from beneath the sweep of lowered lashes as she carefully sat down, sliding long legs under the table, shaking open her napkin to cover her lap.

Tearing his eyes away, he seated himself beside her at the head of the table, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge just how adorable she looked. Her hastily washed and dried hair had resulted in a cloud of tumbling blonde curls that she had loosely twisted into a knot on top of her head, and already escaping tendrils were framing her delicate features. A short jersey dress, its colour a darkest purple, hugged her slender curves in a way that already had the blood racing around his veins.

Lifting a heavy crystal decanter, he started to fill Lottie’s glass, watching as her slender fingers curled nervously around the stem. Then, raising his own glass between them, he saw Lottie automatically doing the same. What exactly were they toasting? With her meltingly clear blue eyes mercilessly trained on him he felt for the bedrock of bitterness to help him counter their effect and found it in the pit of his stomach, where it had sat ever since she had left him.

‘Your good health.’

It was hardly the warmest of toasts. Lottie looked at his darkly glowering face over the rim of her wine glass. She knew he was angry that she was late for dinner; he had already been in a bad mood when he had woken her up from her unexpected nap, banging on her bedroom door, demanding to know what was keeping her. But her promise of ten minutes had proved impossible to achieve and, torn between nervousness at keeping him waiting and a desire to make herself look at least half decent, the latter had won.

Though now she wondered why she had bothered. It would appear that her hastily applied makeover had simply darkened Rafael’s already coal-black mood.

‘Yes—salute.’ After taking a small sip, Lottie put down her glass and concentrated on straightening the already straight silver cutlery, wondering just how she was going to get through this ordeal.

Almost immediately two waiting staff appeared, and in the flurry of dishes being revealed from under domed silver lids and food being expertly served onto their plates Lottie was able to ignore, at least for the moment, the ill-tempered man at her side.

When the staff finally left he pointedly waited for her to pick up her knife and fork before doing the same.

‘I suggest we eat this now, before it is completely ruined.’

He really was determined to be relentlessly bad-tempered, wasn’t he? This evening was going to be horrendous.

But the meal was delicious and, seated beside Rafael in this magnificent cavernous room, drinking mellow red wine from the ancient, vaulted cellars beneath them, Lottie could feel herself being transported back to the life of wealth and privilege that she had torn herself away from so violently two long years ago. Rafael’s world. And even though he was casually dressed now, in jeans and a soft cotton shirt open at the collar, he still looked every inch the master—every inch the Conte di Monterrato.

The conversation was limited, with Lottie’s attempt at small talk falling on stony ground and Rafael seemingly too intent on eating his meal to discuss the weightier subject, though it hovered between them like an uninvited guest at the meal.

Instead Lottie found herself surreptitiously watching him, drawn to the shape of his mouth as it moved, the sweeping line of his jaw, now shadowed with a stubble that covered some of the bruising, the way dark curls fell over his forehead when he lowered his head, only to be pushed back with an impatient hand. In the flickering light of the candelabra set on the table between them his injuries were much less visible, and he looked alarmingly like the old, impossibly handsome Rafael.

The meal finally over, Rafael suggested that they go into the salon and, reluctantly relinquishing her hold on a crumpled linen napkin, Lottie followed him across the marble hallway into the warmth of the relatively modest room. Coffee and cognac were waiting for them on a low table in front of the fire and they seated themselves side by side on the antique sofa. Rafael started to pour her a balloon glass of brandy but Lottie shook her head. She had had enough alcohol; she could feel it seeping into her bones, threatening to muddle her senses. Coffee was a much more sensible idea.

Wrestling with the heavy silver pot, she poured coffee into two china cups and passed one to Rafael. Then crossing her legs, she tried to settle herself beside him, one hand holding a rattling cup, the other one tugging her dress down over her thighs.

‘So, have you thought any more about my suggestion?’

The truce was obviously over, and the air was immediately filled with the magnitude of his question.

‘Of course I have.’ She turned to face him, the sofa springs twanging beneath her. ‘And I must say that I don’t appreciate the emotional blackmail.’

