“I want a child, Becky. Your child.”

“And that was in your mind when you searched for me?” she asked slowly.

“Yes. It’s important.”

“I can imagine it would be. And now of course, I realize why you didn’t tell me at once.”

“I could hardly do that,” he said, misled by her reasonable tone.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “It wouldn’t be so easy to say, would it? ‘Good evening, Rebecca, nice to see you after fifteen years, and will you be my brood mare?’”

“It’s not like that. You’re determined to misunderstand everything I say.”

“On the contrary, I’ve understood only too well. You want a son—”

“I want your son. Yours. Nobody else’s. No other woman’s child would mean the same to me.”

What happens when you suddenly discover your happy twosome is about to be turned into a…family?

Do you panic?

Do you laugh?

Do you cry?

Or…do you get married?

The answer is all of the above—and plenty more!

Share the laughter and the tears as these unsuspecting couples are plunged into parenthood! Whether it’s a baby on the way or the creation of a brand-new instant family, these men and women have no choice but to be

When parenthood takes you by surprise!

The Italian’s Baby
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PROLOGUE

SHE was seventeen, as pretty as a doll, and as lifeless, sitting in the window, staring out, unseeing, over the Italian countryside.

She didn’t turn when the door opened and a nurse came in, with a middle-aged man. He had an air of joviality that sat oddly with his cold eyes.

‘How’s my best girl?’ he greeted the doll by the window.

She neither replied nor looked at him.

‘I’ve got someone to see you, precious.’ He turned to a young man standing behind him and said curtly, ‘Make it quick.’

He was twenty, little more than a boy. His hair was shaggy, he looked as though he hadn’t shaved for days, and his eyes were wild with pain and anger. He went quickly to the girl and dropped on his knees beside her, speaking in an imploring voice.

‘Becky, mia piccina—it is I, Luca. Look at me, I beg you. Forgive me for everything—they say our child is dead and that it is my fault—I never meant to hurt you—can you hear me?’

She turned her head and seemed to look at him, but there was no recognition in her eyes. They were lifeless.

‘Listen to me,’ the boy implored. ‘I am sorry, piccina, I am so sorry. Becky, for pity’s sake, say that you understand.’

She was silent. He reached up a hand to brush her light brown hair aside. She did not move.

‘I did not see our baby,’ he said huskily. ‘Was she pretty like you? Did you hold her? Speak to me. Tell me that you know me, that you love me still. I shall love you all my life. Only say that you forgive me for all the pain I have brought you. I meant only to make you happy. In God’s name, speak to me.’

But she said nothing, merely stared out of the window. He dropped his head into her lap, and the only sound in the room was his sobs.

CHAPTER ONE

THE words stood out starkly, black against the white paper.

A boy. Born yesterday. 8lbs 6oz.

A simple message that might have been the bringer of joy. But to Luca Montese it meant that his wife had given a son to another man, and none to him. It meant that the world would know of his humiliation, and that made him curse until there was nobody left to curse, except himself, for being a blind fool. His face was not pleasant at that moment. It was cruel and frightening.

Fear of that face had made Drusilla leave him as soon as she knew she was pregnant, six months ago. He had arrived home to find her gone, leaving him a note. It had said that there was another man. She was pregnant. It was no use trying to find her. That was all.

She had taken everything he had ever given her, down to the last diamond, the last stitch of couture clothing. He’d pursued her like an avenging fury, not in person but through a battery of expensive lawyers, nailing her down to a divorce settlement that left her nothing beyond what she had already taken.

It galled him that the man was so poor and insignificant as to be virtually beyond the reach of his revenge. If he had been a rich entrepreneur, like himself, it would have been a pleasure to ruin him. But a hairdresser! That was the final insult.

Now they had a big, lusty son. And Luca Montese was childless. The world would know that it was his fault that his marriage had been barren, and the world would laugh. The thought almost drove him to madness.

Three floors below him was the heart of Rome’s financial district, a world he had made his own by shrewdness, cunning and sheer brute muscle. His employees were in awe of him, his rivals were afraid of him. That was how he liked it. But now they would laugh.

He turned the paper between his fingers. His hands were heavy and strong, the hands of a workman, not an international financier.

His face was the same; blunt-featured, with a heaviness about it that had little to do with the shape of features, and more to do with a glowering intensity in his eyes. That, and his tall, broad-shouldered body, attracted the kind of woman—and there were plenty of them—who gravitated towards power. Physical power. Financial power. All kinds. Since the break-up of his marriage he hadn’t lacked company.

He treated them well, according to his lights, was generous with gifts but not with words or feelings, and broke with them abruptly when he realised they did not have what he was seeking.

He could not have said what that was. He only knew that he’d found it once, long ago, with a girl who had shining eyes and a great heart.

He barely remembered the boy he’d been then, full of impractical ideas about love lasting forever. Not cynical, not grasping, believing that love and life were both good: a foolishness that had been cruelly cured.

