Untouched Until Marriage (3 page)

Raul frowned, deeply disturbed by the idea. He knew what kind of woman Libby was: a lap-dancer and apparently an artist—or perhaps she meant
artiste
, he mused derisively. One thing was for sure. The sort of men who frequented strip-clubs were not likely to be suitable father figures for her baby. He pushed away the thought that his father had presumably met Libby at a club. He didn't want to think of Pietro like that. It sullied his memory. But, like it or not, his father had had an affair with Libby and she had borne him a child.

He looked down at Gino and was once more startled by the strong resemblance the baby had to Pietro. Gino's hair was a mass of tight curls, as his father's had been, and his big brown eyes had the same amber flecks. Pietro would have adored his baby son, Raul acknowledged. But Pietro had been dying when Gino had been born, and he had never seen his child. Raul could not understand why Pietro had not confided in him. All he could think was that his father had been ashamed of his relationship with a lap-dancer who was forty years younger than him. Perhaps he had suspected that Libby was a gold-digger, and that was why, in an effort to protect Gino, Pietro had stipulated that his infant son must spend his childhood at the Carducci family home.

It was a pity Pietro had included the child's mother in his will, Raul thought darkly. Libby clearly didn't have a clue about how to care for a baby. Gino had been staring out of the window, but he suddenly turned his head and gave Raul a gummy smile that revealed two little white teeth. The baby was cute, no doubt about
that, Raul conceded. His mouth curved into an answering smile and he felt a sudden overwhelming feeling of protectiveness for Pietro's son. In that moment he knew that he wanted to care for Gino, and would love him—just as Pietro had cared for and loved
him
. This was his chance to repay his adoptive father for everything he had done for him. Pietro had made financial provision for his baby, but
he
would be a father figure to Gino, Raul vowed, and he was determined to make a damn sight better job of parenting than the boy's mother!

Libby hurried back from the kitchen. ‘Would you mind holding him while I give him his medicine? He's not keen on it,' she added ruefully, thinking of the tussles she'd had, trying to persuade Gino to swallow the antibiotic.

She shook the bottle, poured the thick liquid into a spoon—and suddenly realised that in order to tip the medicine into Gino's mouth she would have to lean close to Raul. She tensed with the effort of trying not to touch him, but it was impossible to avoid him. Her senses flared, and she was conscious of the warmth emanating from his big body, the tactile softness of his suede coat and the drift of sandalwood cologne mingled with the fresh, clean smell of soap. She had never been so intensely aware of a man in her life. She was terrified he would somehow guess the effect he had on her, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks when Gino opened his mouth like a little bird and swallowed the medicine without a murmur.

‘Good boy,' she said softly as she lifted him back into her arms and sat him in his highchair.

Raul tore his eyes from the sight of Libby's nipples jutting provocatively beneath her tight-fitting top, incensed by the damnable ache of desire in his gut. ‘When can you be ready to leave for Italy?' he demanded tersely.

Libby gave him a panic-stricken glance, startled by his arrogant assumption that she would agree to take Gino to live in another country just because he had demanded it. And it wasn't just the move, she fretted. There was no getting away from the fact that she would be going to Italy under false pretences. She wasn't Gino's mother, and she did not know how she was going to live a lie. But what choice did she have? she wondered as she stared at Raul Carducci's cold eyes.

‘I'm not sure,' she murmured evasively. ‘I'll have to give my landlord notice that I'm closing the shop, and then I'll have to try and sell off the stock. And of course I'll have to pack.' Not that it would take long to pack up her possessions, Libby knew. Her wardrobe was sparse, to say the least, but she wanted to take all her art materials and her canvases, and the few mementoes she had of her mother. ‘I could probably be ready to bring Gino to Italy at the end of the month.'

‘I was thinking in terms of days, not weeks,' Raul said coolly. ‘My staff will organise clearing the shop and transporting your possessions to Italy. All you need to do is pack a few clothes for you and Gino. That shouldn't take more than an hour.' He drew back his cuff to glance at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘I see no reason why we shouldn't leave this afternoon.'

