November Harlequin Presents 1(44)

He was too late. He couldn’t have put his feelings into words if he had tried. Gazing at the empty sky, he couldn’t even find a vapour trail to track her journey back to London. He had no idea where she was heading, and she hadn’t left a forwarding address.

Because she had none, Nico reminded himself, already concerned about Carrie’s welfare. Turning from the wall of windows, he vented his frustration with a vicious curse.



She had been staying in a modest guest-house until she found a suitable apartment to rent. It had taken her less than a week. She knew the small mansion flat was the right one for her the moment she walked outside onto the glazed balcony.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said without hesitation, oblivious to the chaos left by the previous tenant. With the small bequest from her parents she could afford the three months’ deposit—as well as a bag of cleaning products.

And this wasn’t a tainted dream like the studio in the turret; this was happy reality, which she had made happen. Not that it was enough to keep the sadness at bay. But as she stared at her paint-smudged reflection in the mirror she knew she should be thankful that she could pay for every inch of space and every pot of paint herself. She had done with office suits and crisp white blouses. She had done with standing in line waiting for Nico to notice her, or to come up with any more cold-blooded schemes. She had her life back, and very soon there would be another life to consider. But it still hurt when she thought about Nico Fierezza, and perhaps it always would.

Digging deep in the pocket of her jeans, Carrie found her paint rag, but mopping her eyes made her feel worse. With a gust of frustration she flung the rag on the floor. It was time to toughen up, and if just thinking about Nico made her cry and she thought about him all the time, she wouldn’t think of him at all.

Until the next time.

She had avoided all newspapers like the plague, and she didn’t have a clue what was happening in Niroli. Maybe Nico was engaged to Princess Anastasia by now. Now that he had proof he could father an heir, what was stopping him? He didn’t have to resort to blackmail to keep Anastasia at his side, she was sure.

To avoid all complication she had cut herself off from her old life. She hadn’t even given her new telephone number or address to Sonia at the office. Maybe she would one day, but not yet; there didn’t seem any point. This wasn’t just a few days out for her to lick her wounds; this was a new life. It was the only way she could think of to keep her baby safe.

Without Nico to organise security Carrie had come to the conclusion that the only way to ensure her baby’s safety was to disassociate herself in every way from the richest royal family in the world. The decision to live in London wasn’t ideal, but it had occurred to her that sometimes the best way to hide was in a crowd, and with all the galleries and offices she reasoned she’d have a better chance of earning a living in London than anywhere else.

The one thing that had turned out better than she had hoped was that her first paintings, created in a fever of heartbreak, had attracted more attention than she had dared to hope. Her preliminary sketches, along with the first painting she had completed, had received a favourable response from one of the smaller London galleries and now she was working on a collection for them, which she hoped to have finished before the busy Christmas-shopping season began.

She was an artist, a professional artist. It was all she had ever wanted.

Almost all…

Not nearly all…

Shaking herself out of it, Carrie picked up her palette knife and angled her head to view her latest creation. It showed purple and cerise bougainvilleas spilling down the palace walls…She had to grit her teeth to try and block out Nico and, still, it didn’t work. There he was smack bang in the centre of her work. He was everything and everywhere; he always would be.

She painted on, finding a relief of sorts as she always did. She became absorbed and was oblivious to the thunder rolling overhead until the dark clouds gathering in sullen force stole her light away. Frowning, she stepped back from the canvas. Staring up at the gloomy sky, she concluded the weather wasn’t about to improve anytime soon. Which meant it was as good an opportunity as any to replenish her paints. She worked so fast they ran out all the time….



Carrie didn’t turn as the bell rang over the door of the small arts-and-craft shop. Why should she? She didn’t know anyone in this part of London and no one knew her….

But there was something different in the air as the sound of the bell faded into silence. Something had changed, something fundamental, something that made all the tiny hairs rise on the back of her neck. And then she detected a strand of familiar scent on the musty air and, inhaling deeply, she let out the breath on a ragged sigh.