The Tycoon's Shock Heir

by Bella Frances

  ‘That depends,’ she said.

  Her fingers were snug in his hand. He felt a certain satisfaction from that, even as her words put him on guard.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ he said as they breezed through the house and up the wide staircase.

  Staff bustled about everywhere. Rooms all over the house were being used to interview the various stars who were due to arrive.

  ‘You’re not exactly hard to find,’ she said, and he tried to hear in her voice the emotion that had caused her to come. There was an edge, a steely forceful tone through her words that put every nerve in his body on guard.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, thinking that she, too, would have seen the photographs of them at the benefit.

  He wondered if she’d felt any of the yearning he’d felt as he’d scanned the press coverage of that night. Discretion hadn’t been top of their list, he’d realised.

  ‘You’ll have seen, then, that this is the biggest Regatta we’ve ever attempted. And my mother’s still in Africa so it’s just me this year—and the biggest A-list donors we could find.’

  As well as the start of talks with Arturo. Did she know she was exposing him to gossip just by being here?

  The stress hormones in his blood were pumping higher and higher as he hurried them along silken rugs, down a high-ceilinged corridor flooded with light from an immense circular window at the end, right above the terrace where—please, God—David was keeping Augusto and his wife quietly entertained.

  ‘In here.’

  He opened a door on the left and led them into a bedroom, then paced around opening doors into cupboards and an en-suite bathroom. With microphones and lip-readers everywhere you couldn’t ever be too sure, but it seemed safe.

  He walked back across to where she stood—a vision in red that he would never forget.

  ‘How is your knee?’

  She closed her eyes, and the sweep of those eyelashes tugged at the memory of that night, that beautiful night...

  She nodded. ‘Fine. All clear. I’m back dancing full-time. For now.’

  ‘Good...that’s good.’ He nodded.

  For a second a smile lit her up, then vanished into the sorrowful beautiful hollows of her face.

  ‘You look well. You suit this dress very much.’

  ‘It’s the only one I have. I thought I’d better make an effort or they might not let me gatecrash your party.’

  ‘There was no need for you to gatecrash anything. You could have said—’

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted.

  ‘You’re what?’ he said.

  An instant image sprang into his mind—Ruby, plump with child. Her figure full and soft and feminine, rounded and abundant with life.

  But not his—surely not his? It couldn’t be his. But she was here. She’d tracked him all the way to France...

  ‘It’s yours.’

  The words he most dreaded punched him in the stomach like two fists.

  ‘No...’ He started shaking his head. ‘You can’t be. It can’t be—Are you sure? Pregnant?’

  He sank down into a chair. His hands were in his hair, on his face, He stood up, staggered around. She stood staring at the space he’d been in, her own face a complete mask, showing nothing.

  He strode over to her. ‘How can you be? Didn’t we...? Weren’t you...? When did you find out? Oh, God...’

  He paced again—to the bathroom. He opened the door and turned on the tap, let cold water gather in his hands and splashed it on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror.

  Pregnant? He was going to be a father. No, no, no.

  A father? This wasn’t the face of a father!

  He wasn’t cut out for that. He wasn’t even cut out for his own path in life—he hadn’t led the bank back to glory yet—never mind starting a family. He could never be a father—not now, like this.

  He walked back out. She was still there, standing exactly as he’d left her.

  Her shoulders were straight, a delicate blend of bone and muscle and satin skin. Her slim arms were folded at her waist. Her wrists lay crossed over her tiny stomach. Her chin was high and proud. This woman he had spent one single night with was now bound to him for life. The path of his life had just taken another unforeseen fork.

  Dear God—what had he done?

  He thought of the château, the guests, the Arturos waiting. He thought of his mother’s face, his father’s smile, the mess he’d made of his life, of his one chance to get the bank back to where it should be.

  And he thought of this woman—this beautiful creature standing before him, creating a life with him.

  What the hell had he been thinking? Why couldn’t he have been more careful?

  Augusto. He had to get downstairs, manage this, calm everything down and then salvage the situation. He had to steer the ship away from the rocks.

  ‘Who have you told?’ he asked. ‘Does anyone else know? I need to know what I’m dealing with here. When will it hit the press?’

  He reached for her, felt the perfection of her limbs, the warmth of her skin and the silken twist of her hair against him. But instantly she pulled away.

  ‘The press?’ she said, her voice strained and shrill. ‘Is that all you can think about?’

  ‘Of course not. But they’re here. They’ll have a field-day if this gets out.’

  ‘It’s going to get out sooner or later. And if you don’t stand by your responsibilities—that’s when you’ll need to worry.’

  ‘I’ll stand by my...responsibilities. There’s absolutely no question of that.’

  But he had other responsibilities right now. He had to get back to the Arturos. He had to calm this down, give himself some thinking time and then come back to it.

  ‘You’re right—you will. I didn’t do this by myself. I need guarantees that you’re not going to disappear and leave me to bring this baby up alone.’

