Raul stilled, paralysed with shock. Dio! It was impossible!

Heart pumping as if he had run a marathon, he drew back a fraction, stunned and uncomprehending when he saw that Libby was holding her knuckles against her mouth. Her eyes were dilated with shock. But she could not be a virgin, his brain pointed out. The idea was inconceivable.

Untouched Until Marriage

by

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. She’s been an avid reader from an early age. Her schoolfriends used to hide their books when she visited—but Chantelle would retreat into her own world, and still writes stories in her head all the time. Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years, and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon® as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women, and even stronger-willed sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, walking, and eating chocolate (followed by more walking!). Catch up with Chantelle’s latest news on her website: www.chantelleshaw.com

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Chapter One

ACCORDING to the private investigator he had hired, he would find his father’s mistress here. Raul Carducci stepped out of his limousine and glanced along the quayside of the Cornish fishing village. Nature’s Way—Health Foods and Herbal Remedies sat between an icecream parlour and a gift shop, both of which were shut and, from their abandoned air, would not open again until the start of the summer season.

Drizzle fell relentlessly from the leaden sky and he grimaced as he turned up his coat collar. The sooner he could return to Italy, where the spring sunshine was already warming the sparkling blue waters of Lake Bracciano, the better, he thought grimly. But he had come to Pennmar to follow the instructions set out in Pietro Carducci’s will, and without further pause he strode towards the one shop in the parade that was open for custom.

Libby was so engrossed in studying the end-of-year financial report for Nature’s Way that it took a few seconds for the sound of the windchimes which hung above the shop door to impinge on her brain. The chimes had not been a regular sound throughout the winter, she acknowledged ruefully as she lifted her eyes from the column of red figures in the accounts book. Customers had been few and far between after visitors to Pennmar had returned home at the end of the previous summer, and now the business was on the verge of bankruptcy.

Opening a health food shop in a remote Cornish village had been another of her mother’s hare-brained schemes, Libby thought ruefully. The small inheritance from Libby’s grandmother had quickly been swallowed up in refurbishing the shop, but her mother, with typical blind optimism, had been certain the business would be a success.

Thinking about Liz caused the familiar dull ache in Libby’s chest, but a customer was waiting to be served, and she hurriedly pushed aside the beaded curtain that separated the back office from the shop. The man had his back to her, so that she was faced with formidably broad shoulders cloaked in a pale suede car coat. He was prowling restlessly around the shop, so tall that his head brushed against the roof beams, and Libby sensed the inherent strength of his big, powerful body.

‘Can I help you?’ she began brightly, but her smile faltered when the stranger swung round and trapped her with his piercing dark stare. He was not your average tourist, she realised. Indeed, there was nothing remotely average about this man. Hair as sleek and dark as a raven’s wing was swept back from his brow. His chiselled features, razor-sharp cheekbones and a square chin were softened slightly by the sensual curve of his mouth, and his olive-gold skin gleamed like satin beneath the bright shop light. He was, beyond doubt, the most stunningly handsome man Libby had ever seen. She could not tear her gaze from him, and blushed when his eyes narrowed speculatively on her face.

Raul trailed his eyes over the shop-girl’s purple patterned skirt and acid green top and shuddered. Bohemian chic might have featured on the Paris catwalks recently, but he preferred women to look elegant and groomed in haute couture. The tie-dyed hippy look did nothing for him.

But she was startlingly pretty, he conceded as he studied her oval face with its high cheekbones, surrounded by a mane of bright red curls that tumbled halfway down her back. Her vivid hair contrasted with her alabaster complexion, and even from a distance of a few feet away he could see the sprinkling of golden freckles across her nose and cheeks. Eyes the deep blue-green of the sea on a stormy day surveyed him from beneath long gold lashes, and from somewhere the unbidden idea slid into his head that her soft pink lips were infinitely kissable.

Frowning at this unwelcome train of thought, he lowered his gaze and winced at her lime-green tights and purple boots before his eyes were drawn back to her face. Her mouth was a fraction too wide, but that only seemed to enhance her appeal. Dressed in a designer gown rather than her garish outfit she would be exceptionally beautiful, Raul acknowledged, irritated by the unexpected tug of sexual interest that coiled in his gut.

His jaw tightened. His business was with his father’s mistress, not this girl, and he suppressed the inappropriate urge to cover her lush mouth with his lips. ‘I’m looking for Elizabeth Maynard,’ he said abruptly.

The man’s voice was deep-timbred, as rich and sensual as molten chocolate, and his pronounced accent was innately sexy. Italian, Libby hazarded a guess as she studied his golden skin and obsidian eyes. It was not every day that a drop-dead sexy man walked into the shop. He was, in fact, the only person to have entered Nature’s Way all morning, she thought ruefully. Good manners dictated that she should answer him, but she had had an unconventional childhood, where hiding from loan sharks or speaking through the letterbox to the bailiffs while her mother escaped out of the bathroom window had been a frequent occurrence, and she was instinctively wary of strangers.

Another thought slipped into her head that caused her stomach to tie itself in a knot. True, the man did not look like a social worker—and she’d met plenty of those as a child—but what if he was here about Gino?

‘Who are you?’ she asked sharply.

Raul frowned. He had spent most of his life surrounded by servants whose sole duty was to please him and jump to his bidding without question. He saw no reason why he should explain himself to a shop-girl, and his eyes narrowed as he fought to control his impatience. ‘My name is Raul Carducci.’

