Loe raamatut: «Cavelli's Lost Heir»

Lily gasped. “Is this a joke?”

She stared at her reflection—their reflection—in the mirror. At the darkness of his fingers against her skin, her hair wild and tumbling around her shoulders in a silky mess. Her pink cotton shirt was stained over the left shoulder, and her eyes, though tired, gleamed with fury. Nico, in contrast, was cool and unruffled. If not for his quickened heartbeat against her, she’d almost think him bored.

But, no, there it was—that flash of something in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, that spoke volumes without a sound being uttered.

“No joke, Liliana. I have broken a long-sought-after treaty between my country and Monte-verde, not to mention embarrassed my father and our allies, so that I can do what should have been done the instant you conceived my child.”

“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, searching his face in the mirror, her heart slamming into her ribs.

“Of course you do,” he replied, dipping his head until his lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. Almost, but not quite.

“You, Miss Lily Morgan, are about to become the Crown Princess—my consort and the mother of my children.”

Lynn Raye Harris read her first Mills & Boon^® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince, and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Cavelli’s
Lost Heir

by

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom and Pop, who took me to live in fascinating

places, bought me lots of books, and didn’t blink when

I locked myself in my room for hours on end to read.

Chapter One

CROWN PRINCE NICO CAVELLI, of the Kingdom of Montebianco, sat at a fourteenth-century antique desk and reviewed a stack of paperwork his assistant had brought him an hour ago. A glance at his watch told him there were several hours yet before he had to dress and attend the State dinner given in honor of his engagement to a neighboring princess.

Nico had a sudden urge to loosen his collar—except it was already loose. Why did the thought of marriage to Princess Antonella make him feel as if a noose were tightening around his neck?

So much had changed in his life recently. A little over two months ago he was the younger son, the dissolute playboy prince. The prince with a new mistress every few weeks, and with nothing more pressing to do than to decide which party to attend each night. It wasn’t the whole truth of his existence, though it was the one the media enjoyed writing stories about. He’d been content to let them, to feed their need for scandalous behavior. Anything to keep their attention away from his emotionally fragile brother.

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose.

Gaetano had been the oldest. The delicate one. The legitimate one.

The brother that Nico had spent his childhood protecting when he hadn’t been fighting for his own honor as the product of a royal indiscretion. Ultimately, he couldn’t protect Gaetano from the ramifications of his choices, or from the fateful decision to aim his Ferarri at a cliff and jam the pedal to the floor.

Per Dio, he missed Gaetano so much. And he was angry with him. Angry that he’d chosen such finality, that he hadn’t fought harder against his personal demons, that he hadn’t trusted Nico with his secret years ago. Nico would have moved mountains for Gaetano if he’d known.

“Basta!” Nico muttered, focusing again on the paperwork. Nothing would bring Gaetano back, and nothing would change Nico’s destiny now. He was the remaining prince, and though he was illegitimate, the Montebiancan constitution allowed him to inherit. In this day and age, with modern medicine being what it was, there was no doubt of his parentage—if, indeed, there could be any doubt in the first place; Cavelli men always looked as if they’d been cast from the same mold.

Only Queen Tiziana disapproved of Nico’s new status—but then she’d disapproved of him his whole life. Nothing he ever did had been good enough for her. He’d tried to please her when he’d been a child, but he’d always been shut out. He understood now, as a grown man, why she’d disliked him. His presence reminded her that her husband had been unfaithful.

When he’d moved into the palace after his mother’s death, the queen had seen him as a threat, especially because he was stronger and bigger than Gaetano, though he was the younger of the two. That he was now Crown Prince only drove the pain deeper. He was a constant reminder of what she’d lost. It didn’t matter that he’d also loved Gaetano, that he would give anything for his brother to still be alive.

Since he couldn’t bring Gaetano back, he would do his utmost to fulfill his duty as Crown Prince to the best of his ability. It was the only way to honor his brother’s memory.

A knock on the door brought his head up. “Enter.”

“The Prefect of Police has sent a messenger, Your Highness,” his assistant said.

“I will see him,” Nico replied.

A moment later, a uniformed man appeared and bowed deeply. “Your Serene Highness, the Prefect sends his greetings.”

Nico tamped down his impatience as the man recited the ritual greetings and wishes for his health and happiness. “What is the message?” he asked, somewhat irritably, once the formalities had been observed.

