Behind the Castello Doors
Chantelle Shaw
Torment on his doorstepCesario Piras, brooding master of the Castello del Falco, wasn’t prepared for the visitor who turned up on his doorstep during a raging storm – or for the little bundle bearing the Piras name she had in tow. Cesario’s head screamed Run, but his damaged heart began to betray him.Beth Granger knew the moment she knocked on the castle door that there was no going back. She had a job to do. But the moment Cesario looked deep into her pleading eyes her faultless plan crumbled around her…
She lifted her eyes to meet the hard grey gaze of the man standing before her and felt her heart slam against her ribcage. A medieval castle suited him perfectly, she thought ruefully.
He exuded an air of power and authority, and she sensed that he was as strong and uncompromising as the granite walls of his castle.
Perhaps he was a sorcerer who had trapped her in his spell. She could not look away from him, and in that moment something happened—something unexpected and impossible to explain. She felt a sharp pain beneath her ribs, as if an arrow had pierced her heart. Don’t be ridiculous, she silently berated herself. She had always been stupidly over-imaginative. How could she feel a connection to a complete stranger? Especially a stranger who was staring at her with grim impatience etched onto his scarred face.
She looked down at Sophie and took a deep breath. ‘I have come because the child in my arms is yours, Mr Piras,’ she told him quietly.
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
Recent titles by the same author:
A DANGEROUS INFATUATION
AFTER THE GREEK AFFAIR
THE ULTIMATE RISK
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Behind the
Castello Doors
Chantelle Shaw
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For
Patrick, Adam,
Rosie, Lucy,
William and Oliver.
My six wonderful children who are now amazing adults.
You make me happy (and turn my hair grey)!
CHAPTER ONE
THE road twisted up the mountainside like a sinuous black snake, its wet surface gleaming in the glow from the car headlamps. The rain seemed to fall harder the higher they climbed. They had left Oliena some fifteen minutes ago, and as the car rounded another bend Beth watched the lights from the town disappear from view.
She leaned forward in her seat to speak to the taxi driver. ‘How much farther?’
She had already discovered that he spoke little English and sighed when he shrugged. But perhaps he had understood her, because a few moments later he glanced over his shoulder.
‘Soon you see Castello del Falco … er … Castle of the Falcon, I think is how you say,’ he explained in a heavy accent.
Beth frowned. ‘You mean Mr Piras actually lives in a real castle?’ She had assumed that the owner of the Piras-Cossu Bank’s private residence in Sardinia would be a luxurious villa, and that ‘castle’ was simply an extravagant title he had given to his home.
The taxi driver did not reply, but as the car crested another ridge of the Gennargentu Mountains, Beth caught her breath at the sight of a great grey fortress looming out of the darkness. Peering through the rain, she saw that the road stretched ahead until it disappeared through a cavernous black gateway. The outer walls of the castle were illuminated by lamps which revealed the sheer vastness of the structure, and grotesque gargoyles leered out of the shadows like portents of doom.
For heaven’s sake! She gave herself a mental shake, angry that she had allowed her imagination to run away with her. But as the taxi drew nearer to the castle entrance she could not dismiss an inexplicable feeling of apprehension, and she was tempted to ask the driver to turn around and take her back to the town. Maybe she was being over-imaginative, but she sensed that her life would change for ever if she crossed the threshold of the Castello del Falco.
She had come to Sardinia for Sophie’s sake, she reminded herself, glancing at the baby-carrier affixed to the seat beside her. She could not turn back now. Nevertheless, her heart lurched as the car sped between the black gates, and she cast a last look behind her, feeling as though she had passed from a safe and familiar world into the unknown.
The party was in full swing. From his vantage point on the balcony overlooking the ballroom Cesario Piras watched the guests dancing and drinking champagne, and through a doorway leading to the banqueting hall he could see more people crowded around tables laden with food.
He was glad they were enjoying themselves. His staff worked hard, and deserved his thanks with this lavish reception in recognition of their services to the Piras-Cossu Bank. The guests were not to know that their host was counting the hours until he could be alone again. He regretted now that he had not instructed his PA to rearrange the date she had picked for the party. Donata had only worked for him for a few months, and was unaware that the third of March was a date that would forever be branded on Cesario’s soul.
Unconsciously he traced his fingers over the deep scar that began at the corner of his left eye and sliced down his cheek to his mouth. Today was the fourth anniversary of his son’s death. Time had moved on inexorably, and the savage grief he’d felt in the first months and years after the tragedy had slowly turned to dull acceptance. But anniversaries were always difficult. He had sanctioned the party date hoping that his duties as host would distract his thoughts. But all evening images of Nicolo had filled his mind, and the memories had evoked a pain inside him that felt like a knife through his heart.
A faint noise from behind him alerted Cesario to the fact that he was no longer alone. He swung round, his frown clearing when he saw his butler.
‘What is it, Teodoro?’
‘A young woman has arrived at the castle and has asked to see you, signor.’
Cesario glanced at his watch. ‘A guest has arrived this late?’
‘She is not a party guest. But she is most insistent that she must speak with you.’ Teodoro could not hide his disapproval as he recalled the bedraggled-looking woman shrouded in an enormous grey coat whom he had reluctantly admitted to the castle. She had been soaking wet from the storm raging outside, and was no doubt dripping water onto the silk carpet in the drawing room where he had instructed her to wait.
Cesario cursed beneath his breath. The only person he could think of who would dare to turn up at the Castello del Falco uninvited was the journalist who had been hounding him recently and wanted to interview him about the accident which had claimed the lives of his wife and child. His jaw hardened. Perhaps it was to be expected that the press were fascinated by the reclusive billionaire owner of one of Italy’s largest banks, but he resented any intrusion on his privacy and never spoke to journalists.
‘The signorina introduced herself as Beth Granger.’
Teodoro’s voice broke into Cesario’s thoughts. It was not the name the journalist had given when she’d somehow managed to get hold of his private mobile phone number. But the name Beth Granger was familiar. He recalled that his PA had said an Englishwoman had phoned his office in Rome several times the previous week, asking to speak to him. ‘She said she needs to talk to you about something important, but refused to give any more details,’ Donata had informed him.
So maybe the journalist who had been badgering him was using a pseudonym? Or maybe Beth Granger was another member of the gutter press hoping to persuade him to drag up the past? Cesario was in no mood to find out.
‘Inform this Ms Granger that I never see uninvited visitors at my private residence. Suggest that she contact Piras-Cossu’s head office and explain her business to my secretary,’ he instructed Teodoro. ‘And then escort her from the castle.’
The butler hesitated. ‘Ms Granger arrived by taxi, which subsequently left,’ he explained, ‘and it is raining.’
Cesario gave an impatient shrug. He had experienced the underhand tactics used by certain journalists too often to feel any sympathy. ‘Then call another taxi. I want her off the premises immediately.’
With a stiff nod Teodoro turned and made his way back down the sweeping staircase. Cesario glanced over the balcony at the guests milling about the ballroom. He wished the evening was over, but he had yet to make a speech, after which he would present a retirement gift to one of his executives and give an award to the Employee of the Year.