Rafael spanned the fingers of one hand across his temples, shielding his eyes as if it pained him even to look at her. ‘I was merely pointing out that you have a strong maternal instinct. There is no need to be ashamed about that.’

‘I’m not ashamed!’

‘So you are not denying, then, that in theory you would like to have a baby?’ Suddenly he was giving her the full force of his gaze again.

‘Yes...no. That is not the point.’

‘Because if you would, Lottie, now is your chance to do something about it. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that with the fertility problems you have suffered your chances of having a child with someone else might well prove...challenging.’

‘And yours would be non-existent.’

It was a cruel jibe and Lottie could feel the heat of it slash across her cheeks. But she wasn’t going to take it back; he deserved it.

‘Touché.’

He owned the few dark seconds of silence and Lottie felt increasingly bad with each one that passed.

‘So we are both in the same situation. And that has to be all the more reason to make the right decision now.’

Lottie placed her cup back down on the table. He had an answer for everything, didn’t he? Except Seraphina. He never wanted to talk about their baby daughter. Well, now she was going to make him.

She sucked in a deep, empowering breath. ‘Do you ever think about Seraphina?’ The out-breath of words whistled between them like a bullet. And she knew her aim had been sure by the immediate clench of Rafael’s jaw.

‘Of course I do.’ His voice was sharp but he still couldn’t hide the emotion behind it. Neither could the shuttered look in his eyes that were fixed on her face. ‘How can you even ask such a question? Seraphina was my baby too, in case you’ve forgotten.’

The vulnerability had gone, immediately replaced with the more familiar animosity, but she had caught a glimpse of it—heard him say her name. Seraphina. Spoken with that beautiful Italian intonation. It was all she could do not to ask him to repeat it, over and over again, until she was full to the brim with it.

She looked down from his injured face to the hand that was resting on his muscular thigh, the back of it crisscrossed with the scars and scratches from his accident, reminding her yet again just what he had been through.

Impulse made her reach towards it, tentatively rest her own pale hand over the top of it. ‘Maybe I have. I’m sorry.’

The connection between them was immediate, tingling with the sharp pinpricks of recalled intimacy, until Rafael quickly pulled away, running the same hand through his hair as if to cleanse himself of her. He moved slightly in his seat as he took control again.

‘I know we can never replace Seraphina, nor would we want to, but there is nothing to stop us having a healthy child, Lottie. I want you to understand that.’

‘Rafe...’

‘Just imagine, Lottie...a year from now we could be parents. We can make this happen—I know we can.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Trying to hang on to the last vestiges of sanity, Lottie challenged him. ‘Even if I agreed to the embryo transplantation there is nothing to say that it will work.’

‘But there is one certainty.’ His commanding voice was very low. ‘If we don’t try we will never know.’

Suddenly the room was stiflingly hot, its silence only broken by the hiss and rustle of the logs settling down on the fire. With the intensity of Rafael’s dark eyes boring into her Lottie felt the heat sweep through her body, softening her bones, melting away the layers of resolve that had settled comfortably over her like a blanket of snow.

Could she say yes? Rafael somehow made the decision sound so straightforward. He made everything seem possible. But then he had no thought or care for the life she had made for herself in England. Built up so painstakingly, brick by brick, from the demolition rubble of their marriage. She had finally reached the stage where she felt financially stable and emotionally settled. Most of the time anyway.

Could she really take this enormous gamble and throw caution, common sense and self-preservation to the wind? Hurl them up into the blue sky and watch to see where they fell? The same blue sky that Rafael had fallen from, that had brought her here in the first place.

It was so tempting.

Rafael waited, as if sensing that words were no longer needed. So close now she could feel the soft whisper of his breath against her face, feel herself weakening beneath the unbearable scrutiny of his gaze and the lethal, sensual intoxication of his nearness.

Sitting up very straight, she pushed back her shoulders and mirrored his penetrating stare. This was her decision and she was going to make it.

‘Right, I have made up my mind.’

The answering flash in Rafael’s eyes was so intense that she had to blink against it, her mouth suddenly dry with the cotton wool words.

‘My answer is yes. I will do it.’

