“You’ll be mine. You’ll be my wife.”

With her identity concealed, Allegra Valenti enters Italy’s most glorious masquerade ball determined to make happy memories to sustain her through her impending coldly arranged betrothal. But a passionate encounter with a masked stranger has consequences that tear apart her dutiful life.

Brooding Spanish duke Cristian Acosta cannot believe the masked siren he let his guard down for was his best friend’s sister—the pampered heiress he grew up despising. To safeguard the Acosta legacy, Cristian must adorn Allegra with a trinket of his own—a gold wedding band!

Allegra walked over to the door and opened it. Then her heart fell into her feet. She tried to keep her face straight as she stared into the dark, uncompromising gaze of Cristian Acosta.

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t. She refused to believe it.

Though standing there, looking up at him and those coal-black eyes, she wondered how she hadn’t known it was him the moment he’d walked into that ballroom.

He’d looked like Death come to collect then. And he looked like it now.

His black brows were locked together, as was his hard, square jaw. His lips, usually the softest-looking thing about him, were pressed into a grim line.

He filled the space, and he wasn’t even in it yet. So tall, so impossibly broad. He made her feel small. He made her feel weak. He made her feel like he was looking straight through her.

That brief moment of hope was crushed beneath the weight of that stare. That knowing, intense stare. For just a second, she’d had freedom.

And now, there was Cristian.

“Did you come to congratulate me on my upcoming marriage? Because if so—”

“I am not here to play games with you. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“About...” Her throat was completely dry and excuses were swirling around her head like foxes chasing their tails.

“The baby,” he said.

One stolen moment of extraordinary passion leads to dramatic consequences in this stunning new trilogy by New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates in...

Heirs Before Vows

Claiming their legacy with a diamond ring!

Three of the world’s most impressive and powerful bachelors, connected by fate and friendship, are about to find their lives changed irrevocably!

No one could have expected the shocking consequences that now lead these determined alpha males down the aisle…

…as expectant fathers!

Find out what happens in…

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

October 2016

The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

December 2016

This stunning trilogy concludes with...

The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

January 2017

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com.

Books by Maisey Yates

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Carides’s Forgotten Wife

Bound to the Warrior King

Married for Amaris Heir

His Diamond of Convenience

To Defy a Sheikh

One Night to Risk It All

Forged in the Desert Heat

His Ring Is Not Enough

The Couple Who Fooled the World

A Game of Vows

The Chatsfield

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

One Night With Consequences

Married for Amari’s Heir

Princes of Petras

A Christmas Vow of Seduction

The Queen’s New Year Secret

Secret Heirs of Powerful Men

Heir to a Desert Legacy

Heir to a Dark Inheritance

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

To everyone who said “You shouldn’t” and “You can’t.” You gave me a reason to prove that I should and I could.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Heirs Before Vows

Title Page

About the Author

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

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HE WAS DEATH come to take her away. At least, that was what he looked like as he descended the sweeping stairs of the Venetian ballroom, his black cloak billowing behind him, his blunt fingertips brushing the elegant marble banister. Allegra felt it like a touch against her skin, and for the rest of her life she would wonder at the strength of it.

He was masked, like everyone else in attendance, but that was where the similarity between him and anyone else—or indeed, him and any mortal—ended.

He was not wearing the bright silks of many of the men there, rather he was dressed all in black. The mask that covered his face was of some sort of glittering midnight material, cut into the shape of a skull. His skin must have been painted a deep charcoal beneath it, because she could catch no sight of man or even a trace of humanity in the small spaces between the intricately fashioned metal.

She wasn’t the only woman to be struck dumb by his appearance—a ripple ran through the room. Resplendent, silk-wrapped creatures were all quivering in anticipation of a look, a glance. Allegra was no exception. Her identity hidden behind the beautiful painted designs on her face, she allowed herself the indulgence to look at him.

The party, being held in one of the most beautiful and historic hotels in Venice, was hosted by one of her brother’s business associates. It was one of the most sought-after invitations in the world, and those attending were the elite.

Italy’s oldest, wealthiest families. Old money and new. Eligible heiresses who held whole rooms captive with a saucy glance.

She supposed she was part of them. Her father was old money and new. Nobility with a lineage that could be traced back to the Renaissance. But unlike his father before him, he’d taken that position and spun it into gold. Had taken crumbling, inherited properties and reinvigorated them as his business, pushing him to the height of the social and financial stratosphere.

Her brother, Renzo, had only brought the Valenti family higher, taking her father’s company global and increasing their wealth by leaps and bounds.

Still, Allegra didn’t feel like she was one of these women. Didn’t feel seductive or vibrant. She felt...caged.

But this was supposed to be her chance. Her chance to lose her virginity to a man that she chose, rather than to the prince that she was promised to marry, who did nothing to heat her blood or fire her imagination.

Perhaps such a sin would send Allegra straight to hell. Though, who better to take her there than the devil himself? He was here, after all. And with his entrance into the room he had affected her more deeply, more profoundly, than her arranged fiancé ever had.

She started to take a step toward the staircase, and then stopped. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might be sick. Who did she think she was? She was not the kind of woman to approach a strange man at a party.

To approach him and flirt and ask him to—

She had no idea what she’d been thinking.

Allegra turned away from the stranger. She wasn’t going to court Death at this party, in all the ways that term applied. Yes, she had the fantasy that she might find someone tonight. Someone she wanted. But when push came to shove, she simply didn’t have the courage.

Anyway, her brother had brought her to this party under sufferance, and if she caused any trouble, he would probably burn the place to the ground. Renzo Valenti was not known for his quiet temperament. Allegra, however, had learned to curb hers.

As a child she had been a trial, according to both of her parents. But she had allowed them to teach her. With lessons in deportment and carriage and all other manner of things designed to make her the sort of lady who would make something of herself.

And it had paid off. At least, from the point of view of her parents. Renzo’s close friendship with Cristian Acosta—a Spanish duke her brother had been friends with since his years in private school—had made an introduction between her father and Prince Raphael DeSantis of Santa Firenze.

From that introduction, at the urging of dear Cristian—who Allegra wanted to dunk into the sea—had come a marriage agreement that saw Allegra promised to a prince. A triumph in her parents’ eyes.

She should be ecstatic, so she’d been told.

She had been formally promised to Raphael since she was sixteen years old, and he appealed to her no more now that she was twenty-two than he had at the very first meeting. It was a strange thing. He was a handsome man, that was not up for debate. But in spite of all that handsome, he left her cold.

Unlike her older brother, he kept himself out of the tabloids. The very picture of respectability and masculine grace in suits, and in the more casual wear he favored when her family met with him for holidays in his homes around the world.

