A marriage built on a lie...
Until her pregnancy test confirms the truth!
Claudia Buscetta is swept off her feet by Ciro Trapani. Their wedding night is everything she dreamed of—but then she overhears Ciro’s confession: the marriage was his way of avenging his father. Heartbroken Claudia prepares to walk away from him forever...only to discover she’s pregnant!
Driven Ciro is suddenly bound irrevocably to his enemy’s daughter! Claudia is far from the pampered “princess” he imagined. And living with her sparks a fierce battle...between his quest for revenge and his burning desire for his wife!
Claudia was pregnant.
Placing a hand on her still-flat belly, she closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. Now that the shock and pain of Ciro’s betrayal had dimmed to a dull ache, her path was clear, and real unfettered freedom beckoned.
After two weeks spent thinking and planning and channeling her heroines, she knew what she had to do.
She had to leave Sicily. Whatever happened, she would not raise her child here. Her father’s reach was too great. She would be at his mercy—and so would her child.
She would never be again.
And nor would she go running to her sister, Imma, not unless worse came to worst and it became absolutely necessary. She prayed for her child’s sake that it didn’t. She prayed that she could build a cordiality with her enemy.
Just reaching for her phone set her heart off at a canter. She spoke into it. “Unblock Ciro.” Like magic, her phone unblocked him. She spoke into it again. “Call Ciro.”
She only had to wait two rings before he answered. “Claudia?”
Michelle Smart’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Harlequin book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading—and writing—them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.
Books by Michelle Smart
Harlequin Presents
Her Greek Wedding Night Debt
Conveniently Wed!
The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella
Cinderella Seductions
A Cinderella to Secure His Heir
The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella
Passion in Paradise
A Passionate Reunion in Fiji
Rings of Vengeance
Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge
Marriage Made in Blackmail
Billionaire’s Baby of Redemption
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Michelle Smart
A Baby to Bind His Innocent
This book is for my partner in crime, Louise Fuller. Thank you for making Ciro and Claudia’s book such a joy to write. xxx
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM VOWS TO SAVE HIS CROWN BY KATE HEWITT
PROLOGUE
‘WE MUST FIX THIS.’ Ciro Trapani drained his bourbon and fixed his eyes on his brother’s shattered face.
The past four days had seen Vicenzu age by a decade. The ready smile had been lost, and the always amused eyes were now dank, murky pools of grief. And guilt.
They both shared the grief and guilt, but for Vicenzu the guilt was double.
After a long pause, in which Vicenzu drained his own drink, he finally met Ciro’s stare. His features twisted and he gave a sharp nod.
‘We have to get it back,’ Ciro stated. ‘All of it.’
Another nod.
Ciro leaned forward. He needed to be certain that whatever they agreed today, Vicenzu would stick to it.
The family business was gone. Stolen.
The family home was gone. Stolen.
Their father was dead.
Ciro had looked up to his brother his entire life and, while their personalities and temperaments differed, they’d always been close. The man sharing a table with him in this Palermo bar was a stranger. He knew Vicenzu thought they should wait for a decent mourning period to pass before they did anything to avenge their father but the fury in Ciro needed to put plans into action now. And Vicenzu needed to play his part. What had been stolen would be recovered by whatever means necessary. Their devastated mother needed her home back.
‘Vicenzu?’
His brother slumped in his chair and closed his eyes. After another long pause, he finally spoke. ‘Yes, I know what I have to do, and I’ll do it. I will take the business back.’
Ciro pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. Cesare Buscetta, their father’s childhood tormentor, the thief who’d legally stolen their parents’ business and home, had gifted the business to his oldest daughter, the inappropriately named Immacolata. Right then, Ciro did not believe Vicenzu had the wits about him to take her on and win. Vicenzu had always been closer to their father than Ciro. His sudden death four days ago and the subsequent revelations of everything that had been stolen had all contributed to mute his brother’s natural exuberance and turn him into this lost ghost-like person.
Vicenzu must have recognised the cynicism in his brother’s expression for he straightened. ‘I will get the business back, Ciro. This is my responsibility. Mine.’
‘You are sure you can handle it?’ A question he would never have needed to pose four days ago before their world had been ripped apart. Getting the family home back would be a much easier task. Cesare had gifted the house to his younger daughter. From what Ciro had gleaned about the reclusive Claudia Buscetta, she was a spoilt, pampered princess with a brain that compared unfavourably to a rocking horse.
His brother’s nostrils flared, a glimmer of the old spark flashing from his eyes. ‘Yes. You get the house back for Mamma and leave the business to me.’
Ciro contemplated him a little longer before inclining his head. ‘As you wish.’ He caught a passing bartender’s eye and indicated another round of drinks for them before addressing his brother again. ‘You must stop blaming yourself. You weren’t to know. Papà should have confided in us.’ That he hadn’t was something they would both have to live with.
