A Scandal, a Secret, a Baby

With a feigned composure she stared at him—praying for an objectivity she’d never been able to apply to this Tuscan aristocrat. He was wearing a suit, like every other man there—apart from the few guests in uniform —but something about the way he wore it instantly marked him out as someone special. The exquisite cut of the charcoal cloth hugged his powerful frame, emphasising the narrow jut of his hips and the definition of his long legs. Yet despite his highly sophisticated exterior, with Dante D’Arezzo all you were aware of was the primitive man beneath. He was the sort of man who saw what he wanted and went out and took it. Who made women cry with pleasure. And with pain, she reminded herself. With terrible and lasting pain.

‘Maybe Roxy was short on numbers and that was the reason for your out-of-the-blue invitation,’ she said as she glanced up at the cathedral with a flippant shrug. ‘It’s a pretty big church to fill. And I expect a token Tuscan aristocrat is on every bride’s wish list.’

He smiled, as if her insult meant nothing to him—as if he guessed that it was all for show. ‘It’s been a long time, Justina,’ he said softly.

‘Five years.’ Her smile was fixed. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun—something which was certainly in short supply when I was engaged to you.’

But he didn’t appear to be listening. His gaze was drifting slowly over her body as if he still had the right to look at her that way. As if she was his possession and he owned her.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ he said.

She felt her heart miss a beat, unsure if it was caused by disappointment or anger—because wasn’t that just typical of Dante? For him to take something she felt proud of and make it sound like something bad. She’d worked very hard for this body. Dragged herself out of bed on the most inhospitable of mornings to pound the pavements, come rain or shine. When she was travelling, she was a frequent visitor to hotel gyms—padding the anonymous carpeted corridors at unsociable hours while she listened to music from her earphones. And hadn’t her strict regime rescued her from the essential loneliness of those solitary hotel stays?

She never ate carbs after 5:00 p.m., and she rarely drank alcohol. She was disciplined about her lifestyle because it was harder to stay fit the older you got. And physical fitness helped her to cope. It kept her fresh and alert in an industry where youth was everything—an industry which she’d seen claim the lives of those who couldn’t cope with its impossibly high demands. And she had sacrificed too much for her to career to do anything to ever jeopardise it.

‘Well, isn’t that fortunate? Since losing weight was what I was aiming for,’ she responded, her gaze flicking over his charcoal-grey suit, which was doing nothing to disguise the hard musculature beneath. ‘You might try working out a little yourself some time, Dante. Try for the leaner look—it’s very fashionable, you know.’

‘I don’t think so. I get all the exercise I need without the narcissistic need to spend hours down at the gym.’ He leaned forward by a fraction, noting the automatic dilatation of her eyes as he did so, and suddenly he wanted her. Wanted her so badly that he could have pulled her into his arms and crushed those cushioned lips beneath the hungry clamour of his own. His eyes glinted. ‘My body is hard in all the places it needs to be hard.’

Justina felt her face grow hot, as unsettled by his sudden closeness as by the unashamedly sexual boast, and she took a step back. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘You think so? You used to like my particular brand of disgusting, as I recall.’

‘That was a long time ago. Fortunately I’ve grown up since then. My tastes have matured and I’m no longer attracted to the Neanderthal type.’

‘Then you really must have changed. I’ve never known a woman who was so turned on by a man being masterful in bed.’

His silky taunt whispered towards her and brought back memories Justina thought she’d buried for ever. Memories of Dante kissing her. Dante pushing his hardness deep into her warm, wet heat. Dante doing that to another woman. She wanted to scream. To lash out at him and ask why he’d done it—why? But she would not give in to the pointlessness of resurrecting the past. The past was over. Her life was now and her future didn’t involve him.

And she needed to get away from him.

Directing her gaze to an imaginary spot behind his head, she forced her mouth into a smile of recognition, as if she’d just seen someone she knew, so that by the time she allowed herself to look into those dark eyes again she had composed herself enough to adopt a convincing air of indifference.