  Panic laced her every syllable and as he stared at the fear in her eyes he realised she had been dealing with this for weeks, while he was still running to catch up with the news. But the fact that she’d come here to tell him in person, choosing a moment when she knew he was under the spotlight, worried him. He had to keep this under control or he would lose his mind, and everything else with it, right in front of the world’s press.

  ‘Hang on. One step at a time. I’m still getting my head around it. I’ve got the deal of the century on hold down there and you think you can drop a bombshell like this and it’s all OK?’

  ‘OK? I don’t think any of this is OK. I was just getting back to work—this is a complete disaster for me. I can’t train... I can’t perform. I’ll miss the winter season and then what happens after that? What do I do?’

  She threw up her hands and looked around wildly.

  Matteo spoke again. ‘We need to sit down calmly and talk it through. But there’s plenty of time for that...’

  ‘I never wanted children. I never even wanted to sleep with you. And now I have to have a child with you. This is the worst possible thing that could have happened to me.’

  ‘Ruby, I’m sorry,’ he said, choosing his words as carefully as his pounding heart would allow. ‘But that’s not how it was. You absolutely did want to sleep with me. You can’t pull that excuse now and turn this into something that I made you do, as if this is all my fault.’

  Her face twisted wretchedly. ‘I still can’t believe it. I still can’t believe my whole life is over because of one stupid mistake.’

  A burst of pride flared up in him. He’d never heard a woman describe him as a ‘mistake’. Since Sophie, he’d been damned sure to keep women where he could manage them. The only stupid mistakes happened when he didn’t.

  ‘Your life isn’t over,’ he said coldly. ‘This is a child we’re talking about here. My child. But there are people w
aiting downstairs for me. I still have a business to run and I really need to go and sort it out. I’ll come back and discuss this with you afterwards. Like adults.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me. Don’t you think I know we’re talking about our child? But you’d rather go and discuss business—that says it all.’

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He stared at her. Almond eyes, blurred and wild. Outside the band struck up another tune...a wave of laughter rolled in through the open windows.

  ‘I will stand by you,’ he heard himself say. ‘My family means the world to me, and if there’s going to be another part of it then I will do the right thing. There is no question of that. But this isn’t the only thing going on right now...’

  The phone continued to vibrate. It could only be David. The Arturos... He pulled it out.

  ‘It was the west terrace, Matteo...?’

  ‘On my way.’

  ‘I have to go down there,’ he said, slipping his phone back in his pocket. ‘I know this is the worst possible timing, but David will come up and make sure you’re comfortable. We can work out the other arrangements as soon as this is over. Just give me some time.’

  ‘Do I have any choice?’

  ‘No.’

  He couldn’t look at her face, but those dark eyes burned all the way to his heart as he strode to the door and out into the hall. The sounds of the party rumbled up to meet him. There were people smiling, posing, cameras everywhere. He pushed back through them, some sort of smile fixed on his face, giving a white-knuckled handshake to the people who stopped him.

  He made his way to the west terrace. There they were. Marie-Isabelle was sitting on an elegant wicker chair, with a glass of champagne and a beatific smile. Augusto stood over her, and both were staring out over the marina to where the dipping orange sun was sinking low on a slick indigo sea.

  ‘Ah. You’ve found the marvellous sunset,’ he said, hearing words that meant nothing dripping out of his mouth. ‘The best night of the year so far, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed... A night to talk about love, not money,’ said Augusto. ‘Where is your young lady? You should be spending time with her, not sitting with a pair of old fogeys like us.’

  Matteo looked at him sharply, guilt settling in his stomach like acid. Augusto couldn’t possibly know that he’d left his ‘young lady’ abandoned upstairs with her terrible secret. He had to swallow it down and get on with the job in hand, even though he felt it was already slipping out of his grasp.

  He’d just put the whole Lady Faye nonsense behind him and now along rolled the next situation to deal with. The heavy yoke of his life suddenly felt like iron around his shoulders. He couldn’t take much more, and now there was a child on the way, and Claudio would be standing and watching, waiting for a single slip-up so that he could come over and trample what was left of his family into the dirt.

  He looked around at the sparkling boats on the marina, at the couples wandering on the grass, at the dance floor pulsing with bodies, the terrace, the long sweep of the driveway where cars were still coming and going. People with nothing to worry about other than having a good time.

  For a moment he saw only the cloudless skies of their liberty, and jealousy rumbled like thunder in his heart. He’d never asked for any of this. This bank...this life. He’d never been given a choice.

  What if he were given a choice? What if he turned his back on his duty? What was the worst that could happen? The bank would be sold off. But money would still move about from London to New York to Geneva. Everyone would be all right. No one would die.

  ‘The party is going very well. The youngsters who won the Medaille are in fine spirits, don’t you think?’ asked Augusto.

  He swallowed, focused. The effort to answer was almost too much. Words were there, but dredging them to his mouth, saying them—what was the point?

  He stared ahead.

