‘We shall be married the moment it can be arranged. Our child will not be born out of wedlock. That is all that matters now. Nothing else.’
He saw her try to speak, but he would not let her. What could she say in her defence? Nothing! There was nothing she could say to justify her silence! Justify the risk she had run that he might marry another woman, lose his own child...
He plunged on, his voice knifing the air.
‘All that matters is that you are pregnant with my child and that had I not found you, here in America, I would not have known about it.’
He looked at her, his eyes bleak.
‘How could you do that, Eloise? How? Knowing all these months and never telling me! Keeping it from me? What kind of woman does that?’
He shook his head. A heaviness was crushing him. Crushing everything he’d hoped for, longed for. How could this be the woman he’d thought her to be? Longed for her to be?
He could not stay here—not now. He had to get away. The storm inside him was impossible to bear—impossible!
Her face was stark, as white as a sheet, and she was reaching towards him, imploring him with her very gesture.
But he held up his hands, backed away. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his voice staccato. ‘I can’t speak more now—’
He broke off, throat convulsing. He could not take this in—could not do anything except turn away from her, stride across the lawn, while in his head the blood drummed like a hammer in his skull.
He thought he heard her cry out, call out his name, that same note of urgency in it, but he would not hear it. Would not—and could not. Could only reach the driveway, throw himself into his car. Gun the engine to hear it roar, deafening the roaring in his head. And accelerate away...away, away.
But in his head only one question echoed—pounded him.
What kind of woman keeps a child from its father?
The answer tolled in his head like a death knell—the death knell of all his hopes, all his longings.
No woman he could ever love.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMEHOW ELOISE SANK back onto the swing seat, her whole body shaking, trembling. How long she sat there, she didn’t know. Time had stopped. Life had stopped. Everything had stopped.
Unconsciously, she slid her hand across her abdomen, feeling the telltale swell that had revealed the truth to Vito. A choke broke in her throat. Oh, God, this was supposed to have been the moment their future was sealed by the knowledge that their union was indissoluble, that they would be there for each other for ever! For each other—and for their child...
Telling him was going to be the most wonderful moment of all! The moment I declared how absolutely I trusted him, how absolutely I wanted to make my life with him!
Instead...
The choke came again, and then another, and then a sob, and then she was breaking into pieces, with sobs forcing themselves up through her stricken throat, her whole body shaking and trembling, her hands cramming into her mouth, the tears scalding in her eyes as convulsions of weeping overcame her.
They possessed her utterly, allowing nothing else in—no other emotion other than the final devastation of her hopes. It was like that nightmare day in Rome—but worse... Oh, so much worse!
As the wild sobbing finally ebbed, and there were no more tears to shed, her body exhausted, she wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold herself together. Dully, she realised she could not, must not, go on sitting there as shadows lengthened over the pool.
With agonising slowness she got to her feet, her eyes lighting on the champagne bottle, mocking her. A smot
hered cry broke from her.
She made her way indoors, having piled the coffee cups on to the tray, and headed for the kitchens. Maria would still be upstairs with Johnny.
But when she got indoors it was to find Maria and Johnny busy baking. Johnny rushed to her, telling her he was making brownies for them all, but her smile at him was wan, and she was burningly conscious that Maria’s eyes were sharp with concern on her.
‘Signor Viscari?’ Maria ventured.
‘He had to get back to New York. An unexpected call—’ Eloise just managed to get the words out.