Читать книгу Rags To Riches Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 36

SHE needed to leave the castle immediately, get back to Oliena, arrange a transfer to the airport and book the next flight back to England. If she disappeared now Cesario would never be able find her. And without a paternity test there would be no risk of him trying to take Sophie away from her.

Beth’s head was spinning with frantic thoughts, but she forced a smile for Cesario’s butler as he ushered her out of the library and motioned that she should follow him up the stairs.

‘There’s been a change of plan. I’ve decided to return to my hotel tonight,’ she told him in a falsely bright tone. ‘There’s no need for anyone to go all the way down to Oliena to collect my things. If you could just call me a taxi, I’ll leave now while the baby has fallen back to sleep.’

Teodoro’s inscrutable expression did not alter. ‘A member of staff has already been dispatched to your hotel and will return with your luggage shortly. Signor Piras gave orders for the nursery to be made ready for the infant. If you would like to follow me, I will escort you there.’

Without another word he resumed his unhurried pace towards the ornately carved oak staircase which wound up to the upper floors of the castle. She was trapped, Beth realised fearfully. The taxi driver who had brought her here had only spoken a few words of English and she did not speak Italian. Even if she could find a phone number for a taxi firm her chances of making herself understood were minimal.

But the thought of staying at the castle made her stomach churn with nervous tension. When she had made the trip to Sardinia it hadn’t crossed her mind that Cesario would want his baby. Maybe she had been wrong to assume that every man was as unreliable as her father, she thought heavily. She had expected Cesario to argue against having a DNA test. And if it had been proved that he was Sophie’s father the most she had hoped for was that he would offer her a small allowance to help with the cost of bringing up his child.

Reluctantly acknowledging that she had no choice, Beth followed the butler up the stairs. Sophie was hers, she assured herself. Mel had appointed her as the baby’s guardian. But would a court decide that Sophie’s father had more right to bring her up than a guardian? She paused as a wave of dizziness swept over her and grabbed the banister rail for support. Her legs felt wobbly and she could not seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs.

It was the same feeling she’d experienced a few times before, when she’d had to climb the five flights of stairs up to her flat because the lift in the tower block had been vandalised yet again. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. There was no point in worrying about anything at the moment. Nothing could be decided until the results of the DNA test were known.

The nursery was at the end of a long passageway on the second floor. Beth had guessed that it would simply be a guest bedroom furnished with a cot, for the use of any visitors to the castle with a baby. She certainly had not expected this, she thought in astonishment when Teodoro ushered her into the room.

Spacious and airy, the room was painted a delicate primrose-yellow which complemented the pale oak furniture. A beautiful antique cot stood in the centre of the room and a maid was adjusting the exquisite cream lace bedding. She looked round when Beth entered the room and stared curiously at Sophie, before Teodoro spoke to her in Italian and she quickly left the room.

‘Carlotta will bring you anything you need. Just pull on this rope here to call her,’ he explained to Beth.

‘Thank you.’ She walked slowly across the cream velvet carpet and paused in front of a wooden rocking horse. She had seen pictures of luxurious nurseries like this one in glossy magazines featuring houses owned by wealthy celebrities. Everything here was the finest quality. But this room had not been designed as a showpiece. She sensed that love had gone into the creation of this nursery, and as she looked down at Sophie, who was asleep in her arms, an unexpected feeling of peace swept over her.

‘It’s a beautiful room,’ she said softly. Something about the nursery puzzled her. Maybe it was simply her imagination, but she felt a presence that she could not explain. She glanced at the butler. ‘It feels as though a child used to sleep here not that long ago.’

‘It was Signor Piras’s son’s room.’

Beth could not hide her shock. His son! ‘So, is Mr Piras married? Do his wife and son live at the castle?’

‘Not any longer.’ Teodoro gave her a brief nod. ‘If there is nothing else, signorina, then I will leave you. The door over there leads to an adjoining bedroom, which has been prepared for you. I will have your bags sent up as soon as they arrive.’

