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Rafael had set about making it happen with a tenacious stubbornness that had bordered on obsession. They had embarked upon a series of IVF treatments, none of which had worked, and after each crushing disappointment it had seemed he was more obstinate, more insistent that they would not fail, that nothing was going to prevent him from achieving his goal. It had taken over their lives and eventually destroyed their marriage.
Lottie pushed the blonde hair away from her face with a hand that shook slightly in the way that the memory of Seraphina always weakened her limbs. She needed to put a stop to this madness now.
She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Well, you have wasted this man’s time. The idea of us having a baby is totally ridiculous. Why would we even consider it now? After all this time? When our marriage is obviously over?’
Rafael stared across at the wide violet-blue eyes that were searching his face for an explanation. Certamente, their marriage was over, all right. It had ended the day Lottie had walked out on him. The day she had told him that she didn’t love him. That she had never loved him.
He cursed silently, struggling to keep his frustration inside, rein in the storm of his feelings. He had to remain calm. Not let himself be riled by her fake show of concern or her harsh dismissal of their shared past. He was already a hair’s breadth from totally screwing this up, and he knew it.
But what he hadn’t known was the way his heart would start pounding in his chest the second she walked into the room, as if jolted from a dormant slumber or poked into life by the jab of a stick. What was that? Anger? Betrayal? Lust? Whatever it was, it was damned annoying.
He’d been so sure that the two years they had been apart would have killed any desire he might have had for her. Now he knew that was not the case and he cursed her for it. She had no right to look like that—all heart-shaped face and soft pink lips, her slender body clad in skinny jeans and a plain white shirt, demurely buttoned almost to the top but still failing to conceal the unconscious jut of her breasts as she squared up to him.
Scowling, he raked a hand through his hair.
‘Because an accident like this makes you think, Charlotte—that’s why. Makes you realise that you are not invincible, that you need to plan for the future—a future when you are no longer around. Ten days in a hospital bed focusses the mind, believe me, and it gives you plenty of time to work out what’s important.’
‘Go on...’
The gentle probing of her voice was threatening to undo him, unleash a side of him that had nothing to do with the purpose of this meeting.
‘What is important is this place.’
Roughly gesturing around him, he was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain that shot through his shoulder, mocking him with its power. He would not let it show. Whatever else, Lottie must not see his weakness. He knew she was watching every movement of his lips, analysing every syllable of his words. Grimly he carried on.
‘The principality is my number one priority. Generations of Revaldis have held the title of Conte di Monterrato. Now it is my turn and I will do everything within my power to ensure its protection and prosperity.’ He paused, conviction pushing back his shoulders, swelling his chest. ‘As you well know, Charlotte, I am the last in line...’ he shot her a piercing stare ‘...and as such it is my duty to provide an heir.’
Monterrato. An heir.
Lottie felt the cold fingers of the past reach out to grasp her. So nothing had changed. It was still all about Monterrato, about providing for its future, continuing the line. The place was like an obsession with Rafael—everything to him; his life, his blood. She was also the last in line, as it happened—the sole daughter of John Lamb, deceased, and Greta Lamb, now Lawrence, remarried and living in South America. But you didn’t hear her banging on about it.
‘Well, if you are so keen to have a child I suggest you find someone else to have one with.’ Twisting her bottom on the seat, she sniped back at him, chin high, chest forward. She knew she sounded like a bitter old crow but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Judging by the number of women that seem to constantly surround you, I’m sure you could have the pick of party socialites only too happy to produce endless beautiful Monterrato heirs for you.’
Thunder rolled across Rafael’s face.
‘For God’s sake, Charlotte.’ His fist banged down on the desk, rattling the ormolu inkstand on its lion’s paws feet. His eyes were glaring wildly with some unseen force as they locked with Lottie’s, now saucer-shaped with alarm. ‘Why can’t I make you understand? It is our baby I want.’
Lottie’s mouth fell open, soft with astonishment. This was not the calm, composed Rafael that she knew. The man who was so totally in control of his emotions that she had never seen him break down—not even when their baby had died. He was certainly not the kind of man to lose his temper. At least he never had been.
