The Marchese's Love-Child

‘Is it not obvious?’ The topaz eyes were as fierce as a leopard’s, and as dangerous. His voice was ice. ‘I have come for my son. And please do not try to deny his parentage,’ he added bitingly. ‘Because no court in the world would believe you. He is my image.’ He paused. ‘But I warn you that I am prepared to undergo DNA testing to prove paternity, if it becomes necessary.’

Polly stared at him, her stomach churning, her heart pounding against her ribs. ‘You must be mad.’

‘I was.’ His smile was grim. ‘Before I discovered quite what a treacherous little bitch you are, Paola mia. But now I am sane again, and I want my child.’

Her low voice shook. ‘Over my dead body.’

He said softly, ‘The way I feel at this moment, that could easily be arranged. Do not provoke me any further.’

‘He’s going to take him away from us,’ her mother wailed suddenly. ‘Take him to Italy. I’ll never see him again.’

Horror caught Polly by the throat. She turned on Sandro. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘And what is there to stop me?’ His glance challenged her.

‘It—it’s kidnapping,’ Polly flung at him. She took a breath. ‘Although I suppose that’s an everyday occurrence in your world.’

And it was more common than she wanted to admit in her own, she thought numbly. There’d been numerous headlines in the papers over the past few years where children had been snatched and taken abroad by a parent. They called them ‘tug of love’ babies …

She looked with scorn at the other man, who had got quietly to his feet. ‘And what are you—another of his tame thugs?’

His brows rose. ‘My name is Alberto Molena, signorina, and I am a lawyer. I act for the marchese in this matter.’

Polly gave him a scornful glance. ‘Don’t you mean you’re his consigliere?’ she queried with distaste.

He paused, sending Sandro a surprised look. ‘May I suggest that you sit down, Signorina Fairfax, and remain calm? It would be better too if the little boy was taken to another room. I think he’s becoming frightened.’

‘I have a better suggestion,’ Polly flared. ‘Why don’t you and your dubious client get out of here, and leave us alone?’

His tone was still quiet, still courteous. ‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible. You must understand that your child is the first-born son, and thus the heir of the Marchese Valessi, and that he intends to apply through the courts for sole custody of the boy. Although you will be permitted proper access, naturally.’

He looked at Charlie, who was round-eyed, his knuckles pushed into his mouth. ‘But, believe me, it would be better if the little boy was spared any more upset from this discussion. We have a trained nanny waiting to look after him.’

He walked to the door and called. A pleasant-faced girl in a smart maroon uniform came in and removed Charlie gently but firmly from his grandmother’s almost frenzied grasp, talking to him softly as she carried him out of the room.

‘Where’s she taking him?’ Polly demanded shakily.

‘Into the garden,’ the lawyer told her, adding less reassuringly, ‘For the time being.’

She swallowed convulsively, turning to the silent man by the window. ‘Sandro.’ Her voice was pleading, all pride forgotten. ‘Please don’t do this. Don’t try to take him away from me.’

‘I have already been deprived of the first two years of his life,’ he returned implacably. ‘There will be no more separation.’ His lip curled. ‘How remiss of you, cara mia, not to inform me of his existence. Even last night, when we talked so intimately about your living arrangements, you said nothing—gave no hint that you had borne me a child. Did you really think you could keep him hidden forever?’

She moistened her dry lips. ‘How—how did you find out?’

He shrugged. ‘I employed an agency to trace you. They suggested broadening the scope of their enquiries.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘I received their full report last night after you left. It made fascinating reading.’

She stared down at the carpet. ‘So there was someone watching me when I got back,’ she said almost inaudibly.

‘Can you wonder?’ Sandro returned contemptuously. ‘I have a beautiful son, Paola, and you deliberately barred me from his life. You preferred to struggle alone than ask me for help—or give me the joy of knowing I was a father.’ His gaze was cold, level. ‘How can such a thing be forgiven?’

‘It was over between us.’ Polly lifted her chin. ‘What did you expect me to do—beg?’

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that is something you may have to learn for the future.’

There was a silence. Polly could hear her mother weeping softly.

‘No court in the world,’ she said huskily, ‘would take a baby away from his mother.’

‘Yet it is his grandmother who has the care of him each day.’ His tone was harsh. ‘I was watching when you came into the room, and he did not try to go to you. Is he even aware that you are his mother?’

Polly gasped, and her head went back as if he had slapped her.

She said unsteadily, ‘I go out to work to support us both. As the contessa has probably told you, the hours can be long and difficult. But I needed the money, so I had no choice.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his voice quiet and cold. ‘You did. You could have chosen me. All that was needed was one word—one sign.’

There was an odd intensity in his voice, which startled and bewildered her. And also rekindled her anger.

He talks, she thought, as if I deserted him.

A sudden noise from her mother—something between a sigh and a groan—distracted her, and she went over and sat on the arm of her chair, putting an arm round her shoulders.

Oh, God, she thought. To think I was going to tell her that I was taking Charlie away. But how could I have guessed this was going to happen?

‘It’s going to be all right, Mum,’ she said softly. ‘I promise.’

‘How can it be?’ Mrs Fairfax demanded, almost hysterically. ‘He’s going to take my little treasure to Italy, and I can’t bear it.’ She reared up from Polly’s sheltering arm, glaring venomously at Sandro, who was regarding her with narrowed eyes, his mouth hard and set. ‘How dare you come here, ruining our lives like this?’ she stormed. ‘Get out of my house. And never come back.’

‘You are not the only one to suffer, signora.’ His tone was almost dismissive. He looked at Polly. ‘But it would be better for my son to be looked after by someone else until the custody hearing. The nanny I have engaged will move in with you.’

‘She can’t,’ Polly told him curtly. ‘My flat is far too small for that.’

He shrugged. ‘Then you will be found somewhere else to live.’

‘I don’t want that,’ she said raggedly. ‘I don’t want anything from you. I just need you to go, and leave us in peace.’

‘The marchese is being generous, Signorina Fairfax,’ Alberto Molena intervened unexpectedly. ‘He could ask for the child to be transferred to the care of a temporary guardian while the custody issue is decided.’

‘And, of course, he’s so sure he’ll get custody.’ Polly got to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘So bloody arrogant and all-conquering. But what court’s going to hand over a baby to someone with his criminal connections? And I’ll make sure they know all about his underworld background,’ she added defiantly. ‘Whatever the cost.’

There was a stunned silence. Then Sandro muttered, ‘Dio mio,’ and turned sharply, walking back to the window, his fists clenched at his sides.

Signor Molena’s voice was hushed. ‘I think you’re making a grave mistake, signorina. Since the death of his father, the marchese has become head of an old and much respected family in southern Italy, and chairman of a business empire with strong interests in the tourist industry among other things.’

He spread his hands almost helplessly. ‘You must surely have heard of the Comadora chain of hotels? They are internationally famous.’

‘Yes.’ Polly had to force suddenly numbed lips to form the words. Her shocked gaze went from his embarrassed face to Sandro’s rigid back. ‘Yes, I know about them.’