stiffened. ‘Nicky’s crying,’ she muttered, walking to the door.
‘Carlotta will take care of him,’ Luciano countered.
Wrenching open the door, Jemima listened to the wails drifting down from the floor above and started down the corridor. ‘I can’t leave him upset,’ she called apologetically over her shoulder, sensing Luciano’s disapproval and refusing to look back at him.
She would be gone from his fancy island castle soon enough, she reflected wretchedly. He was hardly likely to allow her to stay now that he knew she had lied to him and had no real claim to Nicky. Yet it still stunned her that he had gone to bed with her in spite of that knowledge. He had admitted that he had been drinking. Inwardly she cringed. Had alcohol made her seem more attractive than she was? Why was she even thinking in such a way? What did it matter now? They had had sex and there was no going back from that. It had been a casual thing for him and he had been quick to vacate the bed afterwards. He had actually asked her what price she put on her virginity, she recalled painfully. She felt ashamed and humiliated and blamed him for it.
Why, oh, why had he had to make her feel so bad about their ill-starred intimacy?
CARLOTTA WAS ANXIOUSLY rocking Nicky in her arms. His little face was scarlet with tears and he was sobbing noisily.
‘He doesn’t like being rocked when he’s upset,’ Jemima told the brunette in an apologetic tone, thinking that it would have made more sense if she had been given the opportunity to consult with the nanny before the other woman started taking care of Nicky.
A voice spoke up in Italian from the doorway and Carlotta gave Jemima a frowning look of surprise before turning rather abruptly to hand Nicky over to her. Although conscious that Luciano was present and had acted as an interpreter, Jemima ignored him and concentrated on his son. Nicky went rigid as he was passed over and then sagged against her, shoving his face into the curve of her neck and whimpering.
‘He has nightmares. He’s frightened when he wakes up. He only needs to be soothed,’ Jemima declared, walking the floor of the elaborately decorated room with Nicky cradled in her arms. She was still alarmingly conscious of the ache at the heart of her body and hot pink flushed her cheeks as she buried her face in Nicky’s tumbled curls, revelling in the clean baby scent of innocence. With a heavy sigh she sank down into the rocking chair beside the cot.
Luciano had paused long enough to grab up a shirt and don it on his way to the nursery, but nobody seeing his bare feet and rumpled damp hair could doubt that he had recently undressed only to get dressed again in a hurry. Naked below her sensible dressing gown, Jemima could feel her face burning as if she were on fire. Their mutual state of undress was noticeable and embarrassing. She didn’t want anyone to know or guess that she had slept with Luciano. That was her private disgrace and not for public sharing. Carlotta, however, simply smiled at Jemima, clearly relieved that the baby had calmed down.
His son’s sobs had subsided almost immediately, Luciano registered without surprise while he watched. The baby’s fingers clutched convulsively at Jemima for reassurance. Niccolò had missed her. Obviously he had missed her. How much of the little boy’s misery had been caused by the sudden change in his routine and surroundings and the equally sudden absence of the one person he trusted? Luciano paled beneath his dark skin, shaken by the reality that he had set down rules that could well have hurt his son and caused him unnecessary suffering. He had instructed Carlotta to deal with the baby alone and to involve Jemima as little as possible in his care.
But how could he love his son and yet deny the child the one person whom he so clearly loved and wanted? Shame writhed inside Luciano, a reaction he had not experienced in more years than he cared to count. He watched her smooth the baby’s head with a tender hand and read the softness in her eyes.
‘He knows his mother,’ Carlotta said quietly in Italian to her employer.
It seemed a terrible irony to Luciano at that moment that Jemima was not his son’s mother because the boy was deeply attached to her and she was equally attached to him. He realised he needed to talk to his lawyer to find out exactly what kind of woman Jemima Barber was. How could he trust his own instincts now? Nor could he have any faith in what Jemima’s version of the truth might be. Anyone determined to speak up in defence of Julie Marshall would have failed to inspire Luciano with confidence.
As he stepped unconsciously closer to the woman in the rocking chair Nicky lifted his head off Jemima’s shoulder and stared at Luciano with wide dark eyes. And then he smiled with sudden brilliance, freezing his father to the spot in shock for it was the very first positive response Luciano had received from his son. It was significant too that the child had smiled only when he was secure in Jemima’s presence, he acknowledged ruefully.
Resting his head back down drowsily again, Nicky fell asleep. Getting to her feet, Jemima lowered him with care into the cot, straightened his sleep suit and covered him up gently. ‘He should sleep the rest of the night now,’ she whispered.
Luciano stared down at his slumbering son, then glanced up again and noticed that Jemima was deliberately avoiding looking at him. Annoyance skimmed along the edges of his sensitised awareness as they left the room. She tried to step past him out in the corridor but he rested a staying hand on her arm.
‘Jemima...we—’
‘I’m really hungry,’ Jemima proclaimed in a rush, jerking her arm back out of reach and addressing his shirt-clad chest. ‘Would it be too much trouble for me to have something to eat in my room? Even a sandwich and a cup of tea would do.’
‘Put on something in your new wardrobe and come downstairs to join me for dinner instead,’ Luciano suggested, falling into step beside her as she walked down the corridor.
Her facial muscles clenched tight. ‘Thanks but no, thanks... I’m not in a very sociable mood.’
As she descended the stairs she saw a huge portrait of an exquisite brunette on the landing and, already regretting her tart reply to his invitation, she said in an effort to break the pounding silence, ‘My goodness, who’s that?’
‘My mother, Ambra. It was painted shortly before she married my father. She probably never smiled like that again,’ Luciano breathed harshly.
His intonation made Jemima wince. ‘When did she die?’
‘When I was three years old,’ Luciano admitted between gritted teeth, fighting off his terrible memories with all his might.
‘Did your father remarry?’
‘No.’
Jemima was already scolding herself for surrendering to her low mood and turning down the dinner invite. She had allowed Luciano to believe that she was the surrogate mother of his son and had used that pretence as a means of staying in Nicky’s life. Was it any wonder that he despised her? Or that he had assumed that she was like her sister and after his money? Julie had worshipped rich men and money. Yet no matter how much money Julie had had it had never been enough and money had trickled through her fingers like water.
‘We’ll talk over breakfast in the morning,’ Luciano breathed in a driven undertone as he came to a halt outside his bedroom door, which was mere feet from hers.
‘I shouldn’t have lied to you,’ Jemima began, and then an unfamiliar stab