Duty took precedence over his personal feelings, he reminded himself. It was a lesson ingrained in him by his father and reinforced by his position as master of the Castello del Falco. The castle had been built by his ancestors in the thirteenth century; its history ran deep in his bones and the ancient greystone fortress was his bastion away from the scrutiny of the rest of the world. Duty drove Cesario to push thoughts of his son to the innermost recesses of his mind, and he squared his shoulders before striding down the stairs to rejoin his guests.
Beth was glad to be inside the castle out of the torrential rain. Her wool coat was soaked through to the lining, and she wondered if she could take it off without disturbing Sophie. It would be impossible, she realised, without first laying the baby down on the sofa and thereby risking waking her. She carefully shifted Sophie into the crook of one arm and tried to unfasten the top button, so that she could at least push the coat’s hood back from her face. But after fumbling unsuccessfully for several minutes she gave up.
Surely Cesario Piras would not be much longer, she thought, feeling a flutter of trepidation at the prospect of meeting him. She glanced around the room to which the butler had escorted her before he had gone to inform the master of the Castello del Falco of her arrival. The plush jade-coloured carpet complemented the brocade curtains that were drawn across the windows. Two ornate lamps illuminated an exquisite tapestry hanging above the fireplace. But despite these decorations the room, with its bare stone walls, seemed as sombre and forbidding as the castle had looked from the outside when her taxi had pulled up in the courtyard.
Once again Beth cursed her fanciful imagination and tried to dismiss her unease. But as she stared down at the baby in her arms she prayed that Cesario Piras would be more welcoming than his home.
The door opened and she quickly looked up, her heart thudding with nervous expectation. But it was only the butler who walked back into the room.
Teodoro halted, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw that the visitor was holding a small baby. He had not noticed the child when he had admitted the woman into the castle. He was unaware that when Beth had climbed out of the taxi and hurried up the castle steps she had pulled her coat around Sophie to shield her from the rain.
Teodoro hesitated, and his gaze rested on the sleeping infant for a few seconds before he returned his attention to Beth. ‘I am afraid the master is busy and cannot see you, signorina. Signor Piras suggests that you telephone his office in Rome and speak to his personal assistant, who oversees his business diary.’
‘I have phoned his office—several times.’
Beth’s heart plummeted. She had been doubtful about bringing Sophie to Sardinia, but Cesario Piras had refused to take her calls, and in desperation she had decided that the only option left to her was to travel to his home and hope he would agree to see her. It appeared that she had wasted her time—not to mention the cost of a flight from England that she could ill afford.
‘I wish to talk to him about a personal matter,’ she explained. ‘Please … will you tell Mr Piras that I must see him urgently?’
The butler’s impassive features did not alter. ‘I am sorry, but the master has refused to see you.’
The pleading look in the young woman’s eyes evoked a degree of sympathy in Teodoro, but he knew better than to disturb Cesario for a second time. Ms Granger’s face was pale and tense beneath the hood of her coat. But he could not help her. The master of the Castello del Falco guarded his privacy as fiercely as his ancestors had guarded their mountain fortress, and Teodoro had no wish to incur Cesario’s anger by disobeying an order.
‘I will arrange for a taxi to come and collect you,’ he told her. ‘Please remain here until it arrives.’
‘Wait …’ Beth stared after the butler as he departed from the room, feeling a sense of helpless despair that her attempt to see Cesario Piras had failed. She had brought Sophie all this way for nothing. She bit her lip. Soon the baby would wake and need to be fed, but the journey back down to the hotel where she was staying in Oliena would take at least half an hour. She would have to give Sophie a bottle of milk in the taxi, Beth thought heavily, unless she could persuade the butler to allow her to feed her here at the castle.
She hurried out of the room after him, but found the entrance hall empty. As she stood wondering what to do a set of double doors at the far end of the hall suddenly swung open and a maid appeared, carrying a tray of empty glasses. Beth took a step forward, but before she could speak the maid had disappeared through another door.
The double doors remained open, and beyond them Beth saw a crowd of people: men in dinner suits and women wearing ballgowns in rainbow hues of silk and satin. Waiters in white jackets, bearing trays of drinks and canapés, wove skilfully among the throng of guests, and the sound of music and voices mingled to form a discordant melody.
A party! Beth felt a spurt of anger. Cesario Piras had refused to see her because he was busy enjoying himself at a party. He hadn’t even given her a chance to explain the reason for her visit. She looked down at Sophie’s tiny face and her heart turned over at the sight of the baby’s long, dark eyelashes resting on her pink cheeks. Fierce determination swept through her. She had promised Mel she would find Cesario Piras, and now that she was here at his castle she was not going to leave without speaking to him.
Without waiting to reconsider her decision, she walked swiftly across the entrance hall. But her nerve faltered and she hesitated in the doorway of the vast room where the party was taking place. The walls here were not bare stone but dark wood panels that gleamed softly in the light cast from the huge chandeliers above. Elegant pillars lined either side of the room, soaring up to support an arched ceiling decorated with exquisite murals.
Beth wished the room was empty, so that she could appreciate its architecture and soak up its history. She possessed a vivid imagination and pictured knights in armour and an age of chivalry that had long since passed. But the room was full of people, and as she moved forward she was conscious of heads turning and curious glances cast in her direction from many of the party guests.
The buzz of chatter faded as people stepped back to allow her to continue. The music had stopped. Ahead of her a figure strode onto a raised platform at the far end of the room. It seemed that he intended to address the guests, but he halted when he caught sight of Beth and even from a distance she could sense his surprise.
How long was this room? Beth wondered frantically. The black-and-white chequered marble floor seemed to go on for ever, and she wondered if she would ever reach the end of it. The silence and the stares made her feel agonisingly self-conscious. Her heart was thudding beneath her ribs but she could not turn back now. Something about the arrogant stance and the air of authority of the man on the dais made her certain that he was the man Mel had asked her to find.
Santa Madre! Cesario stared in disbelief at the woman walking towards him. At least he assumed it was a woman. It was difficult to tell the identity of the figure beneath the huge grey coat with its hood that half concealed the wearer’s face. But this could only be the visitor whom Teodoro had explained had arrived at the castle a short while ago and demanded to see him.
What Teodoro had failed to mention was that Beth Granger was not alone. The baby in her arms could not be more than a couple of months old, Cesario estimated. The infant was wrapped in a shawl, but a tuft of silky dark hair was visible. He inhaled sharply, struck by poignant memories of his son when he had been newborn.
He did not know who the woman was, but he wanted her to leave, he thought grimly. Tonight he was impatient for everyone to be gone so that he could be alone with his memories.
Teodoro burst into the ballroom, looking uncharacteristically harassed as he hurried towards the dais. ‘Signor Piras, I apologise. I was arranging transport for the signorina …’
‘It’s all right, Teodoro.’ Cesario held up a hand to silence the butler. ‘I will deal with our unexpected visitor.’
The woman had faltered for a moment when Teodoro had spoken, but now she quickened her pace. Cesario jumped down from the dais and in two strides stood in front of her.
‘I hope you have an excellent reason for gatecrashing my party, Ms Granger,’ he said coldly. ‘You have thirty seconds to explain why you are here before I order my staff to escort you from my home.’