The girl drew a sharp breath and her eyes widened until they seemed to dominate her face. ‘Pietro Carducci’s son?’ she faltered.

Raul stiffened with outrage. Had his father’s mistress discussed the Carducci family with her staff? he wondered furiously. Had she boasted of her affair with a rich Italian aristocrat to the whole damned village? He glared at the curtained doorway, trying to see if the owner of the shop was lurking behind it, but his view was obscured by the strings of gaudy plastic beads.

He gave an impatient shrug. ‘Si, Pietro Carducci was my father. But my business is with Ms Maynard—so if you would please inform her that I am here.’ He could no longer contain the bitterness that had eaten away at him like a corrosive poison since he had been informed of the terms of his father’s will, and he bit out savagely, ‘No doubt she will be delighted when she learns that giving birth to my father’s illegitimate son has ensured her a meal-ticket for life. She will no longer have to scrape a living from running this place,’ he added, casting a disparaging glance at the array of health foods and potions, the stacks of decorative candles, and the smouldering joss-sticks that gave off a peculiar sickly scent as they burned. ‘I fear, signorina, that you will soon have to look for another job.’

Libby stared at Raul Carducci in dumbstruck silence. Her mother had mentioned that Pietro had a son, but Liz’s affair with her Italian lover had been no more than a brief holiday fling, and she had learned few details about his family. Her mum hadn’t even realised that Pietro was the head of the world-famous Carducci Cosmetics company until she’d read an article in a magazine about him while she’d been waiting for an antenatal appointment, Libby thought bitterly. Liz had agonised over whether to tell her lover she was pregnant, but when she had finally written to him to inform him she had given birth to his child Pietro had not bothered to reply.

But although Pietro Carducci had not acknowledged his child, he must have told his older son about Gino, Libby realised shakily. Raul’s harsh words, ‘my father’s illegitimate son’, filled her with a deep sense of unease. He sounded far from delighted about the existence of his half-brother. She did not know what to say, and while she hesitated the silence was broken by the jangling sound of the windchimes above the door.

Raul glanced round to see a woman manoeuvre a pushchair into the shop. ‘Here we are, Gino, back in the warm,’ the woman said cheerfully, her voice barely audible over the yells coming from beneath the buggy hood. She lifted the waterproof plastic cover, revealing the screwed up face of a screaming baby boy. ‘All right, my lovely. I’ll get you out in a second.’

Raul’s eyes were drawn to the pushchair, and some indefinable emotion gripped him as he focused on the baby’s olive skin and tight black curls. The woman had called the child Gino, and even though he was less than a year old there could be no mistaking his resemblance to his father. Dio! Raul thought numbly. He had been determined to demand a DNA test to prove the child’s paternity, but there was no need. Indisputably this was Pietro Carducci’s son.

He turned his attention to the woman, noting her ruddy cheeks, coarse brown hair and the lumpy figure shrouded in a beige coat. It seemed astounding that Pietro, whose love of classical beauty had led him to build a priceless art collection, had chosen this dowdy woman as his mistress—and it was even more impossible to imagine the woman working in a lap-dancing club!

Raul’s mouth tightened as he recalled his meeting eight months ago with the lawyer his father had appointed as executor of his will.

‘“This is the last will and testament of Pietro Gregorio Carducci,’ Signor Orsini had read aloud. ‘“It is my wish that control of my company, Carducci Cosmetics, be shared equally between my adopted son, Raul Carducci, and my infant son and only blood heir Gino Maynard.”’

Seeing that Raul had been struck dumb by the revelation that Pietro had a secret child, the lawyer had continued reading. ‘“I leave to my two sons, Raul and Gino, equal share of the Villa Giulietta. It is my wish that Gino should grow up in the family home. His share of the company and the villa are to be held in trust for him until he is eighteen, and until he is of age it is my wish that his mother, Elizabeth Maynard, will live at the villa with him, and will have control of Gino’s share of CC.”’

At that point Raul had sworn savagely, shocked beyond words at the news that he would not have sole control of the company he had been groomed for most of his life to run. He had found the expression ‘blood heir’ deeply wounding. He had been seven years old when Pietro and Eleonora Carducci had collected him from an orphanage in Naples and taken him to live at the Villa Giulietta. Pietro had always insisted that his adopted son was his rightful heir, who would one day inherit Carducci Cosmetics. Father and son had been close, and the bond between them had deepened after Eleonora’s death ten years ago.

That was why it was so utterly unbelievable that Pietro had had a secret life, Raul thought bitterly. The man he had called Papa, the man he had wept for at Pietro’s funeral, was suddenly a stranger who had deliberately withheld the fact that he had a mistress and a baby son.

‘There is a clause in your father’s will that I think you will find interesting,’ Signor Orsini had murmured. ‘Pietro has stated that if Ms Maynard should marry before Gino is eighteen, control of the child’s share of CC would pass to you until he is of age. I imagine Pietro made this stipulation to protect the company should Ms Maynard make an unsuitable marriage,’ the lawyer had added.

‘Carducci Cosmetics will need all the protection it can get if I am forced to share the running of it with a lap-dancer,’ Raul had growled savagely. ‘My father must have been out of his mind.’

At that, Bernardo Orsini had shaken his head. ‘Despite the fact that Pietro had been diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour, I am absolutely certain that he was of sound mind when he made his will. His main concern was for his infant son.’

