‘Is that what you wish?’
No. She wished for the impossible. That his face would soften with love and not just longing. That their baby had been conceived amid the flow of some emotion other than a wild and unstoppable desire. But that was like a child wishing for make-believe.
‘I’m trying to imagine the future,’ she said desperately. ‘And I just can’t.’
‘But no one ever can, Lucy,’ he said quietly. ‘And you shouldn’t even try. It rarely turns out as you imagine it to. It’s the present you have to hang on to.’
Maybe that was even more difficult. This was the present, and she was all over the place, not knowing how to react or what to say. Unsure whether it would be right or wrong to succumb to him physically—whether that would improve their relationship or simply make her more aware of its glaring deficiencies.
‘We don’t even know one another!’ she said desperately. ‘Not really.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘If you presented that problem to a third party, then they would say that the obvious solution is to try.’
‘How?’
‘You could start by not turning your back on me in bed. By not flinching when I come close to you.’
They were talking, she realised, at cross purposes. She was talking about peeling away all the layers that people protected themselves with—especially in his case—to find the real person who lay beneath.
Guido, on the other hand, was talking about something entirely different. ‘It isn’t just about sex!’
‘But isn’t sex a good place to start? To hold one another, to feel close to one another?’
It wasn’t real closeness, but would it do? Wasn’t it better to have something which masqueraded as intimacy rather than no intimacy at all?
Lucy nodded as she came to a decision, swallowing down the lump of apprehension which had stuck like an acrid rock in the back of her throat. She struggled to find the words which would allow her to keep her dignity—maybe even make him think that the Lucy who had enjoyed sex without involvement hadn’t been real either. ‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll consent to having sex with you.’
A look of indescribable fury crossed over his face, making him look like the devil incarnate. ‘You’ll consent?’ he questioned incredulously. ‘You will consent to having sex with me?’
‘I didn’t mean it the way it came out!’
‘Oh, on the contrary, Lucy,’ he said icily. ‘I think that’s exactly what you meant.’ He scrambled to his feet, the sun behind him making him into a forbidding silhouette which dominated her horizon. She couldn’t see his face now, but she didn’t need to—the bitter quality of his voice spoke volumes.
‘Well, you must forgive me if I decline your delightful offer. I have never had a woman who has to endure sex with me, and I have no intention of starting now.’
‘Guido, listen—’
‘No, you listen!’ He cut through her words, and for the first time she saw him as truly and ominously imperious. A distant and powerful prince with everyone in the world eager to do his bidding. ‘I told you when you agreed to marry me—’
‘Agreed?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘You mean when you forced my hand?’
‘I told you,’ he continued furiously, ‘that the terms of the marriage itself would be up to you. So if you’re planning to act like a Victorian wife and lie back and think of England—you can forget it! Either I have a warm and giving woman in my bed, or none at all!’
‘And if none at all?’ she questioned steadily. ‘Are you planning to seek your comfort elsewhere?’
He bent down then, and now she could see his face. She could almost feel the fierce heat from the hot and angry fire in his eyes.
‘What do you think, Lucy?’ he hissed. ‘That I’ll settle for a life of celibacy?’
She stared at him unhappily. They had reached, she realised, a stalemate.
CHAPTER TEN
THEY cut the honeymoon short, of course. They had to—for the sake of their sanity.
After their bitter row on the beach, a state of silent and frozen warfare descended, which made their enforced proximity almost unbearable.
Guido went out of his way to avoid her whenever he could. He spent an inordinate amount of time sailing and running and swimming—coming back each day worn out by the sheer physical endurance with which he had tested himself to his limits.
And he had a dark look of simmering rage whenever he looked at her.
Lucy, meanwhile, carried on pretending to read her book—even going to the trouble of turning several handfuls of pages by the time he returned.
But he was not easily fooled.
‘Want to tell me what the story’s all about?’ he challenged mockingly one evening, and her face flushed scarlet as she snapped it closed.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ she said on their fourth evening, when he had just arrived back from a lone trip to the beach and she had been pacing around like a caged lion.
He was right—when a couple weren’t doing what they were traditionally supposed to do on honeymoon it left an awful lot of awkward hours to fill.
He was raking his fingers through the black tendrils of his hair, all sea-damp and knotted from his swim. On the broad bank of his shoulders was the faintest sprinkling of fine white sand, which contrasted alluringly against the deep olive skin. A pair of shorts which were moulded like rubber to the hard curve of his buttocks were the only brief barrier against his nakedness.
He turned his head to look at her, enjoying the discomfiture on her face. Deliberately he jutted his hips forward and saw her colour deepen.
‘I agree,’ he said smoothly. ‘We can’t. Shall we pack up and go back to Solajoya?’
Lucy blinked. Just like that? Had she hoped for another discussion—perhaps one with a different outcome this time? One which might see them ending up in bed and letting passion wash away much of the discord?
There’s nothing to stop you going over to him now, mocked a voice in her head.
