Untouched Until Marriage

Chapter Two

FOR a few seconds Libby was too stunned to speak. Her friend Alice’s warning reverberated in her head. ‘Your mother didn’t appoint you as Gino’s guardian, and although you are his half-sister, legally you have no rights regarding his upbringing.’

If Liz had known she was going to die, of course she would have appointed her daughter as Gino’s guardian, Libby thought desperately. But, as Alice had pointed out, she had no proof of her mother’s wishes. It was ironic that Pietro Carducci, who had not even acknowledged his son’s birth, should have made provision for Gino in his will. If the matter went to court, it seemed likely that Pietro’s wishes would be taken into account, and possible that Raul would be granted custody of Gino and be allowed to take him to Italy.

Her heart was pounding with panic but one crucial thought stood out in Libby’s mind. Raul believed that Gino was her baby. Clearly he had no idea that there had been two Elizabeth Maynards, or that the woman who had conceived Pietro Carducci’s child as a result of their brief affair had died only a month after Pietro had passed away. She recalled the expression of disgust on Raul’s face when he had asked her what had attracted her to his older, wealthy father. He believed she was a gold-digger, but it was better he thought that than discovered that she was Gino’s half-sister and had no legal claim on him, she thought wildly.

She frowned, suddenly remembering something Raul had said. ‘Why did you accuse me of owing rent on the flat where we—I,’ she hastily amended, knowing she must hide the fact that she had lived in London with her mother, ‘lived before I moved to Cornwall? Of course I paid the rent.’

Raul’s eyes narrowed at Libby’s belligerent tone. He was not used to being spoken to in that manner by anyone, and certainly not by a woman. His staff, both at the Villa Giulietta and at Carducci Cosmetics, treated him with the utmost respect, and the women he mixed with socially tended to hang on his every word. To his mind, a woman’s role was to make light conversation, to provide soothing company after a day of hard bargaining in the boardroom and to grace his bed so that he could enjoy mutually satisfying sex without the complications of emotional involvement.

Elizabeth Maynard—or Libby, as she called herself, would be a far from soothing companion, he thought as he stared at her mass of wild red curls and stormy eyes. Her mouth was set in an angry line that challenged him to kiss her until her lips softened and parted and allowed him to slide his tongue between them. He inhaled sharply, and it took all of his formidable will-power to ignore the dictates of his body and listen to the cool logic of his brain. She was Pietro’s tart, who had had no compunction about seducing a much older man with her nubile young body, and no way was the son going to repeat the mistakes of his father, Raul assured himself grimly.

‘Your landlord said that you were frequently behind with the rent, and when you moved away suddenly you left owing him several thousand pounds,’ he said coldly. ‘Why would he lie?’

‘To get back at me because I refused to sleep with him, most likely,’ Libby muttered bitterly. ‘He was a horrible old man. I used to take him the rent money regularly every month and he never missed an opportunity to try and grope me. He made it clear that he would reduce the rent if I “paid” him in another way.’

‘Are you saying you weren’t tempted?’ Raul queried derisively. ‘I assume you make a habit of sleeping with older men for financial gain. You certainly struck gold with my father,’ he continued, ignoring her furious gasp. ‘Having his child was a clever move, which I guess you thought would ensure you a meal ticket for life. You thought right; it has,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Pietro has granted you the right to bring up your son at the Carducci family villa, and take control of fifty percent of Carducci Cosmetics until Gino is eighteen.’

Raul gave a harsh laugh when Libby stared at him open-mouthed. He reached inside his coat and retrieved a sheaf of papers. ‘Congratulations. You’ve hit the jackpot,’ he drawled sarcastically as he thrust the documents at Libby.

She stared dazedly at the first page and saw that it was headed ‘The last will and testament of Pietro Gregorio Carducci.’ Conscious that Raul was watching her, she ran her eyes down the page until she came to a paragraph which stated that Gino’s mother, Elizabeth Maynard, should live at the Villa Giulietta, with all her expenses and living costs paid for out of the estate, until her son came of age.