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS A long second of astonishment. Then, jerking back to life, Rafael clasped Lottie’s hands in his, squeezing them tightly in his strong grasp.

‘You mean it?’ He angled his head to see her face better, to make sure he had understood correctly.

‘Yes.’

‘You agree to using our frozen embryo?’

‘Yes. That is what we are talking about here, isn’t it?’ She attempted a short laugh but it came out as more of a squawk, the panic of what she had just agreed to throttling her vocal cords.

‘Then I thank you.’ Deeply serious now, Rafael let go of her hands and, tipping her chin with his fingers, captured her gaze with his own. ‘Vi ringrazio dal profondo del mio cuore. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

‘That’s okay.’

Lottie cringed at her vapid reply. Okay was hardly a fitting response to Rafael’s heartfelt gratitude. Or to the magnitude of what she had agreed to, come to that. But she couldn’t think straight—not when he was so close, not when he was looking at her like that, with the soft touch of his fingertips searing against her skin. She needed to get away—away from Rafael and the way he was making her feel. If she had just made the most crazy decision of her life she wanted to be alone now, so that she could scream at herself in peace.

‘Well, I think I’ll go to bed.’ She wobbled to standing. ‘I am rather tired.’

‘Of course.’ Rafael was immediately beside her, holding her elbow. ‘We can discuss all the arrangements tomorrow.’

That little statement did nothing to calm her nerves. She went to move away but Rafael held on to her, drawing her closer, his strong arms encircling her body, pressing her against his chest. Lottie froze beneath his embrace.

‘You won’t regret this decision, Lottie.’

She could feel his breath fanning the top of her head, lightly moving her hair.

‘I will make sure of that. This time it will work—I know it will.’

‘I hope so.’ Her words were muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt.

She had no idea whether it would or not, but right now she had a more pressing concern—literally. The shocking way her body was reacting to his. The initial forbidden twitch of desire had spread through her body, stopping somewhere low in her abdomen, where it now sat, throbbing inside her, waiting for something to happen.

‘I know so.’

He pulled her even closer and Lottie felt any resolve fade away as the heat between them intensified. It felt so good, yet so wrong, encased in his muscular arms, with the hard planes of his chest crushing her breasts against him with alarming effect, the lengths of their bodies touching, meeting all the way down.

Ignoring every screaming warning, she found herself arching her body very slightly, to push her pelvis closer to him, to feel more. And she wasn’t disappointed. The rock-hard length of his arousal was instantly evident, making its presence felt against her, and her own body immediately went into clenching spasms of desire in response. A thrill of triumph rushed through her that she could still do this to him—that he wasn’t as impervious to her as his icy façade would suggest. Up on tiptoes now, she tentatively moved her arms around his neck, wanting more, for him to want more.

She heard the guttural growl, followed by a soft Italian curse, then felt her arms being wrenched from his neck, left to fall by her sides as he jerked himself away from her.

‘No!’

The word was like a lash-stroke across the exposed flesh of Lottie’s desire.

‘That is not what this is about.’

Standing alone, rejected and exposed, Lottie could only stare at him, watching with wide-eyed confusion as he strode over to the fireplace, kicking a stray log back into the hearth with a shower of sparks.

‘I think we need to lay down some ground rules.’ He barked the words over his shoulder at her. ‘I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.’

The wrong idea.

Lottie pulled her gaze from the rigid tension of his back to the empty space where he had stood. Her body was still twitching with desire, her legs trembling beneath her. But his words had shrivelled her heart. We wouldn’t want Lottie getting the wrong idea, would we? As if he might actually have any feelings for her.

Pushing the hair away from her face, she straightened her dress and cleared her throat. She needed to take control now—convince him that she wasn’t bothered, that he was overreacting.

‘That’s okay.’ She attempted a throwaway laugh. ‘It was nothing. There’s no need to get all heavy about it.’

Rafael spun round and gave her a look that bordered on hatred. Swallowing back the bile, he planted his feet firmly apart, glaring at her. ‘Si, certo. Nothing.’