‘This afternoon!' Libby's jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘Surely you must realise that's impossible? I've a million things to do before I'll be ready to take Gino to
another country to start a new life.' The words ‘another country' and ‘new life' thudded in her head, and fear unfurled inside her. She wasn't sure she wanted a new life. Her life in Pennmar was not easy—especially at the moment, when the shop was doing so badly—but at least it
was
her life, lived on her own terms, rather than a life of pretending to be someone else under Raul Carducci's haughty gaze. ‘Anyway, what's the hurry?' she asked him, pushing her tangled red curls over her shoulder. ‘What does it matter to you when we come?'

Against the backdrop of the dreary room and the sullen grey sky outside the window Libby's hair seemed as bright and alive as the dancing flames of a fire. In her garish clothes she was a splash of vibrant colour in a black and white world, Raul mused, as startlingly vivid as the numerous colourful canvases which were stacked around the room.

He chose not to answer her question. ‘Are these your work?' he asked, glancing around at the bold pictures of land and seascapes that seemed almost to leap off the canvases.

‘Yes. My favourite mediums are oils and charcoals.'

Raul studied a painting of a terraced garden with pots of brilliantly coloured flowers. The picture was loud and brash, with dashes of red, orange and purple seemingly flung at the canvas, yet somehow it worked, and he felt as though he could reach out and touch the flowers. ‘Do you sell many?'

Libby detected scepticism in his voice and bristled. ‘A few—quite a lot, actually. Although that was mainly
in the summer, when the tourists were here. I display them in the shop, but trade is quiet at the moment,' she admitted dismally.

‘You won't have to concern yourself with making a living once you move into the Villa Giulietta,' Raul informed her coolly. ‘There will certainly be no need for you to work as a lap-dancer,' he added, his lip curling contemptuously.

‘Well, that's lucky, because I've never worked as a lap-dancer,' Libby snapped, feeling hot all over when he trailed his eyes insolently down her body and lingered quite blatantly on her breasts.

‘The Purple Pussy Cat Club?' he drawled.

Libby's face burned even hotter. Evidently Raul had learned about the seedy club where she and Liz had once worked, and now he thought that she had been a lap-dancer. The pitfalls of pretending to be Gino's mother were already becoming apparent. ‘I…I wasn't a lap-dancer,' she mumbled, unable to meet his sardonic gaze. ‘I worked behind the bar, that's all.'

Her dream of going to art college had been crushed by the reality of having to earn a living. Having left school with few qualifications, she had found her career choices limited, and she had worked as a cleaner and at a fast food outlet before her mum had helped her get a job serving behind the bar at the nightclub where Liz had already worked as a lap-dancer.

It had been the only job her mum could get when they had arrived back in England after spending several years living in Ibiza. Liz had hated it—but, as she had reminded Libby, they needed the money, and anything was
better than signing on for unemployment benefit. Her mum had been unconventional, and often irresponsible, but she had also been fiercely proud.

Raul was still staring at her, and something in his eyes sent a ripple of sensation through Libby. She couldn't look away from him. It was as though he had cast a spell over her which rooted her to the spot as he strolled nearer, those midnight-dark eyes boring into her as if he were looking into her soul.

He halted inches from her, and almost as if he could not help himself he reached out and wrapped a silky red curl around his finger. ‘So, you're not a stripper?'

‘
No!'
Her face felt like a furnace, but she was trapped by his magnetism and seemed incapable of moving away from him.

His brows rose and he looked down his arrogant nose at her. ‘Pity,' he murmured. ‘I might have considered paying you for a private performance.'

