The Balfour Legacy

by Various

  ‘It will be all right, Annie.’ Luc reached out to grasp both her hands firmly in his.

  Annie’s eyes flashed angrily as she pulled her hands away to glare across the table that separated them in the luxurious cabin of the de Salvatore jet. ‘I realise you like to think of yourself as omnipotent, Luc, but you can’t possibly know that!’ she exclaimed, still too shaken by Tilly’s news to be able to think of anything else—least of all the pallor of Luc’s face that was clear evidence of his own concerns over Oliver.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Luc acknowledged as he sat back heavily in his seat. ‘But your mother’s second telephone call was much more reassuring.’

  Tilly had managed to call them again before the plane took off to tell them that Oliver had woken up, sore and a little bewildered by his surroundings, but that the doctors now seemed pretty confident that there was going to be no lasting damage.

  None of which reassured Annie in the slightest when she just wanted to hold her small son in her arms and know for herself that he really was going to be OK.

  ‘Keep telling yourself that, Luc,’ she said shakily, still too angry and upset to be able to offer him the same comfort he was attempting to give her.

  Luc knew that he well deserved the anger she was directing at him. She had not wanted to travel to Venice with him. He had been the one responsible for preventing her from returning home as she had wished.

  Preventing her?

  No, not just that; he had insisted that Annie stay on in Italy with him. Had assured her that he wouldn’t allow her to return to England until she agreed to marry him. And now his son, that beautiful and dark-haired little boy that Luc had so far only seen in photographs, was in hospital after receiving a severe blow to the head.

  Without the love and comfort he no doubt needed from his mother.

  No wonder Annie continued to refuse to even consider his proposal; the ruthless arrogance Luc had shown her since they’d met each other again was even less acceptable than the reckless self-confidence he had so catastrophically demonstrated four and a half years ago!

  If Oliver recovered—

  When Oliver recovered, Luc firmly corrected himself. Then—

  ‘I’m sorry, Luc.’

  He was frowning darkly as he looked across the table and met Annie’s contrite blue gaze. ‘What can you possibly have to be sorry about?’ he rasped.

  Annie grimaced. Luc’s few minutes of brooding silence had given her time enough to calm down and realise that she had been transferring her own worry and guilt over Oliver onto Luc.

  When in reality she was the one who hadn’t followed through on her decision to leave Italy sooner. Admittedly in the belief that it would be easier to reason with Luc here rather than back at Balfour Manor. Nevertheless, she’d had a choice—and events had proved that she had obviously made the wrong one!

  She bit her lower lip before admitting, ‘Taking out my frustration with this situation on you isn’t going to change anything.’

  Luc’s mouth thinned. ‘Who else should you blame but me?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘I don’t—’ She broke off as the Italian captain of the plane began to speak. ‘Please tell me that was an announcement that we’re about to land?’ She looked across at Luc anxiously.

  He smiled. ‘That was indeed an announcement that we are about to land,’ he said.

  ‘Thank God!’ Annie breathed her relief.

  The landing, passing through customs, the drive in the private car Luc had waiting for them and arriving at the hospital where Oliver had been admitted earlier today all passed in a blur as far as Annie was concerned.

  She was barely aware of Luc holding her hand firmly in his as he strode along beside her. She hurried down the long corridor to the ward where her mother had told her Oliver had been admitted, Annie’s only desire now to get to her son as soon as possible so that she could see for herself that he truly was going to be OK. Something she wouldn’t feel sure about until she had actually held Oliver in her arms, despite having received another reassuring telephone call from Tilly just a few minutes ago.

  Her mother, a slim and beautiful redhead in her late forties, stood in the corridor waiting for them, her face lighting up as soon as she saw Annie. ‘He’s going to be fine, darling,’ Tilly soothed, as with a pained sob Annie rushed into her waiting arms.

  Annie held on tightly to her mother as she finally allowed the tears of tension to fall hotly down her cheeks. ‘Is he awake? Is he in pain? Can I—’

  ‘You have to calm down before you go in to see him, Annie.’ Her mother ran a soothing hand up and down her back. ‘And yes, he’s awake and asking for you. Just be prepared for the fact that he has a dressing over the stitches, and he’s slightly woozy from the painkillers the doctor gave him.’