It was astounding. She could barely comprehend it. But before she could read any further Gino made a grab for the documents. He was clearly fascinated by the white paper, and, remembering how he had shredded an important letter from the bank the previous day, Libby hastily handed the will back to Raul.

‘So you mean you want me to live in Italy with Gino?’ she said slowly, relief flooding through her that Raul hadn’t sought her out to take the baby away from her. Not that she would have allowed him to, she thought fiercely. Gino was the only person she had left in the world, and she was prepared to do anything to keep him—even if that meant pretending that he was her son.

‘I can’t think of anything I’d like less,’ Raul said, in a coldly arrogant tone that made her feel about two feet high. ‘But unfortunately I have no say in the matter. My father clearly stated his wish that Gino and his mother should live at the Villa Giulietta.’

Libby glanced at her baby brother and felt her heart melt when he stared solemnly back at her with his big brown eyes. His light olive skin and mass of dark curls spoke of his Italian heritage, but he had her mother’s smile, she thought, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. Liz had adored her baby for the few short months she had spent with him. It seemed so desperately cruel that Gino had been robbed of his mother before he’d ever had a chance to know her, but she would take Liz’s place, Libby vowed silently. Her little brother was her only link with her mum. She loved him just as deeply as if he was her own child, and she was determined to do what was best for him.

But would taking him to live in Italy, with Raul, who clearly resented his half-brother, really be in Gino’s best interest? she brooded. Her doubts increased when she glanced at the autocratic features of the handsome Italian. ‘We have things to talk about,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Perhaps we could meet in a day or two…’

Raul frowned impatiently. ‘I don’t have a day or two to waste hanging around here. And anyway, what is there to discuss? My father named Gino as his heir, and I can’t believe you would turn down the chance to get your hands on his inheritance. Presumably you deliberately fell pregnant in the first place so that you could demand a massive payout in child maintenance?’

‘I did no such thing,’ Libby retorted angrily. Although he did not know it, Raul was insulting her mother, not her, and if she hadn’t been holding Gino she would have slapped that arrogant smirk off his face. Far from deliberately falling pregnant, Liz had been utterly shocked when she had discovered that she had conceived a baby as a result of her holiday romance with a charming Italian.

‘Gino was unplanned, it’s true, but he was very wanted,’ she told Raul huskily, remembering how Liz’s shock had turned to delight that she was going to be a mother again. ‘My mo—’ She stopped in her tracks and continued hurriedly, ‘Your father was informed of Gino’s birth, but he never acknowledged his son and I never expected anything from him.’

Raul gave a disbelieving snort. ‘My father was an honourable man who would never have turned his back on his child.’ He frowned as a thought occurred to him. ‘When was Gino born?’

‘The seventh of June. He’s ten months old now.’

‘Pietro was very ill by June of last year, and he died in August,’ Raul told her flatly. ‘An inoperable brain tumour had been diagnosed the previous October and it grew rapidly. Did you know about his illness?’ he asked Libby sharply.

She shook her head. Pietro must have fallen ill soon after her mother had returned from the Mediterranean cruise she had won. The cruise on which Liz had fallen in love with a gorgeous Italian, she had confessed to Libby, with a faintly embarrassed smile after all she had said over the years about the unreliability of men and the foolishness of losing your heart to one.

Liz had been devastated when she had heard nothing more from Pietro after the cruise—especially when she’d discovered that she had conceived his child. ‘I’ve done it again, Libby,’ she’d said tearfully, when she had emerged from the bathroom clutching a pregnancy test. ‘I trusted a man and now I’m left with his baby—the same as happened with your bloody father. You’d think I’d have learned that all men are selfish bastards, wouldn’t you?’

Libby had hated Pietro for hurting her mum, but according to Raul his father had returned to Italy from the cruise to learn that he was terminally ill. Perhaps he hadn’t felt able to confide such devastating news to Liz, she thought, her heart aching for her mother and the man she had loved. When Liz had written to her lover to tell him of Gino’s birth Pietro had been weeks from death, and maybe hadn’t had the strength to reply. But surely the fact that he had included Liz and Gino in his will meant that he had cared for her mum after all?

