Admittedly, the daydreams had been unbelievably rosy hued, but even in those rosy-hued daydreams she had never thought that he would propose to her and certainly not a proposal as an arrangement, not unlike the nature of the one he had earmarked for his childhood sweetheart, if that was what she had been. He had been ready to marry for money, whichever way you looked at it, but then she had come along with news of a pregnancy and now he was ready to marry for the sake of the baby.
Luca Baresi did marriages of convenience but he didn’t do marriages based on love and that was what her hungry, romantic heart craved. Since when had it ever been her dream to be someone’s convenient bride?
‘When I marry,’ she murmured huskily, ‘I want it to be for love.’
‘Life is full of unfulfilled dreams.’ Luca shrugged. ‘I find it pays to adhere strictly to reality. You will have to break the news to your father and I will understand if you want to do so face to face, but can I trust you to return to Cornwall and not refuse to come back here? Probably not, which is why I will be more than happy to make arrangements for him to join us out here.’ Luca paused. ‘Rest assured he will travel in the very best possible style.’
‘He can’t leave his work!’ Cordelia gasped. ‘Nor would he want to!’
‘Then you’ll have to relay the news over the telephone.’
‘You can’t hold me prisoner here.’
‘Is that what you think I would be doing?’
‘What else, Luca?’
‘Let’s focus on one thing at a time, cara.’ He flipped his mobile phone out and dialled, speaking in rapid Italian, not a word of which Cordelia understood. That, in itself, only served to make her feel even more disoriented. When the call was over, he sat back and looked at her with a shuttered expression.
‘Tomorrow,’ he announced, ‘we will visit my consultant. Only then will any serious conversations begin...’
Within twenty-four hours, Cordelia realised that by serious Luca had actually meant boardroom-formal.
She had shown little resentment at having to prove to Luca what she knew to be the case. She was pregnant. She could have suggested taking a simple test—another one—but if he wanted to involve a consultant, then he would whether she did a thousand tests or not.
Along with the fact that he was not the man he’d said he was, she was discovering all kinds of sides to his personality that had not been at the forefront when they had had their brief, heady affair.
He was stubborn, proud, ridiculously traditional. He was also a man who expected to get exactly what he wanted and what he wanted was his child, with her as the price he would pay to achieve that.
The second the pregnancy had been confirmed, he had ushered her out into the fading sunshine, straight into the passenger seat of his low, sleek sports car and from there directly back to his mansion. Nothing had been said on the drive. He’d been thinking. She could sense that. As for the direction of his thoughts... Cordelia could only guess but, whatever she’d come up with, she had a suspicion that it would only cover part of the ground.
She’d reminded herself that it didn’t matter what he was thinking because he couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, and what she didn’t want to do was marry a guy for all the wrong reasons.
Still, her stomach had been tightly clenched with nerves by the time they had arrived back at his house and he’d ushered her through the front door and into a kitchen that was as big as a ballroom and just as grand.
Had she decided about her father? he’d asked. Bring him over or deliver the news via phone? He would give her a night to mull it over and to digest the direction her life would now be taking. She was free as a bird to explore every nook and cranny of the house. It was, however, late. He would instruct the resident housekeeper to deliver her food to her bedroom. He, meanwhile, had phone calls to make but he would see her first thing in the morning for breakfast and they would begin their discussions about the future they would now be sharing.
If he had hoped to soothe her frayed nerves, he’d definitely gone about it the wrong way. She had barely been able to enjoy the lavish pasta meal that had been delivered to her door at a little after eight by a shy young girl who had practically genuflected as she’d revealed the elaborate meal she had wheeled in on a super-sized trolley.
Cordelia had tossed and turned, thinking about how she was going to handle the forthcoming conversation.
Now, here she was, summoned by the very same shy young girl who had delivered her meal the previous evening and taken through the vast, echoing mansion to a sitting room where a selection of breads, cold meats and cheeses were waiting, on a highly polished sideboard, to be sampled.
The appetite that had deserted her the evening before enthusiastically responded to the tempting spread and she was slapping way too much butter on some sourdough bread when she heard the door behind her being pushed open.
She spun round as though yanked by invisible strings and inhaled sharply at Luca, who was standing by the door, one brown hand resting light on the doorknob.
He looked stunning. When did he ever disappoint on that front? she reflected a little sourly.
On every other front, he had come up short, but when it came to looks, he continued to deliver with a punch.
‘Good,’ he opened, strolling towards her and looking at her plate with satisfaction, ‘you’re eating. Better than
