Uncovering Her Nine Month Secret Read online

  I sucked in my breath. I felt myself wavering. Of course I wanted all those things for my son.

  “You’ll be a duchess, honored, wealthy beyond imagining.”

  “I’d be the poor stupid wife sitting at home in the castle,” I whispered, hardly daring to meet his gaze, “while you were out having a good time with other, more glamorous women....”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but disloyalty is not one of them. Still, I can understand why you’d immediately think of cheating. Tell me—” he moved closer, his sardonic gaze sweeping over me “—did you enjoy having the use of Edward St. Cyr’s house? His jet?”

  My eyes went wide. My mouth suddenly went dry.

  “How did you find out?” I said weakly.

  “Before my jet left Mexico, I told my investigators to dig into the layer of the shell company that owned the house in San Miguel. If it wasn’t Claudie who helped you,” he said grimly, “I intended to find out who it really was.”

  Well. That explained why he’d stopped asking. “Why have you pretended all day you didn’t know?”

  His handsome face looked chiseled and hard as marble beneath the gray sky. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell me.”

  “A test?” I whispered.

  “If you like.” His eyes glittered. “Women always find the quality of danger so attractive. Until they find out what danger really means. Tell me. Did you enjoy using St. Cyr’s possessions? His money? His jet? How about his bed? Did you enjoy sharing that?”

  “I never shared his bed!” I tried not to remember the husky sound of Edward’s voice. It’s time for you to belong to me. Or the way he’d flinched at my reaction—an incredulous, unwilling laugh. He’d taken a deep breath. You’ll see, he’d whispered, then turned and left. Pushing the memory away, I lifted my chin. “We’ve never even kissed!”

  “I see.” Lifting an eyebrow, Alejandro said scornfully, “He helped you out of the goodness of his heart.”

  That might be pushing it. I bit my lip. “Um...yes?”

  “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “He’s a friend to me,” I whispered. “Just a friend.”

  Alejandro looked at me more closely. “But he wants more, doesn’t he?” The sweep of his dark lashes left a shadow against his olive skin, his taut cheekbones, as he looked down at our baby in his arms. After all this time, he still carried Miguel as if he were no weight at all. He said in a low voice, “I won’t let my son keep such company. Because I, at least, have clear eyes about what danger means.”

  “And I understand at last,” I choked out, “why you suddenly want to marry me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lena—”

  “You say he is dangerous? Maybe he is. But if it weren’t for Edward St. Cyr, I don’t think I could have survived the darkness and fear of the past year. He was there for me when you deserted me. When you left me pregnant and alone and afraid.”

  His face turned white, then red. “If you’d given me the chance—”

  “I did give you a chance. You never called me back.” I took a deep breath. “I know now you weren’t the monster I thought you were. But I’ll never be able to trust you like I did. It’s lost. Along with the way I loved you.”

  Silence fell, the only sound the children playing on the other side of the trees. I heard their shrieks of joy.

  When Alejandro spoke, his voice was low, even grim. “Love me or not, trust me or not, but you will marry me. Miguel will have a stable family. A real home.”

  I shook my head. He moved closer.

  “You promised to come to Spain, Lena,” he said. “You gave your word.”

  I threw him a panicked glance. “That was when—”

  “Ah. You hoped you could break your promise, didn’t you? Perhaps with St. Cyr’s help?”

  My silence spoke volumes. His dark eyes hardened. “You gave me your word that if I brought you to London, you would come with me to Spain.”

  He was right. I had. Now, I felt so alone and forlorn. Alejandro was starting to wear me down. To break my will. To remind me of a promise I’d never wanted to keep.

  “It will only lead to misery,” I whispered.

  “Wherever it leads,” he said softly, “whatever we’d once planned for our lives...you are part of my family now.”

  “Your family. You mean your grandmother?” I shivered, imagining a coldly imperious grande dame in pearls and head-to-toe vintage Chanel. A little like my own grandmother, in fact. “She will hate me. She’ll never think I’m good enough.”

  He gave a low laugh. “You think you know what to expect? A cold, proud dowager in a cold, drafty castle?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “My grandmother was born in the United States. In Idaho. The daughter of Basque sheep ranchers.”

  “Idaho?” My mouth fell open. “How did she...?”

  “How did she end up married to my grandfather? It is an interesting story. Perhaps you can ask her when you meet her.” His lips twisted grimly. “Unless you intend to break your promise, and refuse to go to Spain after all.”

  I swallowed, afraid of what it would mean to go to his castle. Surrounded by his family and friends. Surrounded by his power. How long could I resist his marriage demand then?

  “Enough. You always spend too long in your mind, going back and forth on decisions that have already been made. End it now.” Reaching into his pocket, Alejandro pulled out a phone and dialed a number. He pushed it into my hand. “It’s ringing.”

  “What?” I stammered, staring down at the phone. “Whom did you call?”

  “My grandmother. If you are breaking your promise to me, if you are truly not willing to bring Miguel to Spain to meet her, tell her now.”

  “Me? I can’t talk to your grandmother!”

  “No. I can’t,” he said coldly, “because I love her. You have no feelings for her whatsoever, so you should have no trouble being cruel.”

