by Julia James
He paused, his eyes holding Carla’s. Then went on.
‘I do not ask forgiveness for what I did to you—only for...understanding. If you can bring yourself to give me that, then—’
She did not let him finish. ‘I give you both, Cesare—I understand and I forgive! From my heart—believe me!’
Her voice was broken with the urgency of what she said.
His expression changed again, lightening now, and he slid the palm of one hand across her abdomen, catching his breath as he felt the ripening curve of her body. For a moment he closed his eyes, almost unable to believe that this moment had come. A great peace had come upon him, filling his every cell, suffusing his body—his mind and his soul.
He leant towards her, his lips brushing hers, and Carla met them, her eyes fluttering shut as if to contain the immensity of the joy within her. His kiss was warm and deep, and in it were the seeds for a harvest of happiness she would reap all her life.
‘My dearest heart,’ Cesare said. ‘My dearest love.’
He kissed her again—tenderly, cherishingly—this woman he loved, whom he had so nearly lost. Who would now be at his side and in his heart all his life.
For a long, long moment they simply held each other, feeling the closeness of their hearts, feeling the peace of love envelop them. Unite them.
‘My Cesare,’ she whispered.
For now he was hers—truly hers—and all her hopes had been fulfilled, all her fears and losses had gone for ever.
Her fingers slid around the strong nape of his neck, splaying into his raven hair. She knew he was hers and she was his. For all time—now and far beyond mere time.
There was the sound of a knock upon the door, the door opening. Cesare’s steward announced the doctor.
Cesare glanced at Carla. She had a look of dazed happiness on her face that made a smile curve at Cesare’s mouth. Maybe the doctor was not needed. But the woman he loved carried a gift for them both that was infinitely precious.
After greeting the doctor, he left him to his examination and, out in the hall, gave instructions for the best vintage champagne in his extensive cellars to be fetched. Then, in time-honoured fashion he paced outside the bedroom door, until the doctor emerged.
‘Well?’ He pounced immediately.
The doctor nodded. ‘Quite well,’ he pronounced. ‘Fatigue and an excess of emotion, that is all.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Would I be presumptuous,’ he asked, his eyes slightly wary, ‘in offering you, Signor Conte, my felicitations?’
Relief flooded through Cesare. He met the doctor’s eyes. ‘You would not,’ he said decisively.
He spoke deliberately. His steward had returned, ready to show the doctor out. The words Cesare had spoken would be all his steward would require. Within ten minutes every person in the castello would know that a different chatelaine from the one they had been expecting would now be in their future.
His heart, as he went back into his bedroom, was soaring. Carla possessed the one attribute that was all he needed in his wife.
She is the woman I love—and will love all my days.
And he was the man she loved.
What else could matter but that? That was what his ancestor Alessandro had taught him, through his own heart-wrenching regret.
I will not make the mistake he made.
The words seared in his consciousness again as he swept Carla—the woman he loved—into his arms.
‘The doctor tells me all is well.’
His eyes were warm—so warm—and Carla felt her heart turn over. Could she really be this happy? Could she truly be this happy? And yet she was.
This is real, and it is true—it is not my mere hopes and dreams!
Wonder filled her, and then pierced even more as Cesare drew back and with a sudden movement did what she had never seen him do before. He took from his little finger the signet ring engraved with the crest of his house, which he never removed—not for bathing, or swimming, or for any reason—and then reached for her hand again.
His eyes went to her. ‘For my contessa,’ he said, and slid the ring, still warm from his skin, onto her finger.
Then he closed his hand over hers, knuckling her hand under his. He smiled.
‘There’s actually a signet ring specifically for the Contessa,’ he said. ‘My mother wore it always from her wedding day. But for tonight, my dearest love, as we celebrate this moment, wear my ring, which I have never taken from my finger since the day I placed it there—the day my father died.’
She felt her throat catch. So simple a gesture—so profound a meaning. She felt tears well in her eyes again. His hand tightened over hers.
‘No more tears!’ he commanded. ‘I will not permit it!’
Her face quivered into tearful laughter. ‘There speaks il Conte!’
‘Indeed he does,’ he agreed, patting her hand.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then started to draw her to her feet.
‘If you feel ready, mi amore, can you face my household? My steward will now have informed everyone of our news, and I have ordered champagne to be served in the salon. One glass, I am sure, will not harm our child.’
He helped her stand up, and walked with her to the door.
‘And then I am sure you will wish to phone your mother, will you not? I hope she will be glad for you now that she need have no fear that you are repeating her own experience of marriage, and now that she knows how much I love you.’
His expression softened, and Carla felt again that wash of bliss go through her.
Then another emotion caught her. She halted.