Though it was indeed the Crown Prince’s duty to oversee the police force, it was more a symbolic role than anything else. That the Prefect was actually communicating with him about something filled him with an uncharacteristic sense of foreboding.

Ridiculous. It was merely the awareness of his loss of freedom that pinched at the back of his mind and made him feel uneasy.

The man reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The Prefect has tasked me with informing you that we have recovered some of the ancient statues taken from the museum. And to give you this, Your Highness.”

Nico held out his hand. The man stood to attention while Nico ripped into the envelope.

He expected the sheet of paper inside, but it was the photograph of a woman and child that caught Nico’s attention first. Their faces filled the frame as if someone had stood very close to snap the picture. He recognized the woman almost instantly—the wheat-blond hair, the green eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose—and felt a momentary pang of regret their liaison had not lasted longer. His gaze skimmed to the child.

Sudden fury corroded his insides. It was not possible. He had never been that careless. He would never do to a child what had been done to him. He would never father a baby and walk away. It had to be a trick, a stunt to embarrass him on the eve of his engagement, a ploy to get money. There was no way this child was his.

His mind reeled. He’d spent only a short time with her, had made love to her only once—much to his regret. Wouldn’t he have remembered if something had gone wrong? Of course he would—but the child had the distinct look of a Cavelli. Nico couldn’t tear his gaze away from eyes that were a mirror to his own as he unfolded the paper. Finally, he succeeded in wrenching his attention to the Prefect’s scrawled words.

Nico dropped the paper and shoved back from the desk. “You will take me to the prison. Now.”

Lily Morgan was desperate. She was only supposed to be in Montebianco for two days. She’d been here for three. Her heart beat so loud and hard in her ears that she’d half expected to have a heart attack hours ago. She had to get home, had to get back to her baby. But the authorities showed no signs of letting her leave, and her pleas to speak with the American Consulate were ignored. She hadn’t seen a soul in over four hours now. She knew because she still had her watch, though they’d taken her cell phone and laptop away when they’d brought her down here.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Is anyone there?” No one answered. There was nothing but the echo of her voice against the ancient stone interior of the old fortress.

Lily sank onto the lumpy mattress in the dank cell and scraped her hand beneath her nose. She would not cry. Not again. She had to be strong for her boy. Would he miss her by now? She’d never left him before. She would not have done so now had her boss not given her little choice.

“Julie’s sick,” he’d said about the paper’s only travel writer just a few days ago. “We need you to go to Montebianco and research that piece she was working on for the anniversary edition.”

Lily had blinked, dumbfounded. “But I’ve never written a travel article!” In fact, she’d never written anything more exciting than an obituary in the three months she’d been at the paper. She wasn’t even a journalist, though she’d hoped to become one someday. She’d been hired to work in the advertising department, but since the paper was small, she often did double duty when there was a shortage.

The only reason the Port Pierre Register had a travel writer was because Julie was not only the publisher’s niece, but her parents also owned the town’s single travel agency. If she was writing about Montebianco, there was probably a special package deal coming up.

But the mere thought of traveling to Montebianco had turned Lily’s legs to jelly. How could she enter the Mediterranean kingdom knowing that Nico Cavelli lived there?

Her boss was oblivious. “You don’t need to write it, sweetheart. Julie’s done most of the work already. Just go take some pictures, write down how it feels to be there, that kind of thing. Experience the country for two days, then come back and work with her on the write-up.”

When she demurred, he refused to take no for an answer. “Times are getting tough, Lily. If I can’t count on you to do the job when I need you, I may have to find someone who’s more willing. This is your chance to prove yourself.”

Lily couldn’t afford to lose her position at the paper. Jobs weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Port Pierre; without this one, she couldn’t pay her rent or keep up with her medical insurance premiums. She could search for other employment, but there was no guarantee she’d find anything quickly. Once she’d gotten pregnant, she’d had to drop out of college. She’d spent the last couple of years bouncing from one low-paying position to another, doing anything to take care of her baby. The job at the paper was a major break and a huge step up for her. She might even be able to return to school part-time and finish her studies someday.

She simply could not endanger Danny’s future by refusing. She’d gone without many things as a child when her mother had been out of work or, worse, had dropped everything to run off with her womanizing father again. Lily would not do that to her own baby. She’d learned the hard way never to rely on anyone but herself.

She had no choice but to accept the assignment, though she’d comforted herself with the knowledge that her chances of actually crossing paths with a prince were pretty slim. She would leave Danny with her best friend, spend two days touring Castello del Bianco, and then she would be on a plane home. Simple, right?