He brought himself firmly back to the present. Dwelling on lost happiness was a weakness, and he always cut out weakness as ruthlessly as he did everything else. He strode out of the office and down to the underground parking lot, where his Rolls-Royce—this year’s model—was waiting.

He had a chauffeur but he loved driving it himself. It was his personal trophy, the proof of how far he’d come since the days when he’d had to make do with an old jalopy that would have collapsed if he hadn’t repaired it himself.

Even with his best efforts it was liable to break down at odd moments, and then she would laugh and chatter as she handed him spanners. Sometimes she would get under the car with him, and they would kiss and laugh like mad things.

And perhaps it was a kind of madness, he thought as he headed the Rolls out of Rome to his villa in the country. Mad, because that heart-stopping joy could never last. And it hadn’t.

He’d brushed the thought of her aside once, but now she seemed to be there beside him as he drove on in the darkness, tormenting him with memories of how enchanting she had been, with her sweet gentleness, her tenderness, her endless giving. He had been twenty, and she seventeen, and they’d thought it would last forever.

Perhaps it might have done if—

He shut off that thought too. Strong man though he was, the ‘what if?’ was unbearable.

But her ghost wouldn’t be banished. It whispered sadly that their brief love had been perfect, even though it had ended in heartbreak. She reminded him of other things too, how she’d lain in his arms, whispering words of love and passion.

‘I’m yours, always—always—I shall never love any other man—’

‘I have nothing to offer you—’

‘If you give me your love, that’s all I ask.’

‘But I’m a poor man.’

How she had laughed at that, ripples of young, confident laughter that had filled his soul. ‘We’re not poor—as long as we have each other…’

And then it was over, and they no longer had each other.

Suddenly there was a squeal of tyres and the wheel spun in his hand. He didn’t know what had happened, except that the car had stopped and he was shaking.

He got out to clear his head, looking up and down the country road. It was empty in both directions.

Like his life, he thought. Coming out of the empty darkness and leading ahead into empty darkness.

It had been that way for fifteen years.

The Allingham was the newest, most luxurious hotel to have gone up in London’s exclusive Mayfair. Its service was the best, its prices the highest.

Rebecca Hanley had been appointed its first PR consultant partly because, as the chairman of the board had said, ‘She looks as if she grew up with money to burn, and didn’t give a damn. And that’s useful when you’re trying to get people to burn money without giving a damn.’

Which was astute of him, because Rebecca’s father had been a very rich man indeed. And these days she didn’t give a damn about anything.

She lived in the Allingham, because it was simpler than having a home of her own. She used the hotel’s beauty salon and gymnasium, and the result was a figure that wasn’t an ounce overweight, and a face that was a mask of perfection.

Tonight she was putting the final touches to her appearance when the phone rang. It was Danvers Jordan, the banker who was her current escort.

They were to attend the engagement party of his younger brother, held in the Allingham. As Danvers’ companion and a representative of the hotel, she would be ‘on duty’ in two ways, and must look right, down to every detail.

As she checked herself in three angled mirrors Rebecca knew that nobody could fault her looks. She had the slim, elegant body that could wear the tight black dress, and the endless legs demanded by the short skirt. The neckline was low-cut, but within relatively modest limits. Around her neck she wore one large diamond.

Her hair had started life as light brown, but now it was a soft honey-blonde that struck a strange, distinctive note with her green eyes. Small diamonds in her ears added the final touch.

On exactly the stroke of eight the knock came on her door and she sauntered gracefully across to let Danvers in.

‘You look glorious,’ he said, as he always did. ‘I shall be the proudest man there.’

Proudest. Not happiest.

The party was in a banqueting room, hung with drapes of white silk interspersed with masses of white roses. The engaged couple were little more than children, Rory twenty-four, Elspeth eighteen. Elspeth’s father was the president of the merchant bank for which Danvers worked, and which was part of the consortium that had financed the Allingham.

She was like a kitten, Rebecca thought, sweet, innocent and intense about everything, especially being in love.

‘I didn’t think people talked about “forever and ever” any more,’ she said to Danvers when the evening was half over.

‘I suppose if you’re young enough and stupid enough it seems to make sense,’ he said wryly.

‘Do you really have to be young and stupid?’

‘Come on, darling! Grown-ups know that things happen, life goes wrong.’

‘That’s true,’ she said quietly.

Elspeth came flying up to them, throwing her arms around Rebecca.

‘Oh, I’m so happy. And what about you two? It’s time you tied the knot. Why don’t we make the announcement now?’

‘No,’ Rebecca said quickly. Then, fearing that she had been too emphatic, she hastened to add, ‘This is your night. If I hijacked it I’d be in trouble with my boss.’

‘All right, but on my wedding day I’m going to toss you my bouquet.’

She danced away and Rebecca heaved a secret sigh of relief.

‘Why did she call you Becky?’ Danvers asked.

‘It’s short for Rebecca.’

‘I’ve never heard anyone use it with you, and I’m glad. Rebecca’s more natural to you, gracious and sophisticated. You’re not a Becky sort of person.’