Evidently the subject of Cesario’s wife and child was not something the butler was prepared to discuss, but Beth had dozens of questions she longed to ask and felt a surge of frustration as Teodoro departed from the nursery. She wished she had been able to discover more about Cesario before she’d left England. He was the head of one of Italy’s largest banks and she had expected to find a detailed profile about him on the internet. But all she’d unearthed was one paragraph explaining his family history and the fact that the Piras and Cossu banks had merged a few years ago. Cesario’s personal life had not been mentioned, and it was a shock to now discover that he was married. Where were his wife and son? she wondered. Why didn’t they live at the castle with him?

Her arms were aching from holding Sophie. Aware that the baby would wake again soon and need a bath and feed, she tried to dismiss the enigmatic master of the Castello del Falco to the back of her mind as she laid Sophie in the cot and went to inspect the room where she was to sleep.

Her room was smaller than the nursery, but no less charming, with pale walls and soft green curtains and bedspread. She would love a cup of tea, Beth thought wearily. And something to eat would be good; the hollow feeling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the piece of toast she’d had before she’d left her flat in East London that morning.

She wondered if she dared pull the bell rope to summon the maid, but she felt like a fraud. She had worked as a nanny for several rich families, and although she had shared a certain amount of intimacy with her employers’ lives she had never forgotten that she was a member of the household staff—and she’d certainly never had a maid wait on her before.

Maybe a shower would take her mind off her hunger pangs? And there was still that half-eaten cheese sandwich she had bought on the plane in her handbag, she remembered. She would make do with that.

* * *

The heartrending cries of a baby drifted along the corridor. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Cesario felt his mind fly back to the first months after Nicolo had been born, when he and Raffaella had taken it in turns to pace the nursery, trying to soothe their restless son.

He had once read that becoming parents for the first time often put a strain on a marriage. But the birth of their son had resulted in an unexpected closeness between him and Raffaella, he brooded. Their devotion to Nicolo had created a bond between them. But their harmonious relationship had been short-lived, and by the time of Nicolo’s second birthday Raffaella had started an affair with an artist who had been employed to carry out restoration work on the Castello del Falco’s antique paintings.

‘You cannot blame me for falling in love with another man,’ she had told Cesario when he had confronted her. ‘Our marriage was a business arrangement and there has never been any love between us. I’m not sure you are even capable of loving someone. Your heart is made of the same impenetrable stone as the walls of this castle.’

‘I love my son,’ Cesario had replied fiercely. ‘Go to your lover if that’s what you want, but you will not take Nicolo. I will never give him up.’

Unable to bear the thought of being separated from Nicolo, of the little boy growing up with a stepfather, he had immediately applied to the courts for custody of his son. He had agreed that Raffaella should have access visits. Remembering how devastated he had been when his own mother had left, it had never been his desire to prevent Nicolo from seeing his mother.

But he had underestimated the power of love, Cesario thought bitterly. Raffaella had been torn between her lover and her son. Her plan to snatch Nicolo from the castle would have been successful but for the fact that Cesario had returned home from a business trip a day earlier than expected. The ensuing row had been acrimonious—a furious exchange between two people who had never loved each other but who both loved their child.

If only he had not lost his temper. If only he had tried to reach an amicable agreement with Raffaella instead of angrily threatening to stop her visiting Nicolo. Regret burned like poison in Cesario’s gut.

In an attempt to calm the situation between them he had left her alone to say goodbye to Nicolo, but while he had been in his study she had bundled the little boy into her car and driven away.

The screech of tyres on the twisting, wet mountain road still haunted his dreams. The terrifying silence that had followed still tortured his soul. He had run. Dio, he had run as he had never run before—like a man fleeing from the devil. But he had been too late.

Cesario dragged his mind back to the present, his nostrils flaring as he drew a harsh breath and sought to bring his emotions under control. The cries were growing louder. Tonight another child was in the nursery—a child who, astoundingly, might be his.

His jaw tightened and he strode along the corridor, intent on finding out why Sophie’s guardian was apparently not taking care of her.

* * *

‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s see if holding you over my shoulder helps,’ Beth murmured as she lifted Sophie up from the change mat. The baby had been crying for nearly an hour, and although she was regularly unsettled at this time of night Beth felt a rising sense of despair. After four months of disturbed nights she was utterly exhausted. But there was no chance she could go to bed until she had managed to settle Sophie.

Patting the baby gently on the back, she wandered over to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. It was dark now, but a little while ago car headlights had blazed as the party guests had departed from the castle.