But she’d never bargained on winding up in a prison cell. Would someone call the authorities when she didn’t return? Had they already done so? It was her only hope—that someone would report her missing and the American Consulate would insist upon an accounting of her movements within the kingdom.

A distant clanging brought Lily to her feet. Her heart thumped harder if it were possible. Was someone coming to see her, to let her go? Or was it simply a new prisoner being brought into the depths of this musty old fortress?

Lily gripped the bars and peered down the darkened hall. Footsteps echoed in the ancient corridor. A voice spoke until another silenced it with a sharp command. She swallowed, waiting. A lifetime later, a man came into view, his form too dark beneath the shadows to distinguish features. He stopped just short of the pale light knifing down from a slit in the fortress wall several feet above his head. He didn’t speak.

Lily’s heart dropped to her toes as a fresh wave of tears threatened. Oh God, he couldn’t be here. He simply couldn’t. Fate could not be so cruel.

She couldn’t say a word as the prince—for so she had to think of him—moved into the light. And—oh my—he was every bit as handsome as the pictures in the magazines made him out to be. As her memory insisted he was. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, as if he’d cropped it closer in an effort to look more serious. He wore dark trousers and a casual silk shirt unbuttoned over a fitted T-shirt. Ice-blue eyes stared back at her from a face so fine it appeared as if an artist had molded it.

My God, had she really thought he was just a graduate student at Tulane when she’d met him at Mardi Gras? Could she have been any more naive? There was no way this man could ever be mistaken for anything other than what he was: a wealthy, privileged person who moved in circles so far above her that she got altitude sickness just thinking about it.

“Leave us,” he said to the man at his side.

“But Your Highness, I do not think—”

“Vattene via!”

“Si, Mio Principe,” the man answered in the Italian dialect commonly spoken in Montebianco. He gave a short bow and scurried up the passageway. Lily held her breath.

“You are accused of trying to smuggle Montebiancan antiquities out of the country,” he said coolly, once the echoes from the man’s footsteps faded away.

Lily blinked. “I’m sorry?” Of all the things she’d expected him to say, this had not been even a remote possibility.

“Two figurines, signorina. A wolf and a lady. They were found in your luggage.”

“Souvenirs,” she sputtered in disbelief. “I bought them from a street vendor.”

“They are priceless treasures of my country’s heritage, stolen from the state museum three months ago.”

Lily’s knees went weak. Oh, God. “I know nothing about that! I just want to go home.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. It was all so strange. Both the accusation and the fact he didn’t appear to recognize her. But of course he wouldn’t! Had she really expected it? She gave her head a tiny shake. No, she hadn’t, but after all she’d been through the last two years, it hurt nonetheless. How could he not look at her and know? How could he not be aware of her the way she was of him?

Prince Nico drew closer. His hands were thrust in his pockets as he gazed down at her, his cool eyes giving nothing away. No hint of recognition, no sliver of kindness, nothing. Just supreme arrogance and a sense of entitlement so complete it astonished her. Had she really spent hours talking with this man? About what?

Without meaning to, she remembered lying beneath him, feeling his body moving inside hers. It had all been so new to her, and yet he’d been tender and reassuring. He’d made her feel special, cherished.

Now, the memory seemed like a distant illusion, made all the more so by his lack of awareness of it.

She dropped her gaze, unable to maintain the contact. His eyes were unusual in their coloring, pale and striking, but that wasn’t the precise reason she couldn’t look at him.

No, she couldn’t look because it made her heartsick for her child. She hadn’t realized it until she was face-to-face with the prince again, but Danny was the exact image of his father.

“I am afraid that is impossible.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes beginning to tear again. No. She had to be strong. “I—I have to get home. I have responsibilities. People need me.”

Prince Nico’s gaze sharpened. “What people, signorina?”

Lily’s stomach hollowed with fear. She couldn’t tell him about Danny, not now. Not like this. “My family needs me. My mother depends on me.” She hadn’t seen her mother in over a year, but he didn’t know that.

He studied her, his quick gaze sweeping over her with interest. And something more. Her nerve endings prickled.

“No husband, Lily?”

His use of her name was like the subtle caress of his fingers against her skin: shocking, unexpected and delicious. At first she thought he must recognize her, must remember her name after all—though he’d called her Liliana in their time together. But nothing in his demeanor indicated he had. He’d gotten it from the police. Of course.