‘And what is “a Becky sort of person” Danvers?’

‘Well, a bit coltish and awkward. Somebody who’s just a kid and doesn’t know much about the world.’

She put her glass down suddenly because her hand was shaking. But she knew he wouldn’t notice.

‘I haven’t always been gracious and sophisticated,’ she said.

‘That’s how I like to see you, though.’

And, of course, Danvers wouldn’t be interested in any other version of her than the one that suited himself. She would probably marry him in the end, not for love, but for lack of any strong opposing force. She was thirty-two and the aimless drift that was her life couldn’t go on indefinitely.

She rejected his suggestion of dinner, claiming tiredness. He saw her to her suite and made one last attempt to prolong the evening, drawing her close for a practiced kiss, but she stiffened.

‘I really am very tired. Goodnight, Danvers.’

‘All right. You get your beauty sleep and be perfect for tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘We’re having dinner with the chairman of the bank. You can’t have forgotten.’

‘Of course not. I’ll be there, at my best. Goodnight.’

If he didn’t go soon she would scream.

At last she had the blessed relief of solitude. She turned out the lights and went to stand in the window, looking out at the lights of London. They winked and glittered against the darkness, and in her morbid mood it seemed as if she was looking at her whole life from now on: an endless vista of shiny occasions—dinner with the chairman, a box at the opera, lunch in fashionable restaurants, entertaining in a luxurious house, the perfect wife and hostess.

It had seemed enough before, but something about tonight had unsettled her. That young couple with their passionate belief in love had reminded her of too many things she no longer believed.

‘Becky’ had believed them, but Becky was dead. She had died in a confusion of pain, misery and disillusion.

Yet tonight her ghost had walked through the costly feast, turning reproachful eyes on Rebecca, reminding her that once she had had a heart, and had given that heart freely to a wild-eyed young man who had adored her.

‘A kid, who doesn’t know much about the world,’ had been Danvers’ verdict on ‘Becky’, and he was more right than he knew. They had both been kids, herself and the twenty-year-old, Luca, thinking that their love was the final answer to all problems.

Becky Solway had fallen in love with Italy at first sight, and especially the land around Tuscany, where her father had inherited the estate of Belleto from his Italian mother.

‘Dad, it’s heavenly!’ she said when she first saw it. ‘I want to stay here forever and ever.’

He laughed. ‘All right, pet. Whatever you say.’

He was like that, always willing to indulge her without actually considering what she was saying, much less what she was thinking or feeling.

At fourteen all she saw was the indulgence. It had been just the two of them since her mother had died two years before. Frank Solway, successful manufacturer of electronic products, and his bright, pretty daughter.

He had factories all over Europe, continually moving the work to wherever the labour was cheapest. During her school vacation they travelled together, visiting the outposts of his business empire, or stayed at Belleto. The rest of the time she finished her schooling in England. When she was sixteen she announced that she was finished with school.

‘I just want to live at Belleto from now on, Dad.’

And, as always, he said, ‘All right, pet. Whatever you like.’

He bought her a horse, and she spent happy days exploring the vineyards and olive groves that formed part of Belleto’s riches.

She had a quick ear, and had learned not only Italian from her grandmother but also the local Tuscan dialect. Her father spoke languages badly and the servants who ran his house found him hard to understand, so he soon left the domestic affairs to her. After a while she was helping with the estate as well.

All she knew of Frank was that he was a successful businessman. She never suspected a darker side, until one day it was forced on her.

He had closed his last factory in England, opened another in Italy, then taken off for Spain, inspecting new premises. During his absence Becky went for a ride and found herself confronted by three grim-faced men.

‘You’re Solway’s daughter,’ said one of the men in English. ‘Frank Solway is your dad. Admit it.’

‘Why should I deny it? I’m not ashamed of my father.’

‘Well, you damned well should be,’ another man shouted. ‘We needed our jobs and he shut down the English factory overnight because it’s cheaper over here. No compensation, no redundancy. He just vanished. Where is he?’

‘My father’s abroad at the moment. Please let me pass.’

One of the men grabbed the bridle. ‘Tell us where he is,’ he snapped. ‘We didn’t come all this way to be fobbed off.’

She was growing nervous, sensing that they would soon be out of control.

‘He’ll be next week,’ she said desperately. ‘I’ll tell him you called; I’m sure he’ll want to speak to you—’

This brought a roar of ribald laughter.

‘We’re the last people he wants to speak to—he’s been hiding from us…won’t answer letters.’

‘But what can I do?’ she cried.

‘You can stay with us until he comes for you,’ the most unpleasant-looking man snapped, still holding the bridle.

‘I think not,’ said a hard voice.

It came from a young man that nobody had noticed. He had appeared from between the trees and stood still for a moment to make sure they had registered his presence. It was an impressive presence, not so much for his height and breadth of shoulder as for the sheer ferocity on his face.

‘Stand back,’ he said, starting to move forward.

‘Get out of here,’ said the man holding the bridle.

