As he had learned to fear his grandfather’s anger as a child? As his son would be forced to learn to fear it? Marco was filled with a sense of revulsion. He had returned to Niroli committed to working to improve things for its people, but now he was beginning to question his ability to do that. With his grandfather so opposed to the changes he wanted to make, and his own views so diametrically opposed to the king’s, weren’t they more likely to tear Niroli apart between them than anything else? Perhaps Emily was right to refuse to allow their child to be brought up here?
Marco closed his eyes, deep in thought. No, his son should be here because he, his father, was here. Emily would have to accept his determination to play his royal role, whether she liked it or not…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EMILY sat huddled in the squashy, cream-ticking-covered chair in the pretty sitting room of her Chelsea home, staring numbly at the letter she was holding. Not that she needed to read it again. She knew its every word off by heart, she had read it so many times since it had arrived two days ago: the consultant at the hospital where she had been for her twenty-week pregnancy scan wanted her to return, so that they could do a further test.
She had of course rung the hospital the moment she had received the summons, and the nurse she had spoken to had assured her that there was no need for her to worry. But Emily was very worried. In fact, she was worried sick, reliving over and over again that tell-tale moment during the ultrasound when the young operative had suddenly hesitated and then looked uncertainly at Emily before carrying on. Nothing had been said; she knew the scan had shown that her baby had all the right number of fingers and toes, and had even confirmed her belief that she was carrying Marco’s son. If she hadn’t received the letter requesting her to go back, she suspected she would never have given the girl’s hesitation another thought. Why had she hesitated? Was there something wrong with her baby? Oh, please, God, don’t let there be! Was she being punished because of what she had done? Because she had left Niroli? Because she was deliberately planning to lock Marco out of their son’s life?
But that was to protect the baby, not punish Marco, she protested to herself.
The sound of someone ringing her doorbell brought her out of her painful thoughts: it would be Jemma. The shock of being requested to return for a second scan had brought home to her how alone in the world she was, and upset her so much that she had unburdened herself to her friend and assistant. As a result, Jemma had started to adopt an almost maternal attitude towards her and had insisted she would accompany her to her repeat scan. Smoothing down the skirt of the loose linen dress she was wearing, Emily got up to answer the door. Whilst she had been on Niroli a heatwave had come to the city and, at first, when she opened the door the light pouring in from the fashionable London street outside dazzled her so much that she thought she must be imagining things: it couldn’t possibly be Marco who was standing on her immaculate doorstep, the formality of his dark business suit a perfect foil for the bright red of the geraniums that filled the elegant containers that flanked the entrance.
But it was Marco, and he was stepping into her hallway and closing the door behind him, looking just as impressive against the interior’s old-English-white walls as he had done outside.
For a while after her return from Niroli, she had barely slept for fear that he would come after her and demand she go back. But there had been no sign of him. Then, the arrival of the letter had given her something much more worrying to keep her awake at night. Her heart was thumping in jerky uncoordinated beats; he had brought with him in the hallway, not just his presence, but also his scent. Helpless tears of longing pricked in her eyes, blurring her vision.
‘Is this what you’re planning to take to the hospital?’ Without waiting for her response, Marco leaned down to pick up the pale straw basket into which she had packed everything she thought she might need.
‘The hospital?’ Her voice faltered she was shocked by those words, her face nearly as pale as her hall walls.
‘I’ve just been round to the shop. Jemma told me about the scan. I’ve got a cab waiting. Where are your keys?’
‘Marco, there’s no need for this. Jemma’s coming with me.’
‘No, she’s not. I am going with you—there is every need for me to do so. This is my child you are carrying, Emily. Are you ready?’
She shouldn’t be letting him take charge like this, Emily told herself, but the stress of the last few days was telling on her and she simply felt too weak and drained to argue with him. And, besides…if she was honest, wasn’t there something comfortingly bitter-sweet about having him here with her…with them. Her hand went to her tummy as inwardly she whispered comforting words to her baby, promising it that, no matter what the scan showed, no matter what anyone said, he would have life and she would love him.
The stress of worrying about the baby had stolen from Emily the bloom she had gained whilst she’d been on Niroli, Marco recognised as he took hold of her arm and guided her to the waiting taxi.
Marco gave the driver the name of a private hospital, ignoring Emily’s small start of surprise. It hadn’t been difficult getting Jemma to tell him what had happened. In fact she had been so relieved to see him that she had told him everything he needed to know without him having to probe. He had come to London with the sole intention of taking Emily back to Niroli with him, and of telling her that their child would be born on the island and would remain there; whether or not she chose to do the same was up to her. Since he had last seen her, his feelings towards Emily had turned both angry and hostile. She had gone behind his back to his grandfather; she had walked out on him, she had insulted him. She’d given him, for no good reason whatsoever, sleepless nights analysing what she’d said and what she hadn’t, trying to find ways he could fit together the pieces of the jigsaw his life now was, working out what would make it possible for him to have her living on Niroli with him—and willingly. And then going over everything he had already analysed once more, to double-check that the reason he wanted her there was only because of his child. Because, somehow, though he found it hard to admit, deep down inside, a suspicion still lurked that he wanted Emily.
But the news Jemma had given him about Emily being called back for a second scan had caused a seismic emotional shift within him, so that all he could think about now, all that concerned him and occupied his thoughts, was Emily and their baby.
The hospital was one of London’s most exclusive and private and Emily’s obstetrician had been likely recommended to her. He was a charming middle-aged man, with a reassuring smile and a taste for bow ties. In his letter, he had stated that he would be on hand once Emily had had her repeat scan to discuss the results. It made her feel sickly cold inside every time she thought about the underlying hint that there might be some kind of problem.
‘Has anyone said why you are having to have a second scan?’ Marco asked her as the taxi pulled up outside the hospital.
Emily shook her head.
‘But you have asked?’
‘I rang Mr Bryant-Jones, my obstetrician, and he said that sometimes a repeat scan was needed.’
‘But he didn’t explain why?’
‘No,’ Emily admitted shakily. Marco’s terse words, along with his grim expression, were increasing her fear.
Marco paid the taxi driver and, still carrying her basket, put his free hand under her elbow, for all the world as protective as though he were a committed husband. But he wasn’t, and Emily knew she must not give in to her longing to turn to him and get him to reassure her that she had no need to worry, and that everything was going to be all right.
The hospital’s reception area could well have been that of an expensive hotel, Emily recognised, looking at the two receptionists who were stunningly attractive and very smartly dressed.