‘Cesare—my mother is...controversial,’ she said uneasily. ‘When she sold Guido Viscari’s shares after Vito refused to marry me, Lucia ensured she became persona non grata in Rome—’
‘I think you will find,’ replied Cesare, his voice dry and edged with hauteur, ‘that as my mother-in-law, and grandmother to my heir, she will find no doors closed to her—in Rome, or anywhere else!’
Carla smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged gratefully. ‘Though I know she means to live in Spain now, which makes things easier all round.’
‘She will visit here whenever she wishes,’ Cesare ordained. ‘Starting with our wedding. Which—’ he glanced at her speakingly, his eyes going to the slight swell where their child was growing ‘—I would ask to be as soon as possible.’
She looked at him, her eyes glowing with love. ‘I would marry you tonight! You need only send for your chaplain!’
His hand stilled on the handle of the door before he opened it. ‘Before, you wanted a civil ceremony only.’
Carla shook her head vigorously. ‘Cesare—now I will marry you in your chapel here—before God and all your ancestors. I want our marriage to last all our lives and for all eternity, for that is how long I will love you!’
She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling his strength, his presence, his love for her. Her hand entwined with his, the gold of his signet ring indenting her finger, their hands meshing fast, indissoluble. She felt his hand tighten in return, heard the husk in his voice as he answered her.
‘And it is how long I will love you,’ he promised her.
He took a breath, resolution in his stance as he opened their bedroom door. Beyond was the wide landing, the marble staircase sweeping down to the hall, and waiting there, he knew, would be all his household. Beyond he could see the salon doors thrown wide open, brilliantly lit, and champagne awaiting them all.
He stepped out with Carla, leading her to the head of the stairs. And as they paused for a moment, looking down, applause broke out below. He turned to Carla, raised her hand to his lips, then smiled at her, with a smile as warm as the love in his heart.
‘Ready?’ he murmured.
‘Quite, quite ready,’ she answered.
And at his side—as she would always be now—she went down with him to take her place as the woman he would marry, the woman he would love all his life—his wife and his own true love. One and the same.
* * *
The metre-thick stone walls of the castello’s chapel seemed to absorb all the low murmurings of the small, select congregation, which stilled as the priest—Cesare’s chaplain—raised his hands and began to speak the words of the age-old sacrament.
Inside her breast Carla could feel her heart beating strongly. Emotion filled her—and she felt a low, fine tremble go through her as she stood there, her cream lace gown moulding to the fullness of her ripening figure. Stood beside the man who was her bridegroom. Waiting for him to say the words that would unite them in marriage—as they were already united in love, each for each other, and both of them for the child who would soon be born to them, who would continue the ancient family of which she was now an indissoluble part.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed CARRYING HIS SCANDALOUS HEIR why not explore these other stories by Julia James?
CAPTIVATED BY THE GREEK
A TYCOON TO BE RECKONED WITH
A CINDERELLA FOR THE GREEK
Available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from CHRISTMAS AT THE TYCOON’S COMMAND by Jennifer Hayward.
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Christmas at the Tycoon’s Command
by Jennifer Hayward
CHAPTER ONE
SHE WAS NOT losing this one.
Chloe Russo fixed her gaze on the bright yellow taxi that had appeared like an apparition from heaven in the ferociously snarled First Avenue traffic, its lit number her only chance at salvation in the monsoon that had descended over Manhattan.
Shielding her eyes from the driving rain, she stepped a foot deeper into the layers of honking, snarling traffic and jammed her hand high in the air. The driver of a Bentley sounded his horn furiously as he swerved to avoid her, but Chloe, heart pounding, kept her eyes glued to the taxi driver’s face, willing him to stop.
The taxi slid to a halt in front of her in a cacophony of screeching horns and spraying water. Heart soaring, she waded through the giant puddle that stood between her and victory, flung the door of the taxi open and slid inside, reeling off Evolution’s Fifth Avenue address with a request to step on it that made the cabbie roll his eyes.
“Lady,” he muttered caustically, “have you looked outside?”
She’d been standing in it for half an hour, she wanted to scream. While thirty-five of his coworkers had passed her by—she knew because she’d counted every one of them. But picking a fight with the last remaining cab driver in Manhattan seemed unwise, given her present situation.
She was late for her first board meeting as the director of Evolution’s fragrance division. An inauspicious start.
Her teeth chattered amid a chill that seemed to reach bone-deep. She pushed off the hood of her raincoat and mopped her face with a tissue, thankful for her waterproof mascara. Let out a defeated sigh. She should have left earlier. Had forgotten taxis on a rainy day in Manhattan were akin to spotting a western lowland gorilla in the wild. But in truth, she’d been dreading today and everything about it.
