The Cost of Her Innocence

by Jacqueline Baird

  ‘Never mind. I have enough information.’ He called a nurse in and asked her to take Beth to the examination room, and told Dante to wait in his office.

  When Beth finally followed the doctor back into the office Dante leapt to his feet. ‘Is everything all right, Doctor?’ he demanded, not even glancing at her.

  For some reason—maybe because it had finally sunk in that the baby was real—she felt hurt that he had not spoken to her.

  The doctor smiled. ‘Everything is perfect, Signor Cannavaro—the baby is fine. You are a lucky man.’ He turned admiring eyes on Beth and then back to Dante. ‘Your fiancée is an extremely fit and healthy young woman about nine weeks pregnant. I have made an appointment for a scan in two weeks’ time.’

  Dante showed no emotion as he thanked the doctor in Italian. They spoke for a few moments longer and then they left.

  Beth slid back into the limousine and stared out of the window as it manoeuvred through the Rome traffic, oblivious to the city’s great landmarks, lost in her own thoughts. In the days since Dante had burst back into her life and she’d discovered she was pregnant she had not been absolutely certain that it was real, but now there was no doubt. A child deserved to be born with love, not this way, she thought sadly.

  ‘So there is no going back,’ Dante stated. ‘If you give me your passport I can complete the arrangements for a civil marriage in Rome in two weeks. Under the circumstances we will not inform friends or family until after the fact.’

  Beth’s spine straightened, her eyes widening in shock. There was not a hint of softness or real emotion in Dante’s hard gaze. ‘Surely we do not need to rush into marriage? It makes more sense to wait until the child is born.’

  ‘Maybe with any other woman, but I am not taking a chance with you. You are a flight risk. You have already changed your identity once, you have no family, no employer, no real ties of any kind, and you are not exactly penniless. You could disappear at any time, and I can’t spare the time to track you down again.’

  ‘You—you...’

  Beth spluttered furiously. ‘What is to stop me taking off after we are married? Or do you intend to keep me a prisoner for the next three years?’

  ‘Nothing so dramatic,’ Dante drawled in a mocking undertone. ‘Once we are married I would not have to waste my time looking for you. You’d be a missing wife and the forces of law would do it for me.’

  Beth sucked in air. She wanted to kill him, but she couldn’t even trust herself to speak.

  ‘We will marry in two weeks, as I said, and I will fly back with you to London on Sunday and introduce you to my mother as my wife. Then we will return to your cottage in time for the builders’ arrival on Monday...agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Beth murmured, her face expressionless. She opened her bag, withdrew her passport and handed it to Dante. Her fingers brushed his and she flinched. For the first time since Helen had died Beth felt like crying. Hormones, she told herself, and took a deep breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Dante queried, dark brown eyes narrowing on her face. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Yes. You heard the doctor—I’m fine. But it is good of you to be concerned.’ If he noticed the sarcasm in her voice she didn’t care. All she cared for was the baby.

  The rest of the journey was conducted in almost complete silence. Beth was simmering with resentment at the position Dante had put her in, which was not helped by the self-satisfied look on his handsome face....

  ‘Beth, wake up—we have arrived.’

  Her eyes fluttered open and she realised she was held in the protective curve of Dante’s arm, her head on his chest. Then she shot up and smoothed the skirt of her dress over her thighs, mortified that she had fallen asleep on him, and—worse—that she had enjoyed the comforting feeling.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BETH STEPPED OUT of the car and glanced around. It was dark, but she had a brief glimpse of the façade of the house, and large double doors standing open, sending a broad beam of light into the night as Dante took her arm and led her inside.

  Dante introduced her to Sophie, his housekeeper, and her husband, Carlo, and three more staff whose names she didn’t register as he walked her across the marble floor to a grand staircase.

  ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘You have forty-five minutes to settle in. Sophie insists on serving dinner no later than nine, and as she has worked here since before I was born I don’t dare argue with her.’