Perhaps it was part of her mercurial nature that she had never felt tempted to do more than accept perfunctory kisses on her cheek from him. That she couldn’t find it in her to feel passion for him as some sort of rebellion against what she was being commanded to do. Or perhaps, it was him. Perhaps he was simply too...cold.

Was it so much to want someone with a passion that matched her own?

Though, her passion was theoretical. Both for life and for men. It made her want to break free. Made her want to challenge the life that had been set out before her.

No doubt Cristian would tell her she was being selfish. Of course, Cristian had always acted like he held a personal stake in her engagement. Possibly because he’d arranged it.

It made her wonder what else he stood to gain from her marriage. Probably infinite favors from Prince Raphael himself. Which was likely the reason Cristian loomed so large every time he was over for dinner at her parents’ house.

Cristian was the only person who ever made her lose her cool. The only person who inspired her to let loose on her control and rage when he made her angry.

With her parents, when push came to shove, she did as she was told.

In reality, her existence was staid. And she felt like she was in a constant struggle against it.

Or at least, she intended to struggle against it. To pull, to give some sort of indication that she was unhappy. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to turn her attention to the rest of the ballroom, to keep herself from looking back at Death again.

Allegra wandered over to the far side of the ballroom, picking up a plate and availing herself of the various delicacies that were spread out before her. If she could not indulge in men, she would indulge in chocolate. If her mother was here, she would remind Allegra that she had a wedding dress she would need to fit into in only a few months, and that eating chocolate was potentially not conducive to that.

And her mother needed everything to be...conducive to something. Needed her children to fit into the proper mold so that they could fulfill their duties and all of that. So that they could build upon what their father had begun and bring honor to their family name, and just a whole lot of things that Allegra found very daunting to take on.

In a fit of rebellion, Allegra grabbed another cream puff. Her mother was not here. Anyway, they employed a very accomplished seamstress. Surely she could do something with the gown should it not fit her more abundant curves.

Renzo wouldn’t stop her. Though, he did not oppose her parents pushing her toward this marriage, he only ever seemed amused by her moments of spirit.

But then, Renzo seemed to take his mantle on easily. It was a strange thing. As a man, his life had to bend where work was concerned. He’d had to take over their father’s real estate development firm, but nothing else in his life was dictated to.

As for Allegra...she imagined she could have whatever job she wished as long as it left her on hand to devote her personal life to the husband her parents deemed fit.

Perhaps that was why Renzo was so much more indulgent. He saw the disparity in what they were asked to do, who they were asked to be.

Her parents did not. And neither did Cristian, who had enabled her parents in their attempts to marry her off. Additionally, he was always on hand to play the opposing, humorless figure. Though, she knew his life had its share of hardships, and it almost made her feel guilty for finding so much at fault with him. Endless fault, really.

But still, his personal tragedies—and his involvement in her upcoming marriage—didn’t give him a right to be so harsh with her.

She blinked, looking back down at her food. She didn’t know why she was thinking of him now. Maybe because were he here, he would lift a sardonic brow at her if he saw her indulging in a plateful of sweets. Likely, using it as evidence to support his thinking that she was only a child. A spoiled one, at that.

She thought he was an ass. So, she supposed they would have to call it even.

The music began to swell, a dramatic waltz wrapping itself around her, enveloping her in the smooth and easy sensuality. She turned and looked at the couples out on the dance floor, holding each other close and moving with effortless grace.

What would it be like to have a man lead you like that? To hold you so close, with such strength? She imagined that her future husband was a very accomplished dancer. He was—after all—a prince. As far as she knew they began taking classical ballroom from the moment they learned how to walk.

Suddenly, a black-gloved hand came into her view. She looked up and her breath fled from her lungs. She parted her lips, preparing to speak, and he lifted his other hand, pressing his index finger to the cold, still mouth of his mask.

He had seen her too. He had noticed her. She had not been alone. That rush of heat, of excitement she had felt when he’d descended the stairs, that impression that he had not been touching the banister, but her skin, had washed over her for a reason. The connection was real.

Excitement, emotion, swelled in her chest even as the music began to swell, filling the space in the room, and inside of her.

She allowed him to lift her from her chair, and even though they made no skin-to-skin contact, though the leather glove provided a bit of protection between her hand and his, she felt a lightning bolt of heat straight down low between her thighs.

She was being ridiculous. He could be anyone. He could be any age. He could be hideously disfigured beneath that mask. He could, in fact, be Death himself.

But she did not think he was. Because this feeling was too certain. Too deep.

When he pulled her into his hold, when her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest and heat sparked through her, she knew that whoever he was, he was the one that she wanted.

A strange thing. To have such an instant, intense attraction that transcended reality on such a visceral level.

He swept her over the dance floor like she weighed nothing, weaving between other couples as though they didn’t exist. Didn’t matter. She looked up and caught his dark gaze and a shock wave blasted through her. She focused on the crystal chandelier above that cast fractals of light over the people below, and at the rich velvet drapes that hung over the walls, partly concealing murals of frolicking goddesses painted over the plaster surface.

Each brush of her body against his made her tremble. Every brush of that gloved hand on her lower back sent a sweeping wave of longing through her. She ached between her legs, desperate for his touch. This wasn’t just a dance. It was a prelude to something much more sensual.

She had never responded to a man like this before. Of course, she had never danced with a man like this before either. Still, she didn’t think this had anything to do with the dancing, as arousing as it was. She didn’t think it had anything to do with the music, as deeply as it affected her. This was all about him. And it had been from the moment he had walked into the room.

She was dizzy. That had nothing to do with the dancing either.

She slid her hand down from where it was looped around his neck, pressed her palm against his chest, making sure to meet his gaze. It was dark, obsidian and unreadable beneath the mask. Perhaps he was disgusted. Perhaps he could not imagine why she had taken his request to dance as an invitation for more.

He caught her hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling it back.

She froze, thinking she had made a terrible error. Then, he turned her hand, slowly rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She shivered, her body taking his touch for exactly what it was. A response. A yes.

She swallowed hard, looking back off the dance floor to try to catch sight of her brother. He was nowhere to be seen. Which meant he had likely already taken off with a woman who had caught his attention. Good for her, he wasn’t here to babysit.

She had no idea how to do this. Most especially without talking. And her mystery man seemed intent on keeping things silent between them. She didn’t mind it. It heightened the electric feelings coursing through her.

She had no idea who he was, and he had no idea of her true identity. That was only a good thing. Her engagement to the prince of Santa Firenze was highly publicized. And though she doubted she would be famous worldwide, in Venice, there would certainly be some awareness of who she was.

