by Jennie Lucas
‘Yes, well, one day you’ll be old too,’ Mrs Baker said. ‘And what will you have to show for your life? A fancy house and more money than you can poke a stick at, but no one to mop your brow when you have one of your headaches, no one to smile at you and tell you they love you more than life itself. A blind man could see Bella isn’t capable of spilling her guts to the press. She’s open with people, but that’s what’s so loveable about her. She wears her heart on her sleeve. No, that leak to the press was the work of her mother.’ She slapped the paper on his desk. ‘You can read all about Claudia Alvarez’s exclusive interview on her daughter’s charity efforts on page twenty.’
Edoardo frowned as he looked at the paper lying on his desk. He had already considered the possibility that Bella wasn’t responsible for that leak to the press. He knew what journalists were like. And, yes, Mrs Baker was right; Bella was like an open book when it came to her feelings.
But it didn’t change a thing.
He didn’t want to expose himself to the pain of loving someone, especially someone like Bella. She was flighty and impulsive. How long would it be before she fell in love with someone else? He would feel abandoned all over again. He couldn’t bear to feel that wretched feeling of having no one—no one at all.
He was fine on his own. He was used to it.
He would get used to it again.
Sure, it had been miserably lonely around here without her. The house seemed too big for him now; the empty rooms mocked him as he wandered past. His bedroom was the worst. He could barely stand to be in there with the lingering trace of Bella’s perfume haunting him. The long, wide corridors echoed with his solitary footsteps. It even felt colder in spite of him cranking up the heating. Even Fergus kept looking up at him with a hangdog look on his face, reminding him that all the colour and joy had gone out of his life. He had sent it out of his life. He had sent Bella away when the one thing he wanted was to have her close.
He raised his gaze back to the housekeeper’s. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’ he asked.
Mrs Baker pursed her lips. ‘That girl loves you,’ she said. ‘And you love her but you’re too darned stubborn to tell her. You’re even too stubborn to admit it to yourself.’
‘Will that be all?’ he asked with an arched brow.
‘She’s probably crying herself to sleep every night,’ she said. ‘Her father would be spinning in his grave; I’m sure of it. He thought you would do the right thing by her. But you’ve abandoned her when she needed you the most.’
He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I don’t want to listen to this.’ I know I’ve been a stupid fool. I don’t need my housekeeper to tell me. I need time to think how I’m going to dig my way out of this and win Bella back. Is there a way to win her back? Isn’t it already too late?
Mrs Baker’s eyes watered up. ‘This is her home,’ she said. ‘She belongs here.’
‘I know,’ he said as he expelled a long, uneven breath. ‘That’s why I’m sending her the deeds. The lawyers are sorting it out as we speak.’
Mrs Baker’s eyes rounded. ‘You’re not going to live here any more?’
‘No.’ Giving up Haverton Manor was the easy bit. Losing Bella was the thing that gutted him the most. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? What would the rest of his life be like if she went off and married someone else? What if she had their children instead of his? How could he bear it? He wanted her. He loved her. He adored her. She was his world, his future, his heart. But it was too late. He had hurt her terribly. She would never forgive him now. He didn’t dare hope she would. He was already preparing himself for the disappointment. It was best if he took himself out of the picture and let her get on with her life. He had never belonged in it in the first place.
‘But what about Fergus?’ Mrs Baker asked.
‘Bella can look after him,’ he said. ‘He’s her father’s dog, after all.’
‘But that old dog loves you,’ she said. ‘How can you just walk away?’
He gave her a grim look. ‘It’s for the best.’
* * *
Bella spent the first few days at the orphanage in a state of deep culture-shock. She barely ate or slept. It wasn’t that the children weren’t being cared for properly, more that she couldn’t quite get her head or her heart around the fact that the little babies and children she played with daily had nobody in their lives other than the orphanage workers. She spent most nights sobbing herself to sleep at their heartbreaking plight. Each day from dawn till late at night she gathered them close and tried to give them all the love and joy they had missed out on. She showered them with affection and praise. She played with them and read to them; she even sang to them with the few nursery rhymes she remembered from her own early childhood before her mother had left.
‘You will exhaust yourself if you don’t take a proper break now and again,’ Tasanee, one of the senior workers, said during Bella’s second week.
Bella kissed the top of an eight-week-old baby girl’s downy head as she cradled her close against her chest. ‘I don’t want to put Lawan down until she goes to sleep,’ she said. ‘She cries unless someone is holding her. She must be missing her mother. She must sense she’s never coming back.’ And I know what it’s like to feel so alone and abandoned.
‘It is sad that her mother and father died,’ Tasanee said as she touched the baby’s cheek with her finger. ‘But we have a couple lined up to adopt her. The paperwork is being processed. She will have a good life. It is easier for the babies; they don’t remember their real parents. It’s the older ones who have the most trouble adjusting.’