  “You think I’m cruel?” I whispered as the phone rang.

  His eyes met mine. “Tell her she has a great-grandchild. Introduce yourself. Tell her I’ve asked you to marry me. Go on.”

  I stared at him numbly, then heard a tremulous voice at the other end of the line.

  “¿Hola? Alejandro?”

  It was a warm, sweet, kindly voice, the sort of voice that a grandmother would have in a movie, the grandmother who bakes cookies and is plump and white-haired and gives you hugs and tells you to eat more pie—or in this case, more paella?—because food is love, and she loves you so much that you’re her whole existence, her light, her star. It was the type of voice I had not heard since my parents had died.

  “Alejandro?” The woman sounded worried now. “Are you there?”

  “It’s not Alejandro,” I replied, my voice unsteady. “But he asked me to call you. I’m a...friend.”

  “A friend?” The sweet tremulous voice gasped, her accent definitely American. “Has he fallen sick? Was he in an accident?”

  “No, he’s fine....”

  “If he were fine, he’d be calling me himself, as he always does.” A sob choked her voice. “You’re trying to break it to me gently. But you can’t. First I lost my children, then my...” Her voice broke. “Alejandro was all I had left. I always knew I would lose him someday. That sooner or later—” another sob “—fate would catch up with me and...”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I cried in exasperation. “Alejandro’s fine! He’s standing right by me!”

  She sucked in her breath. Her tone changed, became curious. “Then why are you calling me on his phone?”

  “He...wanted me to tell you the happy news.” Glaring at Alejandro, I kept my voice gentle as I said, “You’re a great-grandmother.”

  “A—” her voice end
ed in a gasp. A happy gasp. “Alejandro has a child?”

  “We have a five-month-old son. I’m the baby’s mother.”

  “You’re American? Canadian?”

  “Born in Brooklyn.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me before? What’s your name? Have we met?” She didn’t seem like the snooty duchess I’d imagined. She continued eagerly, “Did you elope? Oh, I’ll never forgive Alejandro for getting married without me—”

  “He didn’t tell you because—well, he wasn’t sure about it. For your other question, we’re not married.” I gritted my teeth. “And we have no plans to be.”

  “You have no—” She cut herself off with an intake of breath. Then changing the subject with forced cheer, she said, “So when can I meet my great-grandson? I can hardly wait to tell my friends you’re coming to live in the castle. The pitter-patter of little feet at Rohares Castle at last!”

  “I’m sorry. We’re not going to live in Spain.”

  “Oh.” I heard the soft whoosh of her whimper. “That’s...all right.” She took a deep breath. “So when are you coming to visit so I can meet him?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know if we can....”

  “I understand,” she sniffled. “It’s fine. Just send me a Christmas card with the baby’s picture, and...it’s fine. I’ve had a good life. I don’t need to meet my only great-grandchild....”

  My own fear of spending time with Alejandro, of allowing him more power over me, suddenly felt small and selfish compared with letting her meet Miguel—and even more important, allowing my son to have the family I myself had yearned for. What did I have, a heart of stone?

  “All right.” With a sigh, I accepted the inevitable. “We’ll come to Spain in the next day or two. Just for a visit, mind!”

  But even with that warning, her cries of joy exploded from the phone. I held it away from my ear, glaring all the while at Alejandro. “I’ll let you talk to Alejandro,” I told her, then covering the mouthpiece, I handed him the phone and grumbled, “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.” He took it from my hand, looking down at me seriously. “I’ll win your trust, Lena. And then...”

  “Then?”

  He gave me a sensual smile. “You’ll be my wife within the week.”

  * * *

  There are many different kinds of seduction.

  There’s the traditional kind, with flowers, chocolates, dinner by candlelight. That’s the way Alejandro had seduced me last summer. He called the Kensington mansion, asked for me, invited me to dinner. He showed up at the door dressed in a tux, his arms full of roses—to Claudie’s rage—and greeted me with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” he’d murmured, and took me to the best restaurant in London. He asked me questions, listened aptly and physically grew closer and closer, with the innocent touch of his hand, the casual brush of his body against mine. He held my hand across the dinner table in the candlelight, in full view of the other patrons, looking at me with deep soulful eyes, as if no other woman had ever existed. Afterward, he took me to a club. We danced, and he pulled me into his arms, against his hard, powerful body. Closer. Closer still, until my heart was in my throat and I started to feel dizzy. In the middle of the dance floor, he lowered his head and kissed me for the first time.

  It was my first kiss, and as I closed my eyes I felt the whole world whirling around me. Around us.

  When he finally pulled away, he whispered against my skin, “I want you.” I’d trembled, my heart beating violently, like a deer in a wolf’s jaws. He’d looked down at me and smiled. Then took me back to his rooftop terrace suite at the Dorchester Hotel.

  There had been no question of resistance. I was a virgin in the hands of a master. He’d had me from the moment he kissed me. From the moment he showed up at my door in a sleek tuxedo, with his arms full of roses, and told me he wanted me in his low, husky voice. He’d had me from the moment he’d seared me with the intensity of his full attention.