Watching them, Beth had been tempted to slip downstairs with Sophie and plead for someone to take them to Oliena. The discovery that Cesario had a wife and son had complicated an already difficult situation. Part of her felt it would be better for everyone if she disappeared from the castle and had no further contact with Cesario Piras. She would manage to bring Sophie up on her own, she assured herself. Money would be tight, but she’d get by somehow.

But would that be fair on Sophie? her conscience demanded. What right did she have to prevent the truth about the baby’s parentage from being known? And if Cesario was her father surely it would be better for Sophie if he played a role in her life as he had stated he would want to do.

So all the guests had driven away, and now the courtyard was deserted except for the hideous stone gargoyles whose evil faces were illuminated by the moonlight. Once again the thought that she was trapped in Cesario’s forbidding fortress sent a shiver through Beth. She had no reason to fear him, she reminded herself. But the image of his scarred face seemed to have been burned onto her retinas, and the memory of his hard grey eyes had a strangely unsettling effect on her.

Sophie had quietened for a few minutes when she had been picked up, but now she started to cry again and would not be pacified. Singing to her sometimes helped, and Beth was on the second verse of ‘Golden Slumbers’ when a deep, gravelly voice from the doorway made her spin round.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

For some reason Cesario seemed even taller and more commanding here in the nursery than he had downstairs in the library. Beth’s eyes flew to his face and she caught her breath, her heart suddenly racing.

His sharp gaze noted her reaction and he gave a grim smile. ‘It’s not pretty, is it?’ he said, touching his scar. ‘I apologise if you find my appearance disturbing.’

‘I don’t—of course I don’t.’ Colour flared on her cheeks. She was mortified that he thought she had been staring at him. The truth was she did find him disturbing, she acknowledged ruefully, but not in the way he meant. She could not seem to prevent her eyes from focusing on his mouth, and once again she imagined him slanting his lips over hers and kissing her with the kind of searing passion she had read about in books but never experienced personally.

‘Nothing is wrong with Sophie, exactly,’ she explained hurriedly. ‘She’s always unsettled at this time of night. The health visitor said that lots of babies suffer from colic in the first few months, and that she’ll grow out of it. But I hate seeing her like this,’ she admitted as she cradled the inconsolable baby in her arms. ‘I wish I could help her. I’ve tried walking up and down and rocking her but nothing’s working tonight.’

There was no hint of impatience in Beth’s voice even though she was clearly dead on her feet from tiredness, Cesario noted. She looked even paler than when she had first arrived at the castle, and the purple shadows beneath her eyes added to her air of fragility.

She had changed out of her shabby clothes into an equally shabby dressing gown, which had probably once been pale pink but through age and washing was now an unbecoming shade of sludge. The belt tied tightly around her waist emphasised her extreme slenderness. She looked as though she would snap in half in a strong wind, Cesario thought impatiently. She was not the type of woman he was usually attracted to, yet something about her kept drawing his gaze back to her face.

Her skin was bare of make-up and as smooth as porcelain, and her almond-shaped green eyes were captivating. There was an intriguing air of innocence about her, he mused, and although when he had first seen her he had dismissed her as ordinary-looking he saw now that she possessed an unassuming beauty that he found beguiling.

Frowning at the unexpected train of his thoughts, he crossed the nursery and stared down at Sophie, whose cries were reaching a crescendo. ‘Perhaps she’s hungry?’

‘I tried to give her the rest of her bottle a few minutes ago but she refused it. More likely she’s full of wind. I think she gulps in air when she feeds during the day, and that makes her feel uncomfortable,’ Beth said, unable to disguise the weariness in her voice.

‘Let me take her.’

Startled by the unexpected request, Beth instinctively tightened her hold on the baby. She had looked after Sophie on her own since she had brought her home from the hospital six weeks after her premature birth, and she felt reluctant to hand her over to a stranger. But if it was proved that Cesario was Sophie’s father he would have a legal and moral right to help care for his child, she reminded herself.

‘She might get upset if she’s held by someone she’s not used to,’ she mumbled.

‘I doubt she’ll be any more upset than she already is,’ Cesario said dryly, as Sophie’s high-pitched cries intensified.

Beth hesitated a moment longer, and then held out the screaming infant to him.

