Untouched Until Marriage

‘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.’

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 threadbare 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…