  ‘I have to see him.’ Annie pulled abruptly from her mother’s arms, not sparing Luc so much as a second glance as she hurried into the room beyond where her beloved Oliver lay.

  Leaving Luc to the curious gaze of the beautiful and petite woman, who with her long red hair and blue eyes was easily recognisable as Annie’s mother.

  Her mouth curved into a rueful smile. ‘I apologise—my daughter usually has better manners.’

  Luc inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘These are difficult circumstances.’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a wistful sigh.

  ‘I am Luca de Salvatore.’ He politely offered his hand.

  ‘Tilly Williams.’ She returned the gesture, her hand cool and elegant in his. ‘I’ve often seen your name mentioned in the business papers. You’re the friend Annie was staying with in Italy?’ It was impossible to miss the curiosity that sharpened her huskily low tone. Or the slight puzzlement in that intelligent blue gaze as she looked at him more closely.

  No doubt wondering why it was that Luc seemed vaguely familiar to her. No doubt she would place that familiarity eventually!

  Luc drew in a ragged breath, longing to go in and see Oliver for himself, but at the same time aware that the little boy didn’t know him, and would no doubt be upset by the arrival of a stranger in his hospital room.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed simply.

  ‘Strange that Annie has never mentioned you before,’ Tilly said slowly, frowning a little now.

  Luc settled for giving what he hoped was a noncommittal shrug.

  ‘Have the two of you been friends for very long?’ she pressed.

  ‘We met some years ago, yes,’ he answered evasively.

  ‘I see,’ Tilly murmured.

  Luc’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I believe so, yes.’ She paused. Then she said, ‘Would you like to go in and see Oliver, Mr de Salvatore?’

  The suggestion confirmed that Tilly had realised exactly who Luc was. As she must also realise that he hadn’t been a part of either Annie’s or Oliver’s lives for the past four and a half years.

  He swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. ‘I do not think Annie would appreciate my doing that.’

  ‘Oh, I think that you’ll find my daughter is big enough to accept that these are…unusual circumstances,’ Tilly assured him drily. ‘After all, she brought you here, didn’t she?’

  Luc grimaced. ‘Once I learnt of Oliver’s accident I gave her little choice in the matter, I am afraid.’

  ‘Oh, you have no need to be afraid of me, Mr de Salvatore,’ Tilly said lightly. ‘My ex-husband is another matter, however! Or maybe not…’ she added with slow deliberation.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘How did you and my daughter meet, Mr de Salvatore?’ she questioned shrewdly.

  ‘Recently? Or…before?’ he asked awkwardly.

  ‘Recently,’ she clarified.

  Luc was unaccustomed to explaining himself to anyone, but in these ‘unusual circumstances’ he accepted that perhaps he needed to. ‘We attended the same business conference at Lake Garda.’

  ‘Ah.’ Tilly gave a knowing nod.

  ‘I am sorry
, but I do not—’

  ‘Luc?’

  He turned swiftly to see Annie standing in the doorway of the hospital room, her face still unusually pale but the tears no longer falling. Luc couldn’t resist looking past her into the room beyond, where he could see the outline of a small boy lying in the bed, his curls dark against the white bandage about his temple.

  Oliver.

  His son.

  Annie couldn’t miss the way Luc’s gaze moved so quickly past her to where Oliver lay, her heart aching at the hunger she saw in those dark eyes. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she invited gently.

  That hungry black gaze moved back to her sharply. ‘I would not like to cause Oliver any further distress by presenting him with a stranger.’

  ‘He fell asleep once I had assured him that I would still be here when he woke up,’ Annie explained.

  A nerve pulsed in Luc’s clenched jaw. ‘In that case, I would very much like to see him.’

  Annie nodded before glancing across at Tilly. ‘Luc and I will sit with Oliver for a while, Mummy, if you would like to take a break?’