Cesario tensed, a host of emotions swirling inside him. He suddenly regretted asking to hold Sophie. He did not know if she was his child, so why get involved? he asked himself. But the baby’s cries had triggered an instinctive response deep within him to comfort her just as he had once comforted his son.

Panic gripped him. He did not want to be reminded of Nicolo. The memories hurt too much. But Beth was staring at him, clearly confused because he had not taken Sophie from her. Fighting a strong urge to turn away and stride out of the nursery, he stretched out his arms and lifted the baby against his chest.

She was so tiny, and she weighed next to nothing. Something fierce, almost primitive, unfurled inside him as he acknowledged how incredibly vulnerable she was.

Could she really be his daughter?

He bent his head and rested his cheek on Sophie’s silky-soft dark hair. Her evocatively sweet scent—a mixture of milk and baby powder—reminded him painfully of Nicolo. But as he gently rocked Sophie and her cries subsided a sensation of peace swept over him. Another child could never replace the son he had lost, but if Sophie was his maybe his life would have meaning once more rather than being simply an existence.

‘Don’t cry, piccola,’ he murmured softly.

Perhaps it was the deep timbre of his voice, or the rumble from his chest as he spoke that captured Sophie’s attention. Gradually her cries lessened and she hiccupped, lifting her head to focus on him with huge, unblinking brown eyes. For several seconds she regarded him solemnly, tears still glistening on her long lashes. And then, to Cesario’s amazement, her little rosebud mouth curved into a smile.

Dio mio! He caught his breath. She was so beautiful. He felt a curious sensation, as though a hand was squeezing his heart. First thing tomorrow he would arrange a DNA test, and if it was proved that Sophie was his daughter he would welcome her into his life, he vowed silently.

Beth watched in disbelief as Sophie snuggled into Cesario’s neck and made the little snuffling noise that she always did when she was dropping off to sleep. The silence was bliss after the baby’s piercing screams.

It was stupid to feel jealous because Cesario had managed to soothe Sophie where she had failed, she told herself. But she could not keep the stiffness from her voice as she commented, ‘You must have a magic touch. I’ve been trying to settle her for more than an hour.’

‘If she had been crying for that long she was probably worn out.’ His gaze still locked on the child in his arms, Cesario walked over to the cot and laid her in it before tucking the blankets around her.

Beth was taken aback by his gentleness. She hadn’t expected this big, stern-faced man to behave with such tenderness as he had shown to Sophie. But before she had arrived at the Castello del Falco she had been unaware that he already had a child.

She ran her fingers over the polished wooden end-panel of the cot, which was decorated with exquisitely carved rabbits and squirrels, and recalled the second-hand cot she had bought for Sophie. It hadn’t looked too bad once she had repainted it, she thought ruefully. But it was nothing compared to this beautiful antique.

‘Thank you for allowing Sophie to sleep here. This cot is amazing. Is it very old?’

‘It was commissioned by one of my ancestors in the early seventeen hundreds. Documents in the library show that the then master of the Castello del Falco and his wife had been childless for twenty years before she became pregnant and gave birth to a son,’ Cesario explained, keeping his voice low, so as not to wake Sophie. ‘I imagine that my ancestor was overjoyed to finally have an heir, and he requested the most skilled craftsmen to make furniture for his son’s nursery.’

‘The butler told me that this used to be your son’s room.’ Beth hesitated when she saw Cesario stiffen but could not contain her curiosity. ‘Teodoro said that he no longer lives at the castle?’

‘No.’

From his curt response it was clear that Cesario did not wish to continue with the subject. His face was shuttered, and the sudden bleakness in his eyes made Beth wish she had kept quiet. Whatever mystery surrounded his son, it was no business of hers.

But after a moment, to her surprise, he continued harshly. ‘Nicolo and his mother died in an accident four years ago. He was just two years old.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was stunned by his shocking revelation, and her response sounded banal and inadequate, but she did not know what else to say. Nothing about Cesario Piras was as she had expected. The impression she had gained from Mel was that he was a womanizer who had not even bothered to ask her name before he’d had sex with her.

Of course Mel had been used to that kind of boorish behaviour from men, she thought heavily. They had never discussed it, but she wasn’t completely naive. She had guessed that Mel had occasionally supplemented her income from her job as a glamour model by offering a more intimate service to men she met at parties.