But, soon, there was no decision to be made. Because he was moving her off the dance floor, away from the crowd and down an empty corridor. Her heart was thundering hard. And for a moment, she had the big concern that she was perhaps being kidnapped. She had not imagined that kidnapping might feel so close to seduction, or vice versa.

Now she was just thinking crazy things because she could hardly breathe for the fear and excitement that were jockeying for pride of place inside her.

He pressed her into an alcove, the music fading completely into the background. She could hear no one, and nothing. And in that moment, as the mysterious man in black filled her vision, it was as though they were the only two people on earth.

He pressed his thumb against her lips, tracing the edge of her mouth, a sensual shiver racking her frame. Then he let his fingertips drift down her neck, and down farther, to the neckline of her gown. His touch was featherlight over the rounded swells of her breasts, but it resonated inside her, deep and low. All consuming.

That was when she knew for certain she had not misinterpreted the situation. When she knew for sure that this was a seduction. And she was perilously close to being seduced.

But would she allow it?

Even as she had the thought, she realized how ridiculous it was. She had already allowed it. From the moment she had taken that offered hand, she had been saying yes.

His hand traveled all the way down to her hip, and he began gathering the deep purple fabric of her gown, pulling it up around her thighs. His fingertips brushed between her legs, brief, tantalizing contact in the place where she was beginning to burn for him.

Then, he pressed his palm against her stomach, pushing his hand upward, tugging the neckline of her dress to the side, exposing one of her breasts, then the other. She gasped, barely able to believe what was happening. What she was allowing him to do.

In truth, she wasn’t allowing anything. She was simply a captive to it. To him. And she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.

He dragged his thumb over one sensitized nipple, and she gasped. Then he pinched her tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

She arched more deeply into his touch, and he lifted both hands, cupping her, squeezing her tight. Then his hands were back on her skirt, drawing it up, exposing her to him. His fingers slipping between her thighs so that he could tease her. Then beneath her underwear, touching her more intimately than anyone ever had before.

She felt lost in him, in this. She had never known pleasure like this. It was like being in the center of a sensual storm. She felt his touch everywhere, teasing her, pushing her toward the brink.

She raised her hands, pressing them up against his chest, parting the buttons on his shirt. She sucked in a harsh breath, her fingers making contact with his skin for the first time as she traced his hard muscles, the heat of his skin shocking, so sexy she thought she might collapse onto the floor. A crumpled bit of Allegra. And she couldn’t have that. Because then, he would probably figure out her inexperience, and he would very likely leave her standing there unsatisfied.

He was too perfect for words, a temptation she didn’t want to turn away from. She leaned in, kissing his neck. His lips might be covered by the mask, but hers weren’t. The touch of her skin against his left behind a smudge of red, and a bit of white from all the paint on her face. She didn’t care. She liked it. She wanted to leave him marked by this, because God knew she would be.

She moved her exploration down, to his hard chest. His muscles and the crisp hair on his skin were completely new sensations for her. Touching him like this sent an arrow of desire down low in her stomach.

It didn’t take him long to continue on in what she’d started. He moved his hands down to the closure of his slacks, and pressed her more firmly against the wall. His body was flush against hers, his hot, hard arousal seated firmly against where she was wet and ready for him.

He flexed his hips, his hardness pressing into her softness. A wave of pleasure rolled over her and she let her head fall back as a small moan escaped her lips.

He moved his hand, lifting her thigh and curving her leg around his hip, before shifting his stance and thrusting deep inside her. This time, when she cried out it was in pain.

She had known that losing her virginity would hurt, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite this painful.

Her partner didn’t seem to notice that the tenor of her voice had changed, because he withdrew slowly, before pressing back. This time, it didn’t hurt quite as badly. And with each subsequent thrust, it hurt less and less, until gradually the pleasure returned. Until that sharp, tearing pain transformed into a deep gnawing ache.

It grew, spread outward, pressed deeper, blooming into hot, frantic pleasure. She began to rock against him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her climax overtook her completely. She pressed her lips against his skin as her orgasm washed over her. A never-ending assault that left her spent, breathless.

Then, on a growl, he thrust inside her one last time, bracing himself against the wall as he found his own release.

For a moment, the world seemed to spin around them. She was dizzy with pleasure, with desire. And she felt...connected to this man. To this man she didn’t know at all.

He withdrew from her body, taking a step back. He began to button his shirt, doing his pants up again, his mask still firmly in place. He was as dark and mysterious as he had been from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. And, were it not for the smear of red and white on his neck, she would never have known he’d been touched.

But the evidence was there. If the electric sensation coursing through her body and the throbbing ache between her thighs weren’t evidence enough, then that would serve.

He looked at her for a moment, then he tugged his gloves more firmly in place, and turned, walking away from her, back toward the ballroom.

Leaving her alone.

Leaving Allegra Valenti, who had never done anything but quietly protest her position in life, who had certainly never made a move toward actual rebellion, standing there, having just lost her virginity to a stranger.

Without protection. Without thought for the future, or...anything at all.

Her excitement morphed into horror, into fear.

As she watched him disappear from view, she didn’t know whether to be heartbroken or relieved over the fact that she would never see him again.

CHAPTER TWO

ALLEGRA WAS CONVINCED that things could not possibly get worse than they already were. It didn’t matter how many times she had wished over the past few weeks that her period would come. It refused to come. It did not matter how fervently she prayed that there would only be one pink line on the test that she took at home that morning. There were two.

It did not matter that she was engaged to be married to a prince and that she was supposed to give birth to his royal heirs. Because he was not the man she had slept with. No, she had slept with only one man, and she had no idea who he was.

She had gone over a great many options in her mind since making the unsettling discovery that morning. The first being that she could quickly fly to wherever her fiancé was and seduce him.

There were several reasons that wouldn’t work, not the least of which being that she couldn’t spend her entire life lying to a man about the paternity of his child. Also, Raphael wasn’t stupid. He was a prince, and he required an heir. An heir who was his by blood. That meant that he would undoubtedly be doing paternity tests to establish whether or not the child was actually his. And, since Allegra knew it wasn’t, there was really no point at all in considering that kind of subterfuge. But she had. For a moment. Only because the alternative was going to blow her life wide apart.

Ultimately, she had decided on blowing her life apart. Because there really was no other option. And so, she was here at her brother’s office in Rome, ready to confess all to the one person who might not kill her where she stood.

Though, before she actually engaged in confession she thought she might try a soft introduction.

“Did you enjoy the party?” she asked.

Renzo looked up from his work, one dark brow raised. “Which party?”

“Right. I forgot. You go to a lot of parties. The one that you took me to.”

“It was very good. What little I stayed for.”