‘Well, you would have wasted your money,' Libby snapped, her will-power finally reasserting itself so that she jerked away from him. She lifted Gino out of his highchair and hugged him to her. ‘I don't think this is going to work. I'm not sure I want to bring Gino to Italy to live at the Carducci villa—certainly not if you're going to make comments like that. Anyway,' she added, desperately clutching at reasons why they should not go with Raul, ‘I can't come with you now. Gino has an appointment with a paediatrician next week because my GP is concerned about his respiratory problems.'

Raul had moved back to the window and was staring at the rain, which was now lashing the glass. ‘Of course you'll come. You're not going to turn down the opportunity to live a life of luxury,' he drawled confidently. He
glanced back at Libby and tried to ignore the burning ache in his groin. Clearly he'd been too long without a lover if he could be attracted to his father's tart, he derided himself. It was a situation he would remedy once he returned home. He could take his pick from numerous beautiful, sophisticated women who understood that all he wanted was a casual sexual relationship with no strings attached.

But first it was imperative that he persuaded Elizabeth Maynard to return to Italy with him immediately. Much as he resented the fact, she controlled fifty percent of Carducci Cosmetics, and he could not run the company without her. ‘Once we are in Italy I will arrange for the baby to see a private specialist,' he assured her. ‘Gino is a Carducci, and I know his father would have wanted him to have the best of everything.'

The best of everything
—the words echoed in Libby's head. Wasn't that what her mother would have wanted for Gino, too? She stared around the flat, at the thread-bare carpet and the patches of damp on the walls, and bit her lip, conscious that Raul was watching her.

‘How can you deny Gino his birthright?' he demanded. ‘Already the spring sunshine in Lazio is warming the lake beside the Villa Giulietta, and the warm climate will be good for him. As he grows older he will have the run of the house and grounds. He can play in the orange groves and learn to sail on the lake.' He would teach his father's son, just as Pietro had taught
him
to sail when he had been a boy, Raul vowed silently.

A thought suddenly struck him that might mean an annoying delay to his plans to take his father's son to Italy as soon as possible. ‘I don't suppose Gino has a passport?'

‘Actually, he does,' Libby replied slowly. Her mother had applied for one soon after Gino had been born. It had been most unlike Liz to be so organised, but Libby guessed that her mum had hoped Pietro would send for her and his baby son. Liz would have wanted Gino to live in Italy, in a grand house rather than this flat, she knew.

To her surprise Raul did not sound as though he resented his baby half-brother, as she had first feared, and actually seemed to
want
Gino to live at the Carducci villa.

She thought of the bank's refusal to increase her overdraft, and the worry that had kept her awake for the past few nights of how she was going to pay the next month's rent on the shop and flat. The truth was that she was at rock-bottom, and there was a very real danger that she and Gino would be homeless. Pietro Cardicci's will was nothing short of a miracle which assured Gino's financial security for life. As Raul had pointed out, she did not have the right to deny Gino his birthright. And Raul had promised he would arrange for Gino to see a private specialist about his dreadful cough…

‘All right,' she said abruptly, her heart thumping. She felt as though she was about to jump over the edge of a precipice into the unknown, but Gino had been offered the chance of a better life than the one she could give him in Pennmar, and for his sake she
had
to take it. ‘We'll come with you today.'

‘Good.' Satisfaction laced Raul's voice. He had never doubted that the lure of the Carducci fortune would persuade Libby to move to Italy. He strolled across
the room and lifted Gino out of her arms. ‘I'll hold him while you pack. My private jet is on stand-by at Newquay airport. I'll tell the pilot to be ready to take off two hours from now.'

‘W
E SHOULD
arrive at the Villa Giulietta in a few minutes,' Raul announced abruptly.

Libby had been staring out of the car window, watching the Italian countryside flash past, but at the sound of his rich-as-clotted-cream voice she turned her head and felt a peculiar tightening sensation in the pit of her stomach when she glanced at his handsome face. He possessed a simmering sexual magnetism that fascinated her, and she could not prevent herself from staring at his mouth, imagining the feel of it on hers. Raul's kiss would be no gentle seduction. The thought slid into her head, and she was shocked to feel a hot, melting sensation between her legs.

