His very Latin shrug of the shoulders had Lottie digging her nails down into her palms. Without using a single word he had managed to convey not only his disregard for her opinion but his contempt for her feelings. Her remarks had been so petty that they weren’t even worthy of a reply.
Lottie was still struggling with silent, impotent rage, berating herself for letting this hideously jealous harpy escape, when she heard Rafael getting up from his chair, muttering something softly in Italian under his breath.
‘Look, Lottie, why don’t we just agree that we have both done our best, that the evening was a success, and leave it at that? Now it’s late and you need to go to bed. It’s important you don’t get overtired.’
Lottie glared at him, fury stinging the backs of her eyes. It was important that she didn’t get over-stressed, overwrought, over-bubblingly, seethingly angry too. But he didn’t seem to care about that.
‘And I take it I will be going to bed alone?’
The words escaped before she could stop them and her hand flew, too late, to her mouth. She already knew that Rafael wouldn’t be coming to her bed that night. He had made that perfectly clear without the need for any words. Why on earth was she demeaning herself by asking him to say it out loud?
But the shock of her question was totally eclipsed by the devastation of his answer.
‘Yes. I have been meaning to talk to you about that. Obviously you are going to need your own space in the palazzo. I have arranged for a suite of rooms in the south wing to be made available to you. Your things will be moved there tomorrow.’
Lottie felt her anger seep away, only to be replaced by an emotion a hundred times worse. Like a tidal wave of heartache it swamped her, leaving her feeling weak and breathless and alone—terribly alone. So this was how it was to be. This was Rafael’s vision for their future. She was to be locked away for the duration of her pregnancy—exiled like a swelling Mrs Rochester—in the south wing. And after the baby was born...? Who knew what he had planned? Presumably something even more hideous. An island somewhere so remote that he would be able to pretend that she didn’t exist at all?
She raised eyes so heavy with sadness that they could hardly bear to look at him, desperately trying to find something in the tight mask of his face, the cold blackness of his eyes, that she could take some comfort from. But there was nothing. Just the twitch of a muscle beneath the scarred cheekbone.
‘The south wing, you say?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper in the cavernous quiet of the room.
‘That’s right. I thought that would be for the best.’
‘The best for whom, exactly?’
‘For you—for both of us. For all concerned. I think it’s important we lay down the ground rules right from the start. So we both know where we stand.’
‘Oh, I think you have done that, Rafael.’ Lottie bit down hard on her lip to try and stop it trembling. ‘Rest assured. I know exactly where I stand.’
Stumbling to her feet, she snatched up a handful of the oyster silk of her gown, turned and fled from the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOTTIE OPENED HER EYES to the cold reality of a new day. Going into the bathroom, she held her hair back with one hand as she splashed cold water onto her face, roughly rubbing it dry before returning to the bedroom and looking around her.
She had made her decision and she was strangely calm. She was leaving. Leaving Monterrato and leaving Rafael. And this time there would be no going back.
She had spent the night thinking everything through as clearly as she could. Staring at the tangled mess of their relationship, she had forced herself to try and unravel it, following the thread, carefully picking away at the knots, refusing to stop no matter how painful it had been.
And the more she had unravelled the more obvious it had been. Rafael wanted her solely for one thing. To bear him an heir. She had known that right from the start—he had been brutally honest about it. But somehow the truth had got lost along the way, obscured by the fanciful notions insidiously creeping in, fooling her into thinking that he might actually have some feelings for her, that there might even be a chance of them reuniting as a couple.
But last night all those notions had been cruelly dispelled. Rafael’s vision for the future left no room for any silly ideas about happy families. And the truth hurt—more than hurt. It was an agony that would never, ever go away. Because when it came down to it that was all they had, she and Rafael, the one true constant that she could always rely on with their relationship. Pain. And hurt. And that was all Lottie could feel now.
But she knew she had to use that pain to give her the strength to leave now. Because strength was the only language Rafael understood—the only way to fight him. If she showed any weakness, let him see her true feelings, he would use them, twist them to his advantage, ensure that she would never be free of him. She had to be strong—for herself and the baby. He would always be its father—of course he would—but that didn’t give him the right to blight the rest of her life. Because that was how it would be if she stayed here. Nothing more than a half-life, constantly tormented by the love she had for him—a love that he would never return.