The Consequences of That Night Read online

  Either that, or from the knowledge that she’d just thrown all her own dreams away, her precious dreams of being loved, for someone she loved more than herself: her son.

  “Are you sure? Bouchard might not be pleased at the news.”

  “It will be fine.” She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to Cesare’s marriage proposal. He’d loved only one woman—his long-dead wife—and would never love another. Knowing that, how could she have said yes?

  But how could she not? He’d offered her everything she’d ever wanted for Sam. A home. A family. A real father, like she’d had. How could she not have made the sacrifice of something so small and inconsequential as her own heart?

  At least she didn’t need to worry about falling in love with Cesare again. She’d burned that from her soul. She had...

  “You won’t change your mind the instant I let you out of my sight?” he said lightly.

  She shook her head.

  “I think I’d better stay close, just to be safe.” Cesare’s voice was husky as he carefully tucked her jaunty pink scarf around her black coat. “Bouchard might try to talk you out of marrying me.”

  Even though she didn’t love him anymore—at all—having Cesare so close did strange things to her insides. Emma took a deep breath. But she couldn’t let herself feel anything. Not love. Not even lust. Not this time.

  She was going to be his wife. In name only. She’d have to keep her distance, while living in the same house.

  “Seriously, don’t come,” she said. She looked past the gate at Alain Bouchard’s mansion. “I’d better give Alain this happy news on my own.”

  Cesare gave her a lopsided grin that made her heart go thump, thump in her chest. “I’ll get the car, then. Meet you back here in ten minutes?”

  “Ten?” she said incredulously.

  “Twenty?”

  “Better make it an hour. It’s amazing how long it takes to pack up a baby.”

  “Really? He seems small.”

  “He is, but he has a lot of stuff.” At his bemused expression, she snorted. “You’ll learn.”

  “Can’t wait.” Pulling her close, Cesare looked down into her eyes. Cupping her face, he looked down at her one last time as they stood on the street with the lights of Paris twinkling around them. “Thank you for saying yes. You won’t regret it.”

  “I regret it already,” she mumbled, then gave a small laugh to show she was joking, holding up her left hand. “This diamond ring weighs, like, a thousand pounds. See you in an hour.”

  Turning, she went through the gate, past the security guard into Alain’s courtyard. One of his personal bodyguards was waiting by the mansion door.

  “Monsieur Bouchard is not happy with you, mademoiselle,” Gustave said flatly.

  She stopped. “Were you—following me?”

  The man jutted his chin upward, toward the house. “He’s waiting for you.”

  Emma had meant to tell Alain her news in the most gentle way possible. Instead it seemed he already had a good guess what was coming. Well, fine. She narrowed her eyes. He shouldn’t have had her followed.

  Going upstairs, she walked right past Alain’s office, but not before she saw him scowling at his desk. First, she went to check on her baby, and found him sleeping in his crib. For a moment, she listened to his soft breath in the darkness. Tenderness and joy caught at her heart. Smiling to herself, she whispered aloud, “You’re going to have a family, Sam. You’re going to have a real dad.”

  Creeping out, she closed the door, and went to the next-door sitting room, where she found Irene Taylor reading tranquilly in an armchair.

  “How was everything?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, he was perfect. An angel.” Smiling, Irene tucked her book, a romantic novel by Susan Mallery, carefully into her handbag. “Did you have a nice evening?”

  Wordlessly Emma held out her left hand. Irene gasped, snatching up her hand and staring at the ring.

  “Are you kidding?” She made a big show of rubbing her eyes. “Ah! It’s blinding me!” She looked up at Emma with a big grin. “You sly girl, I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”

  “Well—I wasn’t. But Sam’s father came for a visit, and one thing led to another...”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Irene sighed. “True love prevails.”

  “Um. Right.” Emma’s cheeks went hot. She couldn’t tell Irene that love had nothing to do with it, that she’d kept her pregnancy a secret and now they were only getting married for Sam’s sake. “Well. I’m leaving for London with him right now. Would you mind helping me pack Sam’s things?”

