He had desired her the moment he’d set eyes on her. He desired her still. That was undeniable—that was the emotion he knew he was safe with.
But not at this moment. Indulging it at this early stage of her pregnancy was out of the question, he knew, and for that one reason he must take himself off—let alone for all the other reasons assailing him.
‘If you will permit, I will take my leave of you. I’m afraid I must return to the castello. I will be away, I fear, for several days. There is a great deal to be sorted out.’
Was there grimness in his voice? Carla looked at his shuttered expression. She was sure there was—and knew the reason. What else could it be for him but grim to perform the unwelcome task of telling his fiancée she’d been usurped by the extreme inconvenience of his former mistress becoming unexpectedly pregnant, requiring a swift marriage to satisfy the exacting terms of his sense of self-respect and familial honour?
She felt bleakness go through her. A sense of unreality. Yet this was real—all too real. That jagged blade drew across her heart again, sending a shot of agony through her. To have her heart’s desire—marriage to Cesare—and yet for it to be like this was a travesty. An agony.
How can I do this? How? Cesare is forcing himself to marry me—just as I tried to force Vito to marry me. Is that all I’m good for? Forcing men to marry me?
A bead of hysteria bubbled in her throat. She swayed. Instantly Cesare was there, his hand strong under her elbow, steadying her. She felt his hand like a brand upon her.
‘Are you all right?’
There was concern in his voice, and his eyes flickered to her abdomen, where only the slightest curve of her figure indicated her pregnancy. It was hardly visible yet—it had taken Vito’s bear hug to reveal it to him, as he felt the swell below her waistline.
Vito, whom she had sought to use as a sticking plaster over her broken heart. Broken by the man her pregnancy was now forcing her to marry. Unbearable—just unbearable!
She turned her head to him, her eyes wild. ‘Cesare, I can’t make you marry me like this! I can’t face another unwilling bridegroom! I forced Vito to the altar, using the threat of my mother selling his uncle’s shares to Falcone, because I felt so...’ She swallowed, finding a word that she could use to Cesare. ‘So humiliated.’
She stepped away, taking a huge and painful breath, making herself look at him, her expression troubled, stricken.
‘So humiliated, Cesare.’ She watched his face close up, but went on all the same. ‘I tried so hard while we were together—to be the woman you wanted me to be. I never pushed our relationship, never made demands on you.’ She paused, remembering the dreadful, hideous moment when he had told her he was leaving. ‘And I know you told me you’d never given me reason to expect anything more than what we had. But all the same, when you left me—’
She broke off, her throat thickening. Nearly—so nearly—she had blurted out what she must never, never tell him! What would be the ultimate humiliation for her. The ultimate burden on him.
He must never know I fell in love with him! Never!
He stepped towards her, then halted. There was something in his face again—that same look she had not understood before. Did not understand now.
‘I was brutal to you that morning,’ he said. There was reproof in his voice. Harshness. But not for her. ‘Unforgivably so. But it was because—’
He frowned, and she saw him making his next words come, making himself hold her gaze.
‘It was because I did not want to part with you,’ he said. He shifted restlessly, altering his stance. ‘I didn’t want to end our relationship. But my hand had been forced. Francesca needed a decision—’
She saw his hand lift, as if he would reach for her, then drop again. She felt emotion welling in her, but did not know what, or how, or why.
‘I had to give you up—and I was not pleased to have to do so. I knew I had to make the ending—swift. I never meant...’ His eyes rested on hers. ‘I never meant for you to feel what you said you felt.’ His voice dropped. ‘I never meant for you to feel humiliated by my rejection.’
He shook his head slowly, as if clearing it of things he had never thought about. His eyes fixed on hers again.
‘I always respected you, Carla. Always. I still do. And if...’ He took a heavy breath and she watched the breadth of his powerful chest widen with it. ‘If I have seemed...distant, then think only that this has been a shock to me. Less than twenty-four hours ago...’ his voice changed ‘...I saw my life, my future, quite differently from now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice low. ‘So sorry for what has happened.’
‘Don’t be! It is not of your making. I take full responsibility! My behaviour that night—when I learnt you had not married Viscari—was unforgivable! No wonder you fled from me!’ He paused for a moment, his face working. ‘But if you had not fled before I woke, then perhaps—’
He stopped, as if silencing himself. His expression changed again. ‘This is not the time for further talk,’ he said.
He was finishing their discussion, she could see.
‘We will have leisure for that ahead of us. For now—well, America is waking up, and I cannot in all conscience delay contacting Francesca.’ He glanced at his watch, all businesslike now. ‘So I will take my leave of you—for now. I will phone you this evening.’
She nodded wordlessly, and started to walk back indoors. Cesare fell into place beside her. Side by side—yet separate.
Her eyes went to the pair of elegant silk-upholstered sofas by the fireplace.