The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride Read online

  She had no idea who he was, and he had no idea of her true identity. That was only a good thing. Her engagement to the prince of Santa Firenze was highly publicized. And though she doubted she would be famous worldwide, in Venice, there would certainly be some awareness of who she was.

  But, soon, there was no decision to be made. Because he was moving her off the dance floor, away from the crowd and down an empty corridor. Her heart was thundering hard. And for a moment, she had the big concern that she was perhaps being kidnapped. She had not imagined that kidnapping might feel so close to seduction, or vice versa.

  Now she was just thinking crazy things because she could hardly breathe for the fear and excitement that were jockeying for pride of place inside her.

  He pressed her into an alcove, the music fading completely into the background. She could hear no one, and nothing. And in that moment, as the mysterious man in black filled her vision, it was as though they were the only two people on earth.

  He pressed his thumb against her lips, tracing the edge of her mouth, a sensual shiver racking her frame. Then he let his fingertips drift down her neck, and down farther, to the neckline of her gown. His touch was featherlight over the rounded swells of her breasts, but it resonated inside her, deep and low. All consuming.

  That was when she knew for certain she had not misinterpreted the situation. When she knew for sure that this was a seduction. And she was perilously close to being seduced.

  But would she allow it?

  Even as she had the thought, she realized how ridiculous it was. She had already allowed it. From the moment she had taken that offered hand, she had been saying yes.

  His hand traveled all the way down to her hip, and he began gathering the deep purple fabric of her gown, pulling it up around her thighs. His fingertips brushed between her legs, brief, tantalizing contact in the place where she was beginning to burn for him.

  Then, he pressed his palm against her stomach, pushing his hand upward, tugging the neckline of her dress to the side, exposing one of her breasts, then the other. She gasped, barely able to believe what was happening. What she was allowing him to do.

  In truth, she wasn’t allowing anything. She was simply a captive to it. To him. And she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.

  He dragged his thumb over one sensitized nipple, and she gasped. Then he pinched her tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

  She arched more deeply into his touch, and he lifted both hands, cupping her, squeezing her tight. Then his hands were back on her skirt, drawing it up, exposing her to him. His fingers slipping between her thighs so that he could tease her. Then beneath her underwear, touching her more intimately than anyone ever had before.

  She felt lost in him, in this. She had never known pleasure like this. It was like being in the center of a sensual storm. She felt his touch everywhere, teasing her, pushing her toward the brink.

  She raised her hands, pressing them up against his chest, parting the buttons on his shirt. She sucked in a harsh breath, her fingers making contact with his skin for the first time as she traced his hard muscles, the heat of his skin shocking, so sexy she thought she might collapse onto the floor. A crumpled bit of Allegra. And she couldn’t have that. Because then, he would probably figure out her inexperience, and he would very likely leave her standing there unsatisfied.

  He was too perfect for words, a temptation she didn’t want to turn away from. She leaned in, kissing his neck. His lips might be covered by the mask, but hers weren’t. The touch of her skin against his left behind a smudge of red, and a bit of white from all the paint on her face. She didn’t care. She liked it. She wanted to leave him marked by this, because God knew she would be.

  She moved her exploration down, to his hard chest. His muscles and the crisp hair on his skin were completely new sensations for her. Touching him like this sent an arrow of desire down low in her stomach.

  It didn’t take him long to continue on in what she’d started. He moved his hands down to the closure of his slacks, and pressed her more firmly against the wall. His body was flush against hers, his hot, hard arousal seated firmly against where she was wet and ready for him.

  He flexed his hips, his hardness pressing into her softness. A wave of pleasure rolled over her and she let her head fall back as a small moan escaped her lips.

  He moved his hand, lifting her thigh and curving her leg around his hip, before shifting his stance and thrusting deep inside her. This time, when she cried out it was in pain.

  She had known that losing her virginity would hurt, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite this painful.

  Her partner didn’t seem to notice that the tenor of her voice had changed, because he withdrew slowly, before pressing back. This time, it didn’t hurt quite as badly. And with each subsequent thrust, it hurt less and less, until gradually the pleasure returned. Until that sharp, tearing pain transformed into a deep gnawing ache.

  It grew, spread outward, pressed deeper, blooming into hot, frantic pleasure. She began to rock against him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her climax overtook her completely. She pressed her lips against his skin as her orgasm washed over her. A never-ending assault that left her spent, breathless.

  Then, on a growl, he thrust inside her one last time, bracing himself against the wall as he found his own release.

  For a moment, the world seemed to spin around them. She was dizzy with pleasure, with desire. And she felt...connected to this man. To this man she didn’t know at all.

  He withdrew from her body, taking a step back. He began to button his shirt, doing his pants up again, his mask still firmly in place. He was as dark and mysterious as he had been from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. And, were it not for the smear of red and white on his neck, she would never have known he’d been touched.