  “I’d love to. All his cute, tiny baby things. And now you’re off to London, swept away to be wed like a princess in a story.” Irene looked wistful. “I hope I find a love like that someday, too.”

  Her friend’s idealistic notion of love, the same dreams she’d once had for herself, cast a pall over Emma’s heart. How could she tell Irene that she had nothing to be envious about—that Emma was settling for a loveless marriage so her baby would have a father?

  Sam deserves it, she told herself again. She tried to remember the calmness she’d had about her decision just a moment before, when she’d stood in her baby’s room, listening to him sleep. She turned away. “I’ll be back.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Emma went down the hall to Alain’s office. She took a deep breath and went in.

  Her employer was sitting at his desk. He didn’t look up. When he spoke, his voice was sour. “Have a good time at the Tour Eiffel?”

  She was glad he was taking that tone with her. It made this so much easier. “Yes, I had a wonderful evening,” she said sweetly. “Thank you.”

  Alain glared at her. “I don’t appreciate you staying out so late. I was worried.”

  “I don’t appreciate you having me followed.”

  “I wanted to keep you safe.”

  “Safe,” she said.

  “I don’t trust Falconeri. You shouldn’t, either.”

  “Right. Well. I’m sorry to tell you, but I have to turn in my notice.”

  Alain’s eyes widened. He slowly rose to his feet. “What?”

  “And by notice, I mean I’m leaving right now.” Her cheeks flamed. “I am actually sorry to do it to you, Alain. It’s not very professional. In fact it’s completely rude. But Cesare and I are going back to London with the baby....”

  “He’s stringing you along, Emma, toying with you! I can’t believe you would fall for his lines. He’ll leave you high and dry when...”

  “We’re getting married,” she said flatly.

  Alain’s mouth literally fell open.

  “What?”

  Emma held up her engagement ring, then let her hand drop back to her side. “You’ve been good to me, Alain. I know you deserve better than me leaving you like this.” She swallowed. “But I have to take this chance, for Sam’s sake. I’m sorry. I’ll never forget your kindness and generosity over the past year....”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Alain said shortly. “Because you’re making a mistake. He ruined Angélique’s life.”

  “Your sister’s death was a terrible tragedy, but the coroner ruled the overdose an accident....”

  “Accident,” he said bitterly. “Falconeri drove my sister to her death. Just as surely as if he’d poured the sleeping pills down her throat.”

  “You’re wrong.” Steadying herself, she faced him in his office, clenching her hands at her sides. “He loved her. I know that all too well. He loves her still,” she said quietly.

  “She gave him everything,” Alain continued as if he hadn’t heard. “He lured her into marrying him. She loved him. Trusted him.” His eyes were wild. “But from the moment they were wed, he neglected her. So much so that she told me she meant to divorce him—then she mysteriously died before she could.”

  Emma blinked at his implication. “You can’t think—”

  “If she’d divorced him, he would have gotten nothing. A few hundred thousand
dollars. Instead he got her entire fortune. He used that money to turn his shabby little hotel in New York into a multibillion-dollar international hotel conglomerate. You know he’s ruthless.”

  “But not ruthless like that,” she whispered. She reminded herself that Alain’s words were spoken in anger, that he was a grief-stricken brother. Going toward him, she put her hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Angélique. I truly, truly am. But you have to stop blaming Cesare. Her death wasn’t his fault. He loved her. He never would have hurt her.”

  Alain slowly put his hand over her own. “Someday you’ll see the man he really is. And you’ll come back to me. I’ll give you your old job back...or better yet...” His eyes met hers. “I’ll give you exactly what Falconeri is offering you now.”

  Marriage. He meant marriage. Emma swallowed, then pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, Alain. I care about you deeply, but not in that way.” She stepped back from him and said with her heart in her throat, “I wish you all the best. Please take care of yourself.” She turned away. “Goodbye.”

