Royally Bedded, Regally Wedded

‘Who are those men?’ Ben piped up. His little head craned around as he tried to see, because she’d pointed the buggy straight at the gate to the garden.

She heard the man give a rasp in his throat. Then he was speaking again. ‘We need to speak to you, Miss Mitchell. About the boy.’ There was a frown across his brow, a deep frown, as he looked at her.

‘Who are you?’ Lizzy’s voice was shrill suddenly, infected with fear.

Then the other man, more slightly built, and older, spoke.

‘There is no cause for alarm, Miss Mitchell. I am a police officer, and you are perfectly safe. Be assured.’

A police officer? Lizzy stared at him. His voice had the same accent as the taller, younger man, whose gaze had gone back fixedly to Ben.

‘You’re not English.’

The first man’s eyebrows rose as he turned back to her. ‘Of course not,’ he said, as if that were a ridiculous observation. Then, with a note of impatience in his voice, he went on, ‘Miss Mitchell, we have a great deal to discuss. Please be so good as to go inside. You have my word that you are perfectly safe.’

The other man was reaching forward, pushing open the gate and ushering her along the short path to her front door. Numbly she did as she was bade. Tension and a deep unease were still ripping through her. As she gained the tiny entrance hall of the cottage she paused to unlatch Ben from his safety harness. He struggled out immediately, and turned to survey the two tall men waiting in the doorway to gain entrance.

Lizzy straightened, and flicked on the hall light, surveying the two men herself. As her gaze rested on the younger of the two, she saw he was staring, riveted, at Ben.

There were two other things she registered about him that sent conflicting emotions shooting through her.

The first was, quite simply, that in the stark light of the electric bulb the man staring down at Ben was the most devastatingly good-looking male she’d ever seen.

The second was that he looked terrifyingly like her sister’s son.

In shocked slow motion Lizzy helped Ben out of his jacket and boots, then her own, then folded up the buggy and leant it against the wall. Her stomach was tying itself into knots. Oh, God, what was happening? Fear shot through her, and convulsed in her throat.

‘This is the way to the kitchen,’ announced Ben, and led the way, looking with great interest at these unexpected visitors.

The warmth of the kitchen from the wood-burning range made Lizzy feel breathless, and the room seemed tiny with the two men standing in it. Instinctively she stood behind Ben as he climbed on to a chair to be higher. Both men were still regarding him intently. Fear jerked through her again.

‘Look, what is this?’ she demanded sharply. Her arm came around Ben’s shoulder in a protective gesture. The man who looked like Ben turned briefly to the other man, and said something low and rapid in a foreign language.

Italian, she registered. But the recognition did nothing to help her. She didn’t understand Italian, and what the man had just said to the other one she’d no idea. But she understood what he said next.

‘Prego,’ he murmured. ‘Captain Falieri will look after the boy in another room while we…’ he paused heavily ‘…talk.’

‘No.’ Her response was automatic. Panicked.

‘The boy will be as safe,’ said the man heavily, ‘as if he had his own personal bodyguard.’ He looked down at Ben. ‘Have you got any toys? Captain Falieri would like to see them. Will you show them to him? Can you do that?’

‘Yes,’ said Ben importantly. He scrambled down. Then he glanced at Lizzy. ‘May I, please?’

She nodded. Her heart was still pounding as she watched the older man accompany Ben out of the kitchen. Supposing the other man just walked out of the house with Ben. Supposing he drove off with him. Supposing…

‘The boy is quite safe. I merely require to talk to you without him hearing at this stage. That much is obvious, I would have thought.’

There was reproof in the voice. As though she were making trouble. Making a nuisance of herself.

She dragged her eyes to him, away from Ben leading the other man into the chilly living room.

He was looking at her from across the table. Again, like a blow to her chest, his resemblance to Ben impacted through her. Ben was fair, and this man was dark, but the features were so similar.

Fear and shock buckled her again.

What if this was Ben’s father?

Her stomach churned, his heartbeat racing. Desperately she tried to calm herself.

Even if he’s Ben’s father he can’t take him from me—he can’t!

Faintness drummed through her. Her hand clung on to the back of the kitchen chair for strength.

‘You are shocked.’ The deep, accented voice did not hold reproof any more, but the dark eyes were looking at her assessingly. As if he were deciding whether she really was shocked.

She threw her head back.

‘What else did you expect?’ she countered.

His eyes pulled away from her and swept the room. Seeing the old-fashioned range, the almost as old-fashioned electric cooker, ancient sink, worn work surfaces and the scrubbed kitchen table standing on old flagstones.

‘Not this,’ he murmured. Now there was disparagement clear in his voice. His face.

The face that looked so terrifyingly like Ben’s.

‘Why are you here?’ The words burst from her.

The dark eyebrows snapped together. So dark, he was, and yet Ben so fair. And yet despite the difference in colouring, the bones were the same, the features terrifyingly similar.

‘Because of the boy, obviously. He cannot remain here.’

She felt the blood drain from her.

‘You can’t take him. You can’t swan in here five years after conceiving him and—’

‘What?’ The single word was so explosive that it stopped Lizzy dead in her tracks.

For one long, shattering moment he just stared at her with a look of total and utter stupefaction on his face. As if the world completely and absolutely did not make sense. Lizzy stared back. Why was he looking at her like that? As if she were insane. Deranged.

‘I am not Ben’s father.’

The words bit from him. Relief washed through her, knocking the wind out of her. The terror that had been dissolving her stomach—the terror that, for all her defiance, this man invading her home had the power to take Ben from her, or at the very least to demand a presence in her son’s life—the fear that had gripped her since she had seen the startling resemblance in their faces, began to subside.

‘I am Ben’s uncle.’ The words were flat. Irrefutable. ‘It was my brother, Paolo, who was Ben’s father. And, as you must know, Paolo—like your sister Maria, Ben’s mother—is dead.’ Now his voice was bleak, stark.

Lizzy waited for the flush of relief to go through her again. The man who had got her sister pregnant was dead. He could never threaten her. Could never threaten Ben. She should feel relief at that.

But no such emotion came. Instead, only a terrible empty grief filled her.