“You were there for a while.” She tapped the top of the desk with her fingertip, carefully not looking directly at Renzo.

“Yes,” he said, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving into a standing position. “Why are you questioning me? Is there some kind of unflattering tabloid story? Photographs?”

“Could there be?” she asked.

“I am me, Allegra. It is always a possibility.”

“I suppose that’s true.” It occurred to her that she may very well end up as a tabloid spectacle too. All these years of behaving, of fantasizing about misbehaving, but never stepping out of line, and she had potentially created the biggest scandal of all.

“You have something to ask me. Do it. And you can be on your way. You can shop. I imagine that’s why you’re actually in Rome.”

He could imagine it all he wanted, it didn’t make it true. She was here to speak to him, because she had to find out what he knew about the masked man at the party in Venice.

“You know almost everyone important,” she said. She knew in her gut that the man she had been with was important. He had that air of authority about him. That sort of personality that commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

“Almost everyone,” he said dryly. “Presidents. Kings. Why do you bring that up?”

“Because I... I just was curious. There was a man at the party.”

“You should not be inquiring about men, Allegra,” he said, his tone warning. “Especially since I believe you are already engaged.”

“Sure. Technically. But I’m just curious about this one.”

“And that is enough for me to know that if I tell you anything our father may well separate my head from my body.”

“You don’t care about that,” she said. “I know you don’t. You don’t go to great lengths to please them. In fact, you don’t try to please them at all. Stop pretending that you care when you don’t.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “All right. Ask away.”

“He arrived late. He was wearing a mask that looked like a skull, dressed all in black.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Renzo’s lips. And then, he did something that Allegra rarely saw him do: he laughed.

“What?” she asked, fury rioting through her. She was having a crisis and he was laughing at her. “What’s so funny about that?”

“I’m very sorry to tell you that I believe your head was turned by Cristian. I know you will loathe that. As I know you loathe him.”

Ice slipped down through her, chilling her, making her feel ill. “No,” she said. “That was not Cristian.”

“Protest all you like, but it was. Perhaps it’s for the best that Mother and Father have arranged your marriage? It seems that left to your own devices you have terrible taste.”

“No,” she said, getting more furious. “There is no way that that was Cristian Acosta. I would have... I would have... Turned to stone.”

“Just by looking at him?” Something strange crossed over her brother’s face.

“Yes,” she said.

Obviously he would find out eventually. They all would. Unless... They didn’t. Perhaps, Cristian did not have to know.

Raphael would have to know, there was no way around that. Their engagement was off. And her life would be all the better for it. But, if the man she had been with was truly Cristian, then he would no more believe it than she did.

He saw her as a spoiled, selfish child, and nothing more. If she turned up pregnant, he would never connect the woman he’d had up against the wall with Allegra.

Her stomach turned. Cristian. It didn’t seem possible. How could she... How could she have ever...

A question she had asked herself over and over again, even before she had discovered the identity of the man she had been with.

And so she made a decision then. She was not going to tell him. What good would come of it? He would either want nothing to do with her and the baby, or he would want everything to do with them. Frankly, she preferred the former, but feared the latter.

“Never mind,” she said. “Clearly I was being silly.”

“Clearly,” Renzo said, going back to his work.

Allegra’s mind was made up. She would break off her engagement, and seeing as she was already going to be disgraced, she would embrace it fully. She would raise her child alone.

She would ask nothing of Cristian.

* * *

“Your sister’s broken engagement seems to be making headlines.” Cristian poured himself a drink and turned to face his friend.

Anger that was somewhat unequal to the situation rioted through his blood. He had put his own reputation on the line, introducing Raphael to the Valentis. Vouching for Allegra as a future spouse.

He and Raphael were not really friends, more acquaintances. A hazard of being nobility, especially in these times when titles and the like were sinking into obscurity and obsolescence. But still, he had been the one to make the introduction. The one to suggest the union.

Out of respect and gratitude for the support the Valenti family had always shown him, more than anything else. He should have known she would ruin it.

It had only been a matter of time before Allegra had blown her life up completely. She had always seemed on the verge of it. A shimmering flame even while she sat, trying to look serene at parties and family meals.

He had always seen it. That restlessness. That dissatisfaction. But he’d hoped she’d find herself safely married to a prince and not...well, headline news.

A woman with her temperament was always in danger of being tabloid fodder, and he’d tried to warn her. She was too headstrong to listen.

He had hoped the promise of Raphael would keep her in line. Had hoped it would keep her secure.

It apparently had not.

“The cancellation of a royal wedding is always going to be a major deal,” Renzo said.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Cristian remembered, clearly, her behavior the one time he had been at dinner when Raphael was in attendance. The one time he had seen the two of them together. She hadn’t had a clue what to do with him, and he clearly hadn’t the inclination to handle her.

Raphael was a prince, and accustomed to deference. Allegra didn’t seem to know how to give it and had remained sulky and silent throughout the meal.

She’d been very young then. He’d hoped she might mature.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

He knew all too well how marriages made for political gain could end up. And how unhappy a young bride who wished to have some freedom might crumple beneath the weight of expectation.

But she is not Sylvia. And he isn’t you.

Yes, undoubtedly Allegra could have made good on this marriage. Had she any notion of just how good she had it.

“Thank God the reasoning behind the breakup has not come forward yet. But it will,” Renzo said, standing and making his way across the office, helping himself to the alcohol as well.

He frowned. “What’s the reason?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Something about that hit him hard and low. The image of her growing round...of her holding a baby in her arms...he despised it.

Which was ridiculous. She’d been set to marry Raphael in a few months’ time, and she would have been pregnant by him soon enough. Why it should feel such an assault now, he didn’t know.

He gritted his teeth, fighting against the rising tension in his body. “Not with her prince’s child, I take it?”

“No. She refuses to tell our parents, or me, who the father is. I have never even seen her with anyone. I don’t even have a guess.” He frowned. “I worry about the circumstances behind it, frankly. Unlike me, Allegra has never been particularly wild. I have concerns she was taken advantage of.”

It was strange to hear Renzo’s assessment of his sister. Cristian had always sensed wildness in her. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she had been conducting something of a double life behind the backs of her family members all this time.

The idea made his skin feel too tight for his body. That all the time she’d sat there at the dinner table during evenings he’d spent with her family, pretending to go along with her parents’ plans, she was going out. Letting men touch her. Kiss her.

Have her.

“Has she not?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone innocuous.

“No. She has no experience with men, as far as I know. As far as I knew,” he corrected. “In fact only recently she was asking me quite breathlessly about a man she saw at the masked ball we went to a month or so ago.”