  “Wait.”

  She turned back at the door. Alain’s jaw was tight as he looked at her.

  “My sister shone like a star,” he said. “She was so beautiful, the life of every party. But even Angélique couldn’t keep his attention for long. Don’t think you will, either.” He faced her across the shadows. “Loving him destroyed her, Emma. Don’t let it destroy you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHAT A RIDICULOUS warning. Emma still couldn’t believe it. It was laughable.

  Yes, laughable. Emma felt pleased at the word. She hardly knew which was more ridiculous: the idea that Cesare would have caused his wife, the only woman he’d ever loved, to kill herself with sleeping pills, or that Emma would still be stupid enough to love him, knowing he’d never love her back.

  Because she wouldn’t.

  Love him.

  At all.

  Ever again.

  Even though Cesare had been so wonderful since they’d arrived in London two weeks ago. He’d taken days off from work just to spend time with them, walking across the city, seeing the sights, pushing Sam together in his baby buggy, strolling like all the other happy families along the Thames. But what did Emma care about that?

  She certainly wouldn’t fall in love with him just because they’d shared champagne while riding the huge Ferris wheel of the London Eye. Or because he’d agreed to a lunch of fish and chips at the Sherlock Holmes pub, when he’d wanted sushi, purely because she’d begged. She didn’t care that they’d gone to Trafalgar Square to show Sam the stone lions, and Cesare had taken about a thousand pictures, and let her take some of him making funny faces as he pretended to fall from the stone pedestal. Those memories didn’t matter. Her heart was made of stone.

  Stone.

  They’d visited the National Gallery. The British Museum. They’d gotten a tour of the new Globe Theatre, then bought fresh bread and cheese at the outdoor Borough Market. But her heart was completely safe. Cesare wasn’t doing this for her. He was just following through on his promise to be an amazing father to Sam. That was all.

  But he was keeping that promise beyond her wildest dreams.

  Just yesterday, he’d insisted on going to Hamleys on Regent Street, where he’d bought so many toys that they’d needed to order an extra car to bring all the bags back to the Kensington house.

  “When exactly are you expecting Sam to be interested in this?” Emma had asked with a laugh, looking from their sleeping five-month-old baby to the cricket bat and ball on the top of the toy pile.

  “He is already fascinated with cricket. Can’t you tell?” Cesare had leaned the foam cricket bat across Sam’s lap, placing it in the baby’s tiny hand as he slept on with a soft baby snore in the stroller. He stepped back. “Look. He’s clearly a prodigy.”

  Holding a foam ball, Cesare elaborately wound his arm, then gently tossed the ball underhand. It bounced off the plastic edge of the stroller and rolled across the floor.

  “Prodigy, huh?” she said.

  He picked the ball up with a grin. “It might take a bit of practice.”

  “For him or you?”

  “Mostly me. He already seems to have the knack.”

  “You’re just a big kid yourself,” she’d teased. “Admit it.”

  They’d looked at each other, smiling—then the air between them suddenly changed, sizzled with electricity.

  Cesare had looked away, muttering something about going to the cashier to pay. And Emma’s hands had gripped the stroller handle, as in her mind she repeated the words In name only about a thousand times.

  Now she shivered as she went up the stairs of the Kensington house. He’d shown her every bit of attention he’d promised, and more. And as promised, he hadn’t once tried to kiss her. Not even once.

  But that was starting to be a problem. Because in her heart of hearts, she was starting to realize that she wanted him to...

  She veered past his bedroom, and continued to her own bedroom, down the hall, where Sam was currently sleeping.

  Emma told herself she was being stupid. They weren’t even married yet, and she wanted to give him her body? Stupid, stupid. Because how much harder would it be not to give him her heart in the bargain?

  We won’t be lovers, he’d said in Paris. We’ll be equal partners.

  Her brain had accepted this as the best possible course when she’d agreed to his proposal. And yet...

