Cavelli's Lost Heir. Lynn Raye Harris

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      The sudden clanging of the metal door in the passageway startled a little cry from her. Her heart pounded as she backed toward the opposite wall of the cell. A naked bulb overhead gave off only meager light and she squinted into the darkness outside the bars. A big shape shuffled into view and thrust a key into the lock. The door swung open just as she made out the uniform of a Montebiancan police officer.

      “Come with me, signorina,” the man said in thick English.

      “Where are you taking me?” Fear, sharp and cold, slashed into her. Did the prince plan to have her thrown off a cliff somewhere?

       Stop being silly.

      “Come,” he said, motioning. She hesitated only a moment longer, deciding she might have a better chance once she was out of this cell. She could give him the slip if the opportunity presented itself, or perhaps she could scream for help. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than sitting here another night.

      The policeman ushered her up into the bright light of the rooms above the ancient cells. Before she could grow accustomed to the light, she was outside in the cool night air. A Mercedes limo idled near the exit and a man in a dark chauffeur’s uniform snapped the car door open.

      Lily faltered. The policeman held out his hand, motioning at the car. “Please,” he said.

      She hesitated, glancing at the street beyond the black iron gates. There was no escape that way, so she climbed into the car, her mind racing with possibilities. The door slammed behind her and a moment later the car whisked into traffic. Her questions about where they were going didn’t penetrate the glass between her and the driver, so she settled into the plush leather of the interior and watched the city lights slide by as she planned her escape.

      Lily gripped the door handle in a damp palm, her heart racing. When the car came to a halt at a light, she pulled, intending to slip out and disappear into the night before the driver could blink—but the door was locked. She jerked it again and again, but it refused to open. The driver didn’t even glance at her. The car started moving, climbing steadily uphill, and Lily bit her lip, tears of frustration choking her.

      Soon, they passed beneath an archway and into a courtyard. The car came to a halt. Lily pulled in a deep breath as her door swung open. Whatever was about to happen, she would not be a blubbering wreck. She was stronger than her fear, stronger than Nico Cavelli could ever imagine. She’d had to be.

      A man in a colorful palace uniform beckoned her. Only then did it dawn on her that they’d arrived at the Cavelli Palace. The Moorish fortress sat at the highest point of the city, its white walls gleaming in both sun and moonlight. It commanded sweeping views of the sea and sparkled like a diamond in the center of a pendant. She’d gazed at it for two days, wondering if Nico was here, what he was doing, if he ever thought of her.

      She’d certainly gotten her answer, hadn’t she?

      She was hurried through a door and down a series of corridors, finally arriving at closed gilt double doors. The palace guard rapped and spoke in Italian. A moment later, a voice answered and the doors swung open.

      Blood rushed to Lily’s head as she crossed the threshold. The room was a confection of ornate Moorish arches, mosaics, antiques, priceless artwork and tapestries. The gilt alone could pay for Danny’s college tuition wherever he chose to go. A massive crystal chandelier threw glittering light into every corner. Her senses were overwhelmed as she tried to take it all in.

      The doors clicked shut behind her and she whirled, her gaze colliding with that of the man walking in from an adjoining room.

      If he wanted to intimidate her, he was doing a fine job. He was tall and broad, his body encased in a glittering uniform that surprised her with its ornate formality. A red sash crossed from his right shoulder to his waist. The uniform was dark, black or navy, and studded with gold. Medals draped across his chest in a colorful row of ribbons and polished silver discs and stars. A saber, dripping with tassels, was strapped to his side.

      He lifted his hands and peeled off first one white glove and then the other while she gaped. He tossed them onto a chair with the hat she hadn’t noticed before.

      Desperately, Lily tried to conjure the image of the somewhat shaggy-haired student she’d thought him to be in New Orleans. He’d smiled a lot then. Laughed. How could this person be the same? Did he have a twin, perhaps? A twin who’d given her a false name?

      For once, she wished she’d read more about him. Her knowledge was limited to gossip magazines and celebrity Web sites. She’d steadfastly refused to find out anything more once she’d discovered just how colossal a mistake in judgment she’d made. What good would it have done to pore over his biography when she was never going to see him again? Lily Morgan dating a prince—yeah, that was freaking hilarious.

      “This is what is going to happen,” he said coolly. “You are going to answer me truthfully and completely, and then you will call your friend Carla—”

      “I want to call her now,” Lily said firmly, only mildly surprised he knew her best friend’s name. He’d been busy the last few hours, that’s for sure. “She must be frantic with worry, and I want to know my son is well.”

      Nico held up a hand. “All in good time, signorina. First, you answer my question, and then you call.”

      Lily was tired and achy from too little sleep and the cold prison cell, and her head still throbbed dully. Her temper was on its last thread, and she no longer cared if she was talking to a prince or not. He put his pants on the same way as everyone else—not to mention he’d once deigned to sleep with her—so that gave her as good a reason as any to speak to him as an equal. “I’m calling her now, or I’m not answering.”

      Nico’s eyes gleamed with suppressed annoyance. “You do not wish to test me, signorina. Your position is precarious enough, do you not think?”

      Lily’s chin nudged up a notch. “What do you plan to do, throw me back in that dungeon?”

      “Perhaps. Trafficking in stolen antiquities is a significant crime in Montebianco. We take our heritage very seriously here.”

      Lily’s right temple pounded. “I didn’t steal anything. If you check with the street vendor, you’ll know it’s the truth.”

      “We are having some difficulty locating him. Not to mention that street vendors do not typically sell priceless artworks as if they are cheap trinkets.”

      “You’re lying.” The man had a stall in the market, for goodness’ sake. How hard was it to find him again?

      “I assure you I am not. He seems to have disappeared. If ever he was there in the first place.”

      Lily’s bravado leached away under the weight of his arrogant surety. She was too tired to fight him, and too worried about her son to care about matching wits with this coldblooded man any longer. She just wanted it over with. “Fine—what do you want to know?”

      “I want you to tell me if this child is mine.”

      Lily’s lungs refused to work properly. Liquid fear softened her spine, her knees, but somehow she remained upright. “What kind of question is that?” she asked on little more than a whisper.

      His СКАЧАТЬ