The Shock Cassano Baby (One Night With Consequences)

by Andie Brock

  ‘I can assure you I have no intention of doing any such thing.’

  Taking a single step towards her, Orlando reached forward to frame her face in his hands, tilting it towards the last of the dying light from the window in order to be able to see her better.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure that you were all right. That’s all.’

  ‘I am absolutely fine.’ Isobel felt her jaw move against his warm hands, his breath fanning her face. ‘As you can see.’

  ‘And the baby?’ Orlando paused, his voice suddenly gruff as his eyes searched her face and he struggled to find the right words. ‘I wasn’t too rough?’

  So that was it. Orlando wasn’t worried about her, or the fact that what they had just done had opened up the floodgates of forbidden feelings—for her, at least. He was just thinking about the baby.

  Reclaiming her face with a toss of her head, she fought to heal the crack in her voice. ‘Rest assured, the baby and I are both fine.’

  ‘Bene. Good.’ Conscience clear, Orlando moved away and started to cross the room, stopping in the doorway to wait for Isobel to join him. ‘You are ready to leave now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Turning to look back one last time at the rumpled bed, at the dust sheet on the floor beside it, Isobel drew in a painful breath and hurried towards him, suddenly desperate to get away. ‘Let’s go.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  UP, DRESSED AND with her bag packed, Isobel was ready to leave by first light.

  On their return to the hotel the night before, Orlando had briskly informed her that they would be leaving the following morning, his private plane taking them both back to London and then him on to New York. Seating himself at his laptop, he had then pointedly immersed himself in work, leaving no room for further conversation. Not that Isobel had wanted any. She’d just wanted to put as much distance between them as fast as possible, although she suspected even an ocean apart wouldn’t be enough.

  Taking herself off to bed, she had hoped for the oblivion of sleep but it hadn’t happened. Instead she had found herself staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the baby and about Orlando, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened to her within a few short weeks.

  To her surprise, the baby was already a source of great joy. The tiny scrap of life growing inside her which had caused so much trouble, turned her life upside down, was already loved with all her heart. She had never imagined herself as a mother, somehow convinced that she wouldn’t have the necessary qualifications—whatever they were. After all, she had failed dismally as a daughter, something her own mother managed to enforce tacitly every time they met.

  But now that the completely unexpected had happened she had been surprised to discover a new-found confidence. She was going to be a good mother. The responsibility didn’t frighten her—she had been coping with responsibility ever since her father had died. And she had plenty of love to give...bucketloads of it...already spilling over when she thought of holding the child in her arms. What did scare her was Orlando, and the fact that he was so determined to play a large part in their baby’s life. Which would mean a large part of her life. Something that managed to astonish, terrify and secretly thrill her in equal measure.

  Inevitably, the sleepless hours had seen her torturing herself with what they had done the evening before. She was furious with herself for letting it happen, and yet couldn’t stop thinking about it, replaying what they had done until it had driven her half crazy.

  The memory of the expert skill of his lovemaking, the exquisite sensations he had aroused, had sent spasms of awareness through her sleepless body that had seen her clenching her thighs to stop their progress, had made her sit up and grope for the glass of water on the bedside table to try to douse the spreading ache. It was madness—she knew that. But it was a madness she could no longer control.

  As the hours of darkness had crept on, so had the cold certainty that as far as Orlando Cassano was concerned, she was way out of her depth. In fact, she was drowning.

  By the time dawn had started to fan its light across the ceiling, Isobel had been forced to face up to the terrible truth. The truth she had been trying so hard to ignore ever since that fateful moment when she had taken his hand and stepped off the boat on to the island of Jacamar.

  She had fallen in love with Orlando Cassano. Senselessly, crazily, idiotically in love. And right now that felt like the most disastrous thing in the world.