  She was supposed to be planning the wedding right now. But every time she started, something stopped her. Something that had nothing to do with choosing the cake or venue or church.

  She was sacrificing her heart. For her son. She could accept that. There was one thing she was trying not to think about.

  A marriage in name only would inevitably mean that Cesare would take lovers on the side.

  What else could it mean—that Cesare would do as she planned to do, and go without sex for the rest of her life? No. For a red-blooded man like him, that would be impossible.

  She was trying not to think about it. Trying and failing.

  Emma leaned heavily back against her own bedroom door, closing it behind her. She didn’t want to be jealous. She didn’t want to be afraid.

  But the day they’d returned to Kensington, Emma had fired the housekeeper. Miss Maddie Allen was an attractive young blonde, and Emma had instantly felt she hadn’t wanted her within a million miles of Cesare. He’d said he was glad to see her go, that she was the worst housekeeper imaginable and had regularly left iron marks on his shirts. But Emma had given her a year’s salary as severance, out of guilt for the real reason she’d fired the beautiful Miss Allen—out of pure, raw fear.

  She didn’t want to feel this way. With a sigh, Emma walked across her bedroom. A garment bag from a designer shop on Sloane Street was laid carefully upon her bed. Zipping open the bag, she looked down at the gown she would wear tonight at their official engagement party.

  For a moment, she just stood there looking at it. Then she reached out and stroked the slinky silver fabric. Pulling off her clothes, she put on a black lace bra and panties and black garter she’d gotten from a French lingerie shop. She didn’t dare look at herself in the full-length mirror as she put them on, for fear she’d lose her nerve.

  Tonight, she would be introduced to Cesare’s friends, and London society in general, not as his housekeeper, but as his future wife, and the mother of his child. She didn’t want to embarrass him.

  And if, by some miracle, he thought she looked pretty, maybe their marriage could become real. Maybe he’d take her in his bed, and she’d never have to feel insecure again....

  Even Angélique couldn’t keep his attention for long. Don’t think you will, either.

  She pushed away the memory of Alain’s words. She had to stop this ugly insecurity! After all her jealousy, she’d found out Cesare hadn’t slept with Maddie Allen anyway. Emma knew this because—her blush deepened—she’d blurted out tha
t question immediately after the housekeeper had departed. His reply had been curt.

  “No. I did not sleep with her.” His jaw had been tight as he looked at the fire in the fireplace, leaving flickering red-and-gold light across the spines of the leatherbound books. He’d parted his lips, drawing in breath as if he meant to say something more, then stopped.

  Nearly jumping out of her own skin, she’d said, “But did you ever...”

  “No more questions. I won’t have you torture us both by asking for a list of my lovers. You of all people know the list is long.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he’d looked down and said softly, “This home is yours now, Emma.” He’d cupped her face. “I will never disrespect you here.”

  His words had thrilled her. Then. Later, she’d parsed his words. This home is yours. I will never disrespect you here. Meaning—he’d disrespect her elsewhere? At a hotel?

  Now, reaching down for the silver dress, long and glamorous like the gown of a 1930s film star, she let the whisper of fabric caress her skin as she pulled it up her body. She didn’t want to be jealous. She didn’t want to worry.

  She wanted him to want—her.

  Emma’s throat tightened. Sitting in the chair at the vanity desk, she began brushing her dark hair with long, hard strokes. She looked at herself in the antique gilt mirror. She was nothing special. Just a regular girl, with round cheeks and big, vulnerable green eyes, who looked scared out of her mind.

  How could she marry him, even for Sam’s sake, knowing that Cesare would never uphold the promise of their wedding vows? How could she allow Sam to grow up watching his father repeatedly cheat on his mother—and her explicitly allowing him to do it? What kind of sick ideas would that teach her precious boy about love, marriage, trust and family?

  If only Cesare would want her. Her hand slowed with the brush. If only they could truly be lovers, in the same bed, maybe he’d stay true to their wedding vows, and they could be a real family....