‘You really mustn’t let me monopolise you any longer, Dante. I’m sure there are lots of people who are longing to speak to you. In fact there’s a young lady over there who seems eager to catch your eye. I’m sure you’ll still be quick enough off the mark to have her in your bed before the day is out.’

And then she began to walk away, half afraid that he might try to stop her. But he did no such thing. She saw the brief narrowing of his eyes as she turned on her towering heels and walked across the cathedral square, and she was aware of the burn of his gaze as she allowed herself to be swallowed up in a group of guests. Her hands were trembling and her heart was racing and for a moment she contemplated leaving the wedding right then. Nothing was stopping her. She could hurry back to the hotel she’d booked into, pack up her stuff and head back to London. She could run away from her ex-fiancé and all the painful memories that seeing him again evoked.

But Justina knew she couldn’t do that. She and Roxy had only recently been reunited, and she couldn’t let her old friend down on such an important day. Averting her face from a paparazzi camera which seemed to have sprung from out of nowhere, she gave a ragged sigh. She was just going to have to behave like a grown-up and deal with it. She would go to the wedding reception and avoid Dante. How hard could it be? She was good at avoiding people—and she doubted that he’d be on his own for long.

She made her way towards the line of red double-decker buses which had been hired to take all the guests to the reception and found a seat, smiling politely at the man who immediately slid in next to her and started to introduce himself. But it was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, even though he was doing his level best to flirt and was wearing a whole row of bright medals on his military uniform. He was probably some kind of dashing war hero, she thought gloomily, as well as being handsome in that blond and square-jawed sort of way.

So why could she never be attracted to someone like him—the sort of man she knew she should be attracted to? The dependable type who might easily adore her if only she’d give them half a chance. Wasn’t it a mark of her own emotional failure that nobody had ever come close to making her feel the way that Dante had done? And wasn’t that the main reason why she was still single as thirty loomed on the horizon—with no stable relationship and the chances of having a baby receding with every year that passed?

She remembered the magazine interview she’d given only last week, when the persistent journalist had managed to make her confront that uncomfortable fact. That if she waited too long she might never have a baby of her own. Feeling cornered, Justina had said that of course she wanted a baby. And then had added jokily that first she would need to find someone to be her baby’s father!

The double-decker bus lumbered through the narrow Norfolk lanes before turning in to the grand gates which led to the Duke’s estate. A long, gravelled drive swept up to the groom’s ancestral home and as the bus halted outside, Justina felt the breath catch in her throat as she glanced up at the perfectly proportioned golden building which Roxy had told her so much about.

Surrounded by green parkland, Valeo Hall was guarded by two snarling bronze lions which stood on top of two plinths. The pillars lining the steps up to the massive oak door were garlanded with the same fragrant white flowers which had decorated the cathedral, and Justina breathed in their sweet scent as she stepped down onto the forecourt. Lucky Roxy, she found herself thinking. A new husband and a new life. A whole new future just sitting waiting for them. Surely she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt a moment of wistful envy at that moment?

Standing in line, waiting to congratulate the newlyweds, she gave the handsome Duke a quick hug and seconds later was enveloped in a cloud of tulle and white lace as his bride stepped forward to embrace her tightly.

‘Oh, Jus.’ Roxy beamed. ‘I’m so glad you could come! Did you enjoy the service?’

‘It was gorgeous. You look gorgeous—the loveliest bride I’ve ever seen. But you didn’t tell me that Dante was going to be here,’ Justina whispered.

‘Should I have done?’ Roxy smiled in a conspiratorial way which made her look about nineteen again. ‘I know you aren’t together now, but I thought I’d invite him anyway—because for a while, Dante was a big part of my life. You don’t mind, do you?’