‘If I hadn’t borrowed all that money from him he would never have been forced to sell.’
‘If I’d made more visits home I would have been on hand to help,’ Ciro countered grimly. This was the guilt that lay so heavily in him. He hadn’t been home to Sicily since Christmas. The sabotage against his father had started in the new year. ‘Papà should have told you—told both of us—how precarious the family finances were but what’s done is done. The only person to blame is that bastard Cesare. And his daughters,’ he added, his top lip curling with distaste.
Fresh drinks were placed before them. Ciro raised his glass aloft. ‘To vengeance.’
‘To vengeance,’ Vicenzu echoed.
They clinked their glasses and knocked back the fiery liquid.
The plan was sealed.
CHAPTER ONE
One week later
CLA
UDIA BUSCETTA WIPED the copper worktop clean, listening hard to the romantic story being narrated on her audio device, her heart so full she didn’t know how to contain it.
She’d only lived under this roof for ten days but already it felt like home. This was no ostentatious show home like the sprawling villa she’d grown up in. This was a true home, with a wonderfully equipped kitchen in which she could bake to her heart’s content, and a vegetable garden and orchard large enough for her to grow all the fruit and vegetables she could manage.
For the first time in her twenty-one years, Claudia was all alone...unless she counted the security guards her father had posted outside the grounds. He’d wanted to have them housed inside with her but mercifully her older sister, Immacolata, had made him see reason. After all, the business Imma had been gifted adjoined the farmhouse and its estate that their father had bestowed on Claudia. Imma would be on hand to help if Claudia got into any difficulty, just as she’d always been there to help throughout her life.
Of course, her father had made her promise never to leave her new home alone. She must always be accompanied by two bodyguards. As if she could go anywhere without them! She couldn’t drive. The nearest village was a mile away on top of the hill filled with the olive groves that constituted the main part of Imma’s new business but there were no shops there. If Claudia wanted to go shopping she needed to be driven.
A loud buzz rang out, startling her. Pausing the audiobook, she pressed the intercom her father had installed on the kitchen wall. ‘Hello?’
One of the security guards spoke. ‘There is a Ciro Trapani here to see you.’
‘Who?’
‘Ciro Trapani.’
The name meant nothing to her. ‘What does he want?’
‘He says it’s a private matter.’
‘My father has approved this?’ She supposed he must have done if the security guards were prepared to give her the choice of letting this Ciro man into her new sanctuary. Claudia’s approval was only required after her father had given his. That was the way of her world.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Let him in.’
Curious, she opened the front door and stood outside to wait. A sleek black car drove slowly towards her. She caught the tail-end of the electric gates closing in the distance.
The car came to a stop in front of the triple garage to the side of the farmhouse. Strange. Her visitors so far, which had consisted of her father, her sister and the family lawyer, had all parked at the front of the house.
Her curiosity evaporated when the driver unfolded himself out of the car and she found herself staring at the sexiest man to have ever graced her eyes. Impossibly tall, with thick dark hair in a quiff and oozing vitality, he could have walked off the cover of a men’s health magazine.
He sauntered towards her with an easy laconic stroll and an even easier laconic smile on a face hidden beneath aviator shades.
Noting the hand-stitched dark grey suit he wore over an open-necked pale blue shirt and polished black brogues, Claudia surreptitiously dusted off the flour still clinging to her long black cotton top and silently kicked herself for not changing out of her jeans, which had grass stains at the knees from her early-morning bout of weeding.
When he reached her, he pulled the shades off and fixed her with a dimpled smile that would make a nun’s knees go weak. Fitting, seeing as it made her knees go weak and she’d once seriously contemplated joining a convent.
‘Miss Buscetta?’ Green eyes sparkled. A large hand with a glimpse of fine dark hair at his wrist extended towards her.
That voice. Oh, it was rich and deep and it made her toes grind into her slippers.
A crease appeared in his handsome brow and, with horror, she realised she’d been too busy gawping at him to either reply or take his offered hand.
But was it any wonder? She’d never met a man like this before. The only men outside her family she was acquainted with were her father’s employees.
Pulling herself together, she clasped the long, tapered fingers with her own and felt a surge of warmth flow through her veins. Unsettled, she quickly released them.
‘I’m Ciro Trapani. Forgive me for turning up like this but I was in the neighbourhood. Would you mind very much if I were to say goodbye to this place?’
Now Claudia’s brow was the one to crease. Say goodbye? What on earth was he talking about?
He flashed his dimpled grin at her again. ‘This estate belonged to my parents. I grew up in this house. They sold it to your father before I had a chance to say goodbye to it.’