The stranger wasted no further words. Turning almost casually, he made a movement too fast to see, and the next moment the man was on the ground.

‘’Ere…’ said one of the others.

But his words died unspoken as the stranger scowled at him.

‘Leave here, all of you,’ he said sternly. ‘Do not come back.’

The other two hastened to help their companion to his feet. He was trying to staunch the blood from his nose and although the look he cast his assailant was furious he was too wise to take the matter further. He let himself be led away, but he turned at the last moment to glare back at Becky in a way that made the young man start forward. Then they all scuttled away.

‘Thank you,’ said Becky fervently.

‘Are you all right?’ he demanded abruptly.

‘Yes, thanks to you.’

She dismounted, and immediately realised just how tall he was. Now his grim face and dark, intense eyes were looking down at her, the traces of cold rage still visible.

The angry little crowd had been alarming because there were three of them. But this man was dangerous on his own account, and suddenly she wondered if she was any safer than before.

‘They’ve gone now,’ he said. ‘They won’t come back.’

It was a simple statement of fact. He knew nobody would choose to face him twice.

‘Thank you,’ she said, speaking English, as he had done, but slowly. ‘I’ve never been so glad to see anyone. I thought there was nobody to help me.’

‘You don’t have to speak slowly,’ he said proudly. ‘I know English.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Where did you appear from?’

‘I live just past those trees. You had better come with me, and I will make you some tea.’

‘Thank you.’

As they walked he said, ‘I know everybody around here, but I’ve never seen them before.’

‘They come from England. They were looking for my father, but he’s away and that made them angry.’

‘Perhaps you should not have ridden alone.’

‘I didn’t know they were there, and why shouldn’t I ride where I like on my father’s land?’

‘Ah, yes, your father is the Englishman everyone is talking of. But this is not his land. It belongs to me. Just a narrow strip, but it contains my home, which I will not sell.’

‘But Dad told me…’ She checked herself.

‘He told you that he’d bought all the land round here. He must have overlooked this little piece. It’s very easily done.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she said involuntarily.

They had turned a corner and come across a small stone cottage. It nestled against the lee of a hill in the shadow of pine trees, and her first thought was that it looked cosy and welcoming.

‘It is my home,’ he said simply. ‘I warn you, it is not so picturesque inside.’

He spoke the truth. The inside was shabby and basic, with flagstones on the floor and a huge old-fashioned range. He was evidently working hard at improving it, for there were tools lying about, and planks of wood.

‘Sit down,’ he said, indicating a wooden chair that looked hard but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.

There was a kettle on the range, and he made tea efficiently.

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said.

‘I am Luca Montese.’

‘I’m Rebecca Solway. Becky.’

He looked down at the small, elegant hand she held out to him. For the first time he seemed to become uncertain. Then he thrust out his own hand. It was coarse and powerful, bruised and battered by heavy work. It engulfed hers out of sight.

His whole appearance was rough. His dark hair needed cutting and hung shaggily about his thickly muscled neck. He wore worn black jeans and a black sleeveless vest, and he was well over six feet, built on impressive lines.

Hercules, she thought.

The frightening rage in his face had disappeared entirely now, and the look he turned on her was gentle, although unsmiling. ‘Rebecca,’ he repeated.

‘No, Becky to my friends. You are my friend, aren’t you? You must be, after you saved me.’

For the whole of her short life, her charm and beauty had won people over. It was unusual for anyone not to warm to her easily, but she could sense this young man’s hesitation.

‘Yes,’ he said awkwardly at last. ‘I am your friend.’

‘Then you’ll call me Becky?’

‘Becky.’

‘Do you live here alone, or with a family?’

‘I have no family. This was my mother’s and father’s house, and now it belongs to me.’

The firm tone in which he said the last words prompted her to say, ‘Hey, I’m not arguing about that. It’s yours, it’s yours.’

‘I wish your father felt the same way. Where is he now?’

‘In Spain. He’ll be home next week.’

‘Until then I think it’s better if you don’t ride alone.’

She had been thinking the same thing, but this easy assumption of authority riled her.

‘I beg your pardon?’

He frowned. ‘There is no need to beg my pardon.’

‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ she said, realising that his English was not as good as he’d claimed. “‘I beg your pardon” is an expression that means “Who the heck do you think you are to give me orders?”.’

He frowned again. ‘Then why not just say so?’

‘Because…’ But the task of explaining was too much. She abandoned English in favour of Tuscan dialect.

‘Don’t give me orders. I’ll ride as I please.’

‘And what happens next time, when I may not be there to come to your aid?’ he asked in the same language.

‘They’ll have gone by now.’

‘And if you’re wrong?’

‘That’s—that’s got nothing to do with it,’ she floundered, unable to counter the argument.

A faint smile appeared on his face. ‘I think it has.’

‘Oh, stop being so reasonable!’ she said crossly.

The smile became a grin. ‘Very well. Whatever pleases you.’

She smiled back ruefully. ‘You might be right.’