Cristian gritted his teeth, a strange tension taking him over. “Was she?”

Flashes of the ball played back in his mind. A beautiful, lush figure. Tight, wet heat. A kind of indulgence he had not had in years.

“Yes. She was chagrined to discover that the man who’d caught her eye was you.”

Cristian set his glass down, his pulse thundering in his temples. It was not possible. But he had to ask. He had to know.

“What was she wearing?” His heart was thundering hard now, his blood roaring through his veins.

“A mask the same as all the other women. She had some purple in her hair and a purple dress. A dress our parents absolutely did not approve of.”

Cojeme.

It could not be. The first woman he had touched in years... And it was Allegra Valenti. And she was... Well, she was pregnant with the Acosta heir.

While the concept of a dukedom was somewhat outmoded, his own was still functioning. With whole swaths of property and farmland left to his management, and hundreds of families dependent on his continuing bloodline.

He was the last, and he’d known he could not let that stand. Now, he didn’t have to.

Apart from that, he was part of Allegra Valenti’s double life. Part of her sin. And such sin it had been. The kind that haunted his sleep with flashes of memory so erotic and sweet he woke up on the verge of release every night.

“Where is she?” he asked, an edge of desperation in his voice.

Renzo frowned, realization dawning slowly over his friend’s face. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No more than I like it,” he said his tone hard. “Where is she?”

“Holed up in one of my apartments in Rome.”

“I need to speak to her. Now.” He had no time for subtlety. If his suspicions were correct, there would be no keeping secrets anyway.

Damn. They could not be correct.

Renzo’s expression turned suspicious. Dark. “I assume that afterward you will be speaking to me.”

“We can only hope not.” Then Cristian turned and walked out of his friend’s office.

He had to see her and put all of this to rest. It cannot be. He refused to believe it. But he would have to see her, so that he could know.

He had to prove to himself, once and for all, that Allegra was not his mysterious lover from the masked ball. It could not be her. That little brat could not be the woman who had touched him, who had aroused such heat and fire in his blood.

Impossible.

He refused to believe it was true. And he would prove that it was not.

* * *

Allegra was doing her best to avoid the media. But sometimes she would forget. And then she would turn on the TV and be assaulted by the news, or open up her computer and go to the wrong webpage and see yet more headlines.

It was horrible. Seeing her painted as the person she simply wasn’t. Bold enough to call off the engagement to the prince at the eleventh hour, without a care for his feelings or for the future of his country.

She wasn’t very bold at all. And she really did care about leaving everything in the lurch. And if Raphael had feelings, she’d never seen them. Not that that excused her.

When she’d given in to her fantasy and taken a lover at the ball, it hadn’t been with the mind that she would abandon her upcoming marriage. It had been with the idea that at least one thing would be her choice. A stolen moment that would always be hers, and hers alone.

Well, now it was everyone’s.

The world knew she’d broken off the wedding. Her family knew she was pregnant. It was only a matter of time before speculation began flying about that too.

Strangely though, as ownership of her and her mistakes became the world’s, she felt more and more like her life belonged to her. She had decided, firmly, to keep the paternity of the child a secret.

It was her key. Yes, she had let everyone down. Yes, her parents may well cut her off—they seemed to be making a decision on that score still. But apart from all that...her life was suddenly filled with possibilities it hadn’t been before.

She had always known she would be a mother. But part and parcel to that had been being a royal wife. As a princess, her life would never truly be hers.

But now for the first time, it just might be. At least she had choices. Even if they weren’t infinite. At least she would only have to answer to herself. To her own mistakes.

Even her relationship with her child...it would be her own. And maybe it wasn’t the most ideal thing to try to find yourself as a person while you were finding yourself as a mother, but it was still better—more—than she would have had as Raphael’s wife.

A knock on her apartment door sent her scrambling out of her seat on the couch. No one had rung in downstairs, requesting permission for entrance. Which meant it must be an employee of her brother’s building.

God bless Renzo for allowing her to hole up here. He might be angry with her for her choices, but at least he understood, in some ways.

He had never been very well behaved, after all.

She walked over to the door and opened it, then her heart fell into her feet. “Renzo isn’t here, if you’re looking for him.” She tried to keep her face straight as she stared into the dark, uncompromising gaze of Cristian Acosta.

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t. She refused to believe it.

Though, standing there, looking up at him, and those coal-black eyes, she wondered how she hadn’t known it was him the moment he’d walked into that ballroom.

He’d looked like Death come to collect then. And he looked like it now.

His black brows were locked together, as was his hard, square jaw. His lips, usually the softest-looking thing about him, were pressed into a grim line.

He filled the space, and he wasn’t even in it yet. So tall, so impossibly broad. He made her feel small. He made her feel weak.

He made her feel like he was looking straight through her.

That brief moment of hope was crushed beneath the weight of that stare. That knowing, intense stare. For just a second, she’d had freedom.

And now, there was Cristian.

“I am not,” he said, his tone hard, uncompromising. Like everything else about him.

“Well, did you come to congratulate me on my upcoming marriage? Because if so—”

“Quiet,” he said, brushing past her and into the apartment. “I am not here to play games with you. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“About...” Her throat was completely dry and excuses were swirling around her head like foxes chasing their tails.

“The baby,” he said.

“I... I don’t...”

“I know,” he said, his lip curling slightly. “I know that you were the one. And I know you found out that it was me, so do not stand there looking like a wounded innocent.”

She frowned. “I am not an innocent. As you have no doubt deduced.”

“There is no star in the East, so you must not be.”

She crossed her arms, as if it might put a barrier between them. “Nice of you to check for divine symbols before you came.”

“So you admit that you knew. You admit that you knew that I am the father of your child.”

“I admit no such thing.” She crossed her arms, wishing that she could fold in on herself. Wishing that she could disappear completely.

“And yet, you said that I should know that you aren’t an innocent. How else would I know if I weren’t the one to take your innocence?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The simple fact that I’m pregnant? Honestly, Cristian, it could be anyone’s. I’m a known whore.”

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm. “What is the point of this fiction, Allegra?”

“The point of this fiction is that I don’t want to deal with you. I don’t want to deal with this. I... I would never... I would never have touched you if I’d have known that it was you.”

“But it was.” There was a dark light in his eyes, but it looked nothing like triumph. It was a grim sort of determination. He was no happier about this than she was. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“I don’t want you,” she spat, feeling desperate. “I don’t. I had no idea that it was you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself by believing even for one moment I thought it was you, Allegra. You are nothing more than a spoiled child. One who threw away a future that would have been infinitely preferable to this one. You have never understood what you had. You have never understood all your parents have done for you.”