Forced to an abrupt halt, Beth opened her mouth to speak. But her brain seemed to have stopped functioning and she was bereft of words. She had never appreciated the meaning of the word dumbstruck until now, she acknowledged dazedly. She had been relieved when the butler had confirmed that the man standing in front of her was indeed Cesario Piras. But she was unprepared for her reaction to him.
He towered over her, so that she was forced to tilt her head to study his face. Her eyes were drawn to the jagged scar which slashed across his left cheek. She could not deny that it marred his otherwise perfect features, causing his eyelid to droop fractionally and zig-zagging over his smooth olive skin to the corner of his mouth. But the disfigurement did not lessen the impact of his raw sexual magnetism; rather, it gave him the look of a pirate, or a knight from ancient times.
He was nothing like Beth had imagined a banker would be. His hair was jet-black and fell in a tousled mane almost to his shoulders. The dark stubble shading his jaw was dangerously sexy, and his razor-sharp cheekbones and aquiline nose gave him an autocratic appearance. But it was his eyes that trapped her gaze. Slate-grey, and as hard as granite, they regarded her intently from beneath heavy brows and gave Beth the unnerving feeling that he could see into her very soul.
He was waiting for her reply. She sensed that everyone in the room was waiting, and the silence pressed on her eardrums. She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘I’m sorry for my intrusion, but I need to speak with you, Mr Piras.’ Conscious of the curious stares of the party guests she added, ‘Alone.’
His frown deepened, his expression so forbidding that Beth instinctively tightened her arms around Sophie.
‘How dare you come here uninvited and disturb my privacy?’
He spoke in perfect English but with a strong accent. His voice was deep and husky, and caused tiny pinpricks of sensation to dart across Beth’s skin.
In the lengthening silence Cesario studied the woman. If she had been alone he would have had no compunction in ordering his staff to remove her from the castle. Certainly if Beth Granger was a journalist he had every right to throw her out. But he could not deny he was curious about why she had brought a baby out on such a wet and wild night.
His eyes were drawn to the child in her arms and his gut clenched. Once he had held his son and marvelled at the perfection of his tiny features. Once he had cradled Nicolo against his heart and promised to protect him. His failure to keep his promise would haunt him for the rest of his life.
A discreet cough broke into his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. He glanced around the crowded ballroom. Three hundred of Piras-Cossu’s senior staff had been invited to the party and all of them, it seemed, were riveted by the scene unfolding in front of them.
‘Come with me,’ he ordered the woman abruptly. ‘Teodoro, tell the band to continue playing.’
Beth hurried after Cesario Piras as he strode across the room and disappeared through an arched doorway. She followed him into what seemed to be a small storeroom, where bottles of wine and champagne were stored on shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The thud of the door closing made her spin round and she eyed him warily, even more conscious of his height and imposing presence in the confined space.
He did not bother to conceal his impatience. ‘State your business, Ms Granger. Why have you come here? I hope for your sake you are not a member of the press,’ he added harshly.
Startled, Beth quickly shook her head. No … I’m not … I …’ Her voice trailed away. She had rehearsed this moment over and over in her mind, but now that it was here for real she was beset with doubts. It did not help that Cesario Piras was so formidable. Maybe she should say nothing and take Sophie back to England, she thought, unconsciously gnawing on her bottom lip as she struggled to make a decision. But she had given her word to Mel.
She lifted her eyes to meet his hard grey gaze and felt her heart slam against her ribcage. A medieval castle suited him perfectly, she thought ruefully. He exuded an air of power and authority, and she sensed that he was as strong and uncompromising as the granite walls of his castle.
Perhaps he was a sorcerer who had trapped her in his spell? She could not look away from him, and in that moment something happened—something unexpected and impossible to explain. She felt a sharp pain beneath her ribs, as if an arrow had pierced her heart. Don’t be ridiculous, she silently berated herself. How could she feel a connection to a complete stranger? Especially a stranger who was staring at her with grim impatience etched onto his scarred face.
She looked down at Sophie and took a deep breath. ‘I have come, because the child I am holding is yours, Mr Piras,’ she said quietly.
CHAPTER TWO
WAS this some kind of obscene joke? Cesario wondered savagely. What did this unknown woman who kept her face hidden beneath the hood of her coat mean?
‘Explain yourself,’ he ordered. ‘I do not have a child.’ The words scraped a raw wound inside him.
‘Sophie is your baby. She was conceived on this night a year ago.’
With an impatient oath Cesario shot out an arm and wrenched Beth Granger’s hood back from her face, sending a button flying in the process.
He did not recognise her.
He had slept with a few women since he had been widowed, but she was not one of them. Anger seared him. He was aware that his wealth meant that he could be targeted by unscrupulous women hoping to make easy money by claiming that he had fathered them a child. But this was ridiculous; he had never laid eyes on Beth Granger before. Perhaps she had hoped to convince the lawyers that it had been an immaculate conception? he thought sardonically.
He subjected her to a slow, deliberate appraisal, taking in her tangled mousy hair and the drab, shapeless coat that looked as though she had borrowed it from a street beggar.
‘I think not, Ms Granger,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Undoubtedly I would remember if you had ever shared my bed.’
Heat scalded Beth’s cheeks. Cesario Piras’s meaning was humiliatingly clear. She was far too unattractive ever to have caught his eye. No doubt he was only interested in gorgeous women like Mel had been. Blonde, beautiful Mel had had men lusting after her since high school, and it was not surprising that she had attracted the attention of a billionaire banker.
Compared to her best friend, Beth had always felt like an ugly duckling—and never more so than at this moment, when she was bedraggled and exhausted, wearing a coat she had bought from a charity shop which was several sizes too big. Recalling the scornful glances of the party guests when she had walked into the ballroom, she had a sudden flashback to when she was sixteen and had attended the school prom in a dress that the manager of the care home had lent her. Mrs Clarke had said she looked lovely, but of course she hadn’t. She had looked what she was: a girl with no parents and no money, in a dress that didn’t belong to her.
Sophie would never suffer that kind of humiliation, Beth vowed fiercely. Not if she could help it. She loved the baby with all her heart, but she knew from bitter experience the importance of money. She wanted Sophie to have all the things she had never had: nice clothes, a good education, the confidence that came with feeling that you were somebody rather than a nobody.
Carefully cradling the baby in one arm, she delved into the pocket of her coat and withdrew a photograph.
‘Sophie is not my child.’
She lifted her chin to meet Cesario’s hard stare and held out the photo to him. ‘This is her mother—Melanie Stewart. Mel attended a party in London exactly a year ago. It was a big event, to celebrate something to do with Piras-Cossu taking over an English bank. I don’t know the details. But Mel met you at the party and later you invited her up to your hotel room. It was a one-night stand. She never even knew your name. But she fell pregnant that night with your baby.’
‘What utter nonsense,’ Cesario snapped witheringly. ‘I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Ms Granger.’
Her story was so unbelievable it was almost laughable, but he was not amused. He plucked the photograph from Beth’s fingers and glanced down at the image of a voluptuous blonde. The picture meant nothing to him. He did not remember the woman. But then he did not remember much at all about the party at the exclusive Heskeath Hotel in Mayfair a year ago, his conscience taunted him.