He refilled her cup and she sipped it appreciatively. ‘You make very good tea. I’m impressed.’

‘And I am impressed that you speak my dialect so well.’

‘My grandmother taught me. She came from here. She used to own the house where we live now.’

‘Emilia Talese?’

‘That was her maiden name, yes.’

‘My family have always been carpenters. They used to do jobs for her family.’

That was their first meeting. He walked home with her, coming into the house, instructing the servants to take good care of her, as if he’d been commanding people all his life.

‘Will you be all right?’ she asked, thinking of him walking back alone in the gathering dusk. ‘Suppose they’re waiting for you?’

His grin was answer enough. It said that such fears were for other men. Then he walked out, leaving behind only the memory of his brilliant self-confidence. It was as strong as sunlight, and he seemed both to carry it with him, and leave it behind wherever he had been.

CHAPTER TWO

NEXT day Becky left the house early and rode down to find him. She had gone to bed thinking of him, lain awake thinking of him, finally slept, dreaming of him, then awoke thinking of him. She saw his face, young yet forceful, the mouth that was too stern for his years, until he smiled and became suddenly charming.

His mouth haunted her. With everything in her she wanted to kiss it, and to feel it kissing her back. And his arms, as powerful as steel hawsers, belonged around her. She knew that, as certainly as she had ever known anything, knew it with the conviction of a girl who had never seriously been denied anything she really wanted.

She had never even kissed a man before. But now that she’d met Luca she wanted him completely, in every way. It was as though her body had come alive in an instant, sending a message to her brain: this is the one.

The only question was how and when. It was impossible that the world, or Luca himself, could deny her.

As she approached he heard the hoof beats and looked up. She jumped down from the horse, facing him, and she knew at once, with joyful certainty, that he too had lain awake all night. But he turned away from her.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘I told you not to ride alone.’

‘Then why didn’t you come for me?’

‘Because the signorina did not give me orders to do so,’ he said proudly.

‘But I don’t give you orders. We’re just friends.’

She stood looking into his face, willing him to let her have her wish. He gave the slow smile that already made her heart beat strongly.

‘Why don’t you go and make the tea?’ he suggested.

She did so, and spent the rest of the day helping him work on the house. He made rolls with salami, which was the most delicious food she’d ever tasted. But she hadn’t given up her determination to make him kiss her. Sooner or later he would yield.

It took her three days to crack his resistance. During that time she came to know the man a little. He had a touchy pride that could make his temper smoulder, although he always reined it in quickly for her sake.

On the first day he had said, ‘Whatever pleases you,’ and that became his mantra. Whatever pleased her was right for him. This big man, who could be so ferocious to others, was like a child in her hands. It gave her a delicious sense of power.

But she couldn’t make him do the one thing she wanted above all else. She created chance after chance, and he wouldn’t take any of them, until one day he said, ‘I think you should go home now.’ He added in slow, awkward English, ‘It has been very nice knowing you.’

Her answer was to pick up a bread roll from the table and hurl it at him. He ducked, but didn’t seem disconcerted.

‘Why don’t you like me any more?’ she cried.

‘I do like you, Becky. I like you more than I should. That is why you must go, and not come back.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense!’

‘I think you know just what I mean.’

‘No!’ she cried, refusing to understand what didn’t suit her.

‘I think you do. You know what I want with you, and I can’t have it. I must not. You’re a child.’

‘I’m seventeen. Well, I will be in a couple of weeks. I’m not a child.’

‘You talk like one. What you want, you must have. For the moment you want me, but I’m a man, not a toy to be played with then cast aside.’

‘I’m not playing.’

‘But you are. You’re like a kitten with a cotton reel. You haven’t yet learned that life can be cruel and bitter, and God forbid that you should learn it through me!’

‘But you said you wanted me. Why can’t we—?’

‘Becky, my grandfather was your grandmother’s carpenter. I’m still a carpenter. Sometimes I make a little money repairing cars, getting dirty.’

‘Oh, nobody cares about that any more.’

‘Ask your father if he cares about it.’

‘This has nothing to do with my father. Just you and me.’

Suddenly he lost his temper. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ he shouted.

‘Don’t call me stupid.’

‘You are stupid. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t come down here and be alone with a man who desires you as much as I do. If you called for help there’s nobody to hear you.’

‘Why should I need help against you? I know you and—’

‘You know nothing,’ he said, in a rage. ‘I spend my nights lying awake, thinking of you in my bed, in my arms, naked. I have no right to think these things but I can’t stop myself. And then you come here, smiling and saying “Luca, I want you”, and I go insane. How much do you think one man can take?’

Out of all this only one thing made any impact.

‘You desire me?’

‘Yes,’ he said curtly, turning away to stare out of the window. ‘Now go.’

‘I’m not going,’ she said softly, almost to herself. It was more than a decision. It was a declaration that she had chosen her path and would follow it.

She went close behind him, slipping her arms about his body. As she had known he would, he turned instantly, and fell straight into her trap. She had removed her upper clothing and he found himself holding her bare skin, her arms, her shoulders, her breasts.

