Behind the Castello Doors (2 page)

‘Wait …’ Beth stared after the butler as he departed from the room, feeling a sense of helpless despair that her attempt to see Cesario Piras had failed. She had brought Sophie all this way for nothing. She bit her lip. Soon the baby would wake and need to be fed, but the journey back down to the hotel where she was staying in Oliena would take at least half an hour. She would have to give Sophie a bottle of milk in the taxi, Beth thought heavily, unless she could persuade the butler to allow her to feed her here at the castle.

She hurried out of the room after him, but found the entrance hall empty. As she stood wondering what to do a set of double doors at the far end of the hall suddenly swung open and a maid appeared, carrying a tray of empty glasses. Beth took a step forward, but before she could speak the maid had disappeared through another door.

The double doors remained open, and beyond them Beth saw a crowd of people: men in dinner suits and women
wearing ballgowns in rainbow hues of silk and satin. Waiters in white jackets, bearing trays of drinks and canapés, wove skilfully among the throng of guests, and the sound of music and voices mingled to form a discordant melody.

A party! Beth felt a spurt of anger. Cesario Piras had refused to see her because he was
busy
enjoying himself at a party. He hadn’t even given her a chance to explain the reason for her visit. She looked down at Sophie’s tiny face and her heart turned over at the sight of the baby’s long, dark eyelashes resting on her pink cheeks. Fierce determination swept through her. She had promised Mel she would find Cesario Piras, and now that she was here at his castle she was
not
going to leave without speaking to him.

Without waiting to reconsider her decision, she walked swiftly across the entrance hall. But her nerve faltered and she hesitated in the doorway of the vast room where the party was taking place. The walls here were not bare stone but dark wood panels that gleamed softly in the light cast from the huge chandeliers above. Elegant pillars lined either side of the room, soaring up to support an arched ceiling decorated with exquisite murals.

Beth wished the room was empty, so that she could appreciate its architecture and soak up its history. She possessed a vivid imagination and pictured knights in armour and an age of chivalry that had long since passed. But the room was full of people, and as she moved forward she was conscious of heads turning and curious glances cast in her direction from many of the party guests.

The buzz of chatter faded as people stepped back to allow her to continue. The music had stopped. Ahead of her a figure strode onto a raised platform at the far end of
the room. It seemed that he intended to address the guests, but he halted when he caught sight of Beth and even from a distance she could sense his surprise.

How long was this room? Beth wondered frantically. The black-and-white chequered marble floor seemed to go on for ever, and she wondered if she would ever reach the end of it. The silence and the stares made her feel agonisingly self-conscious. Her heart was thudding beneath her ribs but she could not turn back now. Something about the arrogant stance and the air of authority of the man on the dais made her certain that he was the man Mel had asked her to find.

Santa Madre!
Cesario stared in disbelief at the woman walking towards him. At least he assumed it was a woman. It was difficult to tell the identity of the figure beneath the huge grey coat with its hood that half concealed the wearer’s face. But this could only be the visitor whom Teodoro had explained had arrived at the castle a short while ago and demanded to see him.

What Teodoro had failed to mention was that Beth Granger was not alone. The baby in her arms could not be more than a couple of months old, Cesario estimated. The infant was wrapped in a shawl, but a tuft of silky dark hair was visible. He inhaled sharply, struck by poignant memories of his son when he had been newborn.

He did not know who the woman was, but he wanted her to leave, he thought grimly. Tonight he was impatient for everyone to be gone so that he could be alone with his memories.

Teodoro burst into the ballroom, looking uncharacteristically harassed as he hurried towards the dais. ‘Signor
Piras, I apologise. I was arranging transport for the
signorina …
’

‘It’s all right, Teodoro.’ Cesario held up a hand to silence the butler. ‘I will deal with our unexpected visitor.’

The woman had faltered for a moment when Teodoro had spoken, but now she quickened her pace. Cesario jumped down from the dais and in two strides stood in front of her.

‘I hope you have an excellent reason for gatecrashing my party, Ms Granger,’ he said coldly. ‘You have thirty seconds to explain why you are here before I order my staff to escort you from my home.’