  Tilly nodded. ‘The battery on my mobile has gone flat, so I need to go home and call your father.’

  Annie frowned. ‘He isn’t at Balfour Manor?’

  ‘Is he ever nowadays?’ Tilly said lightly.

  Tilly was right; having dispatched his daughters to the four corners of the earth, Oscar now displayed a distinct reluctance to spend any time alone at Balfour Manor.

  ‘I’ll see you later, then, Mummy,’ Annie said warmly.

  ‘No doubt I’ll see you both later, hmm?’ Her mother gave Luc a pointed glance.

  Annie groaned inwardly. People generally tended to underestimate Tilly because of her warmth and openness, but having helped her mother set up her small cookery business, Annie knew just how shrewd Tilly could be when it was necessary. No doubt her mother had taken one look at Luc, seen his resemblance to Oliver and guessed exactly who he was!

  ‘No doubt,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘Luc?’ She opened the door wider for him to enter, remaining by the closed door as Luc moved past her to cross silently to the bedside.

  How must it feel for him to be looking down at his son for the first time? She found it difficult to imagine.

  Luc couldn’t breathe, and his heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether, as he looked down at the tiny child lying in a hospital bed that was far too big for him.

  There was a bandage wrapped about Oliver’s head, of course, but what little Luc could see of the little boy’s dark curls reminded him of his own at the same age. Delicate lids were closed over eyes Luc knew were as deep a blue as his mother’s, and long dark lashes rested against chubby cheeks. Oliver’s face still bore the rosy plumpness of babyhood, a tiny little nose, a small bow of a mouth and a little pointed chin. He was wearing colourful pyjamas decorated with ponies, his hands spread like starfish on top of the bedclothes.

  His son.

  His beautiful flesh-and-blood son!

  Having given Luc a few moments’ privacy Annie now crossed the room to stand at his side to look down at Oliver. She still trembled slightly with the relief of having held her son in her arms, of seeing for herself that he wasn’t too distressed. In fact, apart from the gash on his head that had needed several stitches, Oliver didn’t seem to have suffered any ill effects from his accident.

  ‘He’s so small,’ Luc murmured gruffly at her side.

  ‘I shouldn’t let him hear you say that,’ Annie warned drily as she moved to sit down on one of the chairs beside the bed before taking one of Oliver’s hands in her own, needing that physical contact with him even though he was asleep. ‘Oliver considers himself quite the man of the family at the gatehouse, and takes great delight in ordering his grandmother and me around,’ she explained ruefully at Luc’s questioning look. ‘He’s obviously inherited his father’s ability to issue orders and expect them to be obeyed!’

  Luc moved to sit down on the chair on the other side of the bed, his gaze still firmly fixed on Oliver as he lay between them, fast asleep and breathing softly. ‘Tell me about him,’ he invited hoarsely. ‘How much did he weigh at birth? Was he a good baby? When did he get his first tooth? Take his first step?’

  There was so much that Luc didn’t know about Oliver, so much he had missed because she had decided not to try to find him all those years ago and tell him of Oliver’s existence, Annie realised with a heavy feeling of guilt.

  She did her best to correct that omission over the next half an hour or so as Oliver continued to sleep, the two of them interrupted at intervals by one of the nurses coming in to check on Oliver, as Annie related everything she could remember about the first three years and eight months of his life.

  ‘He goes to the local playgroup in the village hall?’ Luc raised dark brows as Annie related this piece of information.

  She stiffened defensively. ‘I already told you, I want Oliver to have as normal a life as possible.’

  ‘Which includes going to playgroup with the local children of the village three mornings a week?’

  She frowned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The village of Balfour?’

  ‘Your point being…?’ She eyed him guardedly.

  ‘Doesn’t the fact that Oliver’s surname is the same as the village rather detract from him just being another of the local children?’ Luc asked softly.

