Secret Heirs: Billionaire's Pleasure. Кейт Хьюит

To be honest, I do have a little of my appetite back. I could eat a horse.’

      He gave a low laugh as Darcy scuttled into the bathroom where she spent a long time fiddling with her hair, and when she returned to the bedroom it was to find him dressed in that head-turning way which only Italian men seemed able to pull off. His dark suit emphasised his broad shoulders and powerful physique and he’d left his silk shirt open at the neck to reveal a sexy smattering of dark hair.

      Uncertainly, she skimmed her hand down over her dress. ‘Won’t I look a little overdressed?’

      ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said drily. ‘But probably not in the way you imagine.’

      Her cheeks were still pink by the time they walked into the formal salon, which had been transformed with bridal finery by Gisella and a team of helpers from the nearby village. The cold winter weather meant they couldn’t venture out into the huge grounds, but instead enormous fires were blazing and dark greenery festooned the staircases and fireplace. There were white flowers, white ribbons and sugar-dusted bonbons heaped on little glass dishes. A towering croquembouche wedding cake took pride of place in the dining room and on a table at the far end of the room—a pile of beautifully wrapped presents which they’d expressly stated they didn’t want!

      A loud burst of applause reached them as they walked in, along with cries of ‘Congratulazioni!’ and ‘Ben fatto, Renzo!’ The guests were all Renzo’s friends, and although he’d told her he would pay for anyone she wanted to fly out to Tuscany for the celebration, Darcy hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Because who could she invite when she’d lived her life a loner—terrified of forming any lasting commitments because of her past and the very real fear of rejection?

      But she was pleased to see Nicoletta and not just because the glamourous Italian had helped with her trousseau. She’d realised that Renzo no longer had any lingering feelings about the woman he’d once had a ‘thing’ with. Darcy might have had an innate lack of self-confidence brought about by years of neglect, but even she couldn’t fail to see the way her husband was looking at her tonight—a sentiment echoed by Nicoletta.

      ‘I have never seen Renzo this way before,’ she confided as Darcy sucked limonata through a straw. ‘He can barely tear his eyes away from you.’

      Darcy put her glass down. Because he was one of life’s winners, that was why. He would want his marriage to succeed in the way that his business had succeeded and because his own parents’ marriage had failed. That was why he was suddenly being so nice to her. And that scared her. It made her want to fight her instinctive attraction and to pull away from him. She didn’t dare sink into a false state of security which would leave her raw and hurting when their marriage hit the skids. Because it would. Of course it would. How long would it take before her brilliant husband tired of her once reality kicked in? Had he even stopped to consider how a wife at the mercy of fluctuating hormones might fit into his calm and ordered life, let alone all the change which a new baby would bring?

      But the evening fared better than she would have imagined. Renzo’s obvious appreciation—whether faked or not—seemed to make everyone eager to welcome her into their midst. His friends were daunting, but essentially kind. She met lawyers, bankers and an eminent heart surgeon and although each and every one of them spoke to her in perfect English, she vowed to learn Renzo’s native tongue. Because suddenly, she caught a glimpse of what the future could be like if she wasn’t careful. Of Renzo and their son speaking a language which the new mamma couldn’t understand, with her inevitably being cast into the role of outsider.

      And that could also be dangerous. Renzo had been reasonable before the marriage, but now she had his ring on her finger there was no longer any need for him to be. If she didn’t watch her back she would become irrelevant. She looked around at the elegant room her new husband was renting for what she considered an extortionate amount of money. Could she really envisage their son willingly accompanying her back to an unknown England and an uncertain future if the marriage became unbearable, and leaving all this privilege and beauty behind?

      But she ate, chatted and drank her limonata, waiting until the last of their guests had gone before following Renzo up to their suite, her heart rattling loudly beneath her ribcage. She undressed in the bathroom, emerging wearing a nightgown Nicoletta had insisted on gifting her. It was an exquisite piece for a new bride to wear and one designed to be removed almost as soon as it had been put on. Despite the hard curve of her baby bump, the ivory silk-satin coated her body as flatteringly as a second skin. Edged with ivory lace, the delicate fabric framed the skin above her engorged breasts and the moment she walked into the bedroom Darcy saw Renzo’s eyes darken.

      Her own answering tug of lust made her reconsider her decision to distance herself from him, because surely physical intimacy would provide some kind of release and lessen the unmistakable tension which had sprung up between them. But sexual intimacy could also be dangerous, especially in their situation. Something was growing inside her which was part of him and how could she bear to cheapen that by having sex which was nothing but a physical release?

      She sat down heavily on the side of the bed, not realising that she’d given a little groan until he glanced across at her.

      ‘You must be tired.’

      She nodded, suddenly feeling as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. ‘I am. But I need to talk to you.’

      ‘About...?’

      ‘Stuff.’

      His smile was slow, almost wolfish. ‘Be a little bit more explicit, Darcy. What kind of stuff?’

      She shrugged. ‘Where we’re going to live. Practicalities. That kind of thing. And we need to decide soon because I won’t be allowed to fly once I’m past thirty-six weeks.’

      His self-assured shake of his head was tinged with the arrogant sense of certainty which was so much a part of him. ‘I have my own jet, Darcy. We can fly when the hell we like, provided we take medical support with us.’

      She nodded as she pulled back the covers and got into the king-size bed, rolling over as far as possible until she had commandeered one side of it. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘But we still need to discuss it.’

      ‘Just not tonight,’ he said, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he joined her. ‘You’re much too tired. We’ll talk in the morning. And—just for the record—if you lie much closer to the edge, you’re going to fall off it in the middle of the night and, apart from the obvious danger to yourself, you might just wake me up.’ She heard the clatter as he removed his wristwatch and put it on the bedside table. ‘Don’t worry, Darcy, I’m reading your body language loud and clear and I have no intention of trying to persuade a woman to make love if she has set her mind against it.’

      ‘Something which has never happened to you before, I suppose?’ she questioned waspishly.

      ‘As it happens, no,’ he drawled. He snapped off the light. ‘Usually I have to fight them off.’

      Darcy’s skin stung with furious heat. It was a lesson to never ask questions unless you were prepared to be stupidly hurt by the answer you might receive. Lying open-eyed in the darkness, almost immediately she heard the sounds of Renzo’s deep and steady breathing and fearfully she foresaw a restless night ahead, plagued by troubled thoughts about the future. But to her surprise she felt warm and cosseted in that big bed with a brand-new wedding ring on her finger. And, yes, even a little bit safe.

      As the keen Tuscan wind howled outside the ancient house Darcy snuggled down into her pillow and, for the first time in a long time, slept soundly.