Raul dragged his mind back to the present and stared at the woman who had entered the shop. According to the lawyer, Elizabeth Maynard had worked as a lap-dancer at a club called the Purple Pussy Cat, but six months ago she had disappeared from her South London flat, owing her landlord several thousand pounds in rent arrears. Raul had visualised his father’s mistress as a bleached blonde tart, but even though the drab woman who was lifting the baby out of the pushchair looked nothing like he had imagined, he still balked at the idea of her moving into the Villa Guilietta, while the prospect of sharing control of Carducci Cosmetics with her would be frankly amusing if he had not been consumed by rage and resentment at his father’s dying wishes.

‘I knew he’d stop crying the minute he saw his mummy,’ the woman said cheerfully, and handed the child over to the young shop assistant.

Shock ricocheted through Raul. He stared—at first uncomprehendingly, and then with a growing sense of rage—as the flame-haired girl kissed away the tears from the baby’s cheeks and settled him comfortably on her hip. His brain finally accepted what his eyes had seen.

‘You are Elizabeth Maynard?’ he demanded harshly.

The girl lifted her head and met his gaze. ‘I am—although most people call me Libby.’

Raul did not give a damn what most people called her. He was still struggling to comprehend that this stunningly pretty girl had been his father’s mistress. She could not be more than in her early twenties, and Pietro had been in his mid-sixties. Revulsion swept through him, and with it another emotion that filled him with self-disgust when he recognised it as jealousy. Dio! No wonder his father had kept quiet about this flame-haired siren. He had no problem picturing her working in a lap-dancing club, Raul thought as his eyes focused on the rounded contours of her breasts outlined beneath her stretchy top. An image flashed in his mind of her dancing in a skimpy costume, tossing her mane of fiery hair over her shoulders as she unfastened her bra and slowly let it drop…

He bit back an oath, infuriated by his body’s involuntary reaction to his wayward thoughts. ‘You are Gino’s mother?’ He sought clarification, aware that he had initially jumped to the conclusion that the older woman had been his father’s lover.

Libby hesitated. Margaret was making a show of hunting through her handbag for something, but she was conscious of the older woman’s avid curiosity. Her neighbour was a kindly woman, who often babysat Gino, but Margaret was an inveterate gossip. If she overheard that Libby was not Gino’s mother, as everyone in Pennmar believed, but his sister, the news would be all around the village within the hour.

She recalled those first few terrible days after her mum had died. They had been living in London, packing for the move to Cornwall and the new life they had planned, when Liz had collapsed and never regained consciousness. Gino had only been three months old, and Libby had struggled to cope with her shock and grief while caring for her orphaned baby brother. Her friend Alice, a trainee lawyer, had been an invaluable help, but she had also warned Libby of the potential problems caused by Liz’s death.

‘If your mum didn’t make a will and appoint you as Gino’s guardian, then technically he becomes the responsibility of the State, and Social Services will decide who should care for him,’ Alice had explained. ‘Just because you are Gino’s half-sister it doesn’t mean they will automatically choose you.’

‘But I’ve helped to care for him since the day he was born,’ Libby had argued, ‘especially when Mum was so tired after his birth.’

Liz’s long labour had left her exhausted. At the busy hospital where Gino had been born no one had mentioned the potential dangers of deep vein thrombosis, and when Liz had felt unusually breathless Libby had been unaware that it was a sign her mother had developed a blood clot which had lodged in one of her lungs.

Liz had died before the ambulance had arrived. There had been no time for mother and daughter to say goodbye, no chance for Liz to stipulate who should care for Gino, but Libby was utterly determined to bring up her baby brother and love him as her mother would have done. She had moved to Pennmar a week after Liz’s funeral, to the shop they had set up with the money left by Libby’s grandmother. Everyone in the village assumed that Gino was her baby. After Alice’s warning that Social Services might take him from her, Libby had encouraged that misapprehension, and now she was reluctant to reveal the truth in front of Margaret.

She would explain the situation to Raul Carducci later, she decided, her sense of unease intensifying when she glanced at his hard face and saw no glimmer of warmth in his dark eyes. ‘Yes, I’m Gino’s mother,’ she said quietly, a shiver running down her spine when his expression changed from cool disdain to savage contempt.

He flicked his eyes over her, and Libby felt acutely conscious that she had bought her top in a charity shop and had made her skirt from an old curtain. ‘You are much younger than I had expected,’ he said bluntly. He paused and then drawled softly, ‘I’m curious to know what first attracted you to my sixty-five-year old billionaire father, Ms Maynard?’

His inference was plain. Raul thought she was a gold-digger who had had an affair with a wealthy older man for his money, Libby realised, colour storming into her cheeks. But she could not defend herself when Margaret had given up all pretence of searching in her handbag and was unashamedly listening to the conversation. Raul Carducci was an arrogant jerk, she thought angrily, her hot temper instantly flaring. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t think my relationship with your father is any of your business,’ she told him tightly, her eyes flashing fire.

She could sense that Margaret was practically bursting with curiosity, and she forced a casual smile as she turned to the older woman. ‘Thanks for taking Gino out. The doctor says that the sea air will help his chest.’

‘You know I’ll have him any time.’ Margaret paused and glanced from Libby to her foreign-looking visitor. ‘I could stay and mind him now, if you and the gentleman have things to discuss?’

Yes, and Margaret would waste no time sharing what she’d overheard with the rest of the village, Libby thought dryly. ‘Thanks, but I must give Gino his lunch, and I don’t want to take up any more of your time,’ she said brightly. ‘Could you put the ‘”Closed” sign on the door on your way out?’

