A Kind of Madness Read online

  ‘Stop,’ Elspeth demanded huskily, and then asked, ‘Did you really buy those fields for my parents?’

  He gave her a hard look and said tersely, ‘I’m not after their business. I’m thinking of a much larger market than theirs—supplying supermarkets. I’ve already had some interest shown and I believe I can make a go of it. The reason I chose Cheshire was because of you—you, Elspeth—you! Yes, but if you don’t believe me—’

  She shook her head. Too much was happening too quickly. She felt as though she were falling helplessly through space with no one to help her. ‘Last night,’ she began huskily, but Carter wouldn’t let her finish.

  ‘Last night,’ he told her ruthlessly, ‘you asked me to make love to you and I did what any man—any normal man who’s spent far too many years crazy about a particular woman would do when that same woman whispers to him that she wants and needs him. I lost control. And you may as well know that I don’t regret a moment of it. All right, so it doesn’t matter to you that I’ve wasted years of my life just aching for a chance to show you how I feel about you, it doesn’t matter that it was me who held you last night, who pleasured you, loved you. What the hell is it that he’s got and I don’t have, Elspeth, apart from your love? I love you, for God’s sake, while he…’

  Elspeth swayed giddily. ‘You love me?’

  ‘Of course I do, dammit!’ Carter bellowed. ‘When your parents told me that they thought you were getting tired of your high-profile city life, that they felt that you wanted to come home, I thought, at last, here’s my chance. I was on the verge of leaving the institute anyway, and I thought, where better to settle down than in Cheshire, so that I could be near you, so that I could have a chance to show you—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘When we first met you were too young, just a girl. I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Carter,’ Elspeth demanded shakily. ‘Can you think of something you could do to prove to me that I’m not imagining all this?’

  Something in her voice must have alerted him to the truth. He looked at her and tensed. A muscle twitched briefly in his jaw and then he was coming towards her, taking hold of her, wrapping her in his arms, his voice husky and just a little bit uncertain as he asked against her mouth, ‘How about this?’

  Hours, or was it only seconds later, Elspeth drew away from him, convinced now beyond any doubt that he loved her just as compulsively as she was beginning to realise she loved him, and probably had loved him for a very long time, if she had only had the wit to realise it.

  ‘Carter?’ she asked him, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. ‘Last night, did you really…?’ She whispered something into his ear and blushed as he looked at her and said softly,

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Nothing. Well, it’s just…my memories of last night are a tiny bit hazy, and I was wondering. Do you think you could do it again?’ she asked him breathlessly.

  ‘I see. Some lover, aren’t I, if you’ve forgotten what it felt like already?’ he said drily.

  She smiled dreamily at him. ‘Oh, no, I haven’t forgotten. I just wanted to see if it was actually as wonderful as I remember.’

  * * *

  ‘Well, Mrs MacDonald, is it still as wonderful as you remember?’ Carter teased his wife of exactly fifteen months as she lay contentedly in his arms, in the shadowed peace of their bedroom.

  Their two-month-old son had been taken firmly in charge by his grandmother, who had announced that it was time that his doting parents had a little time to themselves.

  ‘Mmm. I’m not sure.’ Elspeth wriggled blissfully closer to him, pretending to consider, laughter gleaming in her eyes as she suggested thoughtfully, ‘I don’t suppose you could do it again, could you? Carter! Carter!’ she protested, laughing, as her husband proceeded to show her that he most assuredly could.

  * * * * *

  Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of USA Today bestselling author Carol Marinelli’s next book,

  SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME

  The third and final book in her Billionaires & One-Night Heirs trilogy!

  When chambermaid Sophie encounters Bastiano Conti, his raw sexuality tempts her untouched body! Bastiano’s conscience flickers when he discovers that after that unforgettable indiscretion, Sophie was left destitute and pregnant. He must claim his child…by seducing Sophie into wearing his ring!

  Keep reading to get a glimpse of

  SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME

  PROLOGUE

  BASTIANO CONTI HAD been born hungry.

  And born a problem.

  His mother had died giving birth to him and had never disclosed who his father was. All she had owned had been left to him—a ring.

  It was Italian gold with a small emerald in its centre and some seed pearls dotted around it.

  Bastiano’s uncle, who had four children of his own, had first suggested that the nuns raise the orphaned baby who’d lain crying in the small maternity ward in the Valley of Casta. There was a convent that overlooked the Sicilian Strait and orphans had usually been sent there.

  But the convent was on its last legs.

  The nurses were busy but occasionally one would take pity and hold Bastiano a little longer than it took to feed him.

  Occasionally.

  ‘Familia,’ the priest had said to his uncle. ‘Everyone knows that the Contis look after their own.’

