‘Guido…’
‘Shh.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then wrapped his palm around it very firmly and led her over to the crib. In silence they stood there, looking down on their daughter. Her dark lashes were like crescent moons on her perfect skin, and her little rosebud of a mouth pursed itself and made tiny sucking noises. One miniature arm was raised above her head, and it ended in a tiny clenched fist.
‘Do you think she’ll be a fighter?’ he whispered.
And Lucy recognised that she had so nearly thrown in the towel and given up on Guido.
‘Oh, I hope so,’ she answered fervently. ‘I really hope so.’
EPILOGUE
IT WASN’T all plain sailing from there on in—of course it wasn’t. No marriage ever was, and especially not one which had started out like Lucy and Guido’s. Guido had much to learn, and so did Lucy—about living together, about being newly-weds and new parents—oh, the list went on and on!
Mainly they had to learn about each other, but the magical thing was that they both wanted to—with a passion which made the steep learning curve seem like a doddle, and all the little hiccups fade into insignificance.
What had started as a tiny thaw in the ice which surrounded Guido’s heart melted under the onslaught of the love given to him by his wife and his daughter. It was crazy, but love really did change everything—the way he felt, the way he viewed the world, and his place in it.
His own love flourished, and he learned that to show it did not make him less of a man, but more—for it made him a complete man. And as Guido’s love grew, so Lucy basked in it, growing more secure and more confident—certainly enough for the feisty streak in her nature to re-emerge.
The two of them were back to their magnificent combative best! In fact, as Gianferro remarked rather drily to Guido, it was something of a relief for the rest of the family now the house he’d had built for them in Lejana was finished!
It was, Lucy decided, the most beautiful house she had ever seen. So airy and light and full of windows—all the better to see the commanding sapphire of the nearby sea, which beat and roared and filled the air with its siren music.
The grounds sloped down to their own private beach—where Nicole would learn to swim and sail, taught by her father, who these days had the time.
Because Lucy had been right all along, Guido realised. She had told him often enough that he was achieving for the sake of achievement’s sake, and he didn’t need to do it any more. If he wasn’t careful then life would pass him by while he was tying up unnecessary deals. And now that he had a family of his own the lure of making money in his property business had begun to pale—especially if you looked at it with the cool logic he always liked to employ—except maybe where his wife was concerned.
Even if you discounted his inherited wealth—which he had put into a Trust Fund for Nicole and any future children—he had earned all the money he could want, and more.
So he’d stopped wheeling and dealing across the globe, and put his energies into Mardivino instead—and his expertise in property stood him in good stead to advise on issues of architecture and planning.
As a couple, they stayed away from a lot of Royal functions—unless, as Lucy joked, they needed to ‘swell the numbers’. They were happy to help out when needed, but that was all. Guido hated the rigidity of Court life, and Lucy wanted to create for him as normal and as happy a nuclear family as she could. The kind he had grown up missing…
The two of them were sitting on their terrace one evening, watching the setting sun sink like a blazing lollipop into the vast sea. It was the end of a baking hot summer day—there had been a family picnic, and the last of their guests had gone. Nico and Ella and Leo had been there—Ella pregnant with their second child, being fussed over by her husband, while their son played happily on the sand with Nicole, watched by an ever-attentive nanny.
Gianferro had—surprisingly—agreed to make a place in his busy schedule to come, too. As the King’s health declined, so Gianferro’s workload increased. Lucy had thought how utterly exhausted he looked as she watched him build a sandcastle for Leo to demolish, and how rare it was to see him let his guard down.
Bathed in the red-gold light of the setting sun, Lucy turned to her husband, revelling in the fact that his lean, hard body could look so relaxed these days. When she had first known him he had been so fired-up—always restless—as if he had been constantly seeking something but hadn’t quite known what it was. Had he found it?
‘Didn’t you think Gianferro looked tired today?’ she questioned slowly.
Guido shrugged. ‘No more than usual.’
‘Well, I think he drives himself too hard.’
‘But that, cara mia, is the natural consequence of his destiny.’
‘Can’t you and Nico help him a bit more?’
He surveyed her with a small sigh of satisfaction—for her heart was deep and generous. With each day that passed his regard for her as a woman increased, and sometimes he wondered what he had ever done to deserve such a woman as this.
‘No, my love,’ he answered simply. ‘We cannot. For one day Gianferro will be King, and Kings must always reign alone.’
Lucy’s heart melted. ‘How lonely it must be.’
‘Inevitably.’
‘And he doesn’t even have a wife—nor any sign of one!’