Lottie bit down on her trembling lip. Well, what did he want her to say, for God’s sake? She was trying to make this better. The shameless way she had wanted him, the humiliation of being abandoned, the look of pure disgust on Rafael’s face now—all conspired to make her feel suitably wretched. Now she had to put up some form of defence.

‘What I mean is I am fully aware of the situation.’ Her voice was surprisingly cold, clear. ‘I have agreed to try for this baby with you, Rafael, not to resurrect our marriage.’

Rafael swung round to face her, thunder in his eyes. ‘As long as we both know where we stand.’

‘I’m sure we do. You have made your feelings towards me perfectly clear.’

‘And yours towards me.’

‘Yes.’

Lottie flinched. Her big black lie. Impossible to remove now. It was stitched into the fabric of Rafael’s being. It was there in every twitch of his muscles, every hitch of his shoulders, every coal-black stare of his eyes.

With a couple of strides he was before her again, glowering down on her defensive body. Lottie faced the wall of his hostility, watching him struggle to control his breathing, his temper, his dislike of her. Struggling with all the things he would not say.

Finally he stepped back, his eyes refusing to leave her face.

‘Then I am glad there is no confusion.’

* * *

Rafael drained his brandy glass and banged it down on the coffee table in front of him, the emotional roller coaster ride of the evening still wreaking havoc on his body. He ran a hand over his forehead, the ridge of his scar a timely reminder of the accident that had started all this.

He should have been feeling elated. If nothing else he had managed to persuade Lottie to agree to using their frozen embryo. Now he needed to get things moving before she changed her mind—or, worse still, went back to England, met someone else, forgot all about him. He had been fortunate, he had to concede, that that hadn’t already happened. That she hadn’t already taken up with some uncomplicated young man and started living a happily-ever-after that certainly didn’t include him. But his investigations had revealed nothing apart from that slimeball of a boss at the gallery where she worked.

He flexed his fingers. There was a guy asking for a punch on the nose if ever there was one. But even if she was unattached now he had had no way of telling for how long. He’d had to act fast.

But not in the way he just had. Dio... His hand came down over his eyes. What the hell had he been thinking of, pressing himself up against her like a horny teenager? Displaying, oh, so physically, just how easily she could still turn him on? Because she did, didn’t she? Every little maledetto thing about her sent his logical brain into a tailspin south. And to the trouble that was waiting for him there.

Though it hadn’t just been him. The memory of the way Lottie had responded still pulsed through his veins. Had that been deliberate? A test to see what it would take to make him react? If so, he had shown himself to be the weakest of creatures. She had eventually swept from the room, seemingly not able to get away from him fast enough, presumably gloating with the satisfaction that she could turn him on just like that, just the way she always had.

Well, enough. Getting up from the sofa, he stretched back his shoulders, circling them up and around to ease the stiffness, almost enjoying the physical pain that shot down one side of his body. He had to resist, be strong. Moving over to the fireplace, he caught sight of his battered reflection in the enormous gilt mirror, demonstrating yet again the mess he had made of his life. He looked away quickly, only to be confronted by the carved marble cherubs on either side of him, mocking him with their adoring faces.

Sometimes it felt as if the whole world had it in for him.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear and Lottie witnessed every stage of it. After a few fitful hours of sleep she had given up and spent what was left of the night huddled on the window seat, her duvet pulled around her. There she had watched the starlit night giving way to the first flush of pink, the curved sliver of the sun making its miraculous appearance, rising with surprising speed until it hung above its unmade bed, ready for the day.

Those silent hours had given her plenty of time to go over everything—over and over, until she had thought her head would burst with it. But now, up and dressed, warmed by the coffee from her otherwise untouched breakfast tray, she found her mind was surprisingly clear and she knew what she had to do.

Pulling her phone out of her bag, she first texted her friend and flatmate Alex, spelling out that she planned to stay at Monterrato ‘for a few weeks more’. There was no way Alex would be up yet, so at least she was excused having to speak to her and face the barrage of questions that this breezily worded statement would no doubt produce.

Pressing ‘send’, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Alex’s reaction, already envisaging her colourfully worded reply.