Her face burned with embarrassment and she prayed he could not read her mind. How could she feel such a fierce attraction to a man she disliked intensely? But it was no good reminding herself that Raul was the most arrogant man she had ever met. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, and his closeness, the subtle tang of his cologne, made each of her nerve-endings thrum with urgent life.

Her reaction was probably caused by shock that he had finally deigned to speak to her after he had ignored
her throughout the flight to Italy, she decided irritably. Back in her flat in Pennmar she had hastily packed Gino's clothes and her own few belongings. When she had walked back into the living room Raul had compressed his lips at the sight of her bright orange coat, and his disdainful comment, ‘You seem to be wearing just about every colour of the rainbow,' had made her wish that she owned elegant, sophisticated clothes rather than oddments she'd picked up from charity shops.

He was so stuffy, she thought rebelliously. He couldn't be more than in his mid-thirties, but he had a way of looking down his nose at her, just as Mr Mills—the headmaster of the secondary school she had attended intermittently—had done when he had told her that she would never amount to much.

Maybe all upper-class men acted like stuffed shirts? Miles certainly had, she brooded, recalling her brief relationship with Miles Sefton, which had come to an abrupt end when she had overheard him assuring his father, Earl Sefton, that of
course
his relationship with a waitress from the golf club wasn't serious; she was just a bit of totty.

The memory of that humiliating episode made Libby squirm. Why on earth had she agreed to come to Italy with Raul? she wondered, casting a furtive glance at his chiselled features. He made Earl Sefton seem like Father Christmas. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered how Miles's father had stated that she was little Miss Nobody from Nowhere. Now Miss Nobody was going to live in a grand villa with a man who despised her, and, although she would rather die than show it, she was scared stiff at the prospect.

Lost in her thoughts, Libby had not noticed that the car had slowed, but now it turned and purred up a sweeping driveway lined with tall cypress trees. Through the dark green foliage she glimpsed tantalising flashes of pink and cream stone, while in the distance she caught the sparkle of sunshine on blue water. She remembered Raul had said the villa was near a lake, and suddenly the line of trees stopped, the driveway opened out onto a wide courtyard—and her jaw dropped in astonishment as she stared at the most beautiful house she had ever seen.

‘Wow…'
she said faintly. The Villa Giulietta looked like a fairytale castle, with its four rounded turrets and myriad arched windows glinting gold in the evening sunlight. The pink and cream striped brickwork reminded Libby of a candy-stick, while the ornate stonework at the top of the turrets was exquisitely detailed.

The courtyard ran round to the front of the house, which overlooked an enormous sapphire-blue lake. A series of stone steps led up to the front door, and cream and pink roses grew in profusion over the elegant stone pillars of the porch.

‘It's…incredible,' she murmured, utterly overwhelmed by the house's splendour.

‘I agree.' For a moment Raul forgot the anger and frustration that had simmered inside him since he had read Pietro's will, forgot that the woman at his side had been his father's mistress who now had the right to live at the villa. This was his home and he loved it.

His ex-wife had accused him of caring more about the house than he had about her—particularly when he had refused to move permanently to New York. By then his marriage to Dana had been in its death throes and he
hadn't denied it. When they had separated he'd offered her the Manhattan apartment, believing that she would not make a claim on the villa.

How wrong he had been, Raul thought bitterly. Dana had proved to be an avaricious gold-digger. Their divorce had made legal history when she had won a record alimony settlement after only a year of marriage. But although it had cost him a fortune he had at least forced her to relinquish her claim on the Villa Giulietta, and the experience had taught him that marriage was a fool's game which he had no intention of ever repeating.

As the car drew to a halt, a woman appeared at the top of the steps and watched them alight. Libby guessed her to be in her mid-sixties; whippet-thin and elegantly dressed, she did not move forward to greet them but waited imperiously for Raul to come to her.

