when you were grieving for your little boy,’ Beth said gently. ‘Sometimes the only way to cope with painful memories is to try to block them out.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I think Mel would have understood.’ Just as she understood, she thought with fierce compassion. Cesario hadn’t behaved with deliberate disregard for Mel. He had been suffering that night in London, tortured with grief for the son he had adored.
Her heart clenched when she saw the betraying dampness on his eyelashes. It hurt her to see this formidable, strong man suddenly so vulnerable, and she felt guilty that she was intruding on his privacy. ‘I’ll go,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure you must want to be alone.’
Cesario looked into Beth’s soft green eyes and felt the hard knot in his chest loosen a little. He had been alone for the past four years and had mourned his son the only way he knew how—by ignoring his pain and never revealing his emotions. He couldn’t explain why he had opened up to a woman he barely knew, but in a strange way he felt he had known Beth for ever, and he trusted her more than he had ever trusted another human being.
Dio! Where had that thought come from? he wondered.
Her silky hair felt soft against his cheek and smelled of lemons. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He could still taste the acrid burn of tears in his throat, but talking about Nicolo had given him a curious sense of release.
He pulled Beth closer. ‘Stay a while?’ he said gruffly. And a sense of peace settled over him as she rested her head on his shoulder and they sat in silence, sharing an empathy that went deeper than words.
* * *
Cesario had returned to the castle. Beth heard the sound of the helicopter as she watched the first pink streaks of dawn spread across the sky. Her heart lifted at the prospect of seeing him again, but she also felt apprehensive.
It was three days since she had woken at the apartment in Rome and discovered that she had slept in the red evening dress she had worn to the ballet. She’d realised she must have fallen asleep on the sofa in Cesario’s study and he had carried her to her room. The maid had informed her that he had already gone to the Piras-Cossu Bank, and that he had arranged for her to fly back to the Castello del Falco with Sophie and Luisa Moretti.
She’d wondered if he had been deliberately avoiding her—if perhaps he regretted revealing his emotions to her. After all, he had been brought up to hide his feelings, and had been taught by his father that for Piras men, emotions were a sign of weakness.
Too restless to remain in bed, she jumped up and pulled open her wardrobe. The new clothes she had discovered hanging there when she had returned from Rome were definitely something she would bring up with Cesario. The red dress had been necessary for her to wear to the theatre, but she could not accept all these beautiful designer outfits, she thought wistfully as she ran her hand over the silk and satin and softest cashmere, in pretty rainbow colours that were such a contrast to the dull clothes she had brought to Sardinia.
For now, she had to choose something from the extensive selection. Her own clothes had disappeared and the maid Carlotta looked blank every time Beth asked her what had happened to them. Taking a pale blue wraparound dress from its hanger, she walked into the bathroom and emerged fifteen minutes later, having showered and dressed and blasted her hair with the drier.
Sophie had fed at 5:00 a.m. and would sleep soundly for several hours. The early-morning sunshine beckoned as Beth crept out of the nursery and walked quickly through the silent castle, crossing the entrance hall to the front door that opened onto the courtyard.
The sky was a clear forget-me-not blue, promising another warm spring day, although the mountain peaks on the horizon were hidden by clouds. Beth had intended to sit in the gardens at the rear of the castle, but the sound of horse’s hooves on cobblestones made her glance over her shoulder, and her breath snagged in her throat when she saw Cesario riding across the courtyard.
Dressed entirely in black, his long, tousled hair gleaming like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, he looked as she imagined his medieval ancestors must have done—especially with his falcon, Gratia, perched on his shoulder. His hard-boned face was inscrutable, and the scar running down his cheek pulled at the corner of his eye, giving him a narrowed gaze that hid his thoughts.
He halted in front of her, and she wondered despairingly if she would ever break free from the spell he had cast on her. ‘You’re back,’ she greeted him, flushing when she realised the inanity of the statement. ‘I meant. I didn’t know how long you would be in Rome.’
Cesario took pity on her, intrigued that she had clearly felt the same rush of pleasure that had swept like wildfire through his veins when he had caught sight of her poised like a slender wraith on the castle steps.
‘Thanks to technology I am able to work mainly from the castle, but it was necessary for me to stay in the city for the last couple of days to deal with matters that required my personal attention.’ He studied her speculatively. ‘I’ve just been up to the chapel. I’m guessing it was you who put flowers on Nicolo’s grave?’
‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind that I put them on Raffaella’s too?’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I can’t help but feel sad for her. She died so young and in such tragic circumstances.’
‘Why should I mind?’ he said quietly. ‘I know all about your soft heart, Beth Granger. I hear that in my absence your stray dog has made himself at home in the castle and follows you around like a faithful shadow.’
Despite his stern tone, Cesario did not seem annoyed. There was something different about him, Beth mused. He seemed more relaxed and at peace with himself. He smiled, causing her heart to miss a beat. It was the first time she had seen him smile with his eyes as well as his mouth, and the frank sensuality in his gaze filled her with a yearning so intense that it felt like a clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.
‘Come with me?’ he said, stretching his hand down to her. ‘There is no place more beautiful in the world than the mountains on a clear morning.’
‘I’m not dressed for riding,’ she whispered, catching her breath when he lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the saddle in front of him.
‘Perhaps not, but you look very beautiful, cara mia. The dress suits you.’
Beth found it hard to think of anything but the feel of his big, hard body pressed up against hers as they rode out of the courtyard—but she could not allow herself to be overwhelmed by him, she told herself firmly.
‘About the clothes that have magically appeared in my wardrobe—I can’t allow you to pay for them so I’m afraid you must send them back.’
‘Well, I certainly have no objection to you walking around the castle naked,’ he murmured, lowering his head so that his warm breath tickled her ear.
Heat flooded through her, and the sweet, urgent throb in her pelvis grew more insistent. ‘Of course I won’t be naked. I’ll wear my own clothes.’
‘Ah—that could be difficult, since I asked the gardener to burn them.’
She half twisted round on the saddle so that she could glare at him. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’
‘Because you are too exquisite to dress like a drab sparrow.’ He smiled at her startled expression. ‘Now, stop arguing and tell me what you think of the view.’
His