She felt like a fool for thinking otherwise. But why was he here? Did a prince really come to the prison when someone was accused of theft? She felt as though she was missing a piece of the puzzle, as though there was something she should know, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

“No, no husband,” she said. She couldn’t mention Danny, she simply couldn’t. Fear for her baby threatened to overwhelm her. If Nico knew he had a son, would he take her baby away from her? He certainly had the power and the money to do so.

She pressed closer to the bars, beseeching him, pouring every ounce of feeling she had into her words. “Please, Ni—Your Highness,” she corrected, thinking better of calling him by name. “Please help me.”

She thought he looked puzzled, but it was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure.

“How is it you expect me to help you?”

Lily swallowed the hard knot in her throat. Could she confess just a little bit? Would she endanger her baby by doing so? Or was she endangering him by not speaking? What if she never got out of here? Would Carla raise Danny as her own? “W-we met once. In New Orleans two years ago. You were kind to me then.”

If she expected awareness to cross his features, she was disappointed. He remained distant, detached.

“I am always kind to women.” His voice was as smooth and rich as chocolate. And as cool as an Alpine lake.

Heat rushed to Lily’s face. How could she stand here and have this conversation with him, with the man who’d fathered her child and didn’t even know it? She’d been right about him, right not to persist in her efforts to track him down once she’d learned he was so much more than an ordinary man named Nico Cavelli.

She still remembered the shock of finding out who he really was, the endless parade of photos and sensational tabloid articles once she’d discovered his identity. Prince Nico of Montebianco was nothing more than a playboy, a jet-setter on a global scale who’d once gone slumming in New Orleans. He did not remember her, did not care about her, and certainly wouldn’t care about Danny.

Just as her father hadn’t cared about her or her mother. Of all the men in this world, how had she chosen this one to initiate her into the ways of intimacy between a man and a woman? It was mind-boggling how ignorant she’d been, how duped she’d been by his charm and sincerity. He hadn’t exactly lied about who he was, but he hadn’t told the truth, either. She’d known his name and where he was from, but she hadn’t known he was a prince until later.

Once he’d gotten what he wanted from her, he’d abandoned her to her fate. She’d stood in the rain for over two hours that last night, waiting for him. He’d promised he would be there, but he never showed.

God, he made her sick.

Before she could gather her thoughts to speak, to think of another method of approach, he whipped something from his shirt pocket and thrust it toward her. Gone was the cool facade. In its place was a wrath so deep it would have frightened her had there been no bars between them.

“What is the meaning of this? Who is this child?”

Lily’s heart squeezed. She shoved her hand between the bars, tried to reach the picture of her and Danny, but the prince snatched it away. A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. They’d gone through her things, dismantled her suitcases as if she was a common thief and passed her possessions around for comment. Worst of all—he knew her secret!

“Who is he?” the prince demanded again.

“That’s my baby! Give me that,” she cried, clawing between the bars. “It’s mine!”

He looked furious. And a little bit stunned, if that were possible. But he recovered quickly. “I don’t know what you think will happen now that I’ve seen this, but it will not work, signorina. This is a cheap attempt to blackmail me, and I will not bow to it.” His voice dripped menace.

Lily stopped struggling and stared at him, her head buzzing with emotion. “Blackmail you? Why would I do that? I want nothing from you!”

Her mind raced. Nico didn’t know anything for certain. He was only concerned about himself and his money. If she hadn’t been locked up, it might have been a relief in an odd way to have her opinion of him confirmed. She had to make sure he understood that she expected nothing from him. If he didn’t feel threatened, he might help her to leave this place.

Lily closed her eyes, struggled for calm. “All I want is to go home.”

Why had she ever been worried he would take her baby away? He was not the kind of man who would care about his child. He kept many mistresses, and had fathered several children already. She usually avoided the gossip magazines, but the occasional blaring headline about Nico still had the power to attract her attention. She knew, for instance, that he was about to marry.

A pang of feeling sliced into her and she pushed it down deep without examining it. How must his wife-to-be feel about his philandering ways, about the many children with no real father? She had certainly made the right decision not to get in touch with him two years ago. Danny deserved so much better than a father like him, a father who would never be bothered to spend any time getting to know his child. She didn’t want her baby to grow up the way she did, with a wastrel father who only came into her life whenever it suited him—and left it again without concern for the emotional wreckage strewn in his wake.

“What are you doing in Montebianco?” he demanded, his tone distrustful and suspicious. “Why did you come here, if not to try and blackmail me?”

