An Inheritance of Shame - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,31

saw her mouth curve in the barest of sad smiles.

‘You already did.’

‘I did not.’ He shook his head, denying the judgement he felt from her. What would make her see sense? ‘We didn’t use protection last night,’ he said after a moment. It hadn’t even occurred to him, much to his own shame. ‘What if you’re pregnant?’

He saw her tense, felt it. ‘I don’t think that’s a possibility.’

‘You’re on birth control?’ Absurd to feel jealous if she was, yet he did. Had she had many other lovers?

‘No,’ Lucia said after a moment. ‘But I—I don’t think it’s likely.’

‘And if it is?’

She turned to him, her expression utterly unreadable. ‘You think a pregnancy would force my hand? Make me agree to your…suggestion?’

‘It’s not such a bad suggestion, Lucia.’

‘I think it is.’

‘What do you want? Marriage?’ He injected the word with the contempt he couldn’t help but feel, and he saw hurt flash across her face. Damn it.

‘And if I did?’ she asked quietly.

‘I’m not capable of that. I thought—I thought you knew that.’

Her mouth twisted in something like a smile. ‘You speak as though it’s a chronic condition.’

‘I can’t help who I am, Lucia.’

‘Exactly.’

Frustration bubbled inside him, an unholy ferment of emotion. She was twisting everything he said, taking it completely the wrong way. ‘So that’s it? You’re not even going to give us a chance?’

He heard her draw in a short breath, and knew she was more conflicted, more tempted, than she was trying to act. ‘No.’

‘Dio, Lucia, I think after last night I deserve a little more than that.’

‘Did I deserve more than that, before?’ she answered. She didn’t sound angry though, not the way he felt. She sounded only tired. Resigned, and that made him even more furious. He knew she wanted him. Wanted him as much as he wanted her. Why couldn’t she see the sense in what he was offering?

‘And so I apologised. I told you I knew I shouldn’t have left you like that. God help me, I am trying to make it up to you now. I want to be with you, Lucia. That’s what this is about. I thought—I thought you wanted to be with me.’ He heard a ragged note enter his voice and stared straight at the road, his jaw so tight he felt as if he might break a tooth. He couldn’t believe he was saying these things, much less meaning them.

It felt awful, this helpless confession, like peeling back his own skin. He was raw, vulnerable and completely exposed. And yet still he couldn’t help himself. He had to say these things. He meant them utterly. He wanted more with Lucia. And yet looking at her averted face he knew his more was still less than what Lucia wanted.

I want to be with you. For a man like Angelo, it was a huge confession. She’d never imagined that he would consider last night the start of something. It hadn’t even crossed her mind, because he’d never even hinted at such a thing before. Never remotely wanted it.

And even though it was an amazing admission for him to make, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because he didn’t even realise how little it was.

Yet Lucia still felt a longing open inside her, that old, endless ache, and she was so unbearably tempted to snatch his paltry offer with both hands. She would have accepted it before. She would have taken whatever crumb he tossed her way, and forced it to sustain her. It was this understanding of her own weakness that made her stiffen her shoulders, harden her resolve.

She really had changed, and she wouldn’t let herself accept Angelo’s offer of being nothing more than a mistress, even if he hadn’t used that word. Even if he didn’t understand that was what he was suggesting.

‘Lucia,’ he said again, his voice still revealingly ragged. ‘Say something, please.’

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Willed herself not to say yes…yes, she’d do it, she’d take it, just as long as she could be with him. She would not be that pathetic creature again. Surely she’d had enough rejection for one life.

She’d heard how her mother had begged her father to stay, never mind the drinking, the abuse, the other women. Watched her mother spiral down into despair and bitterness in the following years. Did she really want to be like that?

She had no illusions about how little Angelo was capable of. He’d been pushing people away his