‘Why did they do that?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said dismissively. That was something he would never discuss. To remember how his father and brother had treated him in that period was to fill his head with darkness and his guts with poison. He would never forgive them but the grief in his heart for the relationship he’d never had with his father was something he never wanted to experience with his brother. For the sake of his soul he needed to put the past behind him and move on.
‘They set up a trust fund for me. Ten million a month for life to keep the hell away from the business. I look back now and see that was the turning point in my life. I was sick of everything. Sick of being financially dependent on them. Sick of being used as a pawn in Celeste’s Machiavellian games... I wanted to earn my own living doing the things I love, so I took my hobby and turned it into an empire.’ He looked at her. ‘I used their first trust payment to get the ball rolling but haven’t touched the rest of it. It all goes into a charitable fund for animal causes close to my heart.’ He managed a half-hearted grin. ‘And causes my father detested.’
‘Did you always hate him?’
‘Yes.’
She winced at his bluntness.
‘He married Celeste because he needed an heir,’ he explained. ‘She had impeccable lineage, independent wealth and me: proof of her fertility. He adopted me but had no interest in me. Celeste bought me my first pony when I was four. He wouldn’t come to the stable so I could show him off—just dismissed it. The only time he gave me attention was when I did wrong.’ He grinned, although his heart wasn’t in it. ‘So I learned to do wrong.’
‘That’s really sad.’
He snorted. ‘Hardly. I had a privileged upbringing. Homes around the world. A fleet of staff just for me. The best education money could buy. Father didn’t beat me. He just ignored me. I was a spoilt brat.’
‘Can I ask about your real father?’
‘He was a polo player like me. He had the potential to be one of the best players in Argentine history but died in a freak horse accident. I was only a baby. I don’t remember him.’
‘Now that really is sad.’
‘Sad for him. He never got to see the fantastic man his son would become.’
Amusement suddenly danced in her eyes. ‘The fantastic, modest man you became.’
‘Modesty is my greatest attribute. Apart from my skills as a horseman and a lover,’ he added with a wink, and was rewarded with a bright stain of colour across Becky’s cheeks before she darted her gaze from him.
Dios, she was irresistible. But he must resist for a short while longer. Until she took the test and the pregnancy was confirmed. Then both their futures would change. They would be bound together always.
She cleared her throat and resolutely said, ‘You must get your horse skills from him.’
‘Well, I didn’t get them from Celeste,’ he said drily. ‘She only has to look at a horse for it to bolt.’
Her muffled snigger dived straight into loins already straining against the confines of his jeans.
Emiliano got to his feet. Time for bed before he threw the beautiful creature beside him over his shoulder, carried her to his bedroom and ravished her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMILIANO SAT ON the armchair in Becky’s bedroom and tried to distract himself by reading through the races he had horses running in that day. While he had limited first-hand involvement in the racing side of his business, he insisted on being kept fully abreast of all goings-on. When he retired from polo-playing he would take a greater hands-on role with the racing side. And the dressage side. He hoped that wouldn’t be any time soon but, with his fortieth birthday only two years away, he knew it wouldn’t be long until his body started protesting at all the punishment he put it through. He would not be like those polo team owners who let their teams carry them to glory. The moment he stopped pulling his own weight and leading from the front would be the day he hung up his stirrups.
He looked up when the bathroom door opened. Becky hovered at the threshold, face ashen, hugging herself tightly. She gave a tiny nod.
He dropped his face into his hands and breathed deeply to counteract the sudden rush of blood pounding in his brain. When he looked up, she was still at the threshold of the bathroom. She looked so much like little girl lost that a sharp stab of guilt plunged through him.
Forcing himself to get a grip, he straightened. This was not unexpected. He’d had plenty of time to prepare for this.
Arms still wrapped around her belly, she padded slowly to the other armchair and sank into it. ‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered.
‘That is easy,’ he said decisively. ‘We get married.’
Her smile was weak. ‘Hilarious.’
‘No, bomboncita, I am serious. I’ve thought about it a lot and the best thing we can do is marry.’
He’d thought about his childhood. His parents. How he’d hated always being at a distance from them, physically and emotionally. How he wanted no child of his to go through the same. If he was going to be a father then he would be a real father, not some remote authoritarian figure.
And he’d thought about marriage to Becky, about sharing a bed with her every night. Before, when he’d assumed he would spend his life as the eternal bachelor, the mere thought of settling with one woman had made his skin go cold. Circumstance was forcing his hand in this but he did not deny the thought of sharing a bed with this sexy woman who turned him on with nothing more than a look made him feel anything but cold. In many respects, confirmation of the pregnancy was a relief. Becky would be his and in his bed. Why suppress the desire that bound them so tightly when fate had stepped in to bring them together permanently?
He hooked an ankle over his knee while he waited for her to show her relief. Because what was the alternative for her? For their baby?