‘My aunt Carmina,' Raul murmured to Libby, before he strode up the steps. ‘
Zia
Carmina.' He stifled his impatience as he took his aunt's hand and lifted it briefly to his lips. She was his mother's sister, he reminded himself. His father had been fond of her and had often invited her to stay at the villa. Raul knew that Carmina had had been deeply upset by Pietro's death, but she seemed determined to ignore his gentle hints that she might like to return to her house in Rome, and his sympathy was wearing thin.

Gino had woken when the car had stopped moving, and he gave Libby a gummy grin when she lifted him out of his seat. Feeling overawed by the magnificent house, she hovered uncertainly at the bottom of the steps, her heart sinking when Raul's aunt subjected her to a haughty stare that grew gradually more incredulous.

‘Who is this woman?' Carmina demanded in Italian.

Raul gestured for Libby to join him. ‘This is Elizabeth Maynard,' he replied in English. ‘She was my father's…' He hesitated, conscious of the scandalised expression on
Zia
Carmina's face as she raked her eyes over Libby's wild red curls and garishly coloured clothes. For some reason he was reluctant to refer to Libby as Pietro's mistress, but his aunt had transferred her gaze to Gino and she threw up her hands in a gesture of disgust. ‘This
girl
was my brother-in-law's mistress?' Again she spoke in voluble Italian. ‘She looks so common. What was Pietro thinking? He must have been out of his mind to have invited his
puttana
to live at the Villa Giulietta.'

Raul had felt exactly the same sentiments, but now he felt a shaft of annoyance with his aunt for her rudeness, and was glad that Libby could not understand what she had said. ‘My father was entitled to do as he wished, and he made it clear that he wished for his…companion and his infant son to live here,' he reminded the older woman coolly.

‘Pah!' Carmina made no attempt to greet Libby, and after giving her another disdainful glance swung round and swept back into the house.

Libby watched her go and hugged Gino to her, startled to find that her hands were shaking. She hadn't followed any of the lightning-fast exchange between Raul and his aunt, but the older woman's sentiments had been plain.
Puttana
probably meant something vile, she brooded as she recalled how Carina had practically spat the word at her.

Once again she questioned her sanity in pretending to be Gino's mother. Perhaps the Carducci family would be more prepared to accept her if she explained that Pietro had not been her sugar-daddy? But if Raul learned that she had no right to remain at the villa he might order his chauffeur to drive her straight back to the airport.

He could not physically snatch Gino from her, she assured herself, automatically tightening her hold on the baby. But this was a man who travelled by private jet and lived in a villa that looked like a palace. His wealth and the power he commanded were undeniable, and she was sure that if he decided to fight for custody of Gino he would win.

The baby was heavy, and she transferred him to her other hip. ‘Here—let me take him,' Raul offered, holding out his hands.

‘No!' She gripped Gino convulsively, blushing when Raul frowned. ‘Thanks, but he doesn't really know you, and I don't want to unsettle him while he's getting used to a strange house,' she muttered.

Raul stared at her speculatively. ‘I'm sure he'll soon get used to me—and the house.'

He wondered why Libby seemed so nervous. Most women he knew would be unable to conceal their delight at the prospect of living at the villa with all expenses paid, but she looked as though she had been sentenced to a term in jail. She made an incongruous sight in her purple boots and skirt, green tights and orange coat, but nothing could detract from the loveliness of her face. His eyes focused on her soft mouth, and he could not banish the image of covering her lips with his own in a long, leisurely tasting.

Dio
, she was a witch, he thought furiously as he moved abruptly away from her. ‘Follow me. I'll show you to your rooms,' he ordered curtly.

Wordlessly Libby trailed after him, her misgivings increasing as she stepped into the hall and stared around at the marble floors and pillars and the exquisite murals which adorned the walls and ceiling. Rays of early evening sunlight slanted through the windows and danced across the stunning crystal chandelier suspended from the centre of the room. She would have liked to linger and study the beautiful bronze sculptures dotted around the hallway, but Raul was striding ahead and she had to race to keep up with him.