Her cell phone vibrated in her bag. She rooted around to find it as a loud pop song joined the symphony of honking horns. Fingers curling around the sleek metal, she pulled it out and answered it before her grumpy driver deposited her back into the downpour.
“I just landed,” her sister, Mireille, announced. “How are you? How was your flight? Did you get settled in okay? It’s so amazing to have you back in New York.”
The verbal torrent pulled a smile from her lips. “Good, good and yes. Although it just took me half an hour to get a taxi. I’m soaked to the bone.”
“You’ve been living in Europe too long.” Her sister’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, I’m really calling to see how your dinner with Nico went. I’ve been dying to know. Uncle Giorgio has himself all in a dither with this campaign of his to unseat him.”
Chloe bit her lip. Nico Di Fiore, the new CEO of Evolution, her family cosmetic company, was a loaded subject of late. Her late father’s godson, Nico had been appointed CEO upon her parents’ deaths last spring according to the terms of her father’s will, assuming a position that should have been her uncle Giorgio’s. He had also been appointed financial regent for Chloe and Mireille until they reached the age of thirty, an unexpected and unacceptable development that had been the last straw for Chloe, because it meant four years of him in her life.
“I didn’t have dinner with him.” Her offhand tone hid the apprehension dampening her palms. “I wanted to keep things professional. I suggested we meet tomorrow instead—on my first day back.”
Mireille drew in a breath. “You blew Nico off for dinner?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Except it had been exactly like that.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “That really wasn’t wise, Chloe.”
“He summoned me to have dinner with him,” she came back defensively. Just like he’d summoned her home from Paris, where she’d been perfectly happy. “This is our company, not his. Isn’t it driving you crazy having him in charge?”
“It was what Father wanted.” Mireille sighed. “I know Evolution’s your baby—far more than it is mine. That Uncle Giorgio has you all wound up, but you need to face reality. Nico is leading the company. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re going to have to come to terms with it.”
“There’s nothing going on between us.” Hadn’t been since Nico had broken her heart far too many years ago to remember now. And she had been attempting to do exactly that—to process this new reality that had seen Nico take over Evolution when her parents had been killed in a car crash in Tuscany six months ago, turning her life upside down in the process. But she couldn’t quite seem to get there.
Evolution’s stately, soaring, gold-tinted headquarters rose majestically in front of her as the taxi turned onto Fifth Avenue. A fist formed in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I have to go,” she murmured. “It’s the board meeting tonight.”
“Right.” A wealth of meaning in her sister’s tone. “Better you than me.” As a junior executive in Evolution’s PR department, Chloe’s younger sister was not a m
ember of the board. “Promise me you won’t fight with him, Chloe.”
“That,” she said grimly, “is impossible. I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She handed the taxi driver the fare as he pulled to a halt in front of the building. Slid out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, teeming with its usual wall-to-wall pedestrian traffic huddled under brightly colored umbrellas.
A frozen feeling descended over her as she stood staring up at the giant gold letters that spelled out Evolution on the front of the building. Her parents—Martino and Juliette Russo—had spent two decades building Evolution into a legendary cosmetics brand. They had been the heart and soul of the company. Of her.
She hadn’t been in the building since she’d lost them, buried in work in the Paris lab. The thought of going in there now without them present seemed like the final admission they were gone, and she couldn’t quite seem to do it.
The crowd parted like a river around her as she stood there, heart in her mouth, feet glued to the concrete. A woman in a Gucci raincoat finally jolted her out of her suspended state, crankily advising her to “move on.” Her fingers clutched tight around her bag, she made her way through the glass doors, presented the security guard with her credentials and rode the elevator to the fiftieth floor, where Evolution’s executive offices overlooked Central Park.
A slim, blond-haired woman with trendy glasses pounced on her as she emerged into the elegant cream marble reception area. “Clara Jones, your new PA,” the blonde introduced herself, relieving Chloe of her dripping raincoat in the same breath. “You’re the last to arrive. Nico is—well, you know...” she said, giving Chloe a meaningful look. “He likes to start on time.”
Her heart crawled into her throat. “I couldn’t get a cab.”
“It is awful out there.”
Clara led Chloe down the hall toward the large, plush conference room with its expansive view of a wintry, lamp-lit Central Park. “Nico gave me your presentation. It’s ready to go.”
Now if only she was. Memories deluged her as she stood surveying the crowded, warmly lit room full of Evolution board members and directors enjoying a glass of wine and hors d’oeuvres before the meeting began. Of her father manning the seat at the head of the table that Nico now would as the chairman of the board. Of her mother swanning around, captivating the executives with her sparkling wit and charm.
