There was a pause, but she didn’t take the hint. ‘You’re saying you don’t have relationships?’
He shook his head. Not with women who had eyes he could drown in. Who kissed him as if they’d never been kissed before. Who could make him forget his pain and his grief but leave something in its place which made him uneasy. ‘Not with people who live on the other side of the world.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Nothing personal. I just don’t have the time.’
‘Okay. Well, thanks for being straight with me. I...appreciate it.’ She sat up straight and began to slide her legs towards the edge of the bed and, although he could see it was an effort, she slanted him the sweetest smile. ‘I guess there’s nothing more to be said.’
Was it her generosity which made his mind race—a generosity he probably didn’t deserve? Or just the realisation that she was taking him at his word and preparing to leave and, as she stood up, all he could see was the rosy tightness of her nipples and the pale triangle of fire at the juncture of her thighs? And suddenly his thinking brain was no longer functioning efficiently as the rush of blood was diverted towards the more elemental requirements of his body.
‘Or we could spend the rest of the night together,’ he said slowly.
She turned her head, her green gaze clashing with his. ‘Haven’t you got to be back in London tonight?’ Clearly not making it easy for him.
‘Yes, I was going to a business dinner, but I can make my excuses. I want to make love to you again,’ he told her softly. ‘There are so many things I would like to do to you, which I think you would enjoy. But I meant what I said.’ He paused and said the words very deliberately, just so there could be no misunderstanding. ‘No strings. No expectations. What do you say to that, Lizzie?’
Her lashes had lowered and her cheeks had grown very pink and at that moment she looked every inch the virgin she had been until very recently. He wondered if she would respond with outrage. He wondered, achingly, whether she would prove to be the exception of every other woman he’d ever known and refuse him. But when she looked up he could see the answer written in the sensual softening of her features.
‘I say yes,’ she whispered shyly. ‘I’d like that very much.’
CHAPTER THREE
Six months later
LIZZIEWASBENDINGover the ironing board, pressing what felt like her hundredth shirt of the day when she heard the sound of the doorbell and she sighed. Sometimes the steep steps leading up from the basement of the grand house to the front door made her feel as if she were scaling Mount Everest. She got so very tired these days, yet sleep was increasingly hard to come by—such were the downsides of her condition. But she mustn’t concentrate on the negatives, she reminded herself firmly. She needed to remember her gratitude list. Her pregnancy was progressing extremely well and she was lucky to have a job, in the circumstances.
But her mental list had petered out as she reached the entrance hall, her footfall noiseless on the silken Persian rug. She wondered who was calling at this time in the morning. Her boss was out but even if she’d been at home, Lizzie doubted whether any of her friends would have just dropped by to say hello. Spontaneity wasn’t a word she associated with the upper classes.
It was cold up here, because the heating was kept off during the day while she was working and Lizzie shivered as she opened the front door. But the blast of cold air in wasn’t responsible for the sudden icing of her skin, or the frozen horror of her reaction as her shocked gaze alighted on Niccolò Macario standing on the doorstep, blocking out most of the light behind him, his features set and forbidding.
Last time she’d seen him it had been summer, when the sun had transformed him into a glowing golden god—whereas today he was outlined in stark shades of monochrome, against the bare landscape of winter. Her heart raced. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. The last time she’d seen him he had only recently been thrusting deep inside her and she had slithered back into Sylvie’s—now very rumpled—green dress. And if he’d wondered why she hadn’t thrown on a dressing gown, or a pair of jeans to see him off the premises, he hadn’t asked and she hadn’t been required to tell him that her clothes were all upstairs in the box room, not the fancy scarlet guest room. But then, they hadn’t asked each other any questions, had they? They’d been too busy exploring each other’s bodies as the clock had ticked the night away into a sleepless morning.
She dragged in an unsteady breath as she stared at him. For a long while she’d wondered how she could have behaved in such an impetuous way, with a man she barely knew. It had been hard not to beat herself up about it but as she looked at him now her error of judgement became a lot more understandable. He was, she thought, her throat drying to dust, still the most magnificent man she’d ever laid eyes on.
She had fallen for him big time but, clearly, he hadn’t felt the same way about her and a whole night together hadn’t changed his determination that there would be no strings, or expectations. But she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t held out a little hope that he might change his mind. She’d wondered if she might bump into him again and, if she did, whether that overpowering chemistry would lead them straight back to the bedroom. Another no-hoper, because the Jacobean mansion had sold a few weeks later—but not to him. Ermecott Manor had been bought by a family from Scotland who had brought their own housekeeper with them, leaving her looking for a job. That she had found one in the circumstances had been something of a miracle. And the question which was looming large was how had Niccolò foundher, especially as she was now living in London? And why, when he had gone out of his way to avoid her?
She looked him directly in the eye, trying to make him focus on her face and not her body—though instinct told her this was a pointless exercise.
‘Good morning, Niccolò,’ she said calmly, somehow managing to keep the tell-tale waver of emotion from her voice. ‘I must say, this is a surprise.’
‘I imagine it must be,’ he replied. ‘You took some tracking down,cara.’ There was a pause, while his black eyes narrowed. ‘And you seem to have no presence at all on the Internet.’
‘You’re right, I haven’t,’ she agreed. She wasn’t registered on any of the social media channels. She didn’t post carefully filtered photographs of herself online, desperate for other people’s approval. She didn’t have the time, even if she’d ever had the inclination. She drew in a deep breath. ‘Anyway, surely that’s irrelevant. What are you doing here?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ At last his gaze swept over her, from head to toe, his lips hardening as it returned to linger on the curve of her belly, which was pushing against the checked beige tabard, which was her latest housekeeper uniform. ‘And surely it’s a little late in the day for maidenly blushing.’
She wanted to slam the door in his face, but she knew she couldn’t do that and not just because his expression was so flinty. She wasn’t an unreasonable person and she hoped that, when the chips were down, neither was he. She couldn’t hold his behaviour against him just because he hadn’t wanted to see her again. And hadn’t this brand-new life growing inside her given her the kind of self-belief and courage she’d never had before? Wasn’t she a much stronger woman now there was someone else to consider?
So find out what he wants and then decide how you’re going to deal with it.
She would take him downstairs into the basement and after he’d finished saying his piece, he could slip out of the kitchen door and nobody would even know he’d been here. She opened the door wider.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Though you’ll have to be quick. My boss will be back soon.’
Niccolò didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to say another word as he stepped in and shut the door behind him, still reeling from the sight of her, which was affecting him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. In silence he followed her down a flight of stairs, into the lavish subterranean basement kitchen. But it was cold in here, he thought critically, and found himself wondering if she was warm enough.
She turned round and once again he was shocked by her appearance. Not just because her dark-ringed eyes suggested chronic tiredness—though the bright hair piled on top of her head looked thicker than he remembered—but because of the very obvious signs of her pregnancy. It was strange. You could know something to be a fact, but it wasn’t until you were actually confronted with the evidence that you really started to believe it was true. And this was true all right. His throat grew dry as he scanned her abdomen, for beneath the ugly garment she wore he could see the unmistakable sign of a bump.
His child.
A child he had never wanted.
