The Mills & Boon Stars Collection. Cathy Williams

the waiter copied him. The old men stopped their game, suddenly rigid, their chatter silenced. As he strode in Luciano addressed the owner and then settled down lithely opposite her, seemingly impervious to the apprehensive silence that had greeted his arrival and that of his protection team.

      ‘Why did you have me followed?’

      ‘My father died when his yacht was blown up in the harbour out there,’ Luciano volunteered. ‘I have lived a very different life but there are still those who hate and fear me because of the blood in my veins. I can’t take the risk of ignoring that.’

      Jemima had gone very pale. She brushed his hand soothingly with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry...’

      His lush lashes lifted and dark golden eyes scanned her as a glass of water was brought to the table for him. ‘For what? For old history? Nobody grieved for my father, least of all me,’ he admitted bluntly.

      ‘Was your childhood unhappy?’ she murmured tautly, her eyes on his lean, dark face and the strong tension etched there.

      ‘Is knowing such things about me important to you?’

      Amazed that he should have to ask that, Jemima nodded confirmation.

      Luciano drank his water. ‘It was a nightmare,’ he admitted gruffly. ‘That’s why I want a normal family life for Niccolò.’

      Jemima wondered what a nightmare entailed and wasn’t sure she could live with further clarification. The haunting darkness in his eyes sent a chill racing down her spine. The old men in the corner were still staring and she glanced away, wondering what it had been like for Luciano to grow up as the son of a man who was loathed and feared and whose reputation for corruption had stretched beyond death to shadow his son’s. Frustrated tenderness laced with intense compassion twisted through Jemima. A normal family life. It was not so much to ask. It was not an impossible dream, was it? In fact it was a modest aspiration for so wealthy and powerful a male and that knowledge touched her heart more deeply than anything else could have done.

      Luciano wondered why Jemima appeared to be on the brink of tears. He could see moisture glimmering in her ice-blue eyes. He didn’t want to talk about his dirty past; he didn’t even want to think about such things. It had soiled him for ever—how could it not soil her? Furthermore, he was still reeling from his own behaviour the night before: he had lost control of his temper and acted with dishonour. Even his father had waited to marry his mother before sharing a bed with her. He repressed his troubled thoughts, knowing the futility of regretting what was past.

      ‘I want to marry you,’ he told her very quietly.

      ‘I know,’ she whispered, her heart beating so fast it felt as though it were in her throat. ‘But I’m not sure what that means to you.’

      ‘I wanted you the first moment I saw you,’ Luciano ground out in a driven undertone. ‘Is that what you want to hear? I thought you were your sister then and I couldn’t believe that I could want such a woman, so I fought it. You’re a very loving woman, Jemima, and my son needs that. I don’t think I’m capable of giving that kind of love, but you are.’

      Yes, that was what Jemima had needed to hear. A blinding smile curved her lips and lit up her face. ‘OK...you’ve won me over,’ she told him shakily.

      Luciano snapped his fingers and the proprietor came running. He spoke in Italian. The waiter scurried around serving everyone in the bar, even Luciano’s protection team. The café owner reappeared with a dusty bottle, which he proffered with pride. The wine was poured and toasts were made.

      ‘I bought everyone a drink to celebrate our wedding plans with us,’ Luciano explained as her eyes widened.

      ‘We’re talking weddings now?’ Jemima parroted as he nudged her nerveless fingers with a wine glass. ‘You want me to have a drink? But it’s only ten o’clock in the morning!’

      He groaned out loud and raked impatient fingers through his black curls. ‘Santa Madonna! I forgot to give you the ring!’

      In a daze, Jemima moistened her dry mouth with the wine. ‘There’s a ring?’

      ‘Certamente...of course there’s a ring!’ Luciano withdrew a tiny box from his pocket and flipped it open to a spectacular sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds. Removing it from the box, he lifted her hand and slid it onto her engagement finger. ‘If you don’t like it, we can choose something else.’

      ‘No...it’s beautiful,’ Jemima whispered dizzily. ‘Where did you get it from? I mean, we only arrived...’

      ‘It belonged to my mother’s family...and no, before you ask, it never belonged to Gigi,’ he assured her.

      Smiles had broken out all around them. Several solemn toasts were made. Luciano seemed taken aback by the warmth of the good wishes offered. Jemima drank her wine and watched the sunlight glitter off her amazing ring while wondering with a little frisson of excitement if Luciano would be sharing a bed with her again that night.

      ‘Why did Gigi never wear this ring?’ she asked baldly.

      ‘It wasn’t flashy enough for her. She only wore diamonds.’

      It was the first time he had voluntarily mentioned his first wife. Jemima supposed that in time she would learn more but she could tell by his tension that, although he was trying hard to be more open with her, it was a tender subject and he was struggling. So much had already changed between them but the biggest alteration in Luciano’s attitude had occurred as soon as he’d realised that she wasn’t her twin sister, Julie. The awareness that he had fought any attraction to her before he’d known her true identity soothed Jemima’s concerns. Luciano was willing to overlook her lies because he respected her attachment to Nicky and her principles. In other words, what was important to her was equally important to him.

      ‘So, when will we be getting married?’ she asked as Luciano tucked her into the elegant sports car outside.

      ‘As soon as possible. Draw up a guest list of friends and family.’ Curling black lashes shaded Luciano’s gaze, his wide sensual mouth relaxed. ‘My staff will take care of all the arrangements. We’ll have the wedding here.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘Here in Sicily?’

      ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to trail Niccolò back to the UK again,’ Luciano commented with a frown. ‘You would have to stay somewhere where my security people could look after you both because when word of our relationship breaks in the media you will both be a paparazzi target. It will be easier if you remain here on the island, where your privacy can be assured.’

      Jemima tried to absorb the realities of her new life and slowly shook her head in bemusement because she could not even begin to imagine being a target for the paparazzi. But, more importantly, a further change of climate and yet another selection of strange faces would not benefit Nicky either, she conceded ruefully. If Castello del Drogo was to be the little boy’s permanent home, he should be allowed to settle into his new surroundings without the stress of having to adapt to any additional challenges.

      ‘I have a tour of Asia scheduled and, as I’ll be away for a couple of weeks, I suggest that you invite your family out to keep you company until the wedding,’ Luciano remarked, disconcerting her.

      He was leaving her. Jemima refused to betray any reaction. Obviously he would travel on business and such temporary separations would be part of their lives. She had never been the clingy type. She was independent and self-sufficient, she reminded herself doggedly. Wanting to climb into his suitcase with Nicky was just plain stupid.

      ‘I’m surprised you’re prepared to leave Nicky so soon,’ she admitted.

      ‘When the tour of my holdings was organised, actually finding my son still seemed like a fantasy,’ he confided ruefully. ‘Now that I have found him I have no intention of being an absent parent. Once I’m home again I’ll be spending a lot of time with him.’

      They returned to the castello. ‘What made you buy this place?’