She slumped back with a long sigh. Her green eyes held his for the longest time. ‘I know you mean well but I’m not marrying you.’
He suppressed a smile at the game she’d just started. He knew his wealth made him a prize catch for any woman. But there was always a game to be played. Becky wouldn’t want to look too eager to accept his proposal. ‘Why not?’
‘Because the idea is ludicrous. We hardly know each other.’
‘We’ve known each other for months. We get along great...most of the time.’
She gave a faint smile. ‘We don’t know each other well at all and we certainly don’t love each other.’
‘So what? My parents didn’t love each other—’
‘And look how well that turned out.’
He winced at her well struck barb. ‘But they were married for over thirty-five years before Celeste’s megalomania got out of control. Some of those years were even happy.’
She arched a brow. ‘Some of them?’
‘They were a great team. They both knew the score when they married for what each wanted. It worked very well. There’s no reason a marriage between you and me shouldn’t work well too.’
‘There’s lots of reasons.’ She started counting off on her fingers. ‘One, you’re a self-admitted playboy. Two, my parents only married because Mum got pregnant with me—their marriage was never happy. Three, my life is in England and yours is wherever the polo season happens to be.’
Putting his own hands out, he counted off on his own fingers his rebuttals. ‘One, if we marry I would do my best to be faithful...’
Her eyes flashed as she interrupted. ‘Your best?’
‘I will not make a promise I don’t know I can keep but I can promise to try.’ The way things were going, to feel an attraction for anyone else would be a relief. Since he’d met Becky there hadn’t been so much as a kindling of desire for another woman. He didn’t know if the two issues were related but, considering how even now, when both their entire futures were being decided,
his body thrummed with awareness for her and he couldn’t stop his greedy eyes taking in every detail of her beautiful face and fabulous body, he supposed it wasn’t an unreasonable theory. ‘Two, your parents’ marriage is no indication of your own...’
‘You used your parents as an example,’ she interrupted again with an arch of her brow.
‘I’m using the positive side of their marriage as an example,’ he corrected.
‘There weren’t many positives in my parents’ marriage, especially the ending of it.’
He fixed her with an exasperated stare at her continued negativity before continuing. ‘Three, you would still spend the summer months in England.’
Her eyes narrowed in thought but stayed locked on his. ‘Right, so you want me to marry you when you can’t guarantee you’ll be faithful, when you use our respective parents’ disastrous marriages as a template and when I’d, presumably, have to give up my career to follow you around the world?’
‘I use my parents’ longevity as a template. They agreed the score from the beginning and stuck to it. We will do the same. I know the mistakes they made and have no wish to repeat them, and I’m sure you feel the same.’
‘The biggest mistake my parents made was getting married in the first place,’ she disputed flatly.
‘Don’t be so negative,’ he chided. ‘We will forge our own path for marriage.’
‘A path that means I’d have to give up my career?’ she pressed.
‘Children need both parents. Mine were hardly ever in the same country as each other, let alone with me. I want to be involved in my child’s life.’
‘So you do want me to throw away my career?’
He smiled indulgently. ‘When you marry me, bomboncita, you will never need to work again.’ Under the weight of her darkening stare, he added, ‘If you’re bored when the baby’s older, you can work for my charity—we host many events so your hospitality skills will not be wasted.’
Her green eyes stayed on his face, features tightening as the seconds ticked by. ‘You still haven’t read my résumé, have you?’
‘I prefer to make my own judgements about people.’ He’d employed Greta on the basis of her impeccable references and experience with dogs and look what a mess she’d made of things, neglecting the boys to flirt with Juan and any other members of his staff she took a fancy to. He had no issue with his staff bedding each other but only so long as it didn’t detract from the job they were paid to do.
He ignored the sly voice in his head that pointed out he’d deliberately housed Becky under his roof here to keep her away from the lusty environment of the stables. That had been out of consideration for her, he told himself staunchly. Nothing to do with being unable to bear the thought of another man even looking at her inappropriately.
She shook her head slowly, grimly. ‘This is what I meant about us not knowing each other, although really what I should have said is that you don’t know me. I don’t work in hospitality. I’m a microbiologist.’
Becky felt no satisfaction in seeing the smug smile freeze on Emiliano’s face. She wished it didn’t hurt that he still hadn’t enough curiosity about her to read her résumé, not even after their conversation when she’d written her official resignation. To him, she was just one of many women, interchangeable, forgettable. The only difference between her and the rest of them was that she’d been stupid enough to get pregnant, and she had to push back the heated memories of how much pleasure she’d taken in that stupidity and keep her attention focused on their conversation before she was steamrollered into something she’d regret.