The next one was more difficult. Informing Ibrahim, her boss at the gallery, that the ‘three or four days’ she had taken off work to come here might actually now be more like three or four weeks was not going to go down well. He was prone to bouts of hysteria at the best of times and this was undoubtedly going to ramp up his rage levels. Still, it had to be done. So, punching his number into the phone, Lottie tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat and waited for the soothing buzzing of the connection tone to be shattered by his familiar bark.

* * *

The palazzo was quiet and still when Lottie finally stepped out onto the landing, the air smelling of polish and freshly cut flowers. Descending the stairs, she looked cautiously around her, feeling the smooth mahogany banister run beneath her hand. She crossed the hall and, pulling open the heavy studded front door, took in a deep, restorative breath.

The Monterrato estate spread out in all directions, as far as the eye could see, sparkling with early-morning dew. In front of her stretched two rows of towering poplar trees, casting strong diagonal shadows across the long driveway that cut through the manicured lawns on either side.

Lottie descended one of the twin flights of stairs and crunched along the gravel path that followed the side of the palazzo. The crisp, cold air felt good against her cheeks and she breathed it in greedily, feeling it scour the insides of her body.

With her hands pushed deep inside her coat pockets she strode purposefully on, knowing exactly where she was going—past the kitchen gardens and the outbuildings, the deserted stables and the swimming pool, to a winding path that threaded through a wooded area.

The first signs of spring were starting to appear: snowdrops and crocus were defiantly poking their heads through the cold soil, scattered around the feet of the trees. The path gradually ascended until the trees stopped and there, perched on the top of a hill, was the Monterrato chapel, its burnt umber walls stark against the pearly blue morning sky.

A shallow flight of stone steps, overgrown with moss and weeds, led up to the chapel and the graves that were spread out around it, their headstones tipping drunkenly in the cold sunshine. This was the final resting place for generations of Revaldis, at peace in these beautiful surroundings.

Lottie moved respectfully between them, picking a pathway towards one particular very small grave. The sight of it clutched at her heart. There was the carved angel, still faithfully guarding the slab of painfully clean white marble, one cheek resting on her hands, her wings spread out behind her.

Squatting down, Lottie took a moment to steady herself as the memories came flooding back: the sight of the tiny white coffin being lowered into the ground, the sound of the first handful of soil as it had landed on the lid. Reaching forward, she touched the headstone, her cold fingers tracing the inscription, the words carved into her heart.

Someone had placed a posy of fresh flowers in a small urn and as she absently rearranged them a robin perched on the angel’s head, watching her with its beady eyes. All was peaceful and still. Savouring the precious moment, Lottie uttered a small, silent prayer to her daughter and watched as the robin took off, carrying her blessings up into the sky.

‘Lottie?’

Lottie swung round with a start. Rafael was standing a few yards away, tall and dark in a long black overcoat, the raised collar skimming his bruised jawline, like some dashing Victorian villain.

‘I thought I might find you here.’

Stumbling to her feet, Lottie pulled her coat closer to her. ‘I...I just needed to think—to be with Seraphina.’

‘Of course. You don’t need to explain. I will go...leave you in peace.’ He was already turning away.

‘No.’ Suddenly she knew she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stand with her, beside their daughter’s grave, together. Not to distance himself in the way he always had. ‘Why don’t you join us?’

If the words sounded flippant they both knew the very real intent that they held. Lottie watched as Rafael hesitated, wariness, uncertainty and pride crossing his face before he quietly moved between the overgrown graves to join her, standing sentry-tall beside the towering angel.

There was a short moment of painfully poignant silence, abruptly ended when Rafael shifted his position and gave a small cough.

‘You look cold, Lottie. We should go back to the palazzo. There are things we need to discuss.’

‘I’m fine.’ A shiver so violent that it shook her shoulders said otherwise.

Registering the challenge in her voice, he increased the authority of his own. ‘Then come into the chapel. It will be warmer in there.’

There was no point in arguing. Lottie followed him to the arched doorway of the chapel and watched as he turned the heavy iron ring on the door.