  So many people. His mother, abroad, relying on him. David—long-serving and loyal. All the employees of the bank. A whole endless stream of people who needed him to keep going. And now his baby—his child. And the woman who had lit a fire in him that he’d thought dead, and then left him cold in his bed before the sun had risen. The woman he was going to be tied to for years and years to come...

  ‘Indeed. It looks like they’re having the time of their lives.’ Slowly he managed to whisper the words from his dry and dusty throat.

  ‘You were a sportsman once—is that right?’ Augusto asked, fixing him once again with his bright-eyed stare. ‘There was talk of you going professional. You weren’t always going to follow your father into banking?’

  Matteo frowned. How did he know that? He must have done his homework. The old fox was as wily as his reputation. This was an interview, right enough. The game was still on.

  ‘I was a rugby player. But it’s been a long time since I played.’

  ‘But you are quite sure that it’s banking that is your passion now? Your world? You cannot lead well in any field without feeling passion. Otherwise you’ll only ever be a manager.’

  From the corner of his eye Matteo looked at Augusto’s crinkled skin, the liver spotted hands, the sharp, inquisitive eyes.

  How did he know? How was this old man he barely knew able to say words that cut to the core of who he was? How could he see the gnawing worry that he just didn’t care enough and that was why the bank had never fully recovered?

  Matteo fixed his gaze to the bunting fluttering in the evening breeze. He could not look round. He could not even speak. He couldn’t trust himself.

  Augusto spoke on. ‘Because we both know that the person who takes my bank on will be more than that. I need someone who believes in what they do—not just someone who’d be going through the motions. I have no time for that.’

  The moment was here. Matteo could feel it. Time was waiting, and from this moment all would slide along one path or another. He had been given the choice. It was up to him now to shake his head and walk away or step forward.

  ‘With every breath in my body I want to make Rossini into the bank it should have been. And I am convinced that our two brands are unique in what we offer. What I want is to talk it over with you.’

  The old man’s penetrating stare was deep and long, and Matteo battled to keep his raging emotions under control as he gazed back. He would not lose yet. He readied himself to keep going—to say whatever it took to convince him to give him a chance.

  Finally Augusto nodded. ‘We’d like that too. Come to the Lake House. In a fortnight.’

  The heaviest weight fell from his shoulders—so hard he almost slumped in relief.

  ‘And bring your lovely young lady. It’s important that we meet her too. My dear, I think we’ve spent enough time with the youngsters for one evening. Shall we?’ said Augusto, lending his wife his arm.

  ‘It will be our very great pleasure,’ Matteo replied. ‘I’ll tell her straight away.’

  ‘We’re old-fashioned, though. You’re not married yet, so please don’t be assuming any privileges under my roof.’

  Matteo smiled and shook the old man’s hand as warmly as his chilled face and frozen heart would allow.

  Marriage...

  Pregnancy...

  This whole situation was unravelling faster than he could ever have thought possible. Almost out of his grasp. Almost lost.

  But not quite. Not yet. All he had to do was convince Ruby to play along.

  He watched the Arturos settle into their car and drive away. Then he turned on his heel. He had business to get on with.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT HAD TO BE DONE. There had been no other way. She’d tried to call—lifted the phone a hundred times. But she simply hadn’t been able to get the words out of her mouth to say so much as his name to the elite-sounding voice that had answered at Banca Casa di Rossini.

  What if he wo
uldn’t take her call? What if he denied it? Men with money like him—they could do anything they wanted. He could lie to the police, get a restraining order on her—anything was possible. Her own father hadn’t had two pennies to rub together and he had managed to disappear off the face of the earth, shirking his responsibilities, pretending she didn’t even exist.

  So, until she had made up her mind as to how to approach him, all she’d been able to do was stalk him in the virtual world.

  It had become a routine since the day she’d walked out of the hospital. Who was this man who was going to father her child? She had no idea. She barely knew his name.

  She had traded in her whole world—her career, her childhood dream about to come true—for one night with him. Just because he’d made her smile and laugh, and kissed her and made her body come alive, made her want to do things she’d never wanted to do before, made her want to lie beside him long after she should have slipped out and away,

  She had no doubt that was when it had happened—in the depths of sleep, when they’d found one another in their dreams and the fire had burned and engulfed them.

  Making a baby was as easy as that. And two lives were changed for ever.

  The horror of it clutched at her heart every time she opened her eyes. In the mornings she’d lie awake in bed, waiting for the hideous nightmare to creep over her again like a dead woman’s shroud. Her career was over. She couldn’t dance for the best part of a year. And, despite all her best efforts, her money was dwindling away.

  Memories of the days before her mother had met George would rise like ghouls from the depths of her mind. Wintry mornings in their freezing council flat, painting pictures on the damp windows between the mould-mottled frames, longing for breakfast before school but too afraid to ask her mum in case it made her cry or shout or—worst of all—storm off and leave her.

  That fatherless world. The shame of school, where everyone else had pictures to draw and stories to tell of dads who taught them how to swim and ride a bike. Where playground voices had risen in competition: ‘My dad says...’ ‘My dad does...’