Bella looked across to where a group of children were playing. There was a little boy of about five who was standing on the outside of the group. He didn’t join in the noisy game. He didn’t interact with anyone. He just stood there watching everything with a serious look on his face. He reminded her of Edoardo. How frightening it must have been for him to feel so alone, to face daily the horrible abuse from a vindictive stepfather. Bella ached for the little boy he had once been. She ached for the future she so desperately wanted with him but now could never have. She determined she would do all she could for each and every one of these children so that they would not suffer what he had suffered.
‘Miss Haverton?’ Sumalee, another one of the orphanage helpers, came across to Bella once she had put Lawan down for her nap. ‘This came for you in the post.’
Bella took the A4 envelope. ‘Thanks.’ She peeled it open and took out the document inside. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw what it was. ‘I think there’s been a mistake...’
‘What’s wrong?’ Sumalee asked.
Bella gnawed at her lip as she shuffled through the other papers that had come with the deeds to Haverton Manor. ‘I think I might have to go back to Britain to sort this out...’
‘Will you come back soon?’ Sumalee said.
Bella tucked the document back inside the envelope and gave the young girl a quick, reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘I have to see a man about a dog.’
* * *
Edoardo was loading the last of his things in his car when he saw a sports car come speeding up the driveway. Fergus got up from the front step and started wagging his tail, a soft whine sounding from his throat. ‘For God’s sake, don’t gush,’ Edoardo said out of the side of his mouth. ‘She’s probably only back to argue over some of the fine print.’
Bella got out of the car and came towards him, bringing the scent of spring flowers with her. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she asked, waving a sheet of paper at him.
‘It’s yours,’ Edoardo said. ‘The manor is yours, and so is Fergus.’
Her brows jammed together over her nose. ‘Are you without any feeling at all?’ she asked. ‘That dog loves you. How
can you just—’ she waved her hands about theatrically ‘—just hand him over like a parcel you don’t want?’
‘I can’t take him with me.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Away.’
‘Away where?’
He slammed the boot. ‘I don’t belong here. It’s your home, not mine.’
She shoved the papers at him. ‘I don’t want it.’
He shoved the papers back. ‘I don’t want it either,’ he said.
She glowered at him. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Your father was wrong to give me your home,’ he said. ‘This is your last connection with him. I don’t feel right about taking it from you.’
‘It’s your last connection with him too,’ she said.
He gave a shrug. ‘Yes, well, I have plenty of memories that will make up for that.’
‘You can’t just walk away,’ Bella said. ‘What about Fergus? I thought you loved him.’
Edoardo bent down and ruffled the old dog’s ears. ‘I do love him,’ he said. ‘He’s been an amazing friend.’ He straightened. ‘But it’s time I moved on.’
‘So you’re just going to leave?’ she asked.
‘It’s for the best, Bella,’ he said.
‘The best for whom?’ she asked. ‘Fergus is going to pine for you; you know he will. And what about Mrs Baker? She’s devoted her life to looking after you. Are you just going to walk away from everyone who loves you?’
He opened the driver’s door of his car. ‘Goodbye, Bella.’
Bella put her hands on her hips. ‘You’re not going to say it, are you?’ she said. ‘You’re too proud or too stubborn or both to admit that you care for someone. That you need someone, that you actually love someone.’
His eyes met hers. ‘Will telling you I love you erase the horrible things I said to you?’ he asked.
She gave a huffy lift of one shoulder, her expression still cross. ‘I don’t know... It wouldn’t hurt to try.’
Edoardo felt a corner of his mouth lift up. How cute was she, with that haughty look on her face? She was trying to be angry but he could see the love shining through the cracks of her armour. It gave him hope. It eased the painful ache of impending disappointment he always carried with him. ‘Will telling you I love you make you forgive me for sending you away like that?’ he asked.
She gave another little shrug, but this time a tiny sparkle came into her eyes. ‘I don’t mind a bit of grovelling when it’s warranted,’ she said.
Edoardo looked into her toffee-brown eyes and felt a giant wave of emotion roll through him. How could he not love her? Hadn’t he always loved her? When had he not loved her? ‘I guess I’d better get started, then,’ he said. ‘This could take a while. You’re not in a hurry, are you?’
Her eyes glinted some more. ‘I’ll make the time,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.’
He took a breath as he captured both of her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry for what I said, for how I treated you, for how I pushed you away.’ He pulled her into his chest, burying his head against the side of her neck. ‘I’m not the right person for you. I don’t know how to love someone without holding back.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she said, pulling back to look up at him with adoring eyes. ‘You do know how to love. I’ve seen it in so many ways. You’re exactly like my father. You don’t say it with words. You say it in actions.’