He made one last, agonised effort.

‘No, Becky—please—’

But the words were drowned by her lips on his, and then it was too late. It had always been too late.

He kissed her tenderly, then with increasing urgency, while his hands explored her and hers explored him. He was wearing a shirt, the front partly unbuttoned. It took her only a moment to rip open the remaining buttons so that she could press her breasts against his body. Inexperienced though she was, she knew at once that the sensation was too much for his self-control. When she moved to pull the shirt right off, he did it for her.

She was completely trusting, without caution or defences, and he seemed to know it even through his passion, for his movements were as controlled as he could make them.

At first all she felt was his tenderness, leading her forward gently. She was already in a fever for him, helping him remove the last of her clothes, then his, following his every move, trying to anticipate, so that he gave a shaky laugh, saying, ‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’

‘But I want you, Luca, I want you.’

‘But you don’t know what you want, piccina,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I have no right—we must stop—’

‘No! I’ll thump you in a minute.’

‘Little bully,’ he whispered.

‘You’d better let me have my own way, then, hadn’t you?’ she teased.

That was the end of his control. After that, no power on earth could have stopped him exploring her, enchanted by her sweetness and her young, blazing passion for himself.

As soon as he entered her she gave a little cry of excitement and began to move against him, urging him on. Her frank eagerness to make love and her lack of false modesty delighted him, and he gave everything without holding back.

It was a swift, unsubtle mating which came to a climax almost at once. Becky felt dizzy. One moment she was simply enjoying herself, and the next moment something tossed her up to the stars in a fine frenzy of pleasure, before sending her swooping back to earth, wondering which planet she’d landed on. Because it wasn’t the same one that she’d started on.

‘Oh, wow!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Oh, wow!’

The next moment she leapt on him again, ignoring his laughing protests. This time he loved her more slowly, or at least as slowly as she would let him, teasing her breasts with lips and fingers, until she wrapped her legs about him, demanding fulfilment, and he could do nothing but yield.

Afterwards they lay entwined while they drifted down from the heights, rejoicing to find each other still there.

‘Why did you try to warn me off?’ she whispered. ‘It was beautiful.’

‘I’m glad. I want everything to be beautiful and wonderful for you, always.’

‘It is wonderful, and you’re wonderful, and everything in the world is wonderful, because you love me.’

‘I didn’t say I loved you,’ he growled.

‘But you do, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’ He tightened his arms, pulling her naked body hard against his. ‘I love you, piccina. I love you with my heart and soul, with my body—’

‘Yes, I know that.’ She giggled, letting her fingers run races over his skin.

‘Don’t tease me,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t endure it.’

‘I don’t want you to endure it, I want you to give in.’

‘Don’t I always give in to you?’ he asked with a touch of sombreness in his voice.

But that mood couldn’t last. She wanted him to make love to her again, and he could never deny her anything.

On the day of Frank’s return Becky drove to Pisa Airport to meet him in her own car, delivered as an early birthday gift during his absence.

‘I thought you wouldn’t want to wait,’ he explained now as she thanked him.

‘You spoil me, Dad.’

‘That’s what daughters are for,’ he said cheerfully. He was on a ‘high’ of success, as he told her during the drive home.

‘Got everything I wanted at less than I expected to pay. Yessir!’

Becky had heard him talk like this many times before, but now the memory of the Englishmen, and their desperation, made it sound different.

‘Will anyone be put out of work?’ she asked.

‘What was that?’

‘If you’re making such a profit, someone has to lose out, don’t they?’

‘Of course. Someone always loses out, but they’re the wimps, the people who deserve to lose because nature made them losers.’

‘But is it nature that makes them losers, or you?’

‘Becky, what is this? You’ve never had such ideas before.’

The thought flashed across her mind, Or any ideas at all! But all she said was, ‘You closed down a place in England, and some of the people who lost their jobs came out here to find you.’

‘The devil they did! What happened?’

‘They found me instead. I was out riding alone and three men appeared from nowhere.’

‘Did they hurt you?’

‘No, but only because a man appeared and saved me. His name’s Luca Montese and he lives near by. He was working on his cottage when he heard them shouting. He squared up to them, knocked one of them down and after that they all scurried away.’

‘Then I must meet this man and thank him. Where exactly did this happen?’

She described the spot and he frowned.

‘I didn’t know I had any tenants there.’

‘He isn’t a tenant, he owns that bit of land. He says you tried to buy him out but he wouldn’t sell.’

‘Montese?’ he muttered. ‘Montese? Good grief, that’s him? Carletti, my agent, told me of some fellow who’d been making trouble.’

‘He’s not making trouble, Dad. He just wants to keep his home.’

‘Nonsense, he doesn’t know what’s good for him. Carletti says the place is little more than a hovel. Squalid, unsanitary.’

‘Not any more. He’s done a wonderful job of rebuilding it.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘He took me there after he rescued me, and made me some tea. It was nice and cosy. He’s worked so hard on it.’

