The Shock Cassano Baby (One Night With Consequences)

by Andie Brock

  Orlando stared at her. Had he heard her right? Was she actually agreeing to his proposition? He knew he had to find his own composure quickly, before she changed her mind.

  ‘Bene.’ Careful to keep the surprise out of his voice, Orlando returned to his breakfast. ‘I am so glad we have sorted that out.’

  * * *

  ‘Great. Well, I think we are nearly done here.’ Luke, one of the team of six architects, looked up from the plans that littered the table. ‘We just need to decide where you want the nursery.’

  Stupidly, Isobel felt herself blush. So Orlando had told them, then—this vibrant young team he’d had flown over from New York, who were now seated at the enormous scrubbed table in the basement kitchen. Why did that feel so weird?

  Because Isobel realised that she had told no one—not even her mother. Because telling people would make it feel frighteningly real.

  She looked around the table at the shiny bright faces of these enthusiastic people. They seemed so cheerful, so untroubled, that for a moment she longed to swap places with one of them, to forget about the horribly tortured, complicated life she suddenly found herself in and be optimistic and carefree like them.

  It was something she realised she had never been—at least not since the age of seventeen, when the car crash had decimated her family and left her weighed down with grief, responsibility and an overriding sense of guilt.

  ‘We thought maybe this room.’ An extremely attractive blonde called Millie pointed a manicured finger at the plans. ‘Next to the master bedroom. But maybe you would rather locate it up on the next floor? Perhaps a suite of rooms, to accommodate a nanny?’

  ‘No.’ Isobel’s sharp reply made Millie raise her clear blue eyes in surprise. ‘I mean... I don’t know if we will be having a nanny.’

  Isobel shot a glance at Orlando, wanting him to make these questions go away. In reply he gave a small dismissive shrug. He was being no help at all—in fact he had given very little input to the whole restoration project, either deferring to Isobel or giving the architects a free hand. A gymnasium and a swimming pool had been his only two requirements.

  ‘The room next to the master bedroom will be fine.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Millie’s clever eyes had followed hers and they now swept across Orlando, pausing for a split second to take in the scene. ‘Can I just say thank you again for choosing us for this project? We are always thrilled to work on any of your assignments, Orlando, but this is a dream of a job.’

  This was greeted with agreement all round, but Isobel couldn’t help looking at the way Millie was flicking her shiny hair over her shoulder, crossing one shapely leg over the other. If she wasn’t mistaken, now she was actually licking her lips.

  A dart of jealousy shot through her, even as she told herself that she was being ridiculous, that this young woman was simply showing her appreciation for being given such a prestigious job. But still she couldn’t banish the image of other ways Millie might like to show her appreciation—especially as Orlando was doing nothing to discourage her attention, reciprocating with a small smile and the quirk of a brow that epitomised his infuriating easy charm... That was guaranteed to send any woman running for his bedroom.

  Suddenly she needed to get away. ‘Well...’ She rose to her feet. ‘If that’s it for today, I think I need to stretch my legs.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Following her cue, everyone stood up and after offering her thanks and shaking a lot of hands Isobel was finally able to make her escape, her forced smile only chilling slightly as it swept over the twinkling Millie.

  Alone at last, Isobel stretched her cramped limbs. They had been sitting around that table for hours, but they had certainly achieved a lot. After a whirlwind tour the team had worked like demons to gather information, checking that they fully understood the brief with every clever idea they came up with. There was no doubt that Castello Trevente was going to be completely stunning by the time they had finished with it. Even if it did still seem incredible to Isobel that she would be the one actually living here.

  She knew she had surprised Orlando earlier, when she had agreed to his idea without putting up much of a fight. But they were going to have to live together somewhere—and he was offering her a castle, for heaven’s sake. And there was another reason too—one she hadn’t bothered to share with him. Her mother, Nancy. Isobel didn’t know if Orlando had meant it when he had so dismissively stated that she could come and live with them, but it had set her thinking.