Gino had been sitting quietly in her arms, but now he began to cough again, his chest heaving with the effort. ‘I thought you said he was due some medication?’ Raul commented, his frown deepening. He had as much experience of children as he had with aliens from another planet, but this baby sounded seriously unwell.

‘He is.’ Concern for Gino overrode Libby’s reluctance to invite Raul up to the flat. ‘You’d better come up,’ she muttered.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Raul demanded when they reached the first floor landing.

Libby paused with her hand on the living room door. ‘He had an illness called bronchiolitis, which is fairly common in babies, but he developed pneumonia and was very unwell. He was in hospital for a few weeks and now he can’t seem to shake off this cough. The doctor said that the living conditions here don’t help,’ she confessed, recalling how the GP in the village had warned her that the mildew growing on the damp walls of the flat produced spores which Gino inhaled and were the worst thing for his lungs.

She pushed open the door, and stifled a groan at the scene of chaos that met her. Raul Carducci’s unexpected visit had made her forget the disaster that had occurred the previous evening, when the bulge in her bedroom ceiling had given way and rain water had gushed through. Luckily, her friend Tony had been there. They had been sharing a bottle of wine while Libby had talked over her financial worries and the likelihood that she would have to close Nature’s Way, and together they had grabbed her belongings and carried them into the sitting room, out of the deluge that had flooded her room. Tony had managed to block the hole to stop any more water pouring through, but he’d got soaked to the skin and had had to change into the sports gear that he kept in his car.

Her canvases were stacked against the sofa and her clothes heaped on the floor. Her underwear was on top of the pile, Libby noticed, flushing with embarrassment when she saw Raul’s eyes rest on the numerous pairs of brightly coloured knickers. He glanced slowly around the room and she knew he was taking in the peeling wallpaper and the blue mould which had appeared on the wall again, despite the fact that she constantly scrubbed the area with fungal remover.

There had been so sign of damp when she and Liz had viewed the shop and flat the previous spring. Then, the place had seemed bright and airy, newly decorated, and with the windows flung open to allow the sea breeze to drift in. It was only during the wet winter that Libby had realised the rooms had been wallpapered to hide the patches of mildew.

She was irritated by the expression of distaste on Raul’s face. It was clear from the superb quality of his clothes that he was very wealthy, and no doubt his home in Italy was a palace compared to the flat, but it was all she could afford—and actually even that was doubtful, she realised dismally when she remembered the letter from the bank that had informed her they would not increase her overdraft.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ she muttered. ‘My bedroom was flooded last night and we piled all my things in here.’

‘We?’ Raul looked pointedly at the baby in Libby’s arms.

‘My friend Tony was here.’ She followed Raul’s gaze to the three empty wine bottles and two glasses on the coffee table, and watched his expression change from distaste to disapproval.

‘Looks like you had quite a party,’ he drawled.

Surely he didn’t think they had got through three bottles of wine in one evening? ‘Tony works in a bar and he brings me old wine bottles. I decorate them with decoupage and sell them at craft markets,’ she explained. ‘I’m an artist, and so is Tony,’ she added, when Raul said nothing, just studied her with cool disdain in his eyes. Rebellion flared inside her. Why on earth did she feel she had to explain herself to this arrogant stranger?

Gino was wriggling to be set down. Libby’s arms felt as though they were about to drop off from holding him and, distracted by Raul’s brooding presence, she lowered the baby onto the floor and hurried into the tiny adjoining kitchen to fetch his medicine.

Gino immediately crawled over to the coffee table and reached towards one of the wine bottles. Raul grabbed him seconds before he pulled the glass bottle down on his head. The flat was a death-trap, he thought disgustedly as he swept the baby into his arms and stepped over the piles of junk on the floor to stand by the window. And there was an unpleasant musty smell in the room—caused, he guessed, by the fungus that was sprouting on the walls.

What was Elizabeth Maynard thinking of, bringing up her son in such appalling conditions? A pair of men’s jeans was hanging over a chair, and he wondered if they belonged to the barman-cum-artist Tony, who had been here the previous night. Was he her lover? And, if so, what role did he have in Gino’s life? Was he a stepfather to the child, or did Gino have a variety of ‘uncles’?

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.’