‘Well, he’s wasting his time. I’ll get it in the end.’

‘I don’t think so. He’s determined not to sell.’

‘And I’m determined that he will, and I reckon I’m stronger than some peasant lad.’

‘Dad!’ she cried in protest. ‘A moment ago you were going to thank him for saving me. Now you’re planning to bully him.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said with his easy laugh. ‘I’ll just show him where his best interests lie.’

He visited Luca that same day, full of bonhomie, thanking him for his care of Becky while contriving to patronise him in a way that embarrassed her. Luca’s response was a quiet dignity.

Then Frank looked around.

‘Carletti tells me you’ve been holding out for more than this little place is worth,’ he said.

‘Then your agent has misinformed you,’ Luca said quietly. ‘This place is worth everything to me, and I will not sell.’

‘All right, look, here’s the deal. Because you helped my daughter I’ll double my last offer. I can’t say fairer than that.’

‘Signor Solway, my home is not for sale.’

‘Why make such a fuss about this tatty little place? It’s barely half an acre.’

‘Then why trouble yourself with it?’

‘That doesn’t concern you. I’ve made a more than fair offer and I don’t like being trifled with.’

Luca gave his slow smile. It drove Frank Solway mad.

‘Have I said something funny?’ he snapped.

‘Signor, I don’t think you understand the word no.’

This was so completely right that Frank lost his temper and bawled indiscriminately until Becky said, ‘Dad! Have you forgotten what he did for me?’

Frank scowled. He hated to be in the wrong, but neither could he back down. He stomped off without another word, yelling, ‘Becky!’ over his shoulder.

‘Go with him,’ Luca said gently when she didn’t move.

‘No, I’m staying with you.’

‘That will make it worse. Please go.’

She yielded to his quiet insistence where her father’s blustering only filled her with disgust.

The following day Frank said uneasily, ‘I may have gone a little too far with Luca yesterday.’

‘Much too far,’ Becky said. ‘I think you should apologise.’

‘No way. That would make me look weak. But you’re another matter. Why don’t you drop in on him and tell him I’m not such a bad fellow? Don’t make it sound like an apology but—well, keep on his right side.’

She left the house with a light heart. Now she could spend the day with Luca without having to think of an excuse.

He observed her approach from a distance, a quizzical expression on his face.

‘Does your father know you’re here? Don’t get into trouble for me.’

‘Are you telling me to go away?’ she demanded, hurt.

‘It might be better if you did.’

‘You sound as if you don’t care one way or the other.’

‘My back is broad, but yours isn’t. I don’t want you hurt.’

‘In other words you’re giving me the brush-off.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he growled. ‘Of course I don’t want you to go.’

She ran into his arms, kissing him again and again.

‘I’m not going, my darling. I’m not going to leave you.’

He kissed her long and deeply, and she responded with fierce, young passion. It was he who pulled away first, trembling with the effort it took to rein his desire back, but determined to do so.

‘I would die rather than harm you,’ he said in a shaking voice.

‘But, darling, you’re not harming me. Dad told me to come and see you.’

He looked at her wryly. ‘And why would he do that?’

She chuckled. ‘Can’t you guess? He wants me to soften you up for his next offer.’

He grinned. ‘And are you going to?’

‘Of course not. But he’s told me to keep on your right side, and while he thinks that’s what I’m doing he won’t make a fuss about me coming here. Aren’t I clever?’

‘You’re a cunning little witch.’

‘I’m only putting Dad’s own theory into practice. He says when you think someone’s acting for you they’re always pursuing their own agenda. Well, you’re my agenda, so come here and let me get on your right side.’

She took his hand and he went with her, unresisting, because neither then nor later could he deny her anything. It was to be the ruin of both of them.

‘Damn you, Luca! You duped me.’

Luca Montese’s face showed no relenting. ‘Nonsense! You sleepwalked into this without checking.’

‘I thought I could trust you.’

‘More fool you. I warned you not to trust me, and goodness knows how many of my enemies warned you.’

The man glaring across the desk was in a fury at the thought of the money he’d coveted and lost. His name was—well, no matter. He was the latest in a long line of men who had thought they could put one over on Luca Montese, and found that they were wrong.

‘We were supposed to be in this together,’ he snapped.

‘No. You thought you’d use me as a tool. I was to get the information, then you planned to make a deal behind my back. You should have been more suspicious. When you think a man’s acting for you he’s always pursuing his own agenda.’

Then a strange thing happened.

As Luca said the words a feeling of malaise came over him, so strong that he had to take a deep breath. It was as though the world had changed in a moment from a place where he was in control to a place where everything was strange and threatening.

‘Get out!’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll send you a cheque to cover your expenses.’

The man left fast, relieved simply to recover his expenses, which was more than anyone had got out of Luca for years. He wondered if the monster was losing his touch.

Left alone, Luca held himself still for a long time. The walls seemed to converge on him and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

When you think a man’s acting for you he’s always pursuing his own agenda.