  Because she knew that her love would never be reciprocated—knew that Orlando would never, could never return the plunging depths of the feelings she had for him. For Orlando had shown her what lay beneath the charming, urbane exterior. He had exposed the man who lay within. Heartless, cold-blooded and ruthless. A man who intended to erase his past as if it had never existed. Who had displayed a chilling lack of emotion when it came to the child she was carrying other than to ensure that he had full control. And who showed no feelings for her—unless you counted irritation, of course, or frustration, or lust. Oh, yes, he felt that last one, all right, no matter how much he tried to fight it. But that was no comfort to Isobel. It just twisted the knife still further.

  Their suite of rooms was empty when Isobel emerged from her bedroom. The door to Orlando’s room was open but the room was obviously unoccupied. Sliding the heavy doors across, Isobel went out onto the balcony, then hesitated. The glass floor, which no doubt had looked great on the designer’s plans, was doing absolutely nothing to help her morning sickness. The scarily clear view of the waves crashing on the rocks below flipped her stomach like a pancake.

  Telling herself not to be such a baby, she shuffled her way to the edge and, leaning on the steel handrail, took in the scene before her. The Adriatic Sea twinkled in the early-morning sun, stretching to the horizon where it met the milky blue sky. Boats of different shapes and sizes bobbed on the water and seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries carried by the breeze.

  ‘Buongiorno.’

  Spinning around too suddenly, Isobel had to stretch out her arms on either side to grasp the railings, her grip tightening further at the sight of Orlando standing in the doorway. Wearing a black vest that perspiration had moulded against his torso, and jogging bottoms low on his hips, he was all rippling biceps and unkempt tousled hair. And raw sex appeal.

  ‘Good morning.’ Isobel swallowed. ‘You’ve been for a run.’ There was nothing like stating the obvious.

  ‘Sì.’ Taking a swig from the water bottle in his hand, Orlando stared at her. ‘I had some excess energy to burn off.’ The stare intensified. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ Isobel almost hissed the word. Why did he persist in asking how she was? Especially in a way that suggested he should be able to control that too?

  ‘I’m going to take a shower.’ He turned and headed inside, calling over his shoulder, ‘If you want to order breakfast I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’

  The waiters had just finished laying out the breakfast when Orlando re-emerged. Isobel caught the citrus-sharp tang of his aftershave as he moved behind her to take his seat opposite. Wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he appeared composed, coolly distant.

  ‘You didn’t want to eat on the balcony?’ Shaking open his napkin, Orlando reached for the coffee pot.

  ‘Um...no.’ Not if she wanted to stand any chance of keeping any food down, she didn’t. Isobel had asked for their breakfast to be served on the dining table inside—a polished slab of limestone, complete with fossils. ‘It was too bright for me.’

  Orlando briefly narrowed his gaze before helping himself to a healthy portion of muesli and topping it with fresh fruit.

  ‘What time is our flight back this morning?’ Taking a sip of peppermint tea, Isobel surveyed her bowl of fruit, wondering if she was brave enough to take a mouthful.

  ‘There’s been a change of plan.’ Orlando looked up briefly. ‘I’ve booked an evening flight now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Isobel watched as he returned to his break
fast rather than offering her any sort of explanation. But she wasn’t going to make a fuss, telling herself it was only a few more hours. She could be cool with that.

  ‘Orlando, about yesterday...’

  Argh, yesterday—why was she talking about yesterday? Because it was all she could think about, that was why. And because something about Orlando’s hurtful detachment, his unspoken denial, made her want to make him face up to what they had done. Even though she didn’t want to face up to it herself.

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was too late to back down now. ‘I need to make it clear that it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Right.’

  She had his full attention now, and the dark glitter of his eyes was replaying what they had done as clearly as if he were speaking the words.

  ‘And you are sure about that, are you?’

  ‘Quite sure. From now on I think it’s important that we conduct our relationship in a businesslike manner.’

  ‘Do you, now?’

