Guilty Series (112 page)

At first, Cesare had refused to grant her request. She should have known even begging on her knees wouldn't move him. She had been
forced to use blackmail, and she was relieved he had complied, for she couldn't really have written her memoirs for the scandal sheets. Ian wouldn't have liked it.

A home without a husband beside her wasn't what she had envisioned for herself, but that was the way it had to be. For her, a home and a family were enough for happiness, but she had fallen in love with a man for whom those things would never be enough. Perhaps that was because he did not love her in return. Though he had done the honorable thing and married her, love had not been his reason for doing so. Nonetheless, he had given her a home, a place in the world. Now, she had given him back his purpose, and he would be himself again. That was all she wanted.

She imagined him sitting in the chair as she had seen him so many times. The night he'd told her about his first love. How they'd gotten drunk, and she'd told him about her past.

“I love you,” she said as if he was sitting there. “I hope the Turks don't give you too much trouble. Just—” She caught back a sob. “Just remember not to show your emotions, and you'll keep the upper hand.”

“Don't cry.”

She lifted her head and turned to see him standing in the doorway. Only when he blurred before her eyes did she realize what he'd said. “I'm not crying,” she said, then immediately bit her lip and had to turn her face away.

“Liar.”

She stared at his chair, blinking back tears. She'd hoped for more time before he came back from Whitehall. Time to compose herself. But it was too late. Now she was unraveling, and he'd see it. Being so honorable, he'd feel guilty about going away.

He walked around in front of her, put a hand under her chin, and tilted her head back to look at her. “Lucia, what have you done?”

He knew.

“I suppose Cesare told you.” She scowled through tears. “I asked him not to, but I should have known he wouldn't listen. Damn him.”

“He burst into Stanton's offices in a fury, shouting at the top of his lungs, blathering about how you came and begged him to help me get my job back.” His hands slid down her arms. “Wife, I don't know whether to kiss you or shake you. When I think of what it must have cost you to go to him—” He broke off and his hands tightened on her arms. “Why did you do it? Why?”

“I love you. I had to give you back what I took from you.”

He pulled her off the desk and kissed her hard. “Don't ever do anything like that again,” he ordered. “I mean it. Don't ever sacrifice your pride for me or anyone else!”

“Well, it's done now.” She swallowed hard and stared at the perfect knot of his cravat. “So when do you leave for Anatolia?”

“I'm not going to Anatolia.”

“You're not?” She lifted her face. “Where are you going?”

Ian wrapped his arms around her waist. “Devonshire.”

Lucia's heart gave a leap, and she was terribly afraid she'd misunderstood. “What do you mean?”

“I'm saying I turned them down. Told them no.”

“You did? But why? Your work is everything to you. If you do not have your work, what will you do?”

He pretended to think it over. “Arrange marriages, perhaps? I'm getting rather good at that, I think.” He tightened his arms around her waist. “By the way, I've been to see your mother.”

Lucia blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “You went to see Mamma?”

“Yes. I called on her after I left Whitehall. It was a diplomatic assignment to arrange her marriage to Lord Chesterfield.”

“What?” Lucia was becoming more astonished by the moment. “Mamma will never marry Chesterfield. She told me so.”

Ian kissed her nose. “That's why I'm the diplomat, my dear, and you're not. I have gotten both parties to come to terms, and the wedding is in December. I had to do it, so I hope you don't mind. After all, I couldn't possibly stand for Parliament if my mother-in-law is a courtesan. I'd never get the votes.”

“You're going to be in Parliament? You would rather do that than be an ambassador?”

“I told you I wouldn't drag a wife and children all over the world. Don't you remember?”

“You said it wouldn't be right,” she choked. “But you didn't marry me by choice, so I thought—”

“So you thought I'd just go off and resume my old life without you?”

“I thought returning to your profession would make you happy. I thought it's want you wanted.”

“You're what I want. How could leaving you ever make me happy?” He cupped her face in his hands. “Do you remember the day of our picnic, and how you said I had this strange look on my face?”

“Yes.”

“That was the moment I realized how much I need you, need you more than anything else, including my career.”

“Oh, Ian!” she cried, afraid to believe it. “I don't want you to ever regret that you married me.”

He smiled, and his fingertips caressed her cheeks. “Regret it? How could I?” You are my passionate Italian wife. You are the woman who is going to give me children and whose bed I intend to sleep in every night. You're the reason I'll wake up every morning with a smile on my face. I love you, I will be in love with you every day of my life, and the only day I'm leaving you is the day they put me in the ground.”

He loved her. He wasn't leaving. Joy welled up inside Lucia, flooding up and spilling over until
she couldn't contain it. She began to laugh and cry at once.

“Here we go again.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“You turned them down,” she said, her voice muffled by his handkerchief. “For me.”

“Damned right. Why should I settle for being a mere ambassador when I can be treated like a king? I believe that was what you promised your husband, wasn't it?”

“Yes.” Lucia tossed his handkerchief aside and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Does that mean I'm truly royal now?”

“You? My dear, you may be Prince Cesare's daughter, but you're no princess. Most of the time, you're a blight on my sanity.” His arms tightened around her. “By the way, there's one thing I want to know.”

She raked a hand through his hair, messing it up with a sigh of pure contentment. “What?”

“Did you let me win that chess game on purpose?” He pulled back and looked at her. “Did you?”

Lucia opened her eyes very wide. “Of course,” she said. Deliberately, she bit her lip.

He laughed, his arms tightening around her again. “I want a rematch.”

“All right.” She paused with a wicked smile. “On one condition.”

“No. The condition was that I teach you to play billiards, and I did. No more conditions.”

“You'll like this one.”

“I liked the last one. Too much if I recall.” His mouth curved up at one corner. “So what is this new condition I'm going to like?”

“That you take me upstairs right now and start treating me like a queen.”

Ian didn't need to be told twice. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said, lifted her into his arms, and headed for the door.

My warmest thanks to fellow author Eloisa James and her husband, Alessandro Vettori. Their assistance with Italian language was invaluable to me during the writing of this book.