But there was—of course there was. The distance between them had grown so wide, she could imagine nothing which would bring them back together again. Instead, she was forced to endure the terrible hunger that gnawed away inside her.
And why did he not approach her? She had swallowed her pride once and offered to break the deadlock. Hadn’t it been his arrogant dismissal of her fumbling offer which had caused all this bitterness to surface?
She shrugged. ‘If you want.’
He gave a short laugh. As if she cared what he wanted!
‘Guido?’
He met her eyes. ‘What is it, my Princess?’
‘Do you think that we can start being…?’
Being what? he wondered. Lovers? He raised his eyebrows imperiously. ‘Well, what is it, Lucy?’ he questioned softly. ‘What do you want us to be?’
Friends seemed too much to ask for in the current circumstances, but surely there was a springboard from which things could move on—however slowly—and get better between them. ‘Civil,’ she said. ‘To each other.’
Civil. He thought that she had a curious choice of words at times. It was an oddly mechanical description. Or maybe not. She was, after all, describing the workings of a marriage. Did she not realise how much she was asking of him?
‘I think I can just about manage civility,’ he murmured.
She nodded, breathless in that moment as peace briefly swam in the air around them.
‘Do you want to wait outside?’ he questioned softly, and looped his thumbs inside the waistband of his shorts. ‘Because I’m just about to remove these.’
His calculated remark shattered that elusive calm, and Lucy left as swiftly as someone who had never seen a naked man before, banging the door behind her and hearing his mocking laughter ringing in her ears.
She drew in several deep and faltering breaths of the pure air as she stared at the picturesque mountains which dominated the skyline. The startling peaks were turning deepes
t blue and indigo against the flame of the setting sun, yet Lucy was immune to their beauty. She felt like someone in a spacecraft, viewing the earth from a long, long way away. Totally disconnected.
She placed a palm over her swelling belly and closed her eyes. Only her baby seemed real in this make-believe world she inhabited.
That morning there had been the merest butterfly fluttering—too fleeting and insubstantial to know whether it was movement or just indigestion. And she had felt an unbearable wave of sadness. If only things had been different she would have called him over, and he would have pressed his hand there and they would have held their breath, eyes meeting, smiling the complicit smiles of parents-to-be.
As it was, she had said nothing—just made a pot of herbal tea to distract herself.
Oddly enough, when they drove into Solajoya the Rainbow Palace seemed welcoming—who would ever have thought she would be so glad to see the grand and glittering building? Yet it felt like home.
Or maybe that was because Nico and Ella came running out to meet them.
‘You’re back early!’ Ella exclaimed.
‘Morning sickness,’ said Lucy, not daring to meet Guido’s eyes.
‘But you’re feeling much better now that you’re back, aren’t you, Lucy?’ questioned Guido smoothly.
‘But how was it?’ asked Ella excitedly, linking her arm through Lucy’s in a sisterly way. The physical contact was oddly moving and made Lucy want to start to cry. ‘Aren’t the mountains the most beautiful you’ve ever seen?’
Instinct made her nod, but then Nico made things a million times worse.
‘Oh, Ella,’ he purred, with a grin. ‘I don’t imagine that they will have done much sightseeing!’
And Lucy did look up then, straight into the mocking dark ice of Guido’s eyes.
Gianferro’s stern face softened when he saw Lucy.
‘You are keeping well?’ he questioned.
Lucy nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said staunchly, as if her very life depended on it. ‘Very well.’
And, of course, there was Leo—gorgeous, gurgling Leo—who Lucy couldn’t resist.
Guido came to the Nursery bathroom one day, just as Lucy was towelling him dry. She had suds in her hair and her face was rosy, and she looked up from blowing raspberries on Leo’s plump little stomach to find her husband standing in the doorway watching her, some indefinable emotion flitting across his face. But she reminded herself that Guido didn’t do emotion.
‘Nico and Ella have gone out for lunch,’ she said, by way of an explanation he had not asked for.
He frowned. ‘And there is no nursemaid?’
She pinned a nappy in place—there were no new-fangled disposables at the Palace—and looked up at him. ‘It’s her day off, and besides—I like doing it.’
The way she was kneeling made the size of her growing bump quite unmistakable, and he wondered how she managed to look so sexy when she was dripping with water and dealing with a squirming baby. He felt the jack-knifing of desire. God, if he had to endure a second longer of this hot-house of frustration then he would burst.
‘You have to have something to fill your day, I guess.’
She nodded. It wasn’t a very subtle barb, but she would ignore it. She certainly wasn’t going to have a row when there was a little baby around. All the child care books—which she was currently devouring—said that babies were very susceptible to the atmosphere around them. Which did not bode very well for the future.
‘I need as much practice as I can get, of course.’
‘Of course,’ he echoed. He stood there for a moment or two longer and then said, ‘I have to fly to New York.’
Her fingers stilled in the act of buttoning the crisp lawn romper suit, and she looked up, feeling the blood drain from her face. ‘To New York?’ she questioned dully.