“If I don’t, then Renzo doesn’t either. And yet, you seem to be able to continue in association with him without lecturing him every thirty seconds.”

“Renzo has taken over the running of your father’s company. He has not shirked his duties.”

“Or, you have a double standard.”

“If I have a double standard, then it is not a different double standard than that held by the rest of the world.”

She flung her hands up into the air. “Congratulations then, you’re as infinitely terrible as the majority of the population.”

Silence settled between them. It was not an empty silence. It was full. Of anger, of something else that she did not want to identify.

“If there is one thing I have learned, Allegra,” he said, his superior tone maddening, “It’s that you cannot outrun consequences. It doesn’t matter who your father is. It does not matter how much money you have. Consequences will catch up to us all.”

“Especially when you don’t use a condom,” she shot back.

Perhaps she wasn’t blameless in the lack of contraception, but he was the man. Surely he should have been responsible for that. She had been a virgin, besides.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“You made it clear you didn’t want me to speak!”

“You didn’t protest,” he said.

She growled. “You don’t have to do this. I was prepared to deal with this by myself.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “What is your definition of dealing with it?”

“I was going to have this baby and raise it as a single mother. It isn’t as though I don’t have assets. My parents are upset, but they’re hardly going to cut me off.” She was bluffing. Her parents were infuriated and she had no idea what they would do at this point.

“You think?”

“Well, even if they do, Renzo won’t.” Honestly, she wasn’t entirely certain about her parents. They had not spoken to her since she had told them the news.

But her parents had been so deeply enmeshed in every aspect of her life for so long, she couldn’t really imagine them fully disowning her. She had no idea what her mother would do with her time. But then, maybe that had more to do with the impending royal wedding than an actual desire to spend any time with Allegra. Allegra didn’t want to think about that.

“Frankly, I don’t care whether or not your parents are planning to disown you, or whether or not your brother will support the child and you. You are not doing this alone.”

“No one will believe that we slept together. Nobody.”

He chuckled, a dark sound that wound its way through her body, wrapping itself around her veins, heating her blood. He had never affected her like this before. Usually, when Cristian heated her blood it was because he made her angry. This was something else. A shared memory of the two of them that she didn’t want.

“We did not sleep together,” he said, his voice filled with grim humor. “We had sex. Against a wall.”

Heat stung her face. “No one will believe we did that either.”

“Why? Because of my impeccable reputation?”

“For a start.”

“But no one has to know how it happened. Obviously, when we present this to the world it will be in a much different light. You will, of course, tell your parents that you have fallen in love with me, and it was your great passion and deep feelings for me that inspired you to compromise your engagement.”

She sputtered. “They will be more inclined to believe that you impregnated me in a public hallway without knowing my identity.”

“Is that so?”

“No one will believe that I love you. Everyone knows how we feel about each other.”

“That’s fine. It isn’t my reputation that will suffer as a result. You were the one who was engaged. You are the woman. Therefore, all of the judgment will be heaped on top of you.”

She snorted. “It’s already being heaped upon me. In case you hadn’t checked out a headline recently.”

“It may surprise you to hear this, but my life does not revolve around reading news stories concerning your exploits.

“Why should I read the tabloids? I went to Renzo instead and he knew much more than any of the so-called breaking news.”

She recoiled. “Does that mean that... Does Renzo know?”

“Renzo is not an idiot. I assume that once I began questioning him about what costume you had worn to the ball, and then stormed out after the revelation of your pregnancy—combining that with your inquiries about me earlier—he was able to do a bit of simple math.”

“But you’re still alive,” she said, confident that if her brother truly knew that she had made love to Cristian, Cristian would, in fact, be dead.

“Of course. I’m sure it only makes sense to him that I had no idea it was you. He knows that under normal circumstances I would never consider touching you.”

Rage and wounded feminine pride poured through Allegra like a toxic elixir. “Well, he must be very proud that your standards are so high. I’m so sorry that my identity was a disappointment to you. However, we both know that you quite enjoyed what happened. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that it was extremely brief.”

His top lip curled. “You enjoyed it no less for the brief nature of it.”

“So confident?”

“I have a very strong memory of how intensely you came around me, Allegra,” he said, his voice rough. “You cannot fake that.”

“Women,” she said, her voice trembling, “can fake things.”

“Women can only fake things if their partner is stupid, or inexperienced. I am neither.” He took a step toward her. “I felt you. I felt you trembling. I felt the waves as they washed through you. I felt your pleasure as keenly as I felt my own. Do not pretend it was somehow less than satisfying now that you know my identity.”

“It’s so important for you to have your male ego stroked, and yet you can barely stand the sight of me. That’s sort of twisted, Cristian.”

He laughed, dark, merciless. “I never claimed to be anything else.”

“You don’t want me. I doubt you want the baby.”

“Oh,” he said, “that’s where you’re wrong. I need the baby.”

“If you need him for some kind of ritual sacrifice then you’re definitely out of luck.”

“No, thank you. My life has quite enough death in it without adding any more, thank you. That was very poor humor.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me now. You don’t mean it.”

“Why do you need the baby?”

“Because. For as humbly as I present myself, I am in fact an aristocrat. A duke.”

“I did know. Your arrogance announces it before you walk into a room.”

“Then you must surely understand that I require an heir. A legitimate heir. My child cannot be born a bastard, Allegra. Neither can I afford to miss this opportunity.”

“Our...baby is an opportunity?”

“Certainly it is an opportunity for my bloodline. I am a widower, and thanks to those circumstances I have failed to produce an heir. As I am now in my thirties, it becomes yet more and more important. Of course, my own father produced his heir quite by accident. But in spite of the fact that my mother was nothing more than a washed-up model, he still did the right thing by her, by me and by the dukedom dependent upon the bloodline continuing. I can do no less. Don’t you agree?”

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Exactly that. I am proposing.”

“What?” Her heart was thundering so hard, her blood pouring through her ears. She felt like she was underwater. Could hardly breathe, could scarcely hear anything.

“Allegra Valenti, you are having my baby. And you will be my wife.”

CHAPTER THREE

CRISTIAN STARED AT the recalcitrant woman sitting across from him on his private plane. He could not remember a woman ever looking quite so angry when in the presence of such luxury. At least, as far back as he could remember. It had been quite some time since he’d had a woman on his plane in that sense of the word.

Quite some time since he’d had a lover.

Not that Allegra was his lover. She absolutely was not. A quick screw against the wall didn’t make her anything. It simply made him weak.

Three years of celibacy. It was to be expected, he supposed. And yet, he had not imagined that he would be punished quite so spectacularly for his loss of control. He felt as though he had been punished enough.

Clearly, there was a particularly capricious deity somewhere that disagreed.