It had been his duty to attend the reception, organised by the managing director of the new UK subsidiary of the Piras-Cossu Bank. But that night, just as tonight, Cesario’s thoughts had been with his son. For a couple of hours he’d forced himself to make polite small-talk, but he’d spent the latter part of the evening at the bar, drowning his emotions in neat bourbon.
There might have been a woman. He frowned as fractured memories forced their way into his mind. He vaguely remembered a blonde at the bar. He recalled buying her a drink, and he had a hazy memory of dancing with her.
Shock ricocheted through him. Could there be any truth in Beth Granger’s story? Could he have slept with this Melanie Stewart and have no memory of it? He’d been so drunk that it would have been a miracle if he had managed to perform, let alone father a child, he thought derisively. A miracle—but he could not discount the possibility.
Conflicting emotions surged through him: disbelief, followed by self-disgust that he might have had sex with the woman in the photograph and yet retain no knowledge of her or what had taken place between them. He could not profess that he lived like a monk. He’d had one-night stands occasionally, but they had been a mutual exchange of sexual pleasure—not a drunken fumble he had no memory of and which, if this woman Beth Granger could be believed, had resulted in a child—his child.
His eyes were drawn to the baby. A girl—named Sophie. Inferno! Was she his daughter? He felt a pain in his gut, an ache of longing for the child he had lost. Beth Granger could be lying, he reminded himself. For a start, he did not understand why she had brought the baby to Sardinia. Where was the child’s mother?
A tiny cry broke from the baby as she began to wake.
‘She’s due a feed,’ Beth explained, looking at him anxiously. ‘I need to make up her formula.’
The sound of the child’s cry pierced Cesario’s soul. He remembered the first cry his son had given as he had entered the world, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, praying that when he opened them again he would find that he had imagined the woman and the baby.
She was still there, her attention focused on the child that she was now rocking in her arms. The baby could not be his. His mind refused to accept such an astounding idea. But he realised that he could not send Beth Granger away without listening to what she had to say.
Cesario withdrew his phone from his jacket and pressed a number on the keypad. Almost instantly there was a knock on the door and the butler entered the room.
‘Escort Ms Granger to the library and ensure that she has everything she requires,’ he instructed Teodoro. ‘I will join her shortly.’
The butler dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Please follow me, Signorina Granger.’
Feeling horribly self-conscious, Beth walked back through the great hall after the butler and expelled a sigh of relief when he closed the doors behind them and she was no longer the subject of dozens of curious glances. Her legs felt shaky. She gave a rueful grimace as she acknowledged that her encounter with the master of the Castello del Falco had left her feeling as limp as a wrung-out rag.
He was so intimidating. And so ruggedly handsome, a little voice in her head whispered. Even with that shocking scar. She wondered what had happened to him. How had he come by such a terrible injury? But, recalling his steel-hard gaze, she knew she would never have the courage to ask.
The taxi driver had carried Sophie’s pushchair and nappy bag into the castle and left them on the porch, she explained to Teodoro when he ushered her into the library. While he went to fetch them she laid the now wide-awake Sophie on the rug, and was rewarded with a winsome smile that melted her heart.
‘You are too cute,’ she told the baby girl softly. At the sound of her voice Sophie chuckled and kicked her legs. But Beth knew from experience that Sophie’s smiles would quickly turn to a demanding cry if she was not fed soon. Taking responsibility for her best friend’s baby had been a steep learning curve, she acknowledged ruefully. But never once, not even on the nights when Sophie had simply refused to sleep and cried for hours, had she regretted that Mel had appointed her as the baby’s guardian.
Even though Mel’s wishes had been clearly stated in her will, Beth had had to go through several nerve-racking interviews with Social Services before she had been deemed suitable to have Sophie and allowed to take her home from the hospital. But none of that mattered. The important thing was that Sophie would not grow up in a children’s home, as her mother and Beth had both done.
‘Your mummy wanted me to look after you, and be a mum to you in her place,’ she whispered to Sophie. ‘I will always love you, and I’ll never let anyone take you away from me. It’s just you and me, my angel.’
But that wasn’t quite true. The thought struck Beth as she shrugged out of her coat. There was also Sophie’s father to consider. Her stomach muscles tightened involuntarily as she wondered how long it would be before Cesario Piras appeared. She could not forget those moments in the ballroom when he had studied her with unconcealed contempt, as if she was something unpleasant that had crawled out from beneath a stone. She knew perfectly well that she was plain, and usually she did not care overmuch about her lack of looks, but for some reason Cesario’s dismissive expression had made her wish that she was beautiful and glamorous—like so many of his female party guests.
She sighed. There was no point wanting to be something she was never going to be, she told herself firmly. But she could at least make sure that she looked tidy and presentable. A glance in the mirror above the fireplace confirmed that her hair was no longer secured in a neat chignon but was hanging in damp rats’ tails around her face. There was no time to tie it up again when Sophie needed her nappy changed, and so she quickly removed the last of the pins and pulled a comb through her hair before she knelt down on the rug to attend to the baby.
Cesario strode across the entrance hall towards the library, his tension evident in the rigid set of his jaw. He had delegated to his chief executive the task of making a speech to the guests, and now he was intent on getting to the bottom of Beth Granger’s extraordinary story. His initial shock at her startling claim that he was the father of the child she had brought to the castle had been replaced by a healthy dose of common sense. There were numerous flaws in her story and many questions that he wanted answered before he would give her claim any credence.
It was even possible that she was gold-digger who had invented her incredible tale to try and extort money out of him, he thought darkly. He’d had experience of a confidence trickster once before. Some years ago a young man had declared that he was Orsino Piras’s illegitimate son and was entitled to a share of the Piras fortune. DNA evidence had disproved the claim, but Cesario had never believed there was any truth in it. His father had been a cold, remote man, and his only mistress had been the bank which had now been owned by the Piras family for five generations.
He pushed open the library door and hesitated on the threshold of the room, his eyes drawn to the young woman who was sitting on the sofa cradling the baby in her arms. Without her coat Beth Granger was much slimmer than his first impression of her. She was rather too slender for his tastes, he mused, noting her small, high breasts and the fragile line of her collarbone visible where the top couple of buttons of her blouse were undone.
Her grey skirt and navy blouse looked as though they had been bought from a bargain store, and her flat black shoes were scuffed and well-worn. But, although her clothes were unflattering, she possessed a quiet grace that he found unexpectedly appealing. She was not beautiful in a conventional sense, Cesario observed. But her heart-shaped face, slightly upturned nose and full mouth held a certain charm, and now that her hair was loose he saw that it was a pale golden-brown, gleaming like silk in the light from the lamp and falling to halfway down her back.
He was surprised by a compelling desire to touch her hair and feel its softness against his skin. He immediately dismissed the thought and walked into the room, noting the quick, nervous glance she darted at him. For a few seconds his gaze locked with a pair of vivid green eyes fringed by hazel lashes, before she returned her attention to the baby she was feeding from a bottle.
Images from the past flooded his mind. He remembered being in the nursery with Raffaella, watching her feeding Nicolo. Their love for their son had been the one thing they had shared; the only bond between two people whose marriage had in no way been a love-match.