Libby contained her impatience while a disgruntled looking Margaret ambled out of the shop, but the moment the older woman had shut the door she glared at Raul. ‘I assume there is a reason for your visit, Mr Carducci, and you are not here merely to make disgusting innuendos?’

The unfamiliar sharpness of her voice unsettled Gino. He gave her a startled look and his lower lip trembled. Libby joggled him on her hip and patted his back, still furious with the man who was looking down his arrogant nose at her as if she were something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe.

‘Before you say anything else, I’d better explain—’ She broke off as Gino let out a wail and began to squirm in her arms. At ten months old he was surprisingly strong, and she struggled to hold him, dismay filling her when his cries turned into the familiar hacking cough that shook his frame. Immediately Libby’s attention was focused exclusively on the baby, and she glanced distractedly at Raul. ‘I must get him a drink. Excuse me,’ she muttered, and hurried through the beaded curtain into the back part of the shop.

She took a beaker of juice the fridge, but Gino was crying and coughing too much for him to be able to drink. He was still wearing his thick outdoor suit, and his face was turning steadily redder as he overheated. Frantically Libby tried to unzip the suit with one hand and hold a hysterical, wriggling Gino in the other, conscious that Raul had followed her into the room and was watching her efforts.

‘Here—let me hold him while you undress him,’ he said abruptly, stepping forward and lifting the baby out of her arms before she could protest.

Gino was so startled that his cries subsided, but he was going through a particularly clingy stage at the moment and disliked strangers. Libby quickly tugged down the zip of his suit, waiting for him to renew his yells, but to her amazement he gave a little snuffle and stared fixedly at Raul’s face.

‘You must have a magic touch. Normally he screams blue murder if someone he doesn’t know tries to hold him,’ she muttered, feeling faintly chagrined as she freed Gino from the suit and he did not even glance at her. ‘But Gino is a Gemini, and people born under that star sign are often very intuitive,’ she added earnestly. ‘Perhaps he instinctively recognises that there is a connection between the two of you. You are his brother—well, half-brother,’ she amended, when Raul’s dark brows rose sardonically.

‘There is no blood link between us,’ he informed her dismissively. ‘Pietro was my adoptive father.’ He saw the flash of surprise in Libby’s eyes and wondered why he had felt the need to reveal that he had no biological link to the father of her child. The idea that she and Pietro had shared a bed…He snapped a door shut on that particular image, infuriated that his eyes seemed to have a magnetic attraction to her breasts.

Elizabeth Maynard had been his father’s mistress and had borne him a child; it was inconceivable that he could be attracted to her. He forced his gaze up from her lush curves, moulded so enticingly beneath her clingy top, and stared at her face, his body stirring as he focused on the perfect cupid’s bow of her mouth. Irritation with himself made his voice terse as he said abruptly, ‘It’s more likely the child was crying because he was scared you might drop him.’

‘Of course I wasn’t going to drop him,’ Libby snapped furiously. She snatched Gino back into her arms and held the beaker of juice to his lips, frowning when she heard the horrible rasping sound in his chest as he breathed. ‘I need to take him upstairs and give him his next dose of antibiotic,’ she said edgily.

She glared at Raul who was leaning against her desk, unashamedly reading the financial report for Nature’s Way. He dominated the small room, tall, dark and so disturbingly sexy that looking at him made her heart race uncomfortably fast. She hated the way he unsettled her and she wanted him to leave.

She crossed the room and slammed the accounts book shut. ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded bluntly. ‘I read in the papers that Pietro had died. But that was more than six months ago, and in all that time no one from the Carducci family has ever been in contact.’

Raul gave her a look of haughty disdain. ‘That is hardly my fault. You did a runner from your last address without paying the rent, and it has taken this long to find you. I am not here through choice, I assure you, Ms Maynard,’ he told her scathingly. ‘But my father stipulated in his will that he wanted his son to be brought up at the family home in Lazio—and so I have come to take Gino to Italy.’

Chapter Two

FOR a few seconds Libby was too stunned to speak. Her friend Alice’s warning reverberated in her head. ‘Your mother didn’t appoint you as Gino’s guardian, and although you are his half-sister, legally you have no rights regarding his upbringing.’

If Liz had known she was going to die, of course she would have appointed her daughter as Gino’s guardian, Libby thought desperately. But, as Alice had pointed out, she had no proof of her mother’s wishes. It was ironic that Pietro Carducci, who had not even acknowledged his son’s birth, should have made provision for Gino in his will. If the matter went to court, it seemed likely that Pietro’s wishes would be taken into account, and possible that Raul would be granted custody of Gino and be allowed to take him to Italy.

Her heart was pounding with panic but one crucial thought stood out in Libby’s mind. Raul believed that Gino was her baby. Clearly he had no idea that there had been two Elizabeth Maynards, or that the woman who had conceived Pietro Carducci’s child as a result of their brief affair had died only a month after Pietro had passed away. She recalled the expression of disgust on Raul’s face when he had asked her what had attracted her to his older, wealthy father. He believed she was a gold-digger, but it was better he thought that than discovered that she was Gino’s half-sister and had no legal claim on him, she thought wildly.

She frowned, suddenly remembering something Raul had said. ‘Why did you accuse me of owing rent on the flat where we—I,’ she hastily amended, knowing she must hide the fact that she had lived in London with her mother, ‘lived before I moved to Cornwall? Of course I paid the rent.’

