by Lynne Graham
‘That will be useful if I go into premature labour again.’
Rafael’s head shot up, and there was a look of such outrage on his face that Lottie’s hand flew to her mouth. She wished she could stuff the foolish words back in.
‘You won’t! You heard what Dr Oveisi said. That despite the accident—what happened—you are no more at risk of a premature birth than anyone else. There is no reason at all for you not to go full-term this time.’
‘I know—I know all that, Rafe.’
Lottie watched as he fought back the impulse to say any more. She knew only too well that her default setting was to hide behind flippancy and come out with some stupid comment like that. But she had never expected such a reaction from Rafael. That emotional response had come straight from the heart, from a place buried so deep inside him that she had started to think it didn’t exist.
‘I’m sure this time everything is going to be fine.’ Her throat felt tight with emotion and she swallowed noisily. ‘It’s not as if the same thing could happen again.’
‘No.’ Rafael glared savagely at her. ‘We can both be sure of that.’
The catastrophic chain of events that had changed their lives so dramatically had started late one summer’s day when Rafael had hurried out to the stables to greet a newly arrived horse. Lottie had gone with him, for no other reason than it had been a beautiful summer’s evening.
There had been a time when there could be several feral horses pawing and snorting in the stables at Monterrato. Another of Rafael’s adrenalin diversions. He had loved the challenge of training those spirited beasts, those wildly unpredictable animals that sometimes even experienced trainers had given up on. Uncharacteristically, he’d seemed to have endless patience with them, and respect too, relishing the thrill of gaining their trust, seeing their fears subside, eventually allowing him to handle them.
That particular evening had seen the arrival of a massive black stallion called Abraxas. Standing some distance away, Lottie had heard the furious clatter of hooves from inside the horsebox, thought she was obeying Rafael’s instructions to ‘stand the hell back’, and had watched as the magnificent beast had bucked and reared down the wooden ramp.
What had happened after that was little more than a blur. With a violent toss of the head and a flash of black, sweaty muscle Abraxas had somehow shaken himself free from the reins held by Rafael and come careering wildly in her direction. The next thing she had known she was curled up on the ground, clutching her swollen stomach, aware that something bad...really bad...had just happened.
Now several long years had passed and the stables stood empty and neglected. But as Rafael and Lottie faced each other in the quiet of the room it was clear that the memory of that savage night still gripped them as brutally as ever.
The helicopter ride to the hospital...the panic and pain of the birth...Rafael striding up and down corridors, powerlessness fuelling his anger as he tried to do something—anything—to end Lottie’s agony, to get the baby delivered safely, to save both their lives. And afterwards, when Lottie’s life had been out of danger and their tiny, fragile daughter had been fighting for hers, his initial relief had turned to desperate frustration when he’d been told that they didn’t have the specialist equipment to save his daughter—that her only hope of survival would be a transfer to another hospital.
He had been on the phone barking out orders, insisting he would take her in his helicopter—had had to be almost physically restrained from scooping up little Seraphina against his broad chest and dashing off with her into the night. But in the end she had proved to be just too small, too weak, and her featherlight grip on life had slipped away before even Rafael could do anything about it.
Getting up, Lottie moved around the desk towards him. She longed more than anything to feel his arms around her, for him to comfort her, to be able to comfort him. She longed for them finally to be able to share their grief instead of having it push them apart, the way it always had.
But, scraping back his chair, Rafael was up on his feet before she had reached him, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dark, forbidding. Everything about the granite set of his jaw, the tight line of his mouth, was telling her to back away, now.
‘You need to go now. I have calls to make.’
‘Why do you do this, Rafe?’ Her voice was choked but she wasn’t going to give up. She stood her ground, barring his way, her blue gaze fixed firmly on his face. ‘Why do you push me away, lock me out, every time Seraphina is mentioned?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You are doing it right now—look at yourself!’ She stood back, theatrically gesturing to him. ‘You are virtually ordering me out of the room.’
‘I really don’t have time for this, Lottie.’
‘That’s just it, isn’t it? You never have time when it comes to talking about Seraphina, about how her death affected us. How are we ever supposed to move on when you flatly refuse to discuss it?’
‘There is nothing to discuss. It happened. That is a fact. And no amount of talking is going to change that.’
‘And not talking about it doesn’t make it go away.’ She watched as his eyes darkened to black. ‘Why don’t you try, Rafe? Try to open up? It’s got to be better than this...’ she stumbled over the words ‘...this frozen chasm of silence.’ Lowering her voice, she fought to control the burn of tears in her throat. ‘Why can’t you share your feelings with me?’
Taking several paces towards the window, Rafael stopped and turned on his heel to stare at her again, his face a mask of agony. ‘Trust me—you wouldn’t want to share my feelings.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean that you really wouldn’t want to be in my head where Seraphina is concerned.’
‘How can you say that?’ Lottie was aghast. ‘Please Rafe, I’m begging you, just speak honestly with me. Stop shutting me out.’