For him, marriage to Raffaella Cossu had ensured the merger of the Piras and Cossu banks and made him one of the most powerful men in Italy. Driven by ambition, he had considered a marriage of convenience a small price to pay—or so he had believed, Cesario thought grimly. He had liked Raffaella well enough, and falling in love had never been on his agenda. Experience had taught him that love was an overrated emotion—one which frequently led to pain and disappointment.
He had loved his mother once—adored her. But when he was seven years old she had left his father for her lover and he had never seen her or spoken to her again.
‘Stop snivelling like a baby,’his father had told him when he had found him crying in his room.‘Do not waste your tears on a woman. You will find as you grow olderthat there are always plenty more, especially for a man who has wealth and power.’
Power was the golden grail, Cesario mused cynically. For the Cossu family their lack of a son to inherit their bank had led them to seek a merger with the Piras bank by marrying off their daughter to Cesario. Raffaella had obeyed her parents’ wishes, or perhaps been coerced—Cesario had never known. And eighteen months after their marriage she had dutifully given him an heir.
All would have been well if she had not fallen in love with another man. Love had blown everything apart. Raffaella’s decision to leave her marriage to be with her lover, and Cesario’s determination to keep his son—whom he had loved more than he had known it was possible to love another human being—had resulted in a bitter confrontation, and ultimately in the accident which had claimed Raffaella and Nicolo’s lives.
A nerve jumped in Cesario’s cheek. He had become adept at blocking out painful memories, and his expression was shuttered as he stood in front of the fireplace and stared at the woman whose arrival at the castle had such disturbing implications.
Sophie had finished her feed, and when Beth sat her upright on her lap she looked about her with wide-eyed curiosity. With a mass of silky black hair and dark brown eyes fringed by impossibly long lashes, the child was as pretty as a doll, Cesario noted, finding it impossible to tear his gaze from her.
‘When was she born?’ he demanded abruptly.
‘The twenty-eighth of October.’
He stiffened at Beth’s reply and his expression became steely. ‘In that case she cannot be my child. If Sophie was conceived this time last year she would have been due in December. I’ll be frank with you. I have no recollection of sleeping with the woman in the photograph, but I’d had a lot to drink and I cannot be certain that I did not invite her back to my room. But Melanie Stewart must have already been pregnant if she gave birth seven months later.’ His tone became mocking. ‘You should have worked out the maths before you embarked on your little game, Ms Granger.’
‘I’m not playing a game,’ Beth said sharply, stung by his sarcasm. ‘Sophie was born nearly two months premature. That’s why she’s small for a four-month-old baby.’ She flushed at Cesario’s disbelieving look. ‘It’s the truth. Mel was ill and the doctors had to deliver Sophie early.’
‘So where is Melanie Stewart now? Why isn’t she caring for her daughter? And who, exactly, are you?’
‘Mel is dead.’ Beth’s voice caught in her throat as she stared at Sophie and felt a pang of grief for her friend, who had only seen her baby a few times before she had died. It still seemed impossible that Mel was gone. She had always been the strong one out of the two of them, the daring one, who had teased Beth for being a timid mouse and protected her from the school bullies with her acid tongue and fiery temper.
She realised that Cesario was waiting for her to continue, and took a ragged breath. ‘Last autumn there was a flu epidemic in England that was especially serious for pregnant women. Mel thought she just had a cold, but within two days she was in Intensive Care, fighting for her life. The doctors decided to deliver Sophie early to give mother and baby a chance. But Sophie was tiny; she only weighed three pounds and was placed in the special care baby unit.’
Tears choked her as she remembered watching Sophie through the clear plastic walls of the incubator, willing the tiny scrap of humanity to live. ‘For a while Mel rallied and things looked optimistic. She was even able to hold Sophie once, for a few minutes. But a few days later she died suddenly. The doctor said the flu virus had put too much strain on her heart.’
Beth blinked hard to dispel her tears. She finally had Cesario’s attention, and she needed to convince him that he had a responsibility towards Sophie. She swallowed and forced herself to continue.
‘A few days before her death Mel told me she had recognised your photo in a newspaper. The paper had printed your name, and she realised that the man she had slept with at the party in London was Cesario Piras, and that you were Sophie’s father. I had already agreed that if anything happened to Mel I would look after Sophie. Mel made me promise that if she died I would try to find you and let you know you had a daughter.’
Cesario was silent while he absorbed the information Beth had given him. She must know it would be easy enough to verify her story, and therefore it was unlikely she was lying. But even if what she had said was true, it did not prove that the child on her lap was his.
If only he could remember the events at that party in London a year ago. But that night he had turned to drink to banish the demons that haunted him, to silence for a few hours the voice in his head that insisted he had been partially responsible for Nicolo’s death.
His hard features revealed nothing of his thoughts. ‘What part do you play in this, Ms Granger? Why did you agree to take care of Ms Stewart’s child? Why aren’t her family involved?’
‘Mel didn’t have any family. Her parents died when she was young and she grew up in care—as I did, after my mother died. We met in a children’s home and became friends.’ Once again Beth’s voice was husky. ‘When Mel found out she was pregnant I promised I would help her bring up the baby. After she died I learned that she had named me as Sophie’s legal guardian.’
Cesario swung around and rested his arm along the mantelpiece, staring at the black empty grate. He should have asked one of the staff to light a fire, he thought heavily. He could hear the rain still beating against the walls of the castle. Perhaps the room was too chilly for a small baby.
He remembered how in the first weeks after Nicolo had been born he had felt awed by the responsibility of caring for a new life. His little son had seemed so vulnerable that Cesario had found himself constantly checking on him, and he had demanded that fires be lit in every room in the castle so that the baby was not exposed to any cold draughts.
He had never expected to see another baby at the Castello del Falco. Four years ago he had vowed never to marry again, or have another child. It was inconceivable that anyone could ever replace Nicolo in his heart. Yet, unbelievably, he was now faced with the possibility that he had a daughter who had been conceived on the anniversary of the date he had lost his son. Was it a bizarre twist of fate? he wondered. Or a fabrication invented by a woman who claimed she had been asked by the child’s mother to find him? There was only one way to establish the truth.
‘I will arrange for a DNA test to be done,’ he said abruptly. ‘I admit I was drunk at the party in London a year ago, but I find it hard to believe that I slept with your friend and have no recollection of it.’
The idea that he could have been so out of control that he’d unknowingly had sex with a woman he’d picked up in a bar did not sit comfortably with Cesario.
‘However,’ he continued roughly, ‘I accept that it is a possibility, and therefore a paternity test is necessary. Until it can be done, and the results obtained, you and the baby will stay here at the Castello del Falco.’
Beth felt a spurt of shock—partly at the arrogance of the man standing a few feet from her and partly at the implication of his words. Stay here? In this grim, grey castle? With its equally forbidding owner? The idea sent a shiver through her.
‘Oh, no, that’s not necessary,’ she explained quickly. ‘I expected you would want a DNA test, so I booked a room at a hotel in Oliena for three days. Once the test has been done I’ll take Sophie back to England and wait there for the results.’
She did not add that she was sure the test would prove Cesario was the man Mel had slept with. Mel had been certain she had recognised him in the newspaper.