‘You lived here?’ Claudia knew nothing about the previous owners other than their obvious love for their home.
‘For the first eighteen years of my life, yes. I live in America now but this has always been home to me. My only regret is that I never came back to Sicily in time to say goodbye before the deeds were transferred.’
Oh, the poor man. How sad for him. Claudia would always make regular visits to the villa she’d been raised in so had had no need to say goodbye.
He must have taken her silence for a refusal for he raised his broad shoulders and shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a stranger to you. I was being sentimental. I’ll leave you to get on with your day.’
When he turned his back and took a step away, she realised he was going to leave. ‘You can come in.’
He looked back at her, a quizzical expression on his handsome face. ‘I don’t want to impose.’
She laced her fingers together. ‘You’re not imposing.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Definitely.’ She swept an arm towards the door. ‘Please, come in.’
Ciro followed her inside, hiding his smirk of satisfaction at how easily he’d made it through the doors. A week of careful preparation and things were going exactly to plan.
‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she asked as she led him to the kitchen.
‘That would be great, thank you. Something smells good.’
She blushed. ‘I’ve been baking. Please, take a seat.’
While she busied herself with the coffee machine, Ciro sat himself at a kitchen table that should never have been placed there and took the opportunity to study her. He must not allow himself to take too much notice of all the new kitchen furnishings or the fury he had under tight control would explode from him and his thirst for revenge would be over before it began.
He’d been all for coming straight to the house after he’d made his pact with Vicenzu. Patience had never been one of his strengths but he’d had enough awareness to know he couldn’t meet Claudia Buscetta until he had his emotions under a better degree of control.
She was much prettier than he’d envisaged. Chestnut hair with subtle gold highlights was tied in a loose plait that fell halfway down her back and framed a beguiling face with huge dark brown eyes, pretty rounded cheekbones, a snub nose and generous lips. Shorter than he’d envisaged too, she looked slender beneath the shapeless oversized top she wore. That she had a wholesome air of innocence he considered laughable but her attractiveness was welcome. It would make his seduction more palatable.
‘Where in America do you live?’ she asked as she opened a cupboard and removed two mugs from it. This particular cupboard had, until less than two weeks ago, contained an abundance of dried pasta. The shelf beside it that had housed his mother’s recipe books now had colourful ornaments on it.
‘New York.’
‘Isn’t New York dangerous?’
‘No more dangerous than any other major city.’
Her perplexed eyes met his briefly. ‘Oh. I thought...’ She blinked, shook her head and opened the fridge. ‘How do you take your coffee?’
‘Black, no sugar.’
The oven’s timer went off. It was such a familiar sound that Ciro clenched his hands into fists to stop fresh rage bursting
out. His childhood had been punctuated with that timer beeping, always followed moments later by his mother’s call for dinner.
Protecting her hands with oven gloves, Claudia removed the item, filling the kitchen with even more of that evocative pastry scent. By the time she’d finished, the coffee was ready. She brought the mugs to the table and sat across from him. When she met his eye he was intrigued to see a flush cover her cheeks before she darted her gaze away.
‘How are you settling in?’ he asked.
‘Very well.’ She jumped back to her feet. ‘Biscuit?’
‘Sure.’
She returned with a ceramic tub and removed the lid. ‘I made these yesterday so they should still be fresh.’
He helped himself and took a bite. Immediately, his mouth filled with heaven. ‘These are amazing.’
The same flush of pleasure as when he’d complimented the smell that had filled the kitchen covered her face again. ‘Thank you... Would you like some of the apricot tart when it’s cooled down? If you’re still here...’ More colour stained her face. ‘I’m sure you have things to be getting on with.’
‘Actually, I don’t.’ He took a sip of his coffee and eyed her openly. ‘I’m on a short vacation.’
‘Oh?’
‘My father died recently. I’m trying to sort his affairs and help my mother.’
Her next, ‘Oh,’ had a very different inflection. ‘I’m sorry. That’s awful. I didn’t know.’
Sure you didn’t, he thought cynically. He only died the day after your father legally stole this house for you.
‘He had a heart attack.’
She was an excellent actress for her large, soft brown eyes brimmed with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling.’
‘Like I’ve been shot in the heart. He was only sixty.’
‘That’s no age.’
‘No age at all. We assumed he had decades left.’ He gave a theatrical shake of his head. Claudia Buscetta might be an excellent actress but she had nothing on Ciro, who’d had a week to prepare for this moment and knew exactly how he was going to orchestrate things. ‘It’s the regrets that play on the mind. If I ever marry and have children—which I really hope to do if I ever fall in love—he won’t meet them. My children will grow up not knowing their grandfather. If I’d known the stress he was under...’ He gave another shake of his head.
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