  ‘Yes—yes, I do. I’ve been working it out. All being well, if the business forecast is correct and the sales in the new stores go well, I predict that I should be able to exercise my right to buy back the twenty per cent of shares from Cassano Holdings to give me a majority shareholding in Spicer Shoes in approximately twelve months—eighteen at the latest.’

  ‘And the baby, Isobel?’ Orlando’s withering reply whistled through the air. ‘Are you planning on trying to buy back my fifty per cent of that too?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Isobel put down her spoon to stare at the dark head opposite her, at the thick, damp hair curling as it dried.

  She knew what she was trying to do. She was focussing on the one thing she thought she had some hope of controlling: her business. Figuring out when she would be free of Orlando’s overbearing authority in that department was all she had to cling to at the moment.

  But as for the baby... She had no idea how that was going to work out. But one thing she did know. As far as Orlando was concerned their baby was non-negotiable. And that worry sat like a lead yoke around her shoulders.

  ‘With the baby we are just going to have to do the best we can. Find some sort of arrangement that is mutually agreeable.’

  ‘Ah, yes, a mutually agreeable arrangement. I’m glad you’ve said that, Isobel, because I think I have come up with just the thing.’

  The unsettling gleam in Orlando’s dark eyes shot a spark of alarm through Isobel.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Castello Trevente, the Trevente estate, I’ve decided not to sell it.’

  ‘You have?’ Isobel’s eyebrows arched high with surprise. ‘Well, I’m very pleased that you have seen sense.’

  ‘I thought you would be.’

  If this was a victory, something about Orlando’s overly relaxed attitude was making her far too nervous to enjoy it.

  ‘Can I ask what made you change your mind?’

  ‘You did, Isobel.’ Reaching for the coffee pot again, Orlando refilled his cup and raised it to his lips. ‘You made me realise that this legacy is not mine to ignore or sell, that we have our child to think about now—the future Marchese di Trevente. To deny him his birthright would be quite wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think I actually said that.’ Isobel could feel the fingers of panic running along her spine as she started to see where this was going. When she had fought so hard to save the castello she hadn’t meant to use their unborn child as hostage. ‘I’m glad that you have decided not to forgo your inheritance, Orlando, I’m sure it’s the right decision.’ Tiptoeing through the minefield, she hesitated. ‘But I think it is a little early to start mapping out the future for our child.’

  ‘On the contrary. I have given it a lot of thought and this is the obvious solution.’ He fixed her with his most imperious stare. ‘Castello Trevente will be our family home.’

  Orlando leant back, enjoying watching Isobel assimilate this information. He noticed the way her teeth nipped at the soft pout of her bottom lip. Her hands fluttered to her throat, and pink circles of colour stained her cheeks.

  Get out of this one, Miss Spicer. He allowed himself a secret smile. Because he was ready for her. Isobel never did anything she was told, never accepted anything without a fight—especially where he was concerned. But this was a fight he was going to win. He needed to claw back some control after what had happened yesterday.

  He still wasn’t sure how they had ended up in bed. The rage he had felt when Isobel had challenged him, standing there spouting her amateur psychology, had certainly brought a red mist to his eyes. But somehow that anger had turned into a carnal craving that had resulted in the most astounding sex he could ever remember. Did he regret it? No. Even if Isobel obviously did, with her prickly manner and her little ‘conduct our relationship in a businesslike manner’ speech. Well, they would see about that. Frankly, business was the last thing on his mind as far as Isobel Spicer was concerned.

  Orlando had spent the intervening hours taking a long, hard look at the situation, trying to see past the complicated mix of emotions to find a solution. He’d taken himself off for a long, punishing run and the answer had finally come to him.

  If Isobel was so keen on preserving the castello, then clearly this was where they should live. Where their child should be raised. He would be acknowledging that he had listened to her concerns at the same time as demonstrating that he was prepared to adapt his life for his child in the same way he expected her to. And, of course, he would be protecting their child’s heritage. Something he had to admit he hadn’t even considered until Isobel had taken it upon herself to point it out.