You must find Cesario Piras and demand financial help for Sophie,she had said in the note she had left for Beth.
Mel must have sensed that she was not going to live, Beth thought sadly. And in her last days she had attempted to arrange some measure of security for her daughter by asking Beth to search for the man she’d believed was Sophie’s father.
Cesario frowned. ‘It makes more sense for you and the child to stay here until we know for sure whether or not she is mine.’
His gaze was drawn to the baby, and he felt as though he had been kicked in the gut when she turned her head and stared at him with her huge dark eyes. She was beautiful—almost as beautiful as his son had been. Was it his imagination, or did she bear a resemblance to Nicolo? Dio, was she his?
The idea was so shocking that he could not begin to assimilate how he felt about it. But one thing struck him forcibly. If Sophie was his daughter she deserved his care and protection. He could not at this point contemplate the notion that she would also deserve his love. Losing Nicolo had almost destroyed him, and the idea of loving another child evoked a host of feelings inside him. The strongest of which, he admitted grimly, was fear. Experience had taught him that love was a bittersweet emotion. It would be better if Sophie was not his child, but until he knew the truth he wanted her to remain here at the castle.
That meant that for now, at least, Beth Granger would have to stay too. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. On the face of it her apparent willingness to take on her friend’s child seemed amazingly altruistic. She was young—he guessed in her early twenties—and from her shabby clothes it was safe to assume that she did not have much money. Could he believe that she had agreed to act as guardian to another woman’s child out of the kindness of her heart?
‘Mr Piras, there’s really no need for you to go to any trouble—especially tonight, when you are busy with your party,’ Beth said a little desperately. ‘The hotel has provided a cot for Sophie, and I left our luggage there.’
‘I’ll send one of my staff to collect your things and bring them back to the castle.’ Cesario’s eyes narrowed when Beth looked about to argue. ‘It is still raining heavily. Surely you cannot think it a good idea to take a baby out in such weather? I am inviting you and Sophie to stay here as my guests.’ He paused, and then added, ‘Under the circumstances, I think we should drop formalities and use our respective Christian names.’
He was so intimidating that she could not imagine she would ever feel confident enough to use his first name, Beth thought wryly. Skirting around the issue of how to address him, she focused on a far more important problem. ‘But where will Sophie sleep? I have her buggy with me, but although she naps in it during the day it’s not suitable for her to sleep in all night.’
‘The castle has a nursery which is fully equipped with everything you might need.’
It was a long time since he had visited the room which had once been his son’s, and for a moment Cesario struggled with the idea of allowing another child to sleep in the antique hand-carved cot that Nicolo had slept in until only a few months before his death, when he had moved into a ‘big bed’. But he could not deny a baby a safe place to sleep, he reminded himself.
‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ Beth mumbled, her heart sinking as she acknowledged she could offer no other reason for her and Sophie not to stay at Cesario’s home. She could hear the wind howling around the castle turrets, and the rain hammering against the windows sounded even heavier than when she had arrived. For Sophie’s sake it would be better to remain here, but she wished the enigmatic master of the Castello del Falco did not have such a strange effect on her.
Throughout their conversation she had been intensely aware of him. Her eyes seemed to have a magnetic attraction to his tall, imposing figure as he leaned against the fireplace. His close-fitting black trousers moulded his muscular thighs, and his white shirt was made of such fine silk that she could see the faint shadow of dark chest hairs beneath it.
She lifted her head and flushed when she met his hooded gaze, embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him. He was probably used to women being fascinated by him, she thought ruefully. The livid scar on his cheek did not detract from his incredible good-looks. Ruggedly handsome, he possessed a dark, smouldering sensuality which evoked a curious sensation in the pit of her stomach—an ache of longing for something she did not understand but that she sensed this man, with his earthy virility, could appease.
What was the matter with her? she asked herself impatiently, as a shockingly vivid image came into her mind of being kissed by Cesario Piras. She could not help wondering what it would be like to be crushed against his broad chest and feel his lips on hers. She knew she was sexually naive for a woman of nearly twenty-four, but after her father had walked out when she was a child—leaving her and her seriously ill mother to fend for themselves—she had found it hard to trust any man. She had dated a few men, but nothing had ever been serious and she’d never felt any desire to take things further than a goodnight kiss at the end of an evening.
She sensed instinctively that Cesario would want more than a few chaste kisses. He would be passionate and demanding, and undoubtedly a skilled lover.
Horrified by her wanton thoughts, she hastily sought to break the silence that stretched between them. ‘Hopefully it won’t take long to arrange the test. We’ll probably only need to stay for a few days.’
Cesario shrugged. ‘I wish for you to remain here until the results of the test are known, which I believe can take a week or more.’
He could not take his eyes off the baby. He felt a sense of incredulity that she might possibly be his, but if she was then there was no question he would deny responsibility for her.
‘If it is proved that Sophie is my child, she will live with me here at the castle,’ he stated decisively.
‘Live here!’ Shock, followed almost immediately by a sense of wild panic paralysed Beth’s vocal cords so that her voice emerged as a faint gasp.
‘Where else would she live?’ Cesario queried, sounding surprised by her reaction. ‘If Sophie is a Piras, then the Castello del Falco is her home and her heritage.’
‘But I am Sophie’s legal guardian. I promised Mel I would be a mother to her baby. And I live in Hackney,’ Beth added desperately, clutching Sophie tightly to her, as if she feared Cesario would snatch the baby from her arms.
‘If I am her father she will have no need of a guardian.’
Cesario’s eyes narrowed speculatively on Beth’s tense face.
‘You clearly went to a lot of trouble to find me,’ he said after a moment, ‘and you were prepared for Sophie to undergo a DNA test. What do you expect me to do if it is established that she is my child? Surely you do not think I would simply allow you to take her back to England?’
‘I …’ Beth floundered, not knowing how to answer. The truth was she had assumed that Cesario Piras would want nothing to do with his daughter. Perhaps the fact that she had been abandoned by her own father had made her cynical. But a man who had had casual sex and carelessly did not use protection did not seem likely to accept responsibility for the baby who had resulted from a one-night stand. Cesario hadn’t even told Mel his name, she thought disgustedly. If it hadn’t been for the newspaper photo the identity of Sophie’s father would have for ever been a mystery.
‘It didn’t occur to me that you might want to be involved with your baby,’ she admitted.
‘Then why go to the effort of tracking me down?’
Cesario’s granite stare was so unnerving that Beth hurriedly looked away from him. ‘I hoped to persuade you to make a financial settlement for Sophie,’ she muttered.
She felt her face flood with colour. The statement sounded so cold-blooded, but she was innately honest and could not deny the truth. The idea of asking for money was abhorrent to her, but the harsh reality was that she could not afford to bring up Sophie on the low wage she earned from her cleaning job. She was a qualified nanny, but after she’d been unfairly sacked from her last position she had lost confidence and became wary of looking for another placement. Even if she could find a better job, the cost of childcare, rent and bills would leave nothing for all the things she wanted Sophie to have: music lessons, ballet classes, new clothes rather than hand-me-downs—all the things she had longed for when she had been a child.