He stroked her face as if he couldn’t quite believe she was here in person. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe I sent you away like that. It was cruel and heartless. But if it’s any consolation, I hurt myself just as much. Maybe that’s why I did it. On some deeply subconscious level, I didn’t feel I deserved to be loved by you.’
‘I didn’t betray you to the press,’ she said with a solemn look. ‘Not intentionally, at least. I just didn’t like the way everyone was making you out to be the one at fault. It made me so angry. I wanted to put them straight.’
‘I know you didn’t do it on purpose,’ he said. ‘I think I knew that from the start. I was just looking for an excuse to send you away. You got too close. I wasn’t able to handle it. I’ve spent most of my life pushing people away—even people who cared about me.’
Bella nestled closer. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I love everything about you. I think I probably always have.’
He put her from him so he could meet her gaze. ‘I think your father knew that,’ he said. ‘He was so afraid you would rush off and marry the first man who asked you. He made me promise to keep you from marrying anyone before you were twenty-five. But it looks like I’m going to have to break my promise to him after all.’
She looked at him quizzically. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
Bella gaped at him. ‘But I thought you never wanted to...?’
‘That was before,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the error of my ways. Besides, what am I going to say to Mrs Baker? She’s going to have my guts for garters if I don’t do the right thing by you.’
Bella looped her arms around his neck and smiled at him. ‘We can’t have Mrs Baker upset, now, can we?’
He grinned at her. ‘So, is that a yes?’
Her eyes were brimming with happy tears as she looked up at him. ‘When have I ever been able to say no to you?’
He cupped her face in his hands and locked his gaze on hers. ‘I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone before, but I plan to say it every day for the rest of our lives.’
She smiled up at him radiantly. ‘I love you too.’
‘I want to have a baby with you,’ he said, rubbing his nose against hers. ‘Maybe even two babies. And then maybe we can adopt a couple of children.’
‘I want that too,’ she said, letting out a little sigh of bliss. ‘I want it so much.’
‘Then we’d better get started, don’t you think?’ he said.
‘What?’ she said, pretending to be shocked. ‘Right now?’
‘Right now,’ he said and scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the house.
* * * * *
Bartering Her Innocence
By Trish Morey
Contents
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
CHAPTER ONE
THE last time Tina Henderson saw Luca Barbarigo, he was naked. Gloriously, unashamedly, heart-stoppingly naked. A specimen of virile masculine perfection—if you discounted the violent slash of red across his rigid jaw.
As for what had come afterwards...
Oh God. It was bad enough to remember the last time she’d seen him. She didn’t want to remember anything that came after that. She must have misheard. Her mother could not mean that man. Life could not be that cruel. She clenched a slippery hand harder around the receiver, trying to get a better grip on what her mother was asking.
‘Who...who did you say again?’
‘Are you listening to me, Valentina? I need you to talk to Luca Barbarigo. I need you to make him see reason.’
Impossible. She’d told herself she’d never see him again.
More than that. She’d promised herself.
‘Valentina! You have to come. I need you here. Now!’
Tina pinch
ed the bridge of her nose between her fingers trying to block the conflicting memories—the images that were seared on her brain from the most amazing night of her life, the sight of him naked as he’d risen from the bed, all long powerful legs, a back that could have been sculpted in marble, right down to the twin dimples at the base of his spine—and then the mix master of emotions, the anger and turmoil—the anguish and despair—for what had come afterwards.
She pinched harder, seeking to blot out the dull ache in her womb, trying to direct her shocked emotions into anger. And she was angry, and not just about what had happened in the past. Because how typical was it that the first time her mother actually called her in more than a year, it wasn’t to wish her a belated happy birthday, as she’d foolishly imagined, but because Lily needed something.
When did Lily not need something, whether it was attention, or money or adulation from a long and seemingly endless line of husbands and lovers?
And now she foolishly imagined Tina would drop everything and take off for Venice to reason with the likes of Luca Barbarigo?
Not a chance.
Besides, it was impossible. Venice was half a world away from the family farm in Australia where she was also needed right now. No, whatever disagreement her mother had with Luca Barbarigo, she was just going to have to sort it out for herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began, casting a reassuring glance towards her father across the room to signal everything was under control. A call from Lily put everyone on edge. ‘But there’s no way I can—’
‘But you have to do something!’ her mother shrieked down the telephone line, so loud that she had to hold the receiver away from her ear. ‘He’s threatening to throw me out of my home! Don’t you understand?’ she insisted. ‘You have to come!’ before following it with a torrent of French, despite the fact that Lily D’Areincourt Beauchamp was English born and bred. The language switch came as no surprise—her mother often employed that tactic when she wanted to sound more impassioned. Neither was the melodrama. As long as she had known Lily, there was always melodrama.