  That was the traditional way of seduction. It had worked once, worked with utterly ruthless efficiency against my unprepared heart. But I knew the moves now—that is to say, I knew how they ended. With pleasure that was all too brief, and agony that was all too long.

  But there are many different kinds of seduction.

  Alejandro had decided we wouldn’t leave immediately for Madrid, but would spend one night in London, resting at his usual suite of rooms at the Dorchester. He told me it was because the baby and I both looked tired. I was immediately suspicious, but as we left the park, he did not try to kiss me. Even after we’d arrived at the luxurious hotel, he did not look deeply into my eyes and tell me I was the most beautiful woman on earth, or pull me out onto the rooftop terrace, overlooking Hyde Park and all the wide gray sky, to take me in his arms.

  Instead, he just ordered us lunch via room service, then afterward, he smiled at me. “We need to go shopping.”

  I frowned at him, suspecting a trick. “No, we don’t.”

  “We do need a stroller,” he said innocently. “A pushcart. For the baby.”

  I could hardly argue with that, since we’d left the umbrella stroller back in San Miguel. “Fine,” I grumbled. “A stroller. That’s it.”

  “You’re very boring.”

  “I’m broke.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I can buy you things, you know.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Why?”

  I set my jaw. “I’m afraid what they’d cost me.”

  He just answered with an innocent smile, and had his driver take us to the best shops in Knightsbridge, Mayfair and Sloane Street. He bought the most expensive pushcart he could find for Miguel, then pushed it himself, leaving the bodyguards trailing behind us to hold only shopping bags full of clothes and toys for the baby.

  “You said just a stroller!”

  “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me the chance to buy a few small items for my son?”

  “No,” I sighed. But Alejandro kept pushing the boundaries. All the bodyguards who trailed us were soon weighed down with shopping bags.

  “Now we must get you some clothes, as well,” Alejandro said, smiling as he caught me looking wistfully at the lovely, expensive dresses. I jumped, then blushed guiltily.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Alejandro replied firmly, “considering it was because of me that you lost your inheritance.”

  “That wasn’t your fault...” I protested. He looked down at me with his big, dark, Spanish eyes.

  “Please let me do this, querida. I must,” he said softly. “Such a small thing. You cannot deny me my desire.”

  I shivered. That was exactly what I was afraid of. That if I couldn’t deny him this, I wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. And soon I’d be putty in his hands again, like a spaniel waiting for her master with slippers in her mouth.

  I’d end up married to a man who didn’t love me. Who would ignore me. And I’d spend the rest of my life like a ghost, haunting his stupid castle.

  Wordlessly, I shook my head. He sighed, looking sad.

  I was proud of myself for sticking to my guns. But as we walked through the expensive shops, Alejandro saw me looking at a pretty dress a second too long. He gave one of his bodyguards a glance, and the man snatched it up in my size.

  “What!” I exclaimed. “No. I don’t want that!”

  “Too bad,” he said smugly. “I just bought it for you.”

  Irritated, I tried to foil Alejandro’s plan by carefully not looking at any of the beautiful clothes, shoes or bags as we walked through the luxury department store and designer boutiques. But that didn’t work, either. He simply started picking things out for me, items far m
ore expensive and flashy than I would have picked out for myself. Instead of the black leather quilted handbag I might have chosen, I found myself suddenly the owner of a handbag in crocodile skin with fourteen-karat-gold fittings and diamonds woven into the chain.

  “I can’t wear that!” I protested. “I’d look a proper fool!”

  He grinned. “If you don’t like me choosing for you, you have to tell me what you want.”

  So I did. I had no choice.

  “Dirty blackmailer,” I grumbled as I picked out a simple cotton sweater from Prada, but his smile only widened.

  The salespeople, sensing blood in the water, left their previous customers to follow eagerly in our wake. The size of our entourage quickly exploded, with salespeople, bodyguards, Alejandro, me and our baby in a stroller so expensive that it, too, might as well have been made of rare leathers and solid gold. Other people turned their heads to watch as we went by, their eyes big as they whispered to each other beneath their hands.

  “I feel conspicuous,” I complained to Alejandro.

  “You deserve to be looked at,” he said. “You deserve everyone’s attention.”

  I was relieved to return to his suite of rooms at the Dorchester, even though it was so fancy, the same suite Elizabeth Taylor had once lived in. I was happy to be alone with him.

  And yet not happy.

  It took a long time for the bodyguards to bring up all the packages. Even with help from the hotel staff.

  “I didn’t realize we bought so much,” I said, blushing.

  Alejandro gave a low laugh as he tipped the staff then turned back. “You hardly bought anything. I would have given you far more.” He looked down at me. Running his hand beneath my jaw, he said softly, “I want to give you more.”

  We stood together, alone in the living room of the suite, and I held my breath. Praying he wouldn’t kiss me. Wishing desperately that he would.

  But with a low laugh, he released me. “Are you hungry?”

  After I fed Miguel and tucked him to bed in the second bedroom, we had an early dinner in the dining room, beneath a crystal chandelier, on an elegant table that would seat eight, with a view not just of London, but of the exact place where, last summer, he’d pressed me against the silver wallpaper and made love to me, hot and fast and fierce against the wall.