Raul’s eyes narrowed at Libby’s belligerent tone. He was not used to being spoken to in that manner by anyone, and certainly not by a woman. His staff, both at the Villa Giulietta and at Carducci Cosmetics, treated him with the utmost respect, and the women he mixed with socially tended to hang on his every word. To his mind, a woman’s role was to make light conversation, to provide soothing company after a day of hard bargaining in the boardroom and to grace his bed so that he could enjoy mutually satisfying sex without the complications of emotional involvement.

Elizabeth Maynard—or Libby, as she called herself, would be a far from soothing companion, he thought as he stared at her mass of wild red curls and stormy eyes. Her mouth was set in an angry line that challenged him to kiss her until her lips softened and parted and allowed him to slide his tongue between them. He inhaled sharply, and it took all of his formidable will-power to ignore the dictates of his body and listen to the cool logic of his brain. She was Pietro’s tart, who had had no compunction about seducing a much older man with her nubile young body, and no way was the son going to repeat the mistakes of his father, Raul assured himself grimly.

‘Your landlord said that you were frequently behind with the rent, and when you moved away suddenly you left owing him several thousand pounds,’ he said coldly. ‘Why would he lie?’

‘To get back at me because I refused to sleep with him, most likely,’ Libby muttered bitterly. ‘He was a horrible old man. I used to take him the rent money regularly every month and he never missed an opportunity to try and grope me. He made it clear that he would reduce the rent if I “paid” him in another way.’

‘Are you saying you weren’t tempted?’ Raul queried derisively. ‘I assume you make a habit of sleeping with older men for financial gain. You certainly struck gold with my father,’ he continued, ignoring her furious gasp. ‘Having his child was a clever move, which I guess you thought would ensure you a meal ticket for life. You thought right; it has,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Pietro has granted you the right to bring up your son at the Carducci family villa, and take control of fifty percent of Carducci Cosmetics until Gino is eighteen.’

Raul gave a harsh laugh when Libby stared at him open-mouthed. He reached inside his coat and retrieved a sheaf of papers. ‘Congratulations. You’ve hit the jackpot,’ he drawled sarcastically as he thrust the documents at Libby.

She stared dazedly at the first page and saw that it was headed ‘The last will and testament of Pietro Gregorio Carducci.’ Conscious that Raul was watching her, she ran her eyes down the page until she came to a paragraph which stated that Gino’s mother, Elizabeth Maynard, should live at the Villa Giulietta, with all her expenses and living costs paid for out of the estate, until her son came of age.

It was astounding. She could barely comprehend it. But before she could read any further Gino made a grab for the documents. He was clearly fascinated by the white paper, and, remembering how he had shredded an important letter from the bank the previous day, Libby hastily handed the will back to Raul.

‘So you mean you want me to live in Italy with Gino?’ she said slowly, relief flooding through her that Raul hadn’t sought her out to take the baby away from her. Not that she would have allowed him to, she thought fiercely. Gino was the only person she had left in the world, and she was prepared to do anything to keep him—even if that meant pretending that he was her son.

‘I can’t think of anything I’d like less,’ Raul said, in a coldly arrogant tone that made her feel about two feet high. ‘But unfortunately I have no say in the matter. My father clearly stated his wish that Gino and his mother should live at the Villa Giulietta.’

Libby glanced at her baby brother and felt her heart melt when he stared solemnly back at her with his big brown eyes. His light olive skin and mass of dark curls spoke of his Italian heritage, but he had her mother’s smile, she thought, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. Liz had adored her baby for the few short months she had spent with him. It seemed so desperately cruel that Gino had been robbed of his mother before he’d ever had a chance to know her, but she would take Liz’s place, Libby vowed silently. Her little brother was her only link with her mum. She loved him just as deeply as if he was her own child, and she was determined to do what was best for him.

But would taking him to live in Italy, with Raul, who clearly resented his half-brother, really be in Gino’s best interest? she brooded. Her doubts increased when she glanced at the autocratic features of the handsome Italian. ‘We have things to talk about,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Perhaps we could meet in a day or two…’

Raul frowned impatiently. ‘I don’t have a day or two to waste hanging around here. And anyway, what is there to discuss? My father named Gino as his heir, and I can’t believe you would turn down the chance to get your hands on his inheritance. Presumably you deliberately fell pregnant in the first place so that you could demand a massive payout in child maintenance?’

‘I did no such thing,’ Libby retorted angrily. Although he did not know it, Raul was insulting her mother, not her, and if she hadn’t been holding Gino she would have slapped that arrogant smirk off his face. Far from deliberately falling pregnant, Liz had been utterly shocked when she had discovered that she had conceived a baby as a result of her holiday romance with a charming Italian.

‘Gino was unplanned, it’s true, but he was very wanted,’ she told Raul huskily, remembering how Liz’s shock had turned to delight that she was going to be a mother again. ‘My mo—’ She stopped in her tracks and continued hurriedly, ‘Your father was informed of Gino’s birth, but he never acknowledged his son and I never expected anything from him.’

Raul gave a disbelieving snort. ‘My father was an honourable man who would never have turned his back on his child.’ He frowned as a thought occurred to him. ‘When was Gino born?’

‘The seventh of June. He’s ten months old now.’

‘Pietro was very ill by June of last year, and he died in August,’ Raul told her flatly. ‘An inoperable brain tumour had been diagnosed the previous October and it grew rapidly. Did you know about his illness?’ he asked Libby sharply.

She shook her head. Pietro must have fallen ill soon after her mother had returned from the Mediterranean cruise she had won. The cruise on which Liz had fallen in love with a gorgeous Italian, she had confessed to Libby, with a faintly embarrassed smile after all she had said over the years about the unreliability of men and the foolishness of losing your heart to one.