‘Right.’ Marching back to the desk, he slammed down the palm of his hand, flashing Lottie a murderous look. ‘You have asked, Lottie. You say you want to know my feelings—so here they are.’ Sucking in a heavy breath, he jerked back his head, his fists balled by his sides. ‘I feel her loss every single day of my life. I feel anger and sadness and bitterness and frustration. But most of all I feel guilt. A deep, abiding guilt that will be with me till the day I die.’
They faced one another in terrible silence.
‘There—is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?’
Lottie felt for the edge of the desk to steady herself against a wave of dizziness. ‘But it was a tragic accident—you must accept that.’ Her voice shook. ‘No one was to blame.’
Raising his hand, Rafael silenced her. ‘How could I possibly accept that when I was the one who brought the wretched horse to the palazzo in the first place? Who was supposed to be responsible for controlling him? I am the one who took you to the wrong damned hospital—who wasn’t able to get Seraphina transferred quickly enough.’ The pain of his words contorted his beautiful face. ‘Need I go on?’
‘Stop it, Rafe, you are being ridiculous. It wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault. No one could have foreseen what would happen.’ She reached out to touch him, desperately wanting to be able to ease his misery, but Rafael turned away and her arm was left lowering in mid-air.
‘I am to blame, Lottie. I am responsible for Seraphina’s death. And nothing you can say will change that.’
* * *
The grand ballroom glittered for the occasion, its enormous chandeliers twinkling above the heads of the noisily chattering guests seated around the dozens of tables. Waiters moved expertly between them, pouring the finest Monterrato wines into crystal glasses, serving course after course of delicious food. In the background huge flo
ral arrangements lined the walls and a pianist played soft classical music. And seated side by side at the top table were the host and hostess.
Lottie thought the evening was never going to end. She was struggling, really struggling to keep up the façade, when the whole time all she could think about was her earlier conversation with Rafael. His words were going round her head in a continuous loop, muffling the polite questions of the guests on their table, tripping up her hurried answers.
She had been totally amazed by Rafael’s bitter confession that he felt responsible for Seraphina’s death, was consumed with guilt for what had happened. Why had she never realised this before? But then why would she have done? He had always flatly refused to discuss anything to do with Seraphina. And, judging by the way he had sharply dismissed her from his office, he deeply regretted having discussed it now.
She had tried her hardest to play her part, to do her duty—standing beside Rafael with her beautiful oyster silk evening dress sweeping the ground as they greeted the guests, shaking endless hands, air-kissing expensively perfumed cheeks, smiling politely enough for a rictus grin to set in. More than once she had witnessed the raising of a finely shaped eyebrow, the pout of a recently sculpted lip, as the glamorous and good had politely filed past, no doubt itching to get out of earshot and start whispering amongst themselves about the surprise reappearance of the Contessa.
Well, who would have predicted that?
Lottie cast her eyes around the guests at their table now: a well-known politician, an Italian ambassador, a hugely wealthy investment banker, and their immaculately groomed wives. She wished they would all go home. The wives had soon lost interest in her, turning their attention instead to the gorgeously handsome Conte, each one vying for his attention with decreasing subtlety as the alcohol flowed and the evening wore on.
The banker’s wife, Eleanora, seemed particularly determined to flaunt her charms in his direction, leaning forward to touch his hand, purr into his ear, making sure he had the most advantageous view of her expensively acquired cleavage.
Lottie quietly loathed her for it—loathed all of them as she watched them flirting with her husband. But mostly she loathed herself for caring, for allowing her inner green-eyed monster to make an appearance and having it point out to her so eloquently that Rafael should have married one of these glamorous, rich, titled women. How could she ever have been expected to compete with them? Their marriage had been doomed from the start.
To make matters worse, a sideways glance confirmed that Rafael looked particularly stunning tonight, in a dinner suit and black bow tie. Nobody could wear clothes like Rafael, but it wasn’t just that; it was his magnetism, the effortless unleashed sex appeal that lay beneath the starched white shirt that turned the eyes of every woman in the room in his direction.
He had been perfectly polite to her all evening—when the attentions of these parasitic women had allowed—but Lottie could sense the cool reserve, the hastily erected impenetrable barrier between them. She could see it as clearly as if it were made of steel.
Finally the evening was over and the last of the guests were escorted to the door to be whisked away in their chauffeur-driven limousines. Lottie was exhausted, but she didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted to find Rafael, to talk to him some more, to go over what he had told her and make him see that none of it was his fault.
She found him back in the ballroom, striding tall and dark amongst the post-party debris, thanking the waiting staff individually by name and politely dismissing them. Lottie watched from the doorway as, alone now, he pulled out one of the gilded dining chairs and sat down heavily, stretching out his legs and placing his hands behind his head as he leaned back.
‘Rafe?’
Instantly pulling himself upright, he turned to look at her, the chair creaking beneath him. ‘Lottie. I thought you had gone to bed.’
‘Not yet.’ Weaving her way between the tables, Lottie selected a chair and sat down next to him. There was an awkward silence as she rearranged the skirt of her gown. ‘I thought the evening went well.’