Justina gave a wry smile. What could she say? That seeing him again had been like revisiting an unbearably dark and painful place? She looked at Roxy’s luminous face and reminded herself that this was about more than her own hurt pride and wounded heart. This was Roxy’s day—and surely she could suffer seeing Dante one more time for her sake?

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Always good to get a blast from the past.’

Touching her fingertips to her diamond tiara as if checking it was still there, Roxy frowned. ‘So there’s nothing going on between you any more?’

‘You’re kidding?’ Justina’s denial was vehement and heartfelt. ‘Dante and I are history.’

She moved aside to make way for the next guest and took a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. Raising the glass to her lips, she drank more quickly than normal—but the quick hit of fizzy wine made rebellion begin to simmer inside her as she walked towards the reception. Why should she allow herself to be intimidated by Dante D’Arezzo when she was strong enough to stand up to him? She was an independent woman, wasn’t she? Not some little mouse. If she ran into him at the reception—and that was a big if, since she intended to stay as far away from him as possible—then she would stonewall him, just as she’d managed to do outside the church today.

She looked around. Guests were beginning to file into the vast banqueting hall which had been laid with individual tables. The golden and white room was hung with chandeliers, blazing splintering light over the heirloom crystal and silver. Here there were more pillars, all woven with ivy and spring flowers, and Justina had the sense of having walked into an enchanted glade where anything could happen.

She found her name on the seating plan, pleased to discover that she was sandwiched between a brigadier-general—which meant that he would probably be about eighty—and a Lord Aston, who she’d never heard of. But her main source of pleasure came from the fact that she was nowhere near Dante. At least Roxy had been diplomatic enough to seat them on opposite sides of the room.

She made her way across the shiny floor of the banqueting hall towards her table, but her extra-high heels and her cheongsam dress meant that all her attention was focussed on making the journey without mishap. She wasn’t really paying attention to the other guests who were taking their places, and it wasn’t until an olive hand reached over to pull out her chair that some internal warning system began to sound.

Justina froze with a terrible sense of inevitability as she looked down into the brilliant dark gaze of the man she had once thought would be her husband.

CHAPTER TWO (#ufae33ed9-f8f3-5cbb-9429-0db1cd429e30)

HER HEART RACING with fury and an unwanted kind of excitement, Justina stared into Dante’s dark face—wishing she could wipe that supercilious smile from his lips. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said viciously, and an

emerald-decked redhead sitting opposite jerked up her head in surprise.

‘Do keep your voice down, Justina,’ he said. ‘This is an aristocratic wedding where name-calling will almost certainly not be tolerated.’

Justina could have shaken him. Or punched against that solid wall of a chest. Or...something. Something which involved stamping her foot like a child and demanding that he be removed from her proximity as quickly as possible. As it was, she could do little except sit down in the chair which he was now pulling out for her. Because he was right. This was the wedding of one of her oldest friends and she could hardly cause a scene by demanding that she be moved to a different seat, could she?

He had risen to his feet and was helping her into her chair, his fingers briefly brushing over her shoulders before he slid into the vacant chair beside her.

She turned to look at him, careful to keep her voice low even though she could feel her nerve ends screaming in response to that unexpected touch of his hands. ‘I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word “tolerate”,’ she said. ‘How did you manage to get here before me when I was on the first bus?’

‘I drove.’

Justina nodded. He’d driven. Of course he had. Could she really imagine him obediently trooping onto the transport provided like everybody else? He was the ultimate control freak, and whatever happened it always had to be on his terms.

She sucked in a deep breath. ‘What I don’t understand is why you happen to be sitting here?’

‘For exactly the same reason as you, I imagine. Waiting for the wedding breakfast to begin, and with it the opportunity to toast the bride and groom and wish them many happy years of wedded bliss.’

‘Please don’t wilfully misunderstand me, Dante. That’s not what I meant and you know it.’ Reluctantly Justina’s eyes focussed on the hard planes of his face, which were softened only by the sensual curves of his lips. She saw the faint shadow at his jaw which always appeared, no matter how often he shaved.