  ‘That’s good of you,’ Beth said with a surprised smile, and her smile broadened when Dante ushered her into her room. It was unmistakably feminine, all white and pastel pink, with painted antique furniture, and definitely not the master bedroom—which was a huge relief to her.

  ‘Thank you. This is a lovely room.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank Sophie. It was her choice. I told her a female friend was staying for a couple of weeks and obviously she is trying to impress you.’

  ‘I will,’ Beth murmured as he left.

  Carlo arrived with her luggage and a maid, who showed her the dressing room and bathroom.

  Fifteen minutes later, feeling refreshed and slightly more relaxed, Beth stepped out of the shower and wrapped a soft white towel around her before walking into the dressing room. The staff were gone and her luggage was unpacked, and she quickly found the drawer that contained her lingerie, withdrawing matching white lace briefs and bra and slipping them on.

  Sitting at the dressing table, she brushed her hair and applied moisturiser to her face. With a flick of mascara to her long lashes and a touch of tinted gloss to her lips she was ready.

  After exactly forty-five minutes Beth descended the staircase to the hall, wearing a knee-length wraparound green jersey silk dress that tied in a bow at the side, and black kitten-heeled shoes.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she looked around the huge reception hall. She tried the first of two doors on the left and was relieved to see it was the dining room. She walked in and paused.

  Standing by a marble fireplace, a glass in his hand, was Dante.

  ‘Drinking already!’ she blurted, insanely disturbed by the sight of Dante in a black lounge suit. His stunning physical presence was almost overwhelming, and suddenly she was no longer relaxed but tense.

  ‘I could say you are enough to drive any man to drink in that dress,’ he responded, his dark eyes roaming appreciatively over her as he crossed to where she stood and took her arm. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. The warmth of his strong hand on her arm was sending her pulse haywire. She was just about holding herself together, but if he didn’t let go of her soon she was liable to melt in a puddle at his feet—or strangle him. Dante infuriated her and fascinated her in equal measure. He was like a force of nature—magnificent but sometimes deadly....

  Minutes later, with Dante seated at the top of a long dining table and Beth to his right, Sophie appeared with the first course. Carlo followed with the wine and offered to fill her glass.

  Beth said water would be fine for her.

  Dante’s dark brows rose, but as realisation hit him an approving smile curved his firm lips. ‘Which would you prefer, Beth? Sparkling or still?’

  ‘Still water, please.’ Shaking out her napkin, she put it on her lap.

  Sophie served the meal—a plate of delicious antipasta, followed by a tasty mushroom risotto and then perfectly seasoned sea bass.

  Dante drank wine and kept her glass topped up with water, and made easy, informative conversation. Beth learned his was a working estate, which included a vineyard, and he regaled her with stories of his childhood—how as a six-year-old he had tried to tread grapes in a bucket to make his own wine, much to his father’s amusement, and other episodes that despite herself made her chuckle.

  She mentioned the painting hanging above the fireplace and he told her it was of his father, who had died at the age of fifty-two in a car accident. The paintings in the hall and on
the stairway were of his ancestors. Somehow the family portraits brought home to Beth just what she had let herself in for over the next three years....

  Beth’s appetite had disappeared by dessert—mainly because she was beginning to warm to this relaxed, witty Dante in his home environment and could not relax herself. She found her eyes straying to his mouth, found herself swallowing hard as he unselfconsciously licked his lips.

  When he suggested they have coffee in the main salon she pushed back her seat and stood up. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll give the coffee a miss.’ She deliberately patted her stomach. ‘I’m tired after all the travelling, the doctor and everything. I’d like to go to bed.’

  His dark eyes narrowed on her. ‘Okay, I’ll see you to your room.’

  Ascending the stairs with Dante’s oddly protective hand on her back, she asked herself how the cool, successful Beth of three months ago could have been dumb enough to get herself in this position. She turned at the door to her room and glanced at Dante, to say goodnight. But the hand at her back slid around her waist, and with his free hand he opened the bedroom door and backed her inside.