The atmosphere in the library had become tangibly tense. Beth darted Cesario a nervous glance and discovered that his granite gaze had turned to steel: cold and hard and edged with a mocking contempt that caused her stomach to cramp.
‘So you want money?’
‘For Sophie,’ she insisted sharply, stung by his scornful tone. ‘If it is proved that she is your child, then it’s only fair that you should contribute towards her upbringing.’
‘And, as her legal guardian, you assumed you would have control of any allowance I might provide.’ His lip curled. ‘I understand now why agreeing to bring up your friend’s daughter after you had learned that Sophie’s possible father was a billionaire was such an attractive proposition,’ Cesario drawled.
‘It had nothing to do with that,’ Beth denied hotly, appalled by the implication. ‘What a horrible thing to suggest. My only consideration is for Sophie. I love her—and I loved Mel,’ she said thickly. ‘We were best friends. More like sisters. I didn’t expect her to die, but she did. I intend to keep the promise I made to her to take her place as Sophie’s mother, but I don’t think it is unreasonable to ask for a little financial assistance so that I can give Sophie a happy childhood.’
‘If Sophie is my child then she will want for nothing,’ Cesario said harshly. ‘But you will be superfluous. You will no longer be required to act as her guardian and you’ll be free to return to England.’
Fear gripped Beth. ‘What do you mean—superfluous?’ she asked shakily. ‘I’ve cared for Sophie since the day she was born. I took her home from the hospital. One day, when she’s older, I will tell her about her real mother, but for now I’m the only mother she knows and nothing on this earth could persuade me to give her up.’
Cesario was almost convinced that the tremor of emotion in her voice was genuine. Almost—but not quite. He could not forget the fact that Beth had sought him out because she wanted a financial settlement for her friend’s child. He was still stunned by the possibility that Sophie might be his, but if she was then he had a duty towards her, and there was no question in his mind that she should do anything other than live in Sardinia with him.
As for Beth Granger. To his annoyance his gaze was drawn to her face and he felt an unbidden flicker of compassion when he noted the shimmer of tears in her green eyes. For a heartbeat they stared at one another, before she dropped her head and a swathe of her gleaming brown hair fell across her cheek.
A hot, fierce throb of desire flared in Cesario’s groin, taking him by surprise so that he drew a sharp breath. For a few crazy seconds he imagined leaning down and slanting his lips over Beth’s, tracing their moist softness with his tongue.
The thoughts in his head were totally inappropriate, he told himself angrily. Fighting a strong urge to reach out and tuck the silky strands of her hair behind her ear, he strode over to the door.
‘A discussion on the child’s future is premature until a DNA test has been done,’ he said coolly. ‘Until then I hope you will be comfortable at the Castello del Falco. I will instruct my staff to prepare the nursery. Teodoro will escort you upstairs and ensure you have everything you need. But now I must ask you to excuse me while I return to my guests.’
CHAPTER THREE
SHE needed to leave the castle immediately, get back to Oliena, arrange a transfer to the airport and book the next flight back to England. If she disappeared now Cesario would never be able find her. And without a paternity test there would be no risk of him trying to take Sophie away from her.
Beth’s head was spinning with frantic thoughts, but she forced a smile for Cesario’s butler as he ushered her out of the library and motioned that she should follow him up the stairs.
‘There’s been a change of plan. I’ve decided to return to my hotel tonight,’ she told him in a falsely bright tone. ‘There’s no need for anyone to go all the way down to Oliena to collect my things. If you could just call me a taxi, I’ll leave now while the baby has fallen back to sleep.’
Teodoro’s inscrutable expression did not alter. ‘A member of staff has already been dispatched to your hotel and will return with your luggage shortly. Signor Piras gave orders for the nursery to be made ready for the infant. If you would like to follow me, I will escort you there.’
Without another word he resumed his unhurried pace towards the ornately carved oak staircase which wound up to the upper floors of the castle. She was trapped, Beth realised fearfully. The taxi driver who had brought her here had only spoken a few words of English and she did not speak Italian. Even if she could find a phone number for a taxi firm her chances of making herself understood were minimal.
But the thought of staying at the castle made her stomach churn with nervous tension. When she had made the trip to Sardinia it hadn’t crossed her mind that Cesario would want his baby. Maybe she had been wrong to assume that every man was as unreliable as her father, she thought heavily. She had expected Cesario to argue against having a DNA test. And if it had been proved that he was Sophie’s father the most she had hoped for was that he would offer her a small allowance to help with the cost of bringing up his child.
Reluctantly acknowledging that she had no choice, Beth followed the butler up the stairs. Sophie was hers, she assured herself. Mel had appointed her as the baby’s guardian. But would a court decide that Sophie’s father had more right to bring her up than a guardian? She paused as a wave of dizziness swept over her and grabbed the banister rail for support. Her legs felt wobbly and she could not seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs.
It was the same feeling she’d experienced a few times before, when she’d had to climb the five flights of stairs up to her flat because the lift in the tower block had been vandalised yet again. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. There was no point in worrying about anything at the moment. Nothing could be decided until the results of the DNA test were known.
The nursery was at the end of a long passageway on the second floor. Beth had guessed that it would simply be a guest bedroom furnished with a cot, for the use of any visitors to the castle with a baby. She certainly had not expected this, she thought in astonishment when Teodoro ushered her into the room.
Spacious and airy, the room was painted a delicate primrose-yellow which complemented the pale oak furniture. A beautiful antique cot stood in the centre of the room and a maid was adjusting the exquisite cream lace bedding. She looked round when Beth entered the room and stared curiously at Sophie, before Teodoro spoke to her in Italian and she quickly left the room.
‘Carlotta will bring you anything you need. Just pull on this rope here to call her,’ he explained to Beth.
‘Thank you.’ She walked slowly across the cream velvet carpet and paused in front of a wooden rocking horse. She had seen pictures of luxurious nurseries like this one in glossy magazines featuring houses owned by wealthy celebrities. Everything here was the finest quality. But this room had not been designed as a showpiece. She sensed that love had gone into the creation of this nursery, and as she looked down at Sophie, who was asleep in her arms, an unexpected feeling of peace swept over her.
‘It’s a beautiful room,’ she said softly. Something about the nursery puzzled her. Maybe it was simply her imagination, but she felt a presence that she could not explain. She glanced at the butler. ‘It feels as though a child used to sleep here not that long ago.’
‘It was Signor Piras’s son’s room.’
Beth could not hide her shock. His son! ‘So, is Mr Piras married? Do his wife and son live at the castle?’
‘Not any longer.’ Teodoro gave her a brief nod. ‘If there is nothing else, signorina, then I will leave you. The door over there leads to an adjoining bedroom, which has been prepared for you. I will have your bags sent up as soon as they arrive.’
Evidently the subject of Cesario’s wife and child was not something the butler was prepared to discuss, but Beth had dozens of questions she longed to ask and felt a surge of frustration as Teodoro departed from the nursery. She wished she had been able to discover more about Cesario before she’d left England. He was the head of one of Italy’s largest banks and she had expected to find a detailed profile about him on the internet. But all she’d unearthed was one paragraph explaining his family history and the fact that the Piras and Cossu banks had merged a few years ago. Cesario’s personal life had not been mentioned, and it was a shock to now discover that he was married. Where were his wife and son? she wondered. Why didn’t they live at the castle with him?