“I was doing research,” she said, her temper flaring. “For a newspaper article. And why would I want to blackmail you?”

“Do not play games with me, signorina.” He tucked the photo back into his pocket. He looked murderous, as if he could order the guard to forget she was down here and throw away the key. A sliver of fear knifed into her; he probably could do such a thing.

“I hope you are comfortable, Lily Morgan, because you are going to spend as much time in this cell as it takes for me to learn the truth.”

“I told you my boss sent me. I didn’t come for any other reason!”

“You do not wish to tell me this child in the photo is mine? You did not come all this way to do just that? To demand money?”

Lily wrapped her arms around her body, surprised she was trembling, and looked away. “No. I want to go home and forget I ever met you.”

Nico moved so fast she jerked back a step, forgetting the bars between them. His hands were the ones gripping the metal this time, his pale gaze lasering into her. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Miss Morgan, but I assure you I will get to the truth.”

When he shoved away and strode up the passage, she didn’t make a sound. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Prince Nico had no heart.

Nico strode into his apartments in the palace and summoned his assistant. Once he gave the order to find out everything about Miss Margaret Lily Morgan—oh yes, that had been a surprise, finding out she used her middle name instead of her first; and yet it explained why he’d never found a trace of her when he’d inquired two years ago—he went onto the terrace and gazed out at the city below.

The encounter had affected him more than he cared to admit. Lily Morgan was not at all what he expected. She was not the soft, almost shy girl he remembered, his Liliana who was as pure and fine as the flower she was named after. The night in prison should have frightened her, made her cooperative. Yet this Lily was fierce, determined.

But determined to do what?

He did not know, but he would not leave her there for another night—was, in fact, somewhat appalled she’d been held there without his knowledge in the first place. Nico’s mouth twisted in distaste. It made sense that the old fortress was still used as a prison, but the conditions could be improved. Yet another thing he would change now that he was Crown Prince.

He slipped the photo from his pocket, held it between two fingers without looking at it. The photograph had been altered, he was sure of it. Any talented photographer with the right computer equipment could make a photo say anything he or she wanted it to say. How well Nico knew this. Today was not the first time he’d been presented with such a lie. The media tried all the time to place him somewhere he’d not been, or with someone he’d not been with. The photographs were doctored, easily disproved, though it was irritating and inconvenient to do so.

And yet it was the life he’d chosen, when he’d chosen to be the foil for Gaetano. Nico shoved a hand through his hair. He could handle it. He’d always been able to handle it. He would do so now, and he would send Miss Lily Morgan back to America where she belonged.

Madonna diavola, this was also not the first time he’d been presented with a paternity claim—though he’d never been presented with it in quite this way. Lily hadn’t mentioned the child at all until he’d shown her the picture. And then she’d been desperate to get the photo from him, had never actually come out and said the child was his. But it must be her intention. What else?

He lifted the photo, studied it—and felt that jolt of awareness and recognition he’d never experienced before. Unlike the children that two of his former lovers had tried to assert were his—each incident had been disproved and the claims retracted, though Nico still gave money for the children’s care since it was not their faults they’d been born without fathers—this boy had the look of a Cavelli. It was more than the eyes—something in the dark curls, the smooth olive skin, the shape of jaw and nose, the firm set—even in a toddler— of the lips. The likeness was remarkable, yet surely it was a trick.

He’d been captivated by her, he remembered it well, but not so captivated he’d forgotten to take precautions when he’d made love to her. He never forgot to take precautions. It was as necessary to his existence as sleeping or eating. He’d grown up the product of an indiscretion, and he would not ever cause a child to suffer the way he had. When he had children, they would be legitimate, wanted, and loved.

But what if those precautions had somehow failed? Was it possible? Could he be this boy’s father? And, if he was, how could she have kept him from his son for all this time?

But no, it was not possible. He would have remembered if something happened to the condom; nothing had. The child could not be his, no matter how strong the likeness. It was a photographic trick.

Satisfied, he dropped the photo into a potted plant. He would not be played for a fool by this woman. Soon, he would know the truth. And tonight he would formalize his engagement to Princess Antonella, would move forward with the effort to unite Montebianco and Monteverde by honoring the commitment his family had made to the Romanellis when Gaetano was still alive. Antonella Romanelli was a beautiful woman; surely he would be well pleased with her as his wife.

Nico turned from the view and strode toward the terrace doors. He only took a few steps before faltering. With a muttered curse, he retrieved the picture and tucked it against his heart.