  It was a good idea. Better than that—it was an excellent idea.

  She had long suspected that being closeted in that nursing home wasn’t doing her mother any good. Isobel hated the place. Her dutiful twice weekly visits were always guaranteed to induce a sick feeling in her stomach; the overheated temperature, the particular smell—a mixture of antiseptic and lilies—and the soulless greetings of the overworked staff all served as a constant reminder of the blighted life that her mother now led because of the accident...because of her.

  She dreaded sitting on the chair opposite her mother, watching her bird-like frame getting more frail with every passing year, listening to the growing list of ailments and grievances that Isobel could do nothing about. Except to be there for her. Because despite her mother’s cold disregard they both knew that Isobel was all Nancy Spicer had. They were in this together. For ever.

  Which was why having her mother move to Italy with her made perfect sense. Not only would Isobel be close at hand at all times, but the Italian climate would surely be beneficial for her.

  Isobel made up her mind to put the idea to her as soon she returned to the UK, to try and phrase it in such a way that her mother couldn’t say no. And she would finally tell her about the baby too...a conversation that was well overdue.

  Now she wandered out into the hallway, deciding to take a last look around in order to remember the place in all its faded grandeur. Climbing the stairs, she found herself drawn to the bedroom where she and Orlando had committed that act of madness the night before.

  Earlier, when they had walked into that room with the architects, her heart had been thumping, her eyes darting madly from Orlando to the rumpled silk coverlet on the bed and back again. She had been convinced that the evidence of what they had done had to be visible, that the intense heat of their sexual encounter must have scorched their images on the silk. But Orlando hadn’t acknowledged her gaze, showing no outward sign that this room, or the bed, or indeed Isobel herself had any particular significance. Instead he had strolled around, pointing out the crumbling cornice, kicking at the rotten skirting board, before marching out again with the architects’ team tagging behind like devoted followers.

  Now Isobel bent to retrieve the dust cover that was still lying on the floor. Picking it up, she shook it high in the air and watched it settle over the bed, walking round to straighten the corners as if she could somehow cover up what they had done. But it was far too late for that. There was no covering up the reality of her life from now on. She would be living in a castle, with Orlando, and bearing him a child. Those were the facts she had to deal with, and that was what she had to concentrate on. Because facing up to anything else was too painful, too raw. All she could do was try to contain her emotions and protect herself from the intensity of her feelings for Orlando as best she could. If she could keep her heart locked away, maybe he wouldn’t find it.

  She climbed the winding stairs to the medieval tower that had enchanted the architects so much. The oldest part of the castello, it had a low arched doorway that opened out on to the battlements with their crumbling stonework. Orlando had shown no inclination to go out there, but now Isobel turned the key in the lock and stepped outside. The crenulated wall was about waist-high at its lowest point, rising to eye level, and the gaps between afforded the most stunning views: the mountains in one direction, the sea in the other, with villages, rolling green fields and the town of Trevente spread out like a colourful tapestry.

/>   Being careful not to touch the stonework, Isobel paced the circuit to take in the views from every angle, stopping only when she reached the front of the castello and saw that the team of architects was leaving.

  She watched as Orlando walked down the driveway with them towards their minivan, where the driver was already opening the doors. After shaking hands with the men, he kissed the two women on the cheek. Isobel saw the way Millie leant in, standing on tiptoe to reach him better, placing her hands possessively on his shoulders.

  She scowled, turning away to go back downstairs. She had enough problems without torturing herself with jealousy over every attractive woman who happened to cross Orlando’s path. Because, frankly, if she did that the men in white coats would be carting her away before this baby was even born. In fact, the way she felt right now that was looking like a distinct possibility.

  She was back down in the hallway just as Orlando walked in.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’

  Isobel nodded, then felt her heart still as Orlando slipped his hand around her waist to usher her out into the evening sunshine. Locking the door behind them, he slipped the key into his pocket.