Forced to an abrupt halt, Beth opened her mouth to speak. But her brain seemed to have stopped functioning and she was bereft of words. She had never appreciated the meaning of the word
dumbstruck
until now, she acknowledged dazedly. She had been relieved when the butler had confirmed that the man standing in front of her was indeed Cesario Piras. But she was unprepared for her reaction to him.

He towered over her, so that she was forced to tilt her head to study his face. Her eyes were drawn to the jagged scar which slashed across his left cheek. She could not deny that it marred his otherwise perfect features, causing his eyelid to droop fractionally and zig-zagging over his smooth olive skin to the corner of his mouth. But the disfigurement did not lessen the impact of his raw sexual magnetism; rather, it gave him the look of a pirate, or a knight from ancient times.

He was nothing like Beth had imagined a banker would be. His hair was jet-black and fell in a tousled mane almost to his shoulders. The dark stubble shading his jaw was dangerously sexy, and his razor-sharp cheekbones and
aquiline nose gave him an autocratic appearance. But it was his eyes that trapped her gaze. Slate-grey, and as hard as granite, they regarded her intently from beneath heavy brows and gave Beth the unnerving feeling that he could see into her very soul.

He was waiting for her reply. She sensed that everyone in the room was waiting, and the silence pressed on her eardrums. She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘I’m sorry for my intrusion, but I need to speak with you, Mr Piras.’ Conscious of the curious stares of the party guests she added, ‘Alone.’

His frown deepened, his expression so forbidding that Beth instinctively tightened her arms around Sophie.

‘How dare you come here uninvited and disturb my privacy?’

He spoke in perfect English but with a strong accent. His voice was deep and husky, and caused tiny pinpricks of sensation to dart across Beth’s skin.

In the lengthening silence Cesario studied the woman. If she had been alone he would have had no compunction in ordering his staff to remove her from the castle. Certainly if Beth Granger was a journalist he had every right to throw her out. But he could not deny he was curious about why she had brought a baby out on such a wet and wild night.

His eyes were drawn to the child in her arms and his gut clenched. Once he had held his son and marvelled at the perfection of his tiny features. Once he had cradled Nicolo against his heart and promised to protect him. His failure to keep his promise would haunt him for the rest of his life.

A discreet cough broke into his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. He glanced around the crowded ballroom.
Three hundred of Piras-Cossu’s senior staff had been invited to the party and all of them, it seemed, were riveted by the scene unfolding in front of them.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered the woman abruptly. ‘Teodoro, tell the band to continue playing.’

Beth hurried after Cesario Piras as he strode across the room and disappeared through an arched doorway. She followed him into what seemed to be a small storeroom, where bottles of wine and champagne were stored on shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The thud of the door closing made her spin round and she eyed him warily, even more conscious of his height and imposing presence in the confined space.

He did not bother to conceal his impatience. ‘State your business, Ms Granger. Why have you come here? I hope for your sake you are not a member of the press,’ he added harshly.

Startled, Beth quickly shook her head. No … I’m not … I …’ Her voice trailed away. She had rehearsed this moment over and over in her mind, but now that it was here for real she was beset with doubts. It did not help that Cesario Piras was so formidable. Maybe she should say nothing and take Sophie back to England, she thought, unconsciously gnawing on her bottom lip as she struggled to make a decision. But she had given her word to Mel.

She lifted her eyes to meet his hard grey gaze and felt her heart slam against her ribcage. A medieval castle suited him perfectly, she thought ruefully. He exuded an air of power and authority, and she sensed that he was as strong and uncompromising as the granite walls of his castle.

Perhaps he was a sorcerer who had trapped her in his spell? She could not look away from him, and in that moment something happened—something unexpected and
impossible to explain. She felt a sharp pain beneath her ribs, as if an arrow had pierced her heart.
Don’t be ridiculous
, she silently berated herself. How could she feel a connection to a complete stranger? Especially a stranger who was staring at her with grim impatience etched onto his scarred face.