Her arms were aching from holding Sophie. Aware that the baby would wake again soon and need a bath and feed, she tried to dismiss the enigmatic master of the Castello del Falco to the back of her mind as she laid Sophie in the cot and went to inspect the room where she was to sleep.
Her room was smaller than the nursery, but no less charming, with pale walls and soft green curtains and bedspread. She would love a cup of tea, Beth thought wearily. And something to eat would be good; the hollow feeling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the piece of toast she’d had before she’d left her flat in East London that morning.
She wondered if she dared pull the bell rope to summon the maid, but she felt like a fraud. She had worked as a nanny for several rich families, and although she had shared a certain amount of intimacy with her employers’ lives she had never forgotten that she was a member of the household staff—and she’d certainly never had a maid wait on her before.
Maybe a shower would take her mind off her hunger pangs? And there was still that half-eaten cheese sandwich she had bought on the plane in her handbag, she remembered. She would make do with that.
The heartrending cries of a baby drifted along the corridor. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Cesario felt his mind fly back to the first months after Nicolo had been born, when he and Raffaella had taken it in turns to pace the nursery, trying to soothe their restless son.
He had once read that becoming parents for the first time often put a strain on a marriage. But the birth of their son had resulted in an unexpected closeness between him and Raffaella, he brooded. Their devotion to Nicolo had created a bond between them. But their harmonious relationship had been short-lived, and by the time of Nicolo’s second birthday Raffaella had started an affair with an artist who had been employed to carry out restoration work on the Castello del Falco’s antique paintings.
‘You cannot blame me for falling in love with another man,’ she had told Cesario when he had confronted her. ‘Our marriage was a business arrangement and there has never been any love between us. I’m not sure you are even capable of loving someone. Your heart is made of the same impenetrable stone as the walls of this castle.’
‘I love my son,’ Cesario had replied fiercely. ‘Go to your lover if that’s what you want, but you will not take Nicolo. I will never give him up.’
Unable to bear the thought of being separated from Nicolo, of the little boy growing up with a stepfather, he had immediately applied to the courts for custody of his son. He had agreed that Raffaella should have access visits. Remembering how devastated he had been when his own mother had left, it had never been his desire to prevent Nicolo from seeing his mother.
But he had underestimated the power of love, Cesario thought bitterly. Raffaella had been torn between her lover and her son. Her plan to snatch Nicolo from the castle would have been successful but for the fact that Cesario had returned home from a business trip a day earlier than expected. The ensuing row had been acrimonious—a furious exchange between two people who had never loved each other but who both loved their child.
If only he had not lost his temper. If only he had tried to reach an amicable agreement with Raffaella instead of angrily threatening to stop her visiting Nicolo. Regret burned like poison in Cesario’s gut.
In an attempt to calm the situation between them he had left her alone to say goodbye to Nicolo, but while he had been in his study she had bundled the little boy into her car and driven away.
The screech of tyres on the twisting, wet mountain road still haunted his dreams. The terrifying silence that had followed still tortured his soul. He had run. Dio, he had run as he had never run before—like a man fleeing from the devil. But he had been too late.
Cesario dragged his mind back to the present, his nostrils flaring as he drew a harsh breath and sought to bring his emotions under control. The cries were growing louder. Tonight another child was in the nursery—a child who, astoundingly, might be his.
His jaw tightened and he strode along the corridor, intent on finding out why Sophie’s guardian was apparently not taking care of her.
‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s see if holding you over my shoulder helps,’ Beth murmured as she lifted Sophie up from the change mat. The baby had been crying for nearly an hour, and although she was regularly unsettled at this time of night Beth felt a rising sense of despair. After four months of disturbed nights she was utterly exhausted. But there was no chance she could go to bed until she had managed to settle Sophie.
Patting the baby gently on the back, she wandered over to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. It was dark now, but a little while ago car headlights had blazed as the party guests had departed from the castle.
Watching them, Beth had been tempted to slip downstairs with Sophie and plead for someone to take them to Oliena. The discovery that Cesario had a wife and son had complicated an already difficult situation. Part of her felt it would be better for everyone if she disappeared from the castle and had no further contact with Cesario Piras. She would manage to bring Sophie up on her own, she assured herself. Money would be tight, but she’d get by somehow.
But would that be fair on Sophie? her conscience demanded. What right did she have to prevent the truth about the baby’s parentage from being known? And if Cesario was her father surely it would be better for Sophie if he played a role in her life as he had stated he would want to do.
So all the guests had driven away, and now the courtyard was deserted except for the hideous stone gargoyles whose evil faces were illuminated by the moonlight. Once again the thought that she was trapped in Cesario’s forbidding fortress sent a shiver through Beth. She had no reason to fear him, she reminded herself. But the image of his scarred face seemed to have been burned onto her retinas, and the memory of his hard grey eyes had a strangely unsettling effect on her.
Sophie had quietened for a few minutes when she had been picked up, but now she started to cry again and would not be pacified. Singing to her sometimes helped, and Beth was on the second verse of ‘Golden Slumbers’ when a deep, gravelly voice from the doorway made her spin round.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
For some reason Cesario seemed even taller and more commanding here in the nursery than he had downstairs in the library. Beth’s eyes flew to his face and she caught her breath, her heart suddenly racing.
His sharp gaze noted her reaction and he gave a grim smile. ‘It’s not pretty, is it?’ he said, touching his scar. ‘I apologise if you find my appearance disturbing.’
‘I don’t—of course I don’t.’ Colour flared on her cheeks. She was mortified that he thought she had been staring at him. The truth was she did find him disturbing, she acknowledged ruefully, but not in the way he meant. She could not seem to prevent her eyes from focusing on his mouth, and once again she imagined him slanting his lips over hers and kissing her with the kind of searing passion she had read about in books but never experienced personally.
‘Nothing is wrong with Sophie, exactly,’ she explained hurriedly. ‘She’s always unsettled at this time of night. The health visitor said that lots of babies suffer from colic in the first few months, and that she’ll grow out of it. But I hate seeing her like this,’ she admitted as she cradled the inconsolable baby in her arms. ‘I wish I could help her. I’ve tried walking up and down and rocking her but nothing’s working tonight.’
There was no hint of impatience in Beth’s voice even though she was clearly dead on her feet from tiredness, Cesario noted. She looked even paler than when she had first arrived at the castle, and the purple shadows beneath her eyes added to her air of fragility.
She had changed out of her shabby clothes into an equally shabby dressing gown, which had probably once been pale pink but through age and washing was now an unbecoming shade of sludge. The belt tied tightly around her waist emphasised her extreme slenderness. She looked as though she would snap in half in a strong wind, Cesario thought impatiently. She was not the type of woman he was usually attracted to, yet something about her kept drawing his gaze back to her face.
Her skin was bare of make-up and as smooth as porcelain, and her almond-shaped green eyes were captivating. There was an intriguing air of innocence about her, he mused, and although when he had first seen her he had dismissed her as ordinary-looking he saw now that she possessed an unassuming beauty that he found beguiling.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/chantelle-shaw/behind-the-castello-doors-39875960/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.