He led the way along endless corridors, past elegant, airy rooms filled with antique furniture. She could easily spend the rest of her life lost in these corridors, Libby fretted as she followed him up yet another flight of stairs. Raul suddenly stopped and pushed open a door, before standing back to usher her into a suite of rooms that comprised a sitting room, small dining area and an adjoining bedroom.

‘I have arranged for this room to be the nursery,' he told Libby, opening another door into a smaller room which had been decorated in soft yellow. The stripped-pine cot and nursery furniture were attractive, and the pale blue striped curtains and matching rug on the floor added to the ambience of the room.

Libby set Gino down on the floor and he immediately crawled over to the box of brightly coloured toys in the corner. Raul watched him for a few moments before commenting, ‘He doesn't seem too unsettled, does he? The nanny has the room next door to this one, by the way,' he added casually.

Libby stared at him. ‘What nanny?'

‘The one I have hired to help take care of Gino. She comes from the best agency in Italy and is highly recommended.'

‘I don't care if she's Mother Teresa.' Fear sharpened Libby's voice. She did not want anyone to take her place in Gino's life. ‘You can just
un
-hire her,' she snapped. ‘I'm perfectly capable of looking after him myself.'

Raul's brows rose in an expression of haughty disdain. ‘From what I saw of your flat in Pennmar, I disagree. It was a filthy hovel.'

Outraged by his description of her former home, Libby felt her temper explode. ‘It was
not
filthy. I was always cleaning, and scrubbing the mildew off the walls. It's not my fault the flat was so damp.'

‘The living room looked like a pigsty,' Raul insisted coldly.

‘That was only because I'd had to move all my things out of my bedroom when it flooded—' Libby broke off at the sound of a knock on the door and stared suspiciously at the dark-haired woman who entered the room.

‘Ah, Silvana.' Raul stepped forward to greet the woman. ‘I'd like to introduce you to your new charge.' He scooped Gino into his arms, and to Libby's annoyance the baby chuckled happily and explored Raul's face with his hand. ‘This is Gino.' Raul paused, and then as an obvious afterthought added, ‘Oh—and his mother, Ms Maynard.'

Silvana gave Libby a cheerful smile and immediately turned her attention to Gino. ‘What a gorgeous little boy,' she said in perfect English, and then in Italian, ‘
Sei un bel bambino
, Gino.'

‘He doesn't understand Italian,' Libby said tightly, wishing that Gino had yelled when the nanny had spoken to him. But he seemed quite content in Raul's arms, and was giving Silvana his most winsome smile—the smile he usually only gave
her
, Libby thought dismally.

‘Silvana is fluent in English and Italian, and she will talk to Gino in both languages so that he will grow up bilingual,' Raul informed Libby coolly. ‘Italy is his home now, and obviously he will need to be fluent in his native tongue—don't you agree?'

‘I suppose so,' Libby muttered. Of course Gino would need to be able to speak Italian, she just hadn't thought of it, and she was irritated that Raul was one step ahead. ‘I'll have to learn too. I picked up Spanish fairly easily, so I guess Italian won't be too hard.'

‘Did you learn Spanish at school?' Raul asked curiously.

‘No…' Libby did not want to admit that she'd received no formal schooling until she and her mum had left Ibiza and returned to live in London, or that her attendance at the local comprehensive had been sketchy and she had learned very little. ‘I spent part of my childhood in Ibiza and learned to speak Spanish there.'

She frowned when Raul gave Gino to the nanny, surprised that the baby did not remonstrate at being handed to a stranger. He was obviously growing out of his clingy stage, and it was selfish to wish that he only wanted her, she told herself firmly.

‘Would you like me to give Gino his tea and a bath?' Silvana asked.