  ‘I imagine it will look very different the next time we see it.’ Determined to be positive, Isobel stepped back and looked up at the old building.

  ‘I very much hope so.’ Orlando didn’t follow her gaze, instead heading down the path towards the car with long strides. It seemed he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  CHAPTER NINE

  OPENING HER EMAILS, Isobel saw the message from Orlando and her heart immediately started to thud. He’d been in contact several times over the six weeks they had been apart—her in London, him in New York—but that didn’t stop the visceral reaction every time she saw his name, even if the message was only to discuss something to do with the business or to update her on the restoration of the castello, or maybe check that she was attending her doctor’s appointments in his usual controlling way.

  The dates of her pregnancy had been confirmed now, and all was looking just as it should. Isobel had had an ultrasound scan, and the amazing, grainy black-and-white image of their tiny baby was propped up on her mantelpiece at home, where she gazed at it in awe every time she passed.

  Sadly, breaking the news of the pregnancy to her mother had been just as negative an experience as Isobel had anticipated. Nancy Spicer had met Isobel’s nervous disclosure with distaste, only showing a flicker of interest when Isobel had told her that the baby’s father held the title of Marchese di Trevente, and that he was in fact a very wealthy man. Pouncing on this one glimmer of curiosity, Isobel had rushed straight on, announcing that she would be moving to Italy, and that Nancy was very welcome to come and live with them at the castello—indeed, that she very much hoped she would.

  Her mother’s instinctive reaction had been to say that it was the most ridiculous idea she had ever heard—that Isobel should go, run away, leave her mother to her sad and lonely life the way she knew she had always wanted to. But the vulnerable look in her eyes had told a different story, and Isobel was confident that eventually her mother would come round to the idea. First, though, she would have to convince herself and everyone else that she was only doing it for her daughter, because Isobel had begged her.

  So, with those delicate negotiations underway, Isobel had used the rest of the six weeks to throw herself wholeheartedly into her work. It was as good a distraction as any, and there had certainly been plenty to do. Work on the two new stores in London and New York was progressing well, and they were on schedule to open in the autumn as planned. The factory in Trevente was running smoothly, Spicer shoes were now selling in prestigious department stores across the world—not just London, as before—and new orders were flooding in all the time.

  Now, as she sat in her office, Isobel could hear the reassuring tap-tap of hammers coming from the workshop next door, where the master shoemakers were chattering over the sound of the radio as they worked. This was where Isobel felt safe, grounded: at the heart of the Spicer Shoes business. This was where her designs were brought to life before hitting the production line, where the handmade shoes were still created. And even though that market was tiny, compared to the global juggernaut of mass production that she and Orlando had put in place, it was still the part of the business that Isobel loved the best. And the one she would be leaving behind when she went to live in Italy.

  The wrench would be enormous. She knew that. Not only would she be removing herself from the cosy hub of the Spicer Shoes empire, but also saying goodbye to London, to her apartment and her friends, to the network she had built up over the years. Everything that she had ever known. But needs must. Or, as her mother had so tersely put it, ‘You’ve made your bed, young lady, you must lie in it.’

  The very thing that, thinking about it, had got her into this mess in the first place.

  Clicking on the email, Isobel felt her heart spike wildly.

  Castello Trevente is finished.

  She read Orlando’s words again. So it had really happened. Despite the updates she’d been receiving from the architects, and Orlando’s calm assurances that the timescale would be met, she hadn’t really believed that it was possible to renovate a whole castle in six weeks. But this was the power of Orlando. He literally made things happen.

  I suggest we meet there on Friday.

  Orlando.

  Isobel swallowed the lump of alarm in her throat. Friday? This Friday?

  With her fingers on the keyboard she started to type her reply, rapidly telling him she couldn’t possibly be ready by Friday, that there was no way she could have everything in place and be able to move by then.