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh?’ Her voice trembled. ‘Any reason why?’
He smiled. ‘I have business to attend to—why else?’
A couple of reasons sprang to mind, and one of them was disturbing enough to make her tremble. But if she challenged him he would only deny them, and then it would look as if she didn’t trust him.
But she didn’t trust him!
He paused, still standing like a dark, carved statue by the door. ‘You could always come with me.’
The suggestion was made from the other side of the bathroom—not a million miles away, though it might as well have been.
Lucy tried to imagine what it would be like—just the two of them on his territory, with Guido busying himself with work while she was trapped in that vast luxury apartment. At least here in Mardivino she felt comfortable—surrounded by family who seemed to like her.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if it would be a good idea to travel in my—’
‘Condition?’ he mocked softly. ‘Oh, come, come, Lucy—you can’t use the baby as an excuse for everything! I thought that the modern way was for women to climb mountains in the latter stages!’
‘I’m happy here,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Yes.’ He flicked her a thoughtful look. ‘You seem to have taken to being a princess with a passion.’
Lucy sat back on her heels. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He smiled, but it was a hard, cruel smile. ‘Just that I guess the luxuries of Royal life must go some way towards compensating for other areas which are somewhat…lacking.’
Was he accusing her? Of taking to her role rather too well? When all the while she had wanted him to be proud of her…
She picked Leo up. ‘And how long will you be away?’
The dark eyebrows were elevated. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re my husband and I have a right to know!’
His mouth tightened. ‘I wouldn’t get into a conversation about “rights”, if I were you,’ he said acidly. ‘And I don’t know why you refer to me as your husband.’ The black eyes burnt into her. ‘We may be married, but in all the ways that matter I am certainly not your husband.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GUIDO had gone, and Lucy’s world suddenly felt as though there was a large and vital chunk of it missing. But things became much clearer without his disturbing presence.
Lucy realised that she had placed far too much importance on distracting herself from what was happening within their marriage, and that in a way it had been all too easy. There was always something going on—other family to talk to, and servants who had a habit of appearing, putting paid to tense atmospheres. And there were lunches and dinners and receptions which filled enough of her life to keep her relatively contented.
Or so she had thought.
Yet without Guido around all these things became meaningless. Nico and Ella had their real life together, with their son, and Gianferro was busy ruling the Principality. Lucy was just an observer—a shadowy figure on the outside—trying to join in but having no real part to play. And she wanted her husband to come back.
She began to obsess about his real reasons for going. He had cited work, but he could work from anywhere—he had only to pick up the phone.
There had been no physical contact at all between them—and no sign that the deadlock would ever be broken. So had he decided that enough was enough? That while she might accept this loveless marriage he certainly would not?
She stared out at the Palace gardens, where autumn was beginning to rob the landscape of the last of the flowers, and she bit back the sob which was forming in her throat. She might as well have given her written permission for him to go away and have an affair with someone!
Whose advice could she ask? No one’s. That was the trouble. No one to tell, or to confide in. Oh, she liked Ella a lot, and they got along just fine. But Ella was her sister-in-law and she would be bound to tell Nico, and then everyone would know how bad things were between her and Guido.
And wouldn’t that destabilise everyone—especially with the King lying there, so sick?
&nbs
p; She turned away from the gardens to look at herself in the mirror. Her bump was really very noticeable now, though the rest of her was still very slim. In fact, it was only from the side that you could really tell she was pregnant at all. She was wearing jeans and a beautiful floaty shirt made of velvet and silk and bits of feather, which she had bought in one of Solajoya’s more exclusive boutiques.
Her skin was the clearest it had ever been and her eyes were as shining as her hair. In some ways she had never looked better. Pregnancy suited her, as did the clean air of Mardivino and the wonderful fresh food which was served to her every day.
But all this meant nothing. She had allowed the distance between herself and Guido to flourish and grow, with each trying to outdo the other in terms of stubbornness. If a stalemate had been reached, then someone had to break it. And if Guido was too proud then it would have to be her. And wasn’t it only fear which was stopping her? The fear that if she let him get close to her then it would open up the floodgates around her heart and let out all those feelings she had bottled up?
She bit her lip. He had been gone over a week now. Maybe it was too late. Maybe even now he was in bed with another sooty-eyed blonde—someone who didn’t ‘mean’ anything, but who could provide him with the physical comfort his wife was steadfastedly refusing to give.
Pain and regret and jealousy lanced through her heart and she closed her eyes before coming to a decision.
She would fly to New York!
Obviously she’d need to clear it with Gianferro first, but what was the point of being a princess if you couldn’t just fly to America on a whim? But she would beg Gianferro’s silence, for she wanted it to be a surprise.
She just prayed it would be a pleasant one…
The sound of the doorbell punctured the sultry wail of the music, and Guido narrowed his eyes with irritation. Who the hell was that, and why the hell had they been allowed up? He had specifically told the porter that he did not want to be disturbed….
The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 10