  But the evidence was there. If the electric sensation coursing through her body and the throbbing ache between her thighs weren’t evidence enough, then that would serve.

  He looked at her for a moment, then he tugged his gloves more firmly in place, and turned, walking away from her, back toward the ballroom.

  Leaving her alone.

  Leaving Allegra Valenti, who had never done anything but quietly protest her position in life, who had certainly never made a move toward actual rebellion, standing there, having just lost her virginity to a stranger.

  Without protection. Without thought for the future, or...anything at all.

  Her excitement morphed into horror, into fear.

  As she watched him disappear from view, she didn’t know whether to be heartbroken or relieved over the fact that she would never see him again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALLEGRA WAS CONVINCED that things could not possibly get worse than they already were. It didn’t matter how many times she had wished over the past few weeks that her period would come. It refused to come. It did not matter how fervently she prayed that there would only be one pink line on the test that she took at home that morning. There were two.

  It did not matter that she was engaged to be married to a prince and that she was supposed to give birth to his royal heirs. Because he was not the man she had slept with. No, she had slept with only one man, and she had no idea who he was.

  She had gone over a great many options in her mind since making the unsettling discovery that morning. The first being that she could quickly fly to wherever her fiancé was and seduce him.

  There were several reasons that wouldn’t work, not the least of which being that she couldn’t spend her entire life lying to a man about the paternity of his child. Also, Raphael wasn’t stupid. He was a prince, and he required an heir. An heir who was his by blood. That meant that he would undoubtedly be doing paternity tests to establish whether or not the child was actually his. And, since Allegra knew it wasn’t, there was really no point at all in considering that kind of subterfuge. But she had. For a moment. Only because the
alternative was going to blow her life wide apart.

  Ultimately, she had decided on blowing her life apart. Because there really was no other option. And so, she was here at her brother’s office in Rome, ready to confess all to the one person who might not kill her where she stood.

  Though, before she actually engaged in confession she thought she might try a soft introduction.

  “Did you enjoy the party?” she asked.

  Renzo looked up from his work, one dark brow raised. “Which party?”

  “Right. I forgot. You go to a lot of parties. The one that you took me to.”

  “It was very good. What little I stayed for.”

  “You were there for a while.” She tapped the top of the desk with her fingertip, carefully not looking directly at Renzo.

  “Yes,” he said, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving into a standing position. “Why are you questioning me? Is there some kind of unflattering tabloid story? Photographs?”

  “Could there be?” she asked.

  “I am me, Allegra. It is always a possibility.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” It occurred to her that she may very well end up as a tabloid spectacle too. All these years of behaving, of fantasizing about misbehaving, but never stepping out of line, and she had potentially created the biggest scandal of all.

  “You have something to ask me. Do it. And you can be on your way. You can shop. I imagine that’s why you’re actually in Rome.”

  He could imagine it all he wanted, it didn’t make it true. She was here to speak to him, because she had to find out what he knew about the masked man at the party in Venice.

  “You know almost everyone important,” she said. She knew in her gut that the man she had been with was important. He had that air of authority about him. That sort of personality that commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

  “Almost everyone,” he said dryly. “Presidents. Kings. Why do you bring that up?”

  “Because I... I just was curious. There was a man at the party.”

  “You should not be inquiring about men, Allegra,” he said, his tone warning. “Especially since I believe you are already engaged.”

  “Sure. Technically. But I’m just curious about this one.”

  “And that is enough for me to know that if I tell you anything our father may well separate my head from my body.”

  “You don’t care about that,” she said. “I know you don’t. You don’t go to great lengths to please them. In fact, you don’t try to please them at all. Stop pretending that you care when you don’t.”

  He let out a long-suffering sigh. “All right. Ask away.”

  “He arrived late. He was wearing a mask that looked like a skull, dressed all in black.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Renzo’s lips. And then, he did something that Allegra rarely saw him do: he laughed.

  “What?” she asked, fury rioting through her. She was having a crisis and he was laughing at her. “What’s so funny about that?”

  “I’m very sorry to tell you that I believe your head was turned by Cristian. I know you will loathe that. As I know you loathe him.”

  Ice slipped down through her, chilling her, making her feel ill. “No,” she said. “That was not Cristian.”

  “Protest all you like, but it was. Perhaps it’s for the best that Mother and Father have arranged your marriage? It seems that left to your own devices you have terrible taste.”

  “No,” she said, getting more furious. “There is no way that that was Cristian Acosta. I would have... I would have... Turned to stone.”

  “Just by looking at him?” Something strange crossed over her brother’s face.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Obviously he would find out eventually. They all would. Unless... They didn’t. Perhaps, Cristian did not have to know.

  Raphael would have to know, there was no way around that. Their engagement was off. And her life would be all the better for it. But, if the man she had been with was truly Cristian, then he would no more believe it than she did.