She looked down at Sophie and took a deep breath. ‘I have come, because the child I am holding is yours, Mr Piras,’ she said quietly.

CHAPTER TWO

W
AS
this some kind of obscene joke? Cesario wondered savagely. What did this unknown woman who kept her face hidden beneath the hood of her coat mean?

‘Explain yourself,’ he ordered. ‘I do not have a child.’ The words scraped a raw wound inside him.

‘Sophie is your baby. She was conceived on this night a year ago.’

With an impatient oath Cesario shot out an arm and wrenched Beth Granger’s hood back from her face, sending a button flying in the process.

He did not recognise her.

He had slept with a few women since he had been widowed, but she was not one of them. Anger seared him. He was aware that his wealth meant that he could be targeted by unscrupulous women hoping to make easy money by claiming that he had fathered them a child. But this was ridiculous; he had never laid eyes on Beth Granger before. Perhaps she had hoped to convince the lawyers that it had been an immaculate conception? he thought sardonically.

He subjected her to a slow, deliberate appraisal, taking in her tangled mousy hair and the drab, shapeless coat that looked as though she had borrowed it from a street beggar.

‘I think not, Ms Granger,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Undoubtedly I would remember if
you
had ever shared my bed.’

Heat scalded Beth’s cheeks. Cesario Piras’s meaning was humiliatingly clear. She was far too unattractive ever to have caught his eye. No doubt he was only interested in gorgeous women like Mel had been. Blonde, beautiful Mel had had men lusting after her since high school, and it was not surprising that she had attracted the attention of a billionaire banker.

Compared to her best friend, Beth had always felt like an ugly duckling—and never more so than at this moment, when she was bedraggled and exhausted, wearing a coat she had bought from a charity shop which was several sizes too big. Recalling the scornful glances of the party guests when she had walked into the ballroom, she had a sudden flashback to when she was sixteen and had attended the school prom in a dress that the manager of the care home had lent her. Mrs Clarke had said she looked lovely, but of course she hadn’t. She had looked what she was: a girl with no parents and no money, in a dress that didn’t belong to her.

Sophie would never suffer that kind of humiliation, Beth vowed fiercely. Not if she could help it. She loved the baby with all her heart, but she knew from bitter experience the importance of money. She wanted Sophie to have all the things she had never had: nice clothes, a good education, the confidence that came with feeling that you were somebody rather than a nobody.

Carefully cradling the baby in one arm, she delved into the pocket of her coat and withdrew a photograph.

‘Sophie is not my child.’

She lifted her chin to meet Cesario’s hard stare and held out the photo to him. ‘This is her mother—Melanie
Stewart. Mel attended a party in London exactly a year ago. It was a big event, to celebrate something to do with Piras-Cossu taking over an English bank. I don’t know the details. But Mel met you at the party and later you invited her up to your hotel room. It was a one-night stand. She never even knew your name. But she fell pregnant that night with your baby.’

‘What utter nonsense,’ Cesario snapped witheringly. ‘I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Ms Granger.’

Her story was so unbelievable it was almost laughable, but he was not amused. He plucked the photograph from Beth’s fingers and glanced down at the image of a voluptuous blonde. The picture meant nothing to him. He did not remember the woman. But then he did not remember much at all about the party at the exclusive Heskeath Hotel in Mayfair a year ago, his conscience taunted him.

It had been his duty to attend the reception, organised by the managing director of the new UK subsidiary of the Piras-Cossu Bank. But that night, just as tonight, Cesario’s thoughts had been with his son. For a couple of hours he’d forced himself to make polite small-talk, but he’d spent the latter part of the evening at the bar, drowning his emotions in neat bourbon.

There might have been a woman. He frowned as fractured memories forced their way into his mind. He vaguely remembered a blonde at the bar. He recalled buying her a drink, and he had a hazy memory of dancing with her.

Shock ricocheted through him.
Could
there be any truth in Beth Granger’s story? Could he have slept with this Melanie Stewart and have no memory of it? He’d been so drunk that it would have been a miracle if he had managed to perform, let alone father a child, he thought derisively. A miracle—but he could not discount the possibility.