Guido’s eyes narrowed. ‘That, of course, is an entirely different concern—and one which it is within his power to change. For he needs to have children if he wants to continue his bloodline. If not, then our own children stand in line to rule Mardivino one day.’
Lucy had known this on some unacknowledged level, but hearing Guido say it made the prospect seem frighteningly real. Her eyes widened. ‘You don’t want that for them, do you?’
He tried to imagine his little Nicole as Queen and his mouth tightened. It was hard to think of any child of his having to endure the trappings and tribulations of Majesty, but he forced himself to let his misgivings go, as Lucy had taught him. For what was the point of worrying about something which might never happen?
‘No, I do not,’ he said softly. ‘But I cannot fight what might come to pass—I must embrace it wholeheartedly. We will wait and see what transpires.’
‘Perhaps we ought to try and find a wife for Gianferro!’
He raised his dark eyebrows by a fraction as he pictured quite clearly his eldest brother’s reaction to such an attempt at matchmaking. He would be outraged! ‘Or perhaps not,’ he said drily.
Lucy bit her lip. ‘Do you think…do you think he’ll ever marry for love?’
‘Ahh…’ He held his hand out to her and Lucy took it, going to sit on his knee, her hands holding on to his broad, strong shoulders as if he were her anchor in a choppy sea. He shook his head. ‘No, I do not—he is not in a position to allow himself such a luxury.’
She affected indignation. ‘So you think that love is a luxury, do you?’
He smiled. ‘No, my darling,’ he said softly, and lifted his fingertips to touch the silken surface of her cheek. ‘I think it is a necessity.’
She saw the sudden fierceness of his expression, heard the intensity behind his words, and she waited, a little flicker of hope burning away in her heart as she looked at him expectantly. For while Guido had learned to show his love in every way that counted he was still slow to speak it. It was as though—even for a man who could already speak four fluently—the language of love was the hardest of all!
‘You are my world, Lucy,’ he said simply, and he could see her beautiful mouth begin to wobble. That fleeting trace of insecurity both wounded him and spurred him on to tell her how much she meant to him. How very much. ‘As vital to me as the water I drink and the air that I breathe. You are the sun that rises in the morning and the moon that lights my evening sky.’ There was a pause, heavy with emotion, as he lifted her chin and dazzled her with the ebony fire from his eyes. ‘I love you, cara Lucy. And I lay down my life for y
ou.’
‘Oh…oh, Guido…Guido.’ She was not aware that a tear had begun to trickle its way down her cheek—not until he gave a soft smile and traced its path with the tip of his finger, then solemnly lifted the finger to his mouth to suck the salt away.
‘No tears,’ he said. ‘No tears. Why are you crying when I have just told you how much I love you?’
She nodded, gulping them back. ‘Because…because that’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me!’
‘I should think so, too!’ he said fervently. ‘For I am your husband!’
‘Yes.’ Her husband. Her lover. Her friend. Father to her child and—oh, so much more than that. For he was her sun, too—and her moon and her stars. As vital and vibrant as the mighty sea which filled their house with such incomparable light. ‘I love you so much, Guido,’ she said shakily.
He took her into his arms and began to stroke her until she relaxed, as molten and as malleable as soft wax, and at some point the stroking stopped and the kissing began. Deep, searching kisses—silent declarations of feelings which were bigger than both of them.
And some time after that he pulled her down onto the wooden decking of the moonwashed terrace. He slipped off the bikini she wore, and slid off his shorts—and when he entered her it felt like the most elemental thing which had ever happened to her. And the most precious. As if all those acts of fulfilling love had merely been a rehearsal for this, the real thing.
There was just the sound of lips exploring and small sighs of wonder as their bodies moved in harmony—like the planets which danced in the heavens around them—until at last their cries of mutual pleasure rang out and were lost in the music of the waves.
‘I love you, Lucy,’ he murmured against her lips.
‘I love you, too,’ she murmured back.
He kissed her hair and yawned, and began to wriggle into sleep, and Lucy rested her face against the muffled pounding of his heart and sighed with pure happiness as his naked body enfolded hers.
It was a very good thing, she decided, just before her eyes closed, that theirs was such a private house…
With thanks for such wonderful help to:
Neale Hunt—Advertising Maestro.
Paul McLaughlin—Editor of Kroll Inc.’s Report on Fraud.
The Prince of Spin—Olly Wicken.
And to Guy Black, who is a never-ending source of inspiration!
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5904-5
THE PRINCE’S LOVE-CHILD
First North American Publication 2005.
Copyright © 2004 by Sharon Kendrick.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 14