And such a punishment was Allegra Valenti.

She was looking particularly pretty and sulky, nearly curling in on herself as she leaned against the window, as though she would rather be thrown through it and hurled down to the earth than spend one more moment in his presence.

“Have you anything to say, Allegra?”

“Why? I believe I shouted it all at you in the apartment. And again when we got into the car. I could shout the same things at you, but I fear it would be repetitive.”

“Oh, please do. I never tire of your excuses. All of which are incredibly selfish.”

“It isn’t selfish to think perhaps it isn’t the best idea for two people who can’t stand the sight of each other to get married.”

“Why not? Plenty of people do it. You only have to survive it until death separates us.”

“How easy is it to get a hold of arsenic in Spain?”

“Such a delight, Allegra. How is it that you and I never acted on our feelings for each other before?”

“You mean the arsenic feelings?”

He laughed. “I meant our attraction, mi tesoro.”

“We don’t have an attraction, Cristian,” she said, sounding very much like a disgusted teenager. “In fact, the two of us had to be completely disguised before anything like heat flared between us at all. I would say that we don’t have to worry about anything.”

Referencing that night sent a kick of heat through him. He had done nothing but dream about it ever since it had happened. The fact that it was Allegra Valenti he had lost his mind with twisted it into a nightmare. But it was a nightmare that was no less erotic than it had been before.

He hadn’t been with a woman since Sylvia’s death. Had not even been tempted. And then, he had descended the stairs of the ballroom to see a wild, purple creature, barely wrapped in that sensuous dress, her curves golden and generous. Her dark hair curling luxuriously around temptingly exposed shoulders.

He had known only one thing in that moment. Want. He had wanted her with a deep, feral desire that had transcended anything else. It had transcended reason. It had transcended decency. He had wanted nothing to spoil the moment. And so, when he had approached her, he had prevented her from speaking. He had not said a single word to her. He had not wanted to lose whatever spell had been cast over them.

He should have known that it was witchcraft. And that he would burn for it.

One indulgence in a lifetime of obedience and he had destroyed everything.

“I fear you are wrong on that score,” he said, schooling his tone into a bored, steady rhythm. “Chemistry like this is undeniable.”

She waved a hand. “Look at me. Denying it.”

“Your denial is empty as you carry my child in your womb.”

“Only because I didn’t know it was you that I was...with that night at the ball,” she shot back.

“So you say.”

“A marriage between us will not work,” she said, her words brittle.

“Oh, I have no doubt that it won’t. But you will marry me before the child is born, and you will stay married to me for what appears to be a suitable amount of time. Afterward, divorce me. As quickly and painlessly as you would like.”

“There will never be anything painless about a divorce where my parents are concerned.”

“I imagine not. They are very Catholic, are they not?”

She frowned. “I shall be married to you until the end of time in their eyes.”

“And yet, I find that my need for an heir transcends my concerns for your sense of family.”

“There is nothing simple about this, that’s my point. Anyway, you’re acting as though I can just take a couple of years out of my life to molder away in some Spanish castle.”

“It’s more of a villa.”

“And you’re only a duke. I was supposed to marry a prince.”

“It was not the prince who had you up against a wall, Allegra. I doubt you’re regretful of the fact that you can no longer marry Prince Raphael.”

“That’s almost like admitting you’re wrong, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone baiting. “Seeing as you essentially arranged our engagement.”

“I was not wrong about it being advantageous. Chemistry, on the other hand, is harder to predict. You clearly have no great passion with him.”

Her cheeks colored. “What makes you think that?”

He lifted a shoulder. “You didn’t think for one moment the child could be his. Otherwise, you would not have broken off your engagement. What other conclusion can I draw but one which suggests you are not actively sleeping with him?”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Maybe it isn’t yours. Maybe I make love to all manner of strange men in corridors at parties. Maybe the only thing I’m certain about is that it isn’t Raphael’s because he’s such a gentleman that he wouldn’t touch me.”

“Still trying that story out?”

“Perhaps it’s the truth. Perhaps, I am the very whore of Babylon.” She lifted her chin and shook her head, her dark hair shimmering in the light. “You don’t know me, Cristian. Not really. At least, you don’t know the woman I have grown into. You have this idea that I’m a child, but I am in my twenties.”

He laughed, suddenly feeling quite old. “Ancient.”

“I only mean that I am a woman. Whatever you might think.”

“I am under no illusions about your femininity, Allegra.”

He was gratified to see her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, however, there was a cost to the victory. It made his stomach tighten with hunger. Made his body ache with need.

For Allegra.

It was unacceptable.

“Well, there are a great many men who have no illusion about it,” she sniffed. “They know about it. Personally.”

He didn’t believe her. And yet, the thought of Allegra with other men angered him. He could only attribute the possessiveness to the fact that she was having his baby. Perhaps combined with the fact that she was the first woman he had been with in quite some time.

“Or perhaps,” Cristian said, watching her face closely, “you are so certain about it because you were a virgin.”

He relived the moment that he had pushed inside her body. She had been tight, there was no doubt about that. He had attributed the cry she’d made at the time to pleasure. Now, he wondered.

The realization was...intoxicating. He should be disgusted with himself. But he was...triumphant. He wondered about himself. At whether or not he was still under some kind of black magic spell.

The color in her face deepened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Closer to the truth, I think.”

“Who would lose their virginity that way?” She sounded close to hysterical.

“Perhaps a woman who is being married off to a man she doesn’t love?”

She said nothing. Satisfaction surged through him, and he gritted his teeth to hold back a growl of triumph. “The child is mine then. For certain.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He kept his eyes trained on her, trying to ignore the riot of heat that was coursing through him. “You will give me my heir, my legitimate heir, and preserve the reputation of the child, and then you can move on as though none of this happened.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet! And are you suggesting I leave our child with you?”

“The Acosta heir should be raised in Spain, I should think.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Helplessly, he found his gaze drawn to the soft swells. “I’m not leaving my child. Regardless of our arrangements.”

“Perhaps I can install you in the servants’ quarters once our divorce is finalized.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You have ample evidence that I dare quite a few things, and yet, still you challenge me?”

She turned away from him, all shimmering indignity. It wasn’t that he had never noticed she was beautiful. That much was obvious. She had been beautiful ever since she had been a sullen teenager. He had the feeling that her family missed her moods. Missed the subtle pout in her face whenever her upcoming marriage was mentioned. Or the storm that flashed in her eyes whenever her future was discussed.

Even as he had disapproved of her attitude, he had found her pretty. But that was different than the way he saw her now. Now, he could look at her and see nothing other than the temptress that had greeted him in the ballroom. Who had touched him as though he was some sort of new miracle to her.