And yet, for the very real catastrophe this pregnancy represented, she could not bring herself to regret it; not the life growing inside her nor the moment of madness that had lit the fuse into its being. The joy that had filled her to see the stick showing positive had been so pure it had almost neutralised the fear. She wanted her baby and already she knew she would do whatever it took to protect and nourish and love it. But that did not mean marrying her baby’s father, even if she did find herself weak with longing for him in unguarded moments. If anything, that was another reason not to marry him. With Emiliano, there was just too much danger of losing herself.
‘No.’ His eyes blinked back into focus. ‘That is not possible.’
She shrugged lightly. ‘I’m sorry you think that.’
‘You were working in a hospitality tent when we met.’
‘I was, yes, because I’d finished my doctorate and needed a break from years of brain work.’
He stared at her with the look of a man who’d been earnestly told the earth was flat. ‘How the hell can you have a doctorate at your age?’
‘By working my backside off. I went straight from my degree into it—I didn’t need to do my Master’s as I was blessed to get a place on a PhD research scheme. I completed it four months ago. When I go back to England I’ll be joining a laboratory in Oxford, working to combat antimicrobial resistance.’
‘Anti what?’ he asked faintly.
‘Antimicrobial resistance,’ she repeated patiently. ‘In layman’s terms, it’s what happens when antibiotics and other medicines used to kill infections stop working.’
Time ticked slowly as the handsome face tightened, the clear brown eyes darkening, a pulse throbbing in his temple.
‘All this time,’ he said in a low voice, ‘you’ve been lying to me.’
‘You only had to read my résumé to know all this. Or, you know, ask.’
Emiliano’s head had filled with white noise. He’d known Becky wasn’t lacking brain cells. That in itself was obvious. But not in a hundred years would he have guessed she was a scientist. To have gained a doctorate at her age suggested an incredibly high IQ and tenacity. Two qualities she shared with his mother and the woman who’d come close to destroying him a decade ago, a thought that cut through the white noise and filled the space with acid. ‘You let me believe you worked in hospitality.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Her tone remained steady. ‘I’m proud of what I’ve achieved and proud of my work. I’ll talk about it with anyone who asks. All your stable staff know—ask any of them. It’s not my fault your world revolves around yourself and your animals.’
A stab of anger sliced him at this unfounded slur. ‘Why work in a hospitality tent at a polo competition?’
She shrugged. ‘I told you; I needed to give my brain a break. I was burnt out.’
‘But why work there specifically?’ At a polo competition, a sport known as the sport of rich men and royalty. Any woman on the search for a wealthy man would be certain to attend... ‘How did you hear about the job?’
‘This is starting to sound like an interrogation.’
‘You’re carrying my child. Naturally, I’m curious.’ Curious to learn how badly duped he’d been by this woman.
Her eyes held his, the suspicion in his guts mirrored in their reflection. ‘My dad used to run a catering company. I called around his old contacts to see who was hiring seasonal workers.’
‘Why not go travelling like a normal person suffering burn-out?’
‘Most normal people do not have the money to go travelling on a whim.’ Her voice had an edge to it. ‘I needed money. I’d done bar work to supplement my grant when I was doing my degree but earned nothing while doing my doctorate. I’ve been pretty much cloistered for the last three years so thought it would be good to mix with people who could hold a conversation about something other than microbes. I didn’t figure on them all being drunk. When you offered me the job of dog-sitter I thought all my holidays had come at once.’
He managed a tight smile. ‘I’m sure you did.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Only that after all those years of hard brain work, being paid to live in a beautiful country estate and walk dogs must have sounded idyllic,’ he lied smoothly.
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs. ‘Why does it sound as if you’re implying something?’
He raised his shoulders and pulled a nonchalant face. ‘Maybe you have a guilty conscience about something.’
Her features were pinched together as she continued studying him. ‘Out with it.’
‘With what?’
‘I can’t be doing with insinuations. If you’ve something to say, say it.’
‘I just find it curious that not once, in all the time I’ve known you, have you mentioned that you’re a scientist.’
‘You sound like a stuck record—not once did we have a conversation that led to it. There’s something else, so go on, spit it out. What else is bugging you?’
‘You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure you can work it out.’
‘I’m not a mind-reader.’
‘And neither am I, which means I have to take on trust that you forgot to tell me you weren’t on the pill.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You think I forgot deliberately?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Stop with the weasel words,’ she hissed. ‘We both got carried away in the heat of the moment, so stop blaming me for your own ignorance about my career. Do you know what I find curious? Your inability to deal with being proved wrong. You were angry after we slept together because it hadn’t crossed your thick head that I might be a virgin, and here you are again, angry that your image of me as a simple country barmaid has been proved wrong too. Is it just me you don’t trust or women in general?’
Her question was so astute that Emiliano found himself in the unedifying position of being wrong-footed. ‘I don’t trust anyone,’ he snapped.
The Cost Of Claiming His Heir (The Delgado Inheritance, Book 2) Page 7