Liz had been devastated when she had heard nothing more from Pietro after the cruise—especially when she’d discovered that she had conceived his child. ‘I’ve done it again, Libby,’ she’d said tearfully, when she had emerged from the bathroom clutching a pregnancy test. ‘I trusted a man and now I’m left with his baby—the same as happened with your bloody father. You’d think I’d have learned that all men are selfish bastards, wouldn’t you?’

Libby had hated Pietro for hurting her mum, but according to Raul his father had returned to Italy from the cruise to learn that he was terminally ill. Perhaps he hadn’t felt able to confide such devastating news to Liz, she thought, her heart aching for her mother and the man she had loved. When Liz had written to her lover to tell him of Gino’s birth Pietro had been weeks from death, and maybe hadn’t had the strength to reply. But surely the fact that he had included Liz and Gino in his will meant that he had cared for her mum after all?

Gino had been sitting quietly in her arms, but now he began to cough again, his chest heaving with the effort. ‘I thought you said he was due some medication?’ Raul commented, his frown deepening. He had as much experience of children as he had with aliens from another planet, but this baby sounded seriously unwell.

‘He is.’ Concern for Gino overrode Libby’s reluctance to invite Raul up to the flat. ‘You’d better come up,’ she muttered.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Raul demanded when they reached the first floor landing.

Libby paused with her hand on the living room door. ‘He had an illness called bronchiolitis, which is fairly common in babies, but he developed pneumonia and was very unwell. He was in hospital for a few weeks and now he can’t seem to shake off this cough. The doctor said that the living conditions here don’t help,’ she confessed, recalling how the GP in the village had warned her that the mildew growing on the damp walls of the flat produced spores which Gino inhaled and were the worst thing for his lungs.

She pushed open the door, and stifled a groan at the scene of chaos that met her. Raul Carducci’s unexpected visit had made her forget the disaster that had occurred the previous evening, when the bulge in her bedroom ceiling had given way and rain water had gushed through. Luckily, her friend Tony had been there. They had been sharing a bottle of wine while Libby had talked over her financial worries and the likelihood that she would have to close Nature’s Way, and together they had grabbed her belongings and carried them into the sitting room, out of the deluge that had flooded her room. Tony had managed to block the hole to stop any more water pouring through, but he’d got soaked to the skin and had had to change into the sports gear that he kept in his car.

Her canvases were stacked against the sofa and her clothes heaped on the floor. Her underwear was on top of the pile, Libby noticed, flushing with embarrassment when she saw Raul’s eyes rest on the numerous pairs of brightly coloured knickers. He glanced slowly around the room and she knew he was taking in the peeling wallpaper and the blue mould which had appeared on the wall again, despite the fact that she constantly scrubbed the area with fungal remover.

There had been so sign of damp when she and Liz had viewed the shop and flat the previous spring. Then, the place had seemed bright and airy, newly decorated, and with the windows flung open to allow the sea breeze to drift in. It was only during the wet winter that Libby had realised the rooms had been wallpapered to hide the patches of mildew.

She was irritated by the expression of distaste on Raul’s face. It was clear from the superb quality of his clothes that he was very wealthy, and no doubt his home in Italy was a palace compared to the flat, but it was all she could afford—and actually even that was doubtful, she realised dismally when she remembered the letter from the bank that had informed her they would not increase her overdraft.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ she muttered. ‘My bedroom was flooded last night and we piled all my things in here.’

‘We?’ Raul looked pointedly at the baby in Libby’s arms.

‘My friend Tony was here.’ She followed Raul’s gaze to the three empty wine bottles and two glasses on the coffee table, and watched his expression change from distaste to disapproval.

‘Looks like you had quite a party,’ he drawled.

Surely he didn’t think they had got through three bottles of wine in one evening? ‘Tony works in a bar and he brings me old wine bottles. I decorate them with decoupage and sell them at craft markets,’ she explained. ‘I’m an artist, and so is Tony,’ she added, when Raul said nothing, just studied her with cool disdain in his eyes. Rebellion flared inside her. Why on earth did she feel she had to explain herself to this arrogant stranger?

Gino was wriggling to be set down. Libby’s arms felt as though they were about to drop off from holding him and, distracted by Raul’s brooding presence, she lowered the baby onto the floor and hurried into the tiny adjoining kitchen to fetch his medicine.

Gino immediately crawled over to the coffee table and reached towards one of the wine bottles. Raul grabbed him seconds before he pulled the glass bottle down on his head. The flat was a death-trap, he thought disgustedly as he swept the baby into his arms and stepped over the piles of junk on the floor to stand by the window. And there was an unpleasant musty smell in the room—caused, he guessed, by the fungus that was sprouting on the walls.

What was Elizabeth Maynard thinking of, bringing up her son in such appalling conditions? A pair of men’s jeans was hanging over a chair, and he wondered if they belonged to the barman-cum-artist Tony, who had been here the previous night. Was he her lover? And, if so, what role did he have in Gino’s life? Was he a stepfather to the child, or did Gino have a variety of ‘uncles’?

Raul frowned, deeply disturbed by the idea. He knew what kind of woman Libby was: a lap-dancer and apparently an artist—or perhaps she meant artiste, he mused derisively. One thing was for sure. The sort of men who frequented strip-clubs were not likely to be suitable father figures for her baby. He pushed away the thought that his father had presumably met Libby at a club. He didn’t want to think of Pietro like that. It sullied his memory. But, like it or not, his father had had an affair with Libby and she had borne him a child.