  The Contis ruled the valley to the west and the Di Savos held the east.

  Loyalty to their own was paramount, the priest told him.

  And so, after a stern talk from the priest, Bastiano’s zio and his reluctant wife had taken the little bastard to their house but it had never, for Bastiano, been a home.

  Always Bastiano had been considered an outsider. If something had gone wrong, then he’d been the first to be blamed and the last to be forgiven.

  If there had been four brioches for lunch, they had not been split to make five.

  Bastiano had done without.

  Sitting in school next to Raul Di Savo, Bastiano had started to understand why.

  ‘What would your parents save in a fire?’ Sister Francesca had asked her class. ‘Raul?’

  Raul had shrugged.

  ‘Your father,’ she prompted, ‘what would be the first thing that Gino reached for?’

  ‘His wine.’

  The class had laughed and Sister Francesca, growing more exasperated with each passing moment, had turned her attention from Raul.

  ‘Bastiano,’ she snapped. ‘Who would your zia save?’

  His serious grey eyes had lifted to hers and Bastiano had frowned even as he’d given his response. ‘Her children.’

  ‘Correct.’

  She had turned back to the board and Bastiano had sat there, still frowning, for indeed it was the correct answer—his zia would save her children. But not him.

  He would never be first.

  However, aged seven, Bastiano was sent to collect the brioches and the baker’s wife ruffled his hair and so unused to affection was he that his face lit up and she said that he had a cute smile.

  ‘You do too,’ Bastiano told her, and she laughed.

  ‘Here.’ She gave him a sweet cannoli just for brightening her morning and Bastiano and Raul sat on the hill and ate the gooey treat.

  The boys should have been sworn enemies—for generations the Contis and the Di Savos had fought over the vines and properties in the valley—yet Bastiano and Raul became firm friends.

  The small encounter at the baker’s was enough for Bastiano to learn that he could get by better on charm.

  Oh, a smile worked wonders, and later he learnt to flirt with his eyes and was rewarded with something far sweeter than cannoli.

  Despite their families’ protests, Bastiano and Raul remained friends. They would often sit high on the hill near the now vacant convent and drink cheap wine. As they looked out over the valley, Raul told him of the beatings his mother endured and admitted that he was reluctant to leave for university in Rome.
/>
  ‘Stay, then.’

  It was that simple to Bastiano. If he’d had a mother, or someone who cared for him, he would not leave.

  And he did not want Raul to go, though of course Bastiano did not admit that.

  Raul left.

  One morning, walking down the street, he saw Gino storm out of Raul’s house, shouting and leaving the front door open.

  Raul was gone and, given what his friend had told him, Bastiano thought he ought to check that his mother was okay.

  ‘Signora Di Savo…’ He knocked on the open door but she did not answer.

  He could hear that she was crying.

  His zia and zio called her unhinged but Maria Di Savo had always been kind to Bastiano.

  Concerned, he walked inside and she was kneeling on the floor of the kitchen, crying.

  ‘Hey.’ He poured her a drink and then he got a cloth and ran it under the water and pressed it to the bruise on her eye.

  ‘Do you want me to call someone?’ he offered.

  ‘No.’

  He helped her to stand and she leant on him and cried and Bastiano did not know what to do.

  ‘Why don’t you leave him?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve tried many times.’

  Bastiano frowned because Raul had always said that he’d pleaded with her to leave yet she’d always refused.

  ‘Could you go and stay with Raul in Rome?’ Bastiano suggested.

  ‘He doesn’t want me there. He left me,’ Maria sobbed. ‘No one wants me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  She looked up then and he went to correct her to say that what he had meant was that he was sure there were people who wanted her…

  Not him.

  She put a hand up to his face and held his cheek. ‘You’re so handsome.’

  Maria ran a hand through his thick black hair and it did not feel like when the baker’s wife had; this felt more than an affectionate ruffle and, confused, Bastiano removed her hand and stepped back. ‘I have to go,’ he told her.

  ‘Not yet.’

  She wore just a slip and her breast was a little exposed; he did not want Maria to be embarrassed when she realised that she was on display, so he turned to leave.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ she called out to him.

  ‘I have to go to work.’

  He had left school and worked now in the bar that was a front for the seedier dealings of his zio.

  ‘Please, Bastiano…’ Maria begged. She reached for his arm and when he stopped she came around so that she stood in front of him. ‘Oh,’ she apologised as she looked down and saw that her breast was exposed to him, but Bastiano did not look. He was still pretending that he had not noticed.

  And she would cover herself now, Bastiano thought, yet she did not. In fact, she took his hand and placed it on her plump, ripe skin.

  He was good with the girls but in those cases he was the seducer. Maria was around forty, he guessed, and, for heaven’s sake, she was the mother of his best friend.