  He saw her as a spoiled, selfish child, and nothing more. If she turned up pregnant, he would never connect the woman he’d had up against the wall with Allegra.

  Her stomach turned. Cristian. It didn’t seem possible. How could she... How could she have ever...

  A question she had asked herself over and over again, even before she had discovered the identity of the man she had been with.

  And so she made a decision then. She was not going to tell him. What good would come of it? He would either want nothing to do with her and the baby, or he would want everything to do with them. Frankly, she preferred the former, but feared the latter.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Clearly I was being silly.”

  “Clearly,” Renzo said, going back to his work.

  Allegra’s mind was made up. She would break off her engagement, and seeing as she was already going to be disgraced, she would embrace it fully. She would raise her child alone.

  She would ask nothing of Cristian.

  * * *

  “Your sister’s broken engagement seems to be making headlines.” Cristian poured himself a drink and turned to face his friend.

  Anger that was somewhat unequal to the situation rioted through his blood. He had put his own reputation on the line, introducing Raphael to the Valentis. Vouching for Allegra as a future spouse.

  He and Raphael were not really friends, more acquaintances. A hazard of being nobility, especially in these times when titles and the like were sinking into obscurity and obsolescence. But still, he had been the one to make the introduction. The one to suggest the union.

  Out of respect and gratitude for the support the Valenti family had always shown him, more than anything else. He should have known she would ruin it.

  It had only been a matter of time before Allegra had blown her life up completely. She had always seemed on the verge of it. A shimmering flame even while she sat, trying to look serene at parties and family meals.

  He had always seen it. That restlessness. That dissatisfaction. But he’d hoped she’d find herself safely married to a prince and not...well, headline news.

  A woman with her temperament was always in danger of being tabloid fodder, and he’d tried to warn her. She was too headstrong to listen.

  He had hoped the promise of Raphael would keep her in line. Had hoped it would keep her secure.

  It apparently had not.

  “The cancellation of a royal wedding is always going to be a major deal,” Renzo said.

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Cristian remembered, clearly, her behavior the one time he had been at dinner when Raphael was in attendance. The one time he had seen the two of them together. She hadn’t had a clue what to do with him, and he clearly hadn’t the inclination to handle her.

  Raphael was a prince, and accustomed to deference. Allegra didn’t seem to know how to give it and had remained sulky and silent throughout the meal.

  She’d been very young then. He’d hoped she might mature.

  Perhaps it’s for the best.

  He knew all too well how marriages made for political gain could end up. And how unhappy a young bride who wished to have some freedom might crumple beneath the weight of expectation.

  But she is not Sylvia. And he isn’t you.

  Yes, undoubtedly Allegra could have made good on this marriage. Had she any notion of just how good she had it.

  “Thank God the reasoning behind the breakup has not come forward yet. But it will,” Renzo said, standing and making his way across the office, helping himself to the alcohol as well.

  He frowned. “What’s the reason?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  Something about that hit him hard and low. The image of her growing round...of her holding a baby in her arms...he despised it.

  Which was ridiculous. She’d been set to marry Raphael in a few months’ time, and she would have be
en pregnant by him soon enough. Why it should feel such an assault now, he didn’t know.

  He gritted his teeth, fighting against the rising tension in his body. “Not with her prince’s child, I take it?”

  “No. She refuses to tell our parents, or me, who the father is. I have never even seen her with anyone. I don’t even have a guess.” He frowned. “I worry about the circumstances behind it, frankly. Unlike me, Allegra has never been particularly wild. I have concerns she was taken advantage of.”

  It was strange to hear Renzo’s assessment of his sister. Cristian had always sensed wildness in her. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she had been conducting something of a double life behind the backs of her family members all this time.

  The idea made his skin feel too tight for his body. That all the time she’d sat there at the dinner table during evenings he’d spent with her family, pretending to go along with her parents’ plans, she was going out. Letting men touch her. Kiss her.

  Have her.

  “Has she not?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone innocuous.

  “No. She has no experience with men, as far as I know. As far as I knew,” he corrected. “In fact only recently she was asking me quite breathlessly about a man she saw at the masked ball we went to a month or so ago.”

  Cristian gritted his teeth, a strange tension taking him over. “Was she?”

  Flashes of the ball played back in his mind. A beautiful, lush figure. Tight, wet heat. A kind of indulgence he had not had in years.

  “Yes. She was chagrined to discover that the man who’d caught her eye was you.”

  Cristian set his glass down, his pulse thundering in his temples. It was not possible. But he had to ask. He had to know.

  “What was she wearing?” His heart was thundering hard now, his blood roaring through his veins.

  “A mask the same as all the other women. She had some purple in her hair and a purple dress. A dress our parents absolutely did not approve of.”

  Cojeme.

  It could not be. The first woman he had touched in years... And it was Allegra Valenti. And she was... Well, she was pregnant with the Acosta heir.