The small space welcomed them in with its domed sky-blue ceiling, sprinkled with hundreds of gold stars and the gilded altar at the back watched over by the Madonna and child. There was that particular, evocative smell—a mixture of wood and damp and incense.

Walking between the rows of ancient pews, Rafael went to light a candle at the altar, then joined Lottie on the front pew, his long legs stretched before him. They were quiet for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell.

‘So...’ Eventually Rafael spoke, his voice low and respectful of their environment. ‘Your decision last night...’

He turned guardedly to face her, and Lottie noticed that the cold had puckered his scar to a white slash.

‘...it still stands?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She returned his look defiantly.

‘Good.’ He let out a breath that lowered his shoulders. ‘Then I thank you again. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much this means to me.’

‘No, you don’t Rafael.’ Lottie clasped her cold hands together. ‘And, despite the novelty, please don’t think that you have to keep thanking me either.’

‘As you wish.’ He looked at her curiously, trying to gauge her mood. ‘Perhaps you would prefer me to move on to the practicalities?’

Lottie wouldn’t prefer it, as it happened, but she knew that she had no choice. She scuffed her feet against the ancient tiles.

‘Dr Oveisi will be arriving at two-thirty tomorrow.’

‘What?’ That stopped the breath in her throat.

‘Yes. We were fortunate. He had a free day.’

Of course he had. World-renowned IVF specialists were bound to have plenty of time on their hands—empty diaries just waiting for a call. At least that was how it always seemed to work in Rafael’s world.

‘Tomorrow.’ She repeated the word slowly, trying to get it to sink in.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. Rafael was a man who, once a decision had been made, acted on it there and then. He was hardly going to suggest a cooling off period—thirty days in which she could change her mind, cancel her contract.

And, despite the shot of panic she had to concede that there was no point in delaying things. She wasn’t going to change her mind. The sooner they did this, the sooner they would know if it had worked. And if it did...? Just the thought of that sent a giddy thrill of excitement all the way down to her wriggling toes.

Yesterday, when she had made her decision, it had almost felt as if someone else had taken over her body. Some reckless, feckless madam who had elbowed her sensible self to one side, gagged her with a frivolously decadent undergarment and said, Yes, Rafael, of course I will agree to this preposterous idea.

She had strongly suspected that the morning would see her deeply regretting the idea. But her sleepless night had produced more than the dark circles under her eyes. Those chilly hours of darkness had focussed her mind, made her see things more clearly than ever before. She had realised that Rafael was right; she did want to be a mother and, even though she hated to admit it even to herself, more than anything in the world she wanted to be the mother of Rafael’s child.

This was her one opportunity to make it happen—the embryo’s one chance of life. To say no now would be closing the door on that dream for ever, effectively agreeing that their embryo should be destroyed. Something she knew she could never, ever do. Today she was surprised to find that she felt strong—empowered, even, by her decision. This was a huge, massive risk she was taking, but what was it that people said? That life’s biggest regrets came not from the things you had done but the things you hadn’t? Well, she wasn’t going to be accused of that—not this time. No way.

Gazing around the chapel, she felt a flutter of anticipation go through her. If their future chance of parenthood was now in the lap of the gods this felt like the right place to be: seated next to Rafael in this timeless capsule of calm, with the Madonna and child before them. She took strength from that.

‘Tomorrow is all right with you?’

Rafael’s question cut through Lottie’s thoughts and she realised he was waiting for her reply.

‘I thought we might as well move this on as fast as we can.’

‘Tomorrow is fine.’ She turned to face him full-on, even risking a bright-eyed smile. ‘The sooner we can do this the better.’

* * *

Dr Oveisi turned out to be a rather dapper, middle-aged man with blue-black slicked-back hair and a fondness for gold jewellery. As Lottie nervously shook his outstretched hand she could feel the chunky rings against her sweaty palm.

They were seated in the grand salon—Lottie and Rafael side by side on the sofa, Dr Oveisi on a high-backed chair opposite. It soon became apparent that he was both highly intelligent and not a man to mess around. Rafael’s kind of man. After the briefest of introductions he launched straight into questions about Lottie’s fertility history, the failed IVF attempts and her current ovulation cycle.

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