He looked down at Gino and was once more startled by the strong resemblance the baby had to Pietro. Gino’s hair was a mass of tight curls, as his father’s had been, and his big brown eyes had the same amber flecks. Pietro would have adored his baby son, Raul acknowledged. But Pietro had been dying when Gino had been born, and he had never seen his child. Raul could not understand why Pietro had not confided in him. All he could think was that his father had been ashamed of his relationship with a lap-dancer who was forty years younger than him. Perhaps he had suspected that Libby was a gold-digger, and that was why, in an effort to protect Gino, Pietro had stipulated that his infant son must spend his childhood at the Carducci family home.

It was a pity Pietro had included the child’s mother in his will, Raul thought darkly. Libby clearly didn’t have a clue about how to care for a baby. Gino had been staring out of the window, but he suddenly turned his head and gave Raul a gummy smile that revealed two little white teeth. The baby was cute, no doubt about that, Raul conceded. His mouth curved into an answering smile and he felt a sudden overwhelming feeling of protectiveness for Pietro’s son. In that moment he knew that he wanted to care for Gino, and would love him—just as Pietro had cared for and loved him. This was his chance to repay his adoptive father for everything he had done for him. Pietro had made financial provision for his baby, but he would be a father figure to Gino, Raul vowed, and he was determined to make a damn sight better job of parenting than the boy’s mother!

Libby hurried back from the kitchen. ‘Would you mind holding him while I give him his medicine? He’s not keen on it,’ she added ruefully, thinking of the tussles she’d had, trying to persuade Gino to swallow the antibiotic.

She shook the bottle, poured the thick liquid into a spoon—and suddenly realised that in order to tip the medicine into Gino’s mouth she would have to lean close to Raul. She tensed with the effort of trying not to touch him, but it was impossible to avoid him. Her senses flared, and she was conscious of the warmth emanating from his big body, the tactile softness of his suede coat and the drift of sandalwood cologne mingled with the fresh, clean smell of soap. She had never been so intensely aware of a man in her life. She was terrified he would somehow guess the effect he had on her, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks when Gino opened his mouth like a little bird and swallowed the medicine without a murmur.

‘Good boy,’ she said softly as she lifted him back into her arms and sat him in his highchair.

Raul tore his eyes from the sight of Libby’s nipples jutting provocatively beneath her tight-fitting top, incensed by the damnable ache of desire in his gut. ‘When can you be ready to leave for Italy?’ he demanded tersely.

Libby gave him a panic-stricken glance, startled by his arrogant assumption that she would agree to take Gino to live in another country just because he had demanded it. And it wasn’t just the move, she fretted. There was no getting away from the fact that she would be going to Italy under false pretences. She wasn’t Gino’s mother, and she did not know how she was going to live a lie. But what choice did she have? she wondered as she stared at Raul Carducci’s cold eyes.

‘I’m not sure,’ she murmured evasively. ‘I’ll have to give my landlord notice that I’m closing the shop, and then I’ll have to try and sell off the stock. And of course I’ll have to pack.’ Not that it would take long to pack up her possessions, Libby knew. Her wardrobe was sparse, to say the least, but she wanted to take all her art materials and her canvases, and the few mementoes she had of her mother. ‘I could probably be ready to bring Gino to Italy at the end of the month.’

‘I was thinking in terms of days, not weeks,’ Raul said coolly. ‘My staff will organise clearing the shop and transporting your possessions to Italy. All you need to do is pack a few clothes for you and Gino. That shouldn’t take more than an hour.’ He drew back his cuff to glance at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t leave this afternoon.’

‘This afternoon!’ Libby’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘Surely you must realise that’s impossible? I’ve a million things to do before I’ll be ready to take Gino to another country to start a new life.’ The words ‘another country’ and ‘new life’ thudded in her head, and fear unfurled inside her. She wasn’t sure she wanted a new life. Her life in Pennmar was not easy—especially at the moment, when the shop was doing so badly—but at least it was her life, lived on her own terms, rather than a life of pretending to be someone else under Raul Carducci’s haughty gaze. ‘Anyway, what’s the hurry?’ she asked him, pushing her tangled red curls over her shoulder. ‘What does it matter to you when we come?’

Against the backdrop of the dreary room and the sullen grey sky outside the window Libby’s hair seemed as bright and alive as the dancing flames of a fire. In her garish clothes she was a splash of vibrant colour in a black and white world, Raul mused, as startlingly vivid as the numerous colourful canvases which were stacked around the room.

He chose not to answer her question. ‘Are these your work?’ he asked, glancing around at the bold pictures of land and seascapes that seemed almost to leap off the canvases.

‘Yes. My favourite mediums are oils and charcoals.’

Raul studied a painting of a terraced garden with pots of brilliantly coloured flowers. The picture was loud and brash, with dashes of red, orange and purple seemingly flung at the canvas, yet somehow it worked, and he felt as though he could reach out and touch the flowers. ‘Do you sell many?’

Libby detected scepticism in his voice and bristled. ‘A few—quite a lot, actually. Although that was mainly in the summer, when the tourists were here. I display them in the shop, but trade is quiet at the moment,’ she admitted dismally.

‘You won’t have to concern yourself with making a living once you move into the Villa Giulietta,’ Raul informed her coolly. ‘There will certainly be no need for you to work as a lap-dancer,’ he added, his lip curling contemptuously.