The idea that Cesario might have paid to sleep with Mel had made Beth reluctant to search for him. She had been convinced that he would not be interested in a baby who had resulted from a cold-blooded sexual encounter, and the only reason she had come to Sardinia was because she had promised Mel.

But Cesario did not act like a heartless playboy. He was a widower who had lost his wife and son in tragic circumstances. And, although it was not yet known if Sophie was his child, his gentleness when he had cradled her in his arms had brought a lump to Beth’s throat and evoked a wistful longing that her own father had cared about her enough to stick around during her childhood.

She stared down at Sophie’s angelic little face. ‘I can’t imagine how terrible it must be to lose a child. I may not have given birth to Sophie but I love her as much as if she was my own baby. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. She’s all I have left of Mel,’ she said huskily. ‘Since I was twelve years old Mel was the only person I cared about and who cared about me.’

She blinked away her tears and lifted her head to meet Cesario’s hooded gaze. ‘What will happen if the DNA test reveals that you are Sophie’s father?’ she asked desperately. ‘You said that you will want her to live here at the castle. But I have been a mother to her since the day she was born and she needs me. You can’t send me away from her. It would be too cruel.’

The glimmer of tears in Beth’s vivid green eyes had an unsettling effect on Cesario. He knew nothing about her other than what she had told him, and until he’d heard back from the private investigator he’d called an hour ago to check her out he had no reason to trust her or believe her story. But her emotive outburst had struck a chord in him.

‘Nothing can be decided until the results of the test are known,’ he said tersely. He moved away from the cot. ‘For now, I suggest you get to bed. Will Sophie sleep for the rest of the night?’

‘She’ll probably wake at about three for a feed. Because she’s so tiny she still needs a bottle during the night,’ Beth explained. ‘But then she usually sleeps soundly for six or seven hours.’ She could not hold back a yawn. ‘Actually, her sleep pattern works well for me because in England I start work at 5:00 a.m and finish at nine every morning. I leave Sophie with my neighbour.’

Cesario frowned. ‘What work do you do that early in the day?’

‘I clean offices for a big company close to where I live. My neighbour Maureen’s husband is a postman. She’s used to getting up early when he goes to work, and she babysits until I get home from my shift.’

‘You work as a cleaner?’

Something in his tone made Beth flush. ‘It’s not easy to find a job which fits in with caring for a baby,’ she said defensively. She was usually mild-natured, so perhaps it was because she was tired but his disdainful expression sent a spurt of anger through her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a cleaner. It’s a vital service. You must employ dozens of domestic staff to look after this huge castle—it’s not done by magic, you know.’

Cesario’s dark brows winged upwards. So the little brown mouse had a temper. Twin spots of colour briefly flared on Beth’s cheeks, but they faded, leaving her looking deathly pale. His mouth tightened.

‘I was not expressing a criticism of your job—merely thinking that it is no wonder you resemble a wraith when you clearly get little sleep. And from the look of you—’ his eyes skimmed over her slender figure ‘—not enough time to eat regular meals.’

Beneath his scrutiny Beth was conscious that her faded old dressing gown was fit for the bin. Looking down, she realised that the front was gaping open and she quickly drew the edges together. Not that her body was very exciting, she acknowledged ruefully. Cesario looked distinctly unimpressed by her lack of curves. She guessed he favoured voluptuous blondes. Presumably it had been Mel’s provocative sex-appeal that had attracted Cesario to sleep with her a year ago.

For some reason the thought evoked a corrosive burning sensation in the pit of Beth’s stomach. How on earth could she feel jealous of her best friend who was no longer alive? she asked herself disgustedly.

It suddenly seemed to have been a very long day and she was desperate to be alone. ‘I do eat,’ she told him curtly. ‘But I’m naturally scrawny. I admit I’m very tired, though, so I’ll say goodnight, Mr Piras.’

Scrawny was not the word he would have used to describe Beth Granger, Cesario brooded. He could not understand why her fragile figure and elfin features were having such a profound effect on him, but the stirring of sexual desire in his groin was as insistent as it was unexpected.

Irritated with himself, he strode towards the door. ‘My name is Cesario,’ he reminded her. ‘Buonanotte, Beth. I hope you and Sophie both sleep well.’