The words had come so naturally that he’d never doubted they were his own. Yet they had carried a sweetness so unbearable that it had almost destroyed him.

He was choking. He got up and opened the window, but the terrifying memory wouldn’t go away.

She had said it, and then she had pulled him down on the bed and loved him until his head was spinning. And he had loved her in return, making her a gift of everything that was in him, heart, body and soul, everything he was or hoped to be.

And that had been his mistake.

It was a mistake he’d never made again in the fifteen years since, when he had piled up money and power. He’d commanded his heart to harden until he could feel nothing, and he had been a success in that, as in everything else.

Now something frightening was happening. More and more the past was calling, tempting him back to a time when he was alive to feeling. But if he worked hard he reckoned he could kill it.

Only one person did not tread carefully when Luca was around, and that was Sonia, his personal assistant. Middle-aged, cool and efficient, she viewed her employer with eyes that were half motherly, half cynical. She was the only person he totally trusted, and with whom he could discuss his personal life.

‘Don’t waste time brooding,’ she advised him over a drink that evening. ‘You always said it was a weakness. You’ve got your divorce, so forget it, and marry again.’

‘Never!’ he snapped. ‘Another barren marriage for people to snicker at? No, thank you.’

‘Who says it’ll be barren? Just because you didn’t have a child by Drusilla doesn’t mean a thing. Some couples are like that. They can’t have a baby together, but each of them can have a baby by somebody else. Nobody knows why it happens, but it does.

‘This hairdresser is her “somebody else”. Now you have to find yours. It shouldn’t be hard. You’re an attractive man.’

He grinned. ‘Not like you to pay me compliments. Normally, according to you, I’m an impossible so-and-so with an ego the size of St Peter’s dome and—I forget the others but I’m sure you remember them.’

‘Selfish, monstrous and intolerable,’ she supplied without hesitation. ‘I’ve called you all those things and I don’t take back one word.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘But it doesn’t stop you being attractive, and there are millions of women out there.’

He was silent for so long that she wondered if she’d offended him.

‘It could work the other way too, couldn’t it?’ he said at last.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Suppose there weren’t millions of women? Suppose there was only one woman with whom I had any hope of having children?’

‘I’ve never heard of it working that way round.’

‘But it might,’ he persisted.

‘Then you’d have to find her, and it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘Not if you knew who she was.’

Understanding dawned.

‘You’ve already made your mind up, haven’t you? Luca, you don’t believe this because it’s true, you believe it because you want to. It’s rather comforting to know that you can be as irrational as the rest of us.’ She regarded him curiously. ‘She must have been very special.’

‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘She was special.’

He was a man of action. A few phone calls and a representative of the best private-enquiry firm that money could buy was in his office next morning.

‘Rebecca Solway,’ he said, speaking curtly to hide the fact that his stomach was churning. ‘Her father was Frank Solway, owner of the Belleto estate in Tuscany.

‘Find her. I don’t care what it costs, but find her.’

It was a successful evening. Philip Steyne, chairman of the bank, treated Rebecca with honour, and was clearly as impressed as Danvers had hoped he would be. When Rebecca left them for a moment Steyne said,

‘Congratulations, Jordan. She’ll do the bank credit. When can we expect the announcement?’

‘Any day, I hope. Nothing’s been said precisely, but of course she understands where we’re heading.’

‘Well, in good banking it pays to be precise,’ observed Steyne with a grin. ‘Don’t take too long.’

When Rebecca returned he said, ‘Rebecca, let me have the benefit of your expertise. You’re a quarter Italian, right?’

‘Yes, my father’s mother came from Tuscany.’

‘And you speak the language?’

She gave him her cleverest smile, a little bit teasing, but not too much. This was Danvers’ boss.

‘Which language do you mean? There’s la madre lingua, the official language that they use on radio and television, and in government. But there are also the regional dialects, which are languages in themselves. I speak la madre lingua, and Tuscan.’

‘I’m impressed. Actually Tuscan might be handy. This firm has its head office in Rome, but I believe it started in Tuscany, and it’s all over the world now.’

‘Firm?’

‘Raditore Inc. Property, finance, finger in every pie. Suddenly it’s buying a huge block of shares in the Allingham, and the bank’s interested in closer contact. I propose a dinner party at my house—you, Danvers, their top brass. Let’s see what there is to be gained from them.’

Driving her home, Danvers was lyrical in his praise.

‘You really impressed the old man tonight, darling.’

‘Good. I’m glad I was a help to you.’

She answered mechanically and he shot her a quick sideways look, thinking that this was the second time she’d been in a funny mood and he hoped it wasn’t going to become a habit.

Again she didn’t invite him into her suite, which he found annoying. He would have found it convenient to discuss the forthcoming dinner party. Instead Rebecca bid him an implacable goodnight and shut her door.

When he was out of sight she closed her eyes in relief, then stripped off hurriedly and got under the shower, wanting to wash the evening away. She was on edge tonight, just as she had been the night before. The mention of Tuscany had unsettled her, and the ghost had walked again.

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