‘Well, that’s lucky, because I’ve never worked as a lap-dancer,’ Libby snapped, feeling hot all over when he trailed his eyes insolently down her body and lingered quite blatantly on her breasts.

‘The Purple Pussy Cat Club?’ he drawled.

Libby’s face burned even hotter. Evidently Raul had learned about the seedy club where she and Liz had once worked, and now he thought that she had been a lap-dancer. The pitfalls of pretending to be Gino’s mother were already becoming apparent. ‘I…I wasn’t a lap-dancer,’ she mumbled, unable to meet his sardonic gaze. ‘I worked behind the bar, that’s all.’

Her dream of going to art college had been crushed by the reality of having to earn a living. Having left school with few qualifications, she had found her career choices limited, and she had worked as a cleaner and at a fast food outlet before her mum had helped her get a job serving behind the bar at the nightclub where Liz had already worked as a lap-dancer.

It had been the only job her mum could get when they had arrived back in England after spending several years living in Ibiza. Liz had hated it—but, as she had reminded Libby, they needed the money, and anything was better than signing on for unemployment benefit. Her mum had been unconventional, and often irresponsible, but she had also been fiercely proud.

Raul was still staring at her, and something in his eyes sent a ripple of sensation through Libby. She couldn’t look away from him. It was as though he had cast a spell over her which rooted her to the spot as he strolled nearer, those midnight-dark eyes boring into her as if he were looking into her soul.

He halted inches from her, and almost as if he could not help himself he reached out and wrapped a silky red curl around his finger. ‘So, you’re not a stripper?’

‘No!’ Her face felt like a furnace, but she was trapped by his magnetism and seemed incapable of moving away from him.

His brows rose and he looked down his arrogant nose at her. ‘Pity,’ he murmured. ‘I might have considered paying you for a private performance.’

‘Well, you would have wasted your money,’ Libby snapped, her will-power finally reasserting itself so that she jerked away from him. She lifted Gino out of his highchair and hugged him to her. ‘I don’t think this is going to work. I’m not sure I want to bring Gino to Italy to live at the Carducci villa—certainly not if you’re going to make comments like that. Anyway,’ she added, desperately clutching at reasons why they should not go with Raul, ‘I can’t come with you now. Gino has an appointment with a paediatrician next week because my GP is concerned about his respiratory problems.’

Raul had moved back to the window and was staring at the rain, which was now lashing the glass. ‘Of course you’ll come. You’re not going to turn down the opportunity to live a life of luxury,’ he drawled confidently. He glanced back at Libby and tried to ignore the burning ache in his groin. Clearly he’d been too long without a lover if he could be attracted to his father’s tart, he derided himself. It was a situation he would remedy once he returned home. He could take his pick from numerous beautiful, sophisticated women who understood that all he wanted was a casual sexual relationship with no strings attached.

But first it was imperative that he persuaded Elizabeth Maynard to return to Italy with him immediately. Much as he resented the fact, she controlled fifty percent of Carducci Cosmetics, and he could not run the company without her. ‘Once we are in Italy I will arrange for the baby to see a private specialist,’ he assured her. ‘Gino is a Carducci, and I know his father would have wanted him to have the best of everything.’

The best of everything—the words echoed in Libby’s head. Wasn’t that what her mother would have wanted for Gino, too? She stared around the flat, at the threadbare carpet and the patches of damp on the walls, and bit her lip, conscious that Raul was watching her.

‘How can you deny Gino his birthright?’ he demanded. ‘Already the spring sunshine in Lazio is warming the lake beside the Villa Giulietta, and the warm climate will be good for him. As he grows older he will have the run of the house and grounds. He can play in the orange groves and learn to sail on the lake.’ He would teach his father’s son, just as Pietro had taught him to sail when he had been a boy, Raul vowed silently.

A thought suddenly struck him that might mean an annoying delay to his plans to take his father’s son to Italy as soon as possible. ‘I don’t suppose Gino has a passport?’

‘Actually, he does,’ Libby replied slowly. Her mother had applied for one soon after Gino had been born. It had been most unlike Liz to be so organised, but Libby guessed that her mum had hoped Pietro would send for her and his baby son. Liz would have wanted Gino to live in Italy, in a grand house rather than this flat, she knew.

To her surprise Raul did not sound as though he resented his baby half-brother, as she had first feared, and actually seemed to want Gino to live at the Carducci villa.

She thought of the bank’s refusal to increase her overdraft, and the worry that had kept her awake for the past few nights of how she was going to pay the next month’s rent on the shop and flat. The truth was that she was at rock-bottom, and there was a very real danger that she and Gino would be homeless. Pietro Cardicci’s will was nothing short of a miracle which assured Gino’s financial security for life. As Raul had pointed out, she did not have the right to deny Gino his birthright. And Raul had promised he would arrange for Gino to see a private specialist about his dreadful cough…

‘All right,’ she said abruptly, her heart thumping. She felt as though she was about to jump over the edge of a precipice into the unknown, but Gino had been offered the chance of a better life than the one she could give him in Pennmar, and for his sake she had to take it. ‘We’ll come with you today.’

‘Good.’ Satisfaction laced Raul’s voice. He had never doubted that the lure of the Carducci fortune would persuade Libby to move to Italy. He strolled across the room and lifted Gino out of her arms. ‘I’ll hold him while you pack. My private jet is on stand-by at Newquay airport. I’ll tell the pilot to be ready to take off two hours from now.’

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