  ‘Signora Di Savo…’ Her hand pressed his as he went to remove it.

  ‘Maria,’ she said, and her voice was low and husky. He could feel and hear her deep breathing and when she removed her hand, Bastiano’s remained on her breast.

  ‘You’re hard,’ Maria said, feeling him.

  ‘Gino might—’

  ‘He won’t be back till dinner.’

  Bastiano was usually the leader and instigator, but not on this hot morning. Maria was back on her knees but this time by her own doing. It was over within minutes.

  As he left, he swore he would never return there.

  But that very afternoon Bastiano made a trip to the pharmacy for protection, and an hour later they were in bed.

  Hot, forbidden, intense—they met whenever they could, though it was never enough for Maria.

  ‘We’re getting out,’ Bastiano told her. He had been paid and, if all else failed, he had his mother’s ring. He could not stand the thought of her with Gino for even a moment longer.

  ‘We can’t,’ she told him, even as she asked to see the ring and he watched as she slipped it on.

  ‘If you love me,’ Maria said, ‘you would want me to have nice things.’

  ‘Maria, give me back the ring.’

  It was all he had of his mother but still Maria did not relent. Bastiano left.

  He walked up the hill to the convent and sat looking out, trying to figure it all out. All his life he had wanted a taste of this elusive thing called love, only to find out he did not care for it. It was Bastiano who now wanted out.

  And he wanted his mother’s ring.

  He stood, walking with purpose to the town below, where he saw it unfold.

  A car driving at speed took a bend too fast. ‘Stolto,’ he muttered, and called the driver a fool as he watched him take another bend…and then the car careered from the road.

  Bastiano ran in the direction of the smoking wreck but as he approached he was held back and told that it was Gino’s car that had been in the accident.

  ‘Gino?’ Bastiano checked.

  ‘No!’ a woman who worked in the bar shouted. ‘I called Maria to say that Gino was on his way home and angry. He had found out about you! She took the car and—’

  * * *

  Maria’s death and the aftermath had not painted Bastiano in a very flattering light.

  Raul returned from Rome and on the eve of the funeral they stood on the hill where once they had sat as boys.

  ‘You had your pick of the valley!’ Raul could barely contain his fury.

  ‘I went to check on her—’

  But Raul did not want to hear that his mother had been the seducer. ‘And you turned on that fake charm…’ Raul had seen him in action after all. He knew how Bastiano could summon even the shyest woman with his eyes and melt restraint with a smile. ‘I was a fool to trust you,’ Raul said. ‘You as good as killed her.’

  Yes, he was the first to be blamed and the last to be forgiven.

  ‘Stay away from the funeral,’ Raul warned him.

  But Bastiano could not.

  And the next day things went from bad to worse. After a bloody fight at the graveside, it later transpired that half of Maria’s money had been left to Bastiano.

  Raul, once his friend, now accused Bastiano of engineering Maria’s death and swore the rest of his days would be devoted to bringing him down.

  ‘You’re nothing, Conti,’ Raul told him. ‘You never have been and, even with my mother’s money, you never will be.’

  ‘Watch me,’ Bastiano warned.

  It is said that it takes a village to raise a child.

  The Valley of Casta had never really been kind to Bastiano, but when the entire population considered you a cheat, a liar, a seducer, a bastard…that’s what you become.

  So, when a drunken Gino came to confront him, instead of taking it on the chin, Bastiano fought back, and when Gino called Maria a whore, Bastiano saw red and did not stay quiet. Instead, he gestured with his hand in the sign of horns and tossed Gino the biggest insult of all.

  ‘Cornuto!’

  Cuckold.

  Bastiano, the villagers agreed, was the worst of the worst.

  Copyright © 2017 by Carol Marinelli

  Don’t miss

  SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME

  by USA Today bestselling author

  Carol Marinelli,

  available July 2017 wherever

  Harlequin Books and ebooks are sold.

  www.Harlequin.com

  If you enjoyed this story by

  NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author

  PENNY JORDAN,

  you will love

  Harlequin® Presents!

  Do you want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles? Step into the sensational, sophisticated world of Harlequin® Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and wickedly irresistible passion!

  Look for eight new storie
s every month!

  Recommended Reads for July 2017

  The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

  A Ring to Secure His Crown

  Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

  Salazar’s One-Night Heir

  The Secret Kept from the Greek

  The Billionaire’s Secret Princess

  Wedding Night with Her Enemy

  Claiming His Convenient Fiancée

  ISBN-13: 978-1-488-08090-6

  A KIND OF MADNESS

  First published in 1990

  This edition published in 2017

  Copyright © 1990 by Penny Jordan.

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.