  He would accept the title of Marchese di Trevente, restore the castello to its former glory and get the estate back on its feet. Something he would never have imagined doing in his wildest dreams. But then neither had he ever imagined being a father. And, stranger still, the more he got used to the idea, the more surprised he was to find that he liked it.

  But moving back to Trevente would mean facing the demons of his past. Sophia’s death had shaped his whole existence and it would stay with him for ever. Nothing would ever ease the guilt he felt, the clawing reality that she had died because of him—that he could have prevented her death if only he had stopped his father that night...if only he hadn’t made the warehouse their meeting place...if only they had never fallen in love.

  But if he had to struggle with the battleground of his past in order to secure a future for himself and his child, then he would do it. And maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. The thought of living with Isobel gave him a sort of masochistic pleasure, pumped adrenaline through his body, like walking over hot coals or leaping off a cliff. And then, of course, there was the sex... Mind-blowing it might be, but sex was all it could ever be. He had to make sure of that. For Isobel’s own sake he would protect her from his dark heart. From a heart that had shrivelled in the fire all those years ago as surely as if it too had died in the flames.

  ‘You are suggesting that I move to Italy?’ The words came out in a quiet trickle of anxiety. ‘That we live in Castello Trevente together?’

  ‘Sì.’

  A frown creased Isobel’s brow, marring her beautiful face. He could almost see the cogs of her mind whirring, trying to find a way out.

  ‘It’s the obvious solution as you appear to be so enamoured of the place.’ His lips flattened with the distaste he knew that he had to control. ‘London is no more than two hours away. We’ll put a manager in the workshop and I will ensure that a private jet is available to you at all times. Plus there will be definite advantages to being close to the factory.’

  Isobel shook her head. ‘I can’t, Orlando. I can’t leave the UK.’ She chewed nervously at her bottom lip. ‘There’s something, or rather someone, I haven’t mentioned to you before.’

  Immediately an iron fist gripped his guts. He knew it. There was someone else.

  ‘Go on.’ He heard himself grate the words.

 
; ‘My mother.’ Isobel sucked in a breath.

  ‘Your mother?’ The iron grip loosened and relief washed over him—an alien sensation swiftly replaced by more familiar irritation. What did her mother have to do with anything? Isobel was really scraping the bottom of the barrel now.

  ‘Yes. She lives in a residential home on the outskirts of London.’

  ‘And your point is...?’

  ‘She’s not well, Orlando. She needs me. I can’t move to a different country and leave her on her own.’

  ‘Then hire a nurse—or bring her with you for all I care.’ His patience was starting to wear decidedly thin now.

  He could see the fleeting look of pain that crossed Isobel’s face and was surprised by the resulting kick he felt in his gut. Was the idea of living with him so abhorrent to her? He wasn’t enjoying this as much as he’d thought.

  ‘But how could we live in the castello? You said yourself it’s in a terrible state. It’s not a fit place for a newborn baby. It will be winter by then and...’

  ‘Give me some credit, Isobel. Castello Trevente will be completely renovated. In fact I have set up a meeting with some architects for this afternoon.’

  ‘This afternoon?’

  ‘Sì. They are flying over from New York as we speak.’ Orlando watched her swallow back her surprise. ‘We are meeting them at the castello at three p.m. That’s why we’re taking a later flight back to the UK.’

  From her silence Orlando could see that he had worn her down—that he was winning. He let his gaze linger on her face as he waited with interest to see what she was going to come up with next, almost looking forward to it. Because whatever it was it would make no difference. He would have the answer. He wasn’t going to let her slip through the net this time.

  But when Isobel finally spoke she took him by surprise.

  Pulling her composure back into place she coolly met his gaze. ‘Very well.’ She sat up straight. ‘If you are sure that this is the best solution, then I agree. I will move into Castello Trevente with you.’