Rags To Riches Collection. Rebecca Winters

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      Frowning at the unexpected train of his thoughts, he crossed the nursery and stared down at Sophie, whose cries were reaching a crescendo. ‘Perhaps she’s hungry?’

      ‘I tried to give her the rest of her bottle a few minutes ago but she refused it. More likely she’s full of wind. I think she gulps in air when she feeds during the day, and that makes her feel uncomfortable,’ Beth said, unable to disguise the weariness in her voice.

      ‘Let me take her.’

      Startled by the unexpected request, Beth instinctively tightened her hold on the baby. She had looked after Sophie on her own since she had brought her home from the hospital six weeks after her premature birth, and she felt reluctant to hand her over to a stranger. But if it was proved that Cesario was Sophie’s father he would have a legal and moral right to help care for his child, she reminded herself.

      ‘She might get upset if she’s held by someone she’s not used to,’ she mumbled.

      ‘I doubt she’ll be any more upset than she already is,’ Cesario said dryly, as Sophie’s high-pitched cries intensified.

      Beth hesitated a moment longer, and then held out the screaming infant to him.

      Cesario tensed, a host of emotions swirling inside him. He suddenly regretted asking to hold Sophie. He did not know if she was his child, so why get involved? he asked himself. But the baby’s cries had triggered an instinctive response deep within him to comfort her just as he had once comforted his son.

      Panic gripped him. He did not want to be reminded of Nicolo. The memories hurt too much. But Beth was staring at him, clearly confused because he had not taken Sophie from her. Fighting a strong urge to turn away and stride out of the nursery, he stretched out his arms and lifted the baby against his chest.

      She was so tiny, and she weighed next to nothing. Something fierce, almost primitive, unfurled inside him as he acknowledged how incredibly vulnerable she was.

       Could she really be his daughter?

      He bent his head and rested his cheek on Sophie’s silky-soft dark hair. Her evocatively sweet scent—a mixture of milk and baby powder—reminded him painfully of Nicolo. But as he gently rocked Sophie and her cries subsided a sensation of peace swept over him. Another child could never replace the son he had lost, but if Sophie was his maybe his life would have meaning once more rather than being simply an existence.

      ‘Don’t cry, piccola,’ he murmured softly.

      Perhaps it was the deep timbre of his voice, or the rumble from his chest as he spoke that captured Sophie’s attention. Gradually her cries lessened and she hiccupped, lifting her head to focus on him with huge, unblinking brown eyes. For several seconds she regarded him solemnly, tears still glistening on her long lashes. And then, to Cesario’s amazement, her little rosebud mouth curved into a smile.

      Dio mio! He caught his breath. She was so beautiful. He felt a curious sensation, as though a hand was squeezing his heart. First thing tomorrow he would arrange a DNA test, and if it was proved that Sophie was his daughter he would welcome her into his life, he vowed silently.

      Beth watched in disbelief as Sophie snuggled into Cesario’s neck and made the little snuffling noise that she always did when she was dropping off to sleep. The silence was bliss after the baby’s piercing screams.

      It was stupid to feel jealous because Cesario had managed to soothe Sophie where she had failed, she told herself. But she could not keep the stiffness from her voice as she commented, ‘You must have a magic touch. I’ve been trying to settle her for more than an hour.’

      ‘If she had been crying for that long she was probably worn out.’ His gaze still locked on the child in his arms, Cesario walked over to the cot and laid her in it before tucking the blankets around her.

      Beth was taken aback by his gentleness. She hadn’t expected this big, stern-faced man to behave with such tenderness as he had shown to Sophie. But before she had arrived at the Castello del Falco she had been unaware that he already had a child.

      She ran her fingers over the polished wooden end-panel of the cot, which was decorated with exquisitely carved rabbits and squirrels, and recalled the second-hand cot she had bought for Sophie. It hadn’t looked too bad once she had repainted it, she thought ruefully. But it was nothing compared to this beautiful antique.

      ‘Thank you for allowing Sophie to sleep here. This cot is amazing. Is it very old?’

      ‘It was commissioned by one of my ancestors in the early seventeen hundreds. Documents in the library show that the then master of the Castello del Falco and his wife had been childless for twenty years before she became pregnant and gave birth to a son,’ Cesario explained, keeping his voice low, so as not to wake Sophie. ‘I imagine that my ancestor was overjoyed to finally have an heir, and he requested the most skilled craftsmen to make furniture for his son’s nursery.’

      ‘The butler told me that this used to be your son’s room.’ Beth hesitated when she saw Cesario stiffen but could not contain her curiosity. ‘Teodoro said that he no longer lives at the castle?’

      ‘No.’

      From his curt response it was clear that Cesario did not wish to continue with the subject. His face was shuttered, and the sudden bleakness in his eyes made Beth wish she had kept quiet. Whatever mystery surrounded his son, it was no business of hers.

      But after a moment, to her surprise, he continued harshly. ‘Nicolo and his mother died in an accident four years ago. He was just two years old.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ She was stunned by his shocking revelation, and her response sounded banal and inadequate, but she did not know what else to say. Nothing about Cesario Piras was as she had expected. The impression she had gained from Mel was that he was a womanizer who had not even bothered to ask her name before he’d had sex with her.

      Of course Mel had been used to that kind of boorish behaviour from men, she thought heavily. They had never discussed it, but she wasn’t completely naive. She had guessed that Mel had occasionally supplemented her income from her job as a glamour model by offering a more intimate service to men she met at parties.

      The idea that Cesario might have paid to sleep with Mel had made Beth reluctant to search for him. She had been convinced that he would not be interested in a baby who had resulted from a cold-blooded sexual encounter, and the only reason she had come to Sardinia was because she had promised Mel.

      But Cesario did not act like a heartless playboy. He was a widower who had lost his wife and son in tragic circumstances. And, although it was not yet known if Sophie was his child, his gentleness when he had cradled her in his arms had brought a lump to Beth’s throat and evoked a wistful longing that her own father had cared about her enough to stick around during her childhood.

      She stared down at Sophie’s angelic little face. ‘I can’t imagine how terrible it must be to lose a child. I may not have given birth to Sophie but I love her as much as if she was my own baby. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. She’s all I have left of Mel,’ she said huskily. ‘Since I was twelve years old Mel was the only person СКАЧАТЬ