  But halfway through her frantic rant she stopped. What was the point? It was only postponing the inevitable. Wouldn’t it be better to face her fate full-on? Show Orlando that she was calm, capable, in control? Far better than scurrying around making excuses.

  Pressing the backspace button, she watched the letters on the screen disappear and then, taking in a deep breath, she began again.

  Friday will be fine, Orlando.

  Ignoring the panic in her heart, she carried on.

  I will see you then.

  * * *

  Walking into Castello Trevente, Isobel caught her breath—it had been transformed! Gone was the peeling paintwork in the hallway, the rotten panelling and the smell of damp. Now the marble staircase gleamed, and sweeping wrought-iron banisters drew the eye up to the restored cupola several flights above. Exotic flower arrangements scented the air, a splash of colour against the immaculate powder-blue walls.

  A small cough beside her told Isobel she wasn’t alone and, turning, she saw the smiling face of a middle-aged woman, her arm outstretched in greeting.

  ‘Signorina Spicer?’

  ‘Yes—sì. That’s right.’

  ‘I am very glad to meet you. My name is Maria Marelli and I am your housekeeper.’

  ‘Hello, Maria.’ Shaking her hand, Isobel smiled back warmly, instantly liking this cheerful woman. ‘And, please, you must call me Isobel.’

  ‘Sì, certo. So, Isobella...’ Standing back, Maria gestured around her before placing her hands on her not-inconsiderable hips. ‘You like?’

  ‘I do like!’ Isobel looked around her in disbelief. ‘It’s stunning! I can’t wait to see the rest of the castello.’

  ‘Everywhere is bello—molto bello. I tell you, it is unbelievable. I want to thank you—you and the Marchese—for doing this...for bringing Castello Trevente back to life. And to think you will live here, raise a family here.’ Maria clasped her hands together and raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘It is a dream for us—for all the people who work on the estate. A dream we never thought would come true.’

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Isobel moved her hands automatically to cover her stomach, even though at a little over three months pregnant she was only showing the slightest of bumps. She couldn’t take Maria’s gratitude; it made her feel like a fraud. Because the
genuine warmth and excitement she obviously felt for the new incumbents of Castello Trevente was sadly misplaced. Isobel and Orlando would never be able to give this place the fairy tale it deserved.

  ‘Orlando—the Marchese, I mean...’ Isobel had no idea how he would want Maria to address him. ‘He hasn’t arrived yet?’

  ‘No.’ Maria shook her head. ‘He is late already. But you are here at least. You must be tired and hungry after your journey. You would like to go into the drawing room and I bring you something to eat?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Maria. Though a cup of tea would be nice.’

  ‘Very good. I bring you English tea.’ Turning on her heel, Maria hurried off towards the kitchens. ‘The Marchese—he say it must be English tea.’

  Sipping her English tea in the drawing room, Isobel looked around her, amazed at the transformation. It was hard to believe that this was the same room she and Orlando had been standing in the last time she had visited the castello, only a few short weeks ago. The furniture had been restored; the sofas regilded and reupholstered, the carpets repaired, and the ancestral portraits had been given a new lease of life and returned to the walls, from where they looked down on her with mild disapproval.

  Having finished her tea, Isobel saw there was still no sign of Orlando so set off to explore the rest of the castello. Maria was right. It was ‘molto bello’. The care and attention to detail and the sheer skill of the architects and builders was evident everywhere she looked.

  Walking into the room that was now the nursery, Isobel was suddenly pulled up short. With pale yellow walls and white paintwork it looked fresh and sunny, but it was the crib in the centre of the room that made her heart flutter like the beat of a bird’s wing. Carved from dark wood, and festooned with soft cotton drapes, it was obviously an antique—a family heirloom. Moving forward to inspect it, Isobel felt it rock silently beneath her touch, and the sudden image of her baby sleeping there both astonished and thrilled her. She had to get used to the idea that this really was happening.