  ‘Goodnight, Dante,’ she said firmly, and put her hands on his chest to ward him off.

  He caught her hands on his shirtfront in one of his much larger ones. ‘Surely our relationship warrants a goodnight kiss—?’

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ she cut in. His dark eyes met hers and she saw the gleam of desire in their black depths. She could not move.

  ‘It is necessary for me,’ he said huskily before his mouth captured hers.

  It all happened so fast. One minute she was outside her room, saying goodnight, and the next she was inside, held against Dante’s long body, her hands flailing ineffectually at him. But with humiliating speed her resistance faded under the seductive persuasion of his lips. Her hands were no longer hitting him but clasping his broad shoulders, and a soft moan escaped her as his mouth drew her deeper into the kiss.

  Dante raised his head, his glittering gaze skimming over her. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts revealed by the wrap-over neckline of her dress, and he slipped light fingers beneath the white lace bra to stroke and shape a burgeoning peak. ‘I like your lingerie, Beth, but I prefer you naked,’ he said throatily, and took her lush mouth with his again.

  She linked her hands behind his neck as his tongue twined with hers, stoking the heat of arousal simmering inside her. Beth was aware only of Dante, of the heady taste of him, the pleasure of his touch driving every conscious thought from her mind.

  So it was all the more shocking when suddenly his hands gripped her waist and he physically lifted her to hold her at arm’s length.

  Limbs weak, she swayed towards him—but his grip tightened and her eyes widened, finally focusing on his harshly handsome face. She saw leashed passion in the dark eyes, but she also saw a determination in the hard line of his mouth that told her the ardent lover was gone and in his place was the autocratic Dante.

  ‘I want you, Beth, and I could have you now. Your body tells me that every time I touch you.... If it is any consolation it is exactly the same for me. The physical chemistry between us is dynamite,’ he said bluntly. ‘But we need to get a few things straight.’

  Battling to control her wayward senses, Beth was mortified—and suddenly becoming aware the bodice of her dress was gaping wider to reveal her bra simply made it worse. Though knowing this fire in the blood, this instant attraction, was the same for him was some consolation. Speechless, she stared at him.

  ‘To make this marriage work we need some ground rules. The first one being obvious. We will have a normal relationship; I am not cut out to be celibate and neither are you.’

  Beth tried to adjust the top of her dress.

  ‘No, not tonight,’ he said with a hint of self-mockery. ‘I can wait until we are married. The doctor told me you are a healthy woman, and that sex won’t harm you or the baby.’

  ‘You actually asked the doctor?’ Beth finally found her voice.

  ‘Of course. I intend to take good care of you and the child. Which brings me to my second point.’ Surprisingly, he let go of her waist and adjusted her dress by tightening the bow at her waist. ‘You are far too distracting,’ he said with a wry twist of his lips. ‘We have to put on a united front in front of friends and family, with all that entails. No flinching away from me would be a good start—especially in public, as I expect you to play the part of my wife to the full. I have also arranged a personal account for you at my bank.’

  ‘That is not necessary.’

  ‘Yes, it is, Beth. No argument. Tomorrow we are going to Milan to purchase a ring and a suitable wardrobe for you. I attend quite a few social functions, and once we are married naturally you will accompany me. I have to return to Rome tomorrow, but I will try to get back next weekend. If not I will be back to collect you the following Friday for your hospital appointment. The civil ceremony will be on Saturday. In the meantime you can rest and relax as you originally suggested. Is everything clear?’

  ‘Yes.’ Beth agreed. She was slowly becoming resigned to the fact that her life was going to be inextricably linked to Dante’s for years to come. ‘Now may I go to bed? I really am tired.’

  ‘Of course. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.’ Dante’s lips brushed hers. ‘Sleep well.’ And with a sardonic arch of a black brow he added, ‘If you can,’ and left.