You were. She was a virgin.

He gritted his teeth, leaning back against his own seat. How was it that he felt like the villain in this situation?

“When we get to Spain I will arrange for you to get an engagement ring. And we will begin arrangements for the wedding.”

“I didn’t agree to this. You seem to be missing that.”

“I’m not waiting for your agreement. I do not require it.”

“Yes, you do. My former fiancé was a prince, and not even he could force me into marriage. You certainly aren’t going to.”

“Let us discuss your choices. The choices you seem to feel you have in abundance. You could go back to Italy, an unwed mother who would have to enter into a custody battle with me. And I do believe that your mother and father would likely take my side.” He watched as she paled. He nearly felt like a bastard. Nearly. “If you want access to your child, if you want anything other than a life of disgrace where you will certainly be ostracized by your parents as they make room for their grandchild, the grandchild you rejected because you refused to marry the father, then by all means. We can land the plane early and I can allow you to disembark. Otherwise, I suggest that you come to terms with the fact that you have simply traded one arranged marriage for another. But I, at least, will not require the use of your body again.”

She said nothing. Instead, she stared straight ahead, blinking furiously, as though she was trying to keep herself from crying. And again, he felt like the villain. He was not being villainous. He was merely being practical.

He imagined that if he told Allegra that, she would not find it to be the same.

“Nothing to say?” he asked.

“As you have made it perfectly clear there is nothing to say. Except that I’ll marry you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ALMOST AS SOON as they touched down in Spain, they were whisked away from the airport and to a luxurious car that spirited them up a winding road leading to the hills that overlooked Barcelona.

Cristian was right, it was much more villa than palace, and there was absolutely nothing offensive or moldy about it. Allegra found that she was wholly irritated by the fact that the setting did not match its owner.

In fact, the entire place was airy and bright, with large windows that overlooked the sea, letting sun wash light into the room.

It was very different from her parents’ home in Italy. It possessed none of the old money trappings, and she found herself confused by that. She knew Cristian’s family was as old as her own, and titled on top of it. But here there was a lack of dark, encroaching wood paneling, threadbare rugs that had survived several inquisitions and artwork depicting either scenes from the Bible or portraits of long-dead relatives.

Everything was white. Everything was crisp. It was borderline modern. Which, considering what a relic Cristian was, seemed laughable.

“This is not your family home,” she said.

He laughed. “I said that I was not taking you to a castillo. I did not say we didn’t possess one.”

“What was all that about your son needing to be on your hallowed family grounds, and all of that?”

“I’m Spanish. Sometimes we exaggerate for dramatic effect. Mostly, I require my child be born in Spain. And I require them to be born during my marriage. Whether or not it’s here or in my family’s ancient ruin is beside the point.”

“You have a ruin?” she asked. “That sounds...well, archeologically significant if nothing else.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s a ruin, exactly. More a large plot of land centered around an ancient castle I have no desire to inhabit. I keep a full staff on to take care of the castle and the grounds. I also have a steward for the land who helps manage the farms and tenants. But my mother has long since fled, and—as you know—my father is long since dead.”

He spoke of his parents with such studied neutrality that she knew it wasn’t accidental. It was hiding the truth, whatever that was.

“My parents are wedded to the old halls of our family estate. They would never dream of leaving. In fact, if my parents died and Renzo left it to rot, I can assure you my father would haunt him from beyond the grave and rattle his chains over the unpolished silver.”

Cristian studied her closely, a strange light in his eyes. “Do you imagine your father will be in chains in the afterlife?”

“I was being dramatic. I’m Italian. We are also capable of exaggerating for dramatic effect, if you didn’t realize.”

He looked up, somewhere past her, the sunlight shining in his eyes, revealing the deep, rich coffee color of his eyes, revealing that they weren’t pure black. That there was humanity behind them. “My father is most certainly in chains. If there is justice in the next life, that is.”

“I certainly hope there is. There is rarely justice in this one.”

He looked around the room. “Do you find this situation unjust?”

“How could I find it anything else?”

He lifted a hand. “You are in a multimillion-dollar home in one of the most beautiful parts of Spain. You have a man with a title—and several billion dollars—willing to marry you and give your child legitimacy. I would say many people would not feel quite so persecuted.”

She arched a brow, not to be undone. She would never be undone by Cristian again. “Those who would not feel persecuted by the situation couldn’t possibly know you as well as I do.”

He took a step toward her, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “Ah yes, and you do know me, don’t you? Intimately.”

She despised the heat that washed over her face, and the color that no doubt accompanied it. She despised that he could affect her so. “I don’t think that counts. As far as I knew, you were Death.”

“Very romantic. Conquering Death by taming him. However—” he rubbed his hand over his chin, the sound of his whiskers whispering over his skin strangely arousing “—I was not tamed.”

“I’m actually fine with that. Were you ever to be tamed, Cristian, I should hope that it isn’t by me. I don’t wish to be stuck with you as a child might be stuck with a dog that followed them home.”

She knew, the moment those words left her hot mouth, that she had made a mistake. She knew it, even as he advanced on her, but she found herself frozen, unable to move. Then, as he drew closer, she took a step backward, then another step. Her back came into contact with the wall behind her, and she was thrown back into a flash of memory. From that night. From when Cristian had put his hands all over her, from when he had made her lose her mind, and her purity, in that one brilliant blaze of shameful glory in a quiet palace corridor.

“I am not a dog,” he said, his voice low. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her. Shamefully, wantonly, she felt her body begin to soften for him. Felt a dull ache begin to grow beneath her thighs, beating a tattoo in time with her heartbeat.

“I think it much more likely, Allegra, that I should tame you. I think it is you who could be brought to heel.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her closely. “Yes. Even now, you want me. You can say you didn’t know who I was, you can talk of despising me all you like. But you want me. As much now as you wanted me then. You want me now, even knowing who I am.” He pushed away from her, and she let out a breath, feeling nearly dizzy with the effort that had been put into holding it before. “Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about this,” she said, holding her jaw tight as she spoke. “Disgusting is more like it.”

She and Cristian had always fought. Always. But this had a new edge to it. So sharp she feared it might cut her straight through.

“So disgusting that you wish to be filled with me even now. What does that say about you?”

She gritted her teeth against the rising heat and humiliation inside of her. “I do not understand the point of you baiting me, Cristian. I will agree to the marriage, but you will not touch me. And you will not wed me in a church. Even I have my limits.”

“Pity. I find that I don’t.”

“The state of your eternal soul is your affair. I would like mine to remain as unscathed as possible.” She didn’t want to lie in front of her parents, but she would. Lying in a cathedral was a step too far.

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