‘Yes—yes, it did.’ His undone bow tie lay blackly around his neck, where the top button of his shirt was open. ‘Thank you for your part in it. I know you don’t find these things easy.’
Lottie bristled. Why was he thanking her as if she was just another member of his staff? And what did he mean about her not finding it easy? Had she looked as awkward as she had felt?
Sitting very straight, she hid behind a mask of dignity. ‘Well, I hope I conducted myself appropriately.’
Rafael’s dark eyes turned in her direction at the frostiness of her voice.
‘Obviously I want to do everything I can to help the Seraphina Foundation. Now that I know it exists, that is.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He ignored the barb. ‘It was a worthy performance.’
Worthy performance?
Heat swept through her body at his derisive, arrogant comment. Taking a deep, controlling breath, she felt the bodice of her gown tighten around her, pushing her breasts upwards.
Rafael looked away.
‘And how would you describe your performance, then?’ she asked.
Rafael’s eyes swung back, eyes dangerously dark beneath the sweep of his lashes. ‘I did what I had to do.’
‘Oh, you did that all right, Rafael. You were lapping up the attention of those fawning women, weren’t you? Why don’t you admit that you loved every minute of it?’ She threw the acid words at him. ‘That awful Eleanora woman was virtually climbing inside your trousers and you did nothing to stop her.’
His very Latin shrug of the shoulders had Lottie digging her nails down into her palms. Without using a single word he had managed to convey not only his disregard for her opinion but his contempt for her feelings. Her remarks had been so petty that they weren’t even worthy of a reply.
Lottie was still struggling with silent, impotent rage, berating herself for letting this hideously jealous harpy escape, when she heard Rafael getting up from his chair, muttering something softly in Italian under his breath.
‘Look, Lottie, why don’t we just agree that we have both done our best, that the evening was a success, and leave it at that? Now it’s late and you need to go to bed. It’s important you don’t get overtired.’
Lottie glared at him, fury stinging the backs of her eyes. It was important that she didn’t get over-stressed, overwrought, over-bubblingly, seethingly angry too. But he didn’t seem to care about that.
‘And I take it I will be going to bed alone?’
The words escaped before she could stop them and her hand flew, too late, to her mouth. She already knew that Rafael wouldn’t be coming to her bed that night. He had made that perfectly clear without the need for any words. Why on earth was she demeaning herself by asking him to say it out loud?
But the shock of her question was totally eclipsed by the devastation of his answer.
‘Yes. I have been meaning to talk to you about that. Obviously you are going to need your own space in the palazzo. I have arranged for a suite of rooms in the south wing to be made available to you. Your things will be moved there tomorrow.’
Lottie felt her anger seep away, only to be replaced by an emotion a hundred times worse. Like a tidal wave of heartache it swamped her, leaving her feeling weak and breathless and alone—terribly alone. So this was how it was to be. This was Rafael’s vision for their future. She was to be locked away for the duration of her pregnancy—exiled like a swelling Mrs Rochester—in the south wing. And after the baby was born...? Who knew what he had planned? Presumably something even more hideous. An island somewhere so remote that he would be able to pretend that she didn’t exist at all?
She raised eyes so heavy with sadness that they could hardly bear to look at him, desperately trying to find something in the tight mask of his face, the
cold blackness of his eyes, that she could take some comfort from. But there was nothing. Just the twitch of a muscle beneath the scarred cheekbone.
‘The south wing, you say?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper in the cavernous quiet of the room.
‘That’s right. I thought that would be for the best.’
‘The best for whom, exactly?’
‘For you—for both of us. For all concerned. I think it’s important we lay down the ground rules right from the start. So we both know where we stand.’
‘Oh, I think you have done that, Rafael.’ Lottie bit down hard on her lip to try and stop it trembling. ‘Rest assured. I know exactly where I stand.’
Stumbling to her feet, she snatched up a handful of the oyster silk of her gown, turned and fled from the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOTTIE OPENED HER EYES to the cold reality of a new day. Going into the bathroom, she held her hair back with one hand as she splashed cold water onto her face, roughly rubbing it dry before returning to the bedroom and looking around her.
She had made her decision and she was strangely calm. She was leaving. Leaving Monterrato and leaving Rafael. And this time there would be no going back.
She had spent the night thinking everything through as clearly as she could. Staring at the tangled mess of their relationship, she had forced herself to try and unravel it, following the thread, carefully picking away at the knots, refusing to stop no matter how painful it had been.
And the more she had unravelled the more obvious it had been. Rafael wanted her solely for one thing. To bear him an heir. She had known that right from the start—he had been brutally honest about it. But somehow the truth had got lost along the way, obscured by the fanciful notions insidiously creeping in, fooling her into thinking that he might actually have some feelings for her, that there might even be a chance of them reuniting as a couple.
But last night all those notions had been cruelly dispelled. Rafael’s vision for the future left no room for any silly ideas about happy families. And the truth hurt—more than hurt. It was an agony that would never, ever go away. Because when it came down to it that was all they had, she and Rafael, the one true constant that she could always rely on with their relationship. Pain. And hurt. And that was all Lottie could feel now.