  Beth stood where he had left her and to her shame realised Dante was right. She was too weak to resist her sexy soon-to-be husband. Maybe she shouldn’t even try, a little devil on her shoulder whispered. One of her mother’s favourite sayings had been, ‘You’ve made your bed and you have to lie in it.’ Well, Dante had certainly made hers by getting her pregnant, so why not enjoy the experience while it lasted? How difficult could it be to play the part of Signora Cannavaro as he’d suggested—or more precisely ordered?

  Her parents had brought her up well. As an accountant she had wined and dined wealthy clients, mixed with the best and the worst. Sophisticated society didn’t faze her at all. And with Dante’s track record where women were concerned she had no illusions. He would probably tire of her within months, if not weeks....

  But she would still have her child to love and care for, and that was all that mattered to her. She doubted she would look at another man even when the three years were up.

  * * *

  The sunlight streaming through the window made Beth blink sleepily, and the strong smell of fresh coffee made her eyes fly open and her face pale. She sat up to see Sophie by the bed, a tray in her hands.

  ‘Just leave it on the bedside table, Sophie,’ she said weakly. ‘I need the bathroom and a shower first.’

  ‘Ah, I understand,’ Sophie said, a broad smile lighting her plump face. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asked.

  ‘Tea and toast will be fine,’ Beth said.

  She waited till Sophie had left and then slid out of bed, picked up the coffee and headed for the bathroom to tip it down the toilet. Fifteen minutes later, showered and dried, she opened a wardrobe and eyed the contents. What did one wear to shop in Milan, Italy’s capital of fashion? she wondered. Her choice of clothes was limited. She had packed a few casual clothes and not much else except for the dress she had worn last night, plus another dress, and one smart suit. After perspiring in the cashmere yesterday, and with the blazing sun this morning in mind, she opted for the linen dress.

  * * *

  Dante was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs when Beth came down. He took one look and knew he was in big trouble. She was beautiful and elegant and she took his breath away. He recognised the pale grey dress she wore immediately, and it had the same effect on him now as it had the first time he had seen her wearing it in that London street. But now it was worse. Now he knew what he was missing....

  Her glorious red hair fell in natural waves to brush her shoulders. Her make-up was restrained—a touch of eyeshadow, long thick lashes
accentuated by mascara, lips glistening with a rose gloss—and her flawless skin positively glowed.

  Why the hell hadn’t he taken her to bed last night when he’d had the chance? Instead he had set out the rules for their marriage and said no sex until after the wedding. He must have been out of his mind.

  Reaching up, he took her arm before she got to the last step.

  ‘Good, you are ready. But what did you do to Sophie? She is dancing around the kitchen with a broad grin on her face, making tea and toast.’

  ‘Good morning to you, too,’ Beth said dryly. ‘And I didn’t do anything to Sophie. She asked me what I wanted for breakfast and I told her. So if you don’t mind I’d like to go and eat it before we leave.’

  Dante saw Carlo approaching and pressed a swift kiss on her open mouth. ‘Fine, cara, but make it quick. I’ll go and check the helicopter.’

  * * *

  Of course Dante would pilot his own helicopter. He always had to be in control, she thought as he strapped her into the seat beside him.

  ‘I though cars were your secret addiction, not helicopters?’

  He shot her a slanting smile. ‘They are. But anything with an engine floats my boat. Actually, I have a speedboat and a yacht down at my villa in Portofino.’

  Beth grinned and shook her head. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  The helicopter landed on the top of a tall building, and Beth looked around at the sprawling city below with a growing sense of panic.

  Dante urged her into the building. Beth tensed when she saw the elevator. The next minute she was inside, with him standing next to her like a jailer as he pressed the button for the ground floor and the metal doors slid shut. The elevator began to descend, and so did Beth’s stomach. She clenched her teeth, every muscle in her body locking in panic, and stared straight ahead.

  Dante glanced down at Beth and saw the frozen expression on her face, the tension in her body. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, curving an arm around her rigid shoulders.

  ‘Fine. I’m just a bit claustrophobic in elevators—have been ever since I got out of prison. I think it’s a light thing. I have no problem with glass ones on the outside of buildings.’