  Annie frowned her irritation. ‘If you’re trying to pick another argument, Luc—’

  ‘I’m not,’ he reassured her quickly. ‘Having grown up as the de Salvatore heir, with a nanny and then numerous private tutors, I totally approve of your attempts to give Oliver a childhood free of such constraints.’ He reached out and gently stroked one of the starfish little hands resting on the bed sheet, Oliver’s skin feeling so soft and new that Luc felt the emotion rise at the back of his throat.

  ‘Oh.’

  Luc smiled as Annie once again had that look of a slightly deflated balloon. ‘You did not expect that to be my response, did you?’

  ‘In a word? No!’ she said wryly.

  ‘Your mother is…not as I had imagined her to be,’ he said quietly, still gently stroking Oliver’s hand.

  ‘No,’ Annie agreed. ‘But don’t be fooled by that maternal exterior. I assure you, she is much more astute than people give her credit for.’

  Luc looked across at her searchingly. ‘You realise that she has guessed who I am?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Tilly had made that perfectly obvious by that pointed glance she had given Annie earlier. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about that though,’ Annie added. ‘It’s hardly going to remain a secret for very long once you decide to make a legal claim on Oliver.’

  He drew dark brows together. ‘Does that mean you have definitely decided not to accept my marriage proposal?’

  Annie drew in a sharp breath. ‘You didn’t make a marriage proposal, Luc.’

  ‘Of course I—’

  ‘No, Luc, you didn’t,’ she cut in firmly. ‘You issued another one of those orders you’re so fond of making: You will be my wife and Oliver will be my son. In typical Me Tarzan You Jane fashion!’

  Luc scowled fiercely. ‘Me Tarzan You Jane?’

  Annie smiled wryly at the disbelief she could hear in his tone. ‘I don’t think here and now is the right time for us to talk about this.’ She gave the still-sleeping Oliver a pointed glance.

  ‘Me Tarzan You Jane…’ Luc repeated again in disgust. ‘Is that really how you think of me?’

  How else was she supposed to think of him after the way he had behaved so dictatorially both at Lake Garda and then at his vineyards near Venice?

  Not that he’d behaved like that all the time…

  Annie felt the colour warm her cheeks as she thought of their lovemaking earlier today. So much had happened since then that it seemed like a lifetime ago!

  It was a lifetime ago. A time out of time.

  A time never to be repeated!

  ‘Ha
ve you given me any reason since we met again not to think of you in that way?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘This afternoon—’

  ‘Was a mistake,’ Annie interrupted quickly, her cheeks actually burning now. ‘An enjoyable mistake at the time admittedly, but nevertheless still a mistake,’ she insisted as Luc would have interrupted.

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘Luc, can’t you see that a physical relationship between us only clouds the issue?’

  ‘That issue being…?’

  ‘That we don’t love each other!’ Annie was breathing hard in her agitation.

  Luc’s eyes glittered darkly. ‘Love may come with time.’

  ‘Love either is or it isn’t, Luc,’ Annie said. ‘And in our case, it isn’t,’ she added wearily.

  Or, to be more precise, in Luc’s case it wasn’t.

  Annie had had plenty of time to think during that long journey back to England. And not all of it had been about her worry over Oliver. Mainly because to think of Oliver was to now think of Luc too, the two of them inexplicably bound together in her mind.

  Luc and Oliver.

  Oliver and Luc.

  And she had realised during that tense flight back to England that she loved them both.

  Not in the same way, of course.

  As Oliver’s mother she loved him unconditionally. But these past two days, this afternoon especially when Luc had talked to her about his father, of his reasons for wanting to be Oliver’s father, when Annie had become completely unravelled in Luc’s arms, she had also come to realise that she had fallen in love with him, despite the arrogance and coldness that now seemed such an integral part of his nature.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘YOUR mother is a warm and understanding woman,’ Luc remarked admiringly as he and Annie made up the two beds that had been provided so that they could remain at the hospital overnight with Oliver.

  Her mother was a warm and manipulative woman, Annie inwardly corrected. She would much rather Tilly had put Luc up for the night at either the gatehouse or Balfour Manor, but her mother had suggested that, in the circumstances, perhaps Luc might prefer to remain at the hospital overnight too.