The Frenchman’s Captive Wife
Chantelle Shaw

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

COMING NEXT MONTH

PROLOGUE

August

‘OF COURSE WE didn’t bribe Jean-Luc to marry you!’ Sarah Dyer said crisply, ‘although I admit there was some financial incentive.’

‘Oh, God.’ Emily swung away from her mother as a wave of sickness gripped her. Sarah always spent a few weeks of the summer with friends in Hampstead and, although mother and daughter had never been particularly close, she was the first person Emily had turned to in her hour of need. But rather than sympathising, Sarah had unwittingly added the final nail to the coffin. She couldn’t stay with Luc now.

‘Darling, you have to understand that Jean-Luc Vaillon isn’t like other men. You don’t amass a multimillion-pound fortune without a ruthless streak, and your husband is first and foremost a businessman.’

‘I know,’ Emily murmured dully. She didn’t need anyone to remind her of Luc’s dedication to work, but she was prepared to put up with the endless business trips and the long hours he spent shut away in his study if she thought there was any hope that he might love her.

‘The trouble with you, Emily, is that you’re a romantic,’ Sarah went on, after another glance at her daughter’s pale face. ‘Perhaps Jean-Luc is having a fling with his personal assistant, but you’re his wife and it’s in everyone’s best interests that you remain so. Pregnancy can place a marriage under huge strain,’ she added, eyeing Emily’s swollen abdomen, ‘and, to put it frankly, I imagine your husband is an extremely virile man. Once the baby’s born, everything will return to normal, you’ll see.’

But what constituted normal? Emily wondered bleakly as she trudged across the heath, after assuring her mother she would do nothing rash. She had realised soon after her marriage that her role in Luc’s life was designated almost exclusively to the bedroom. The fierce sexual attraction that had existed from the moment they had first met was their only real form of communication. Their passion for each other had made them equal but without it they had nothing.

It was busy on the heath. The air rang with children’s high-pitched laughter as families took advantage of the late summer sunshine, and as Emily watched a man and a little boy flying a kite, something snapped in her head. She gave a low moan, like an animal in pain, and swiftly covered her mouth with her hands as if she could push the sound back inside. She couldn’t fall apart now, not here, but her legs gave way and she sank onto a bench as she faced the reality that her son would never enjoy such an innocent pastime with his father.

She could stay, she thought desperately. For the sake of the baby inside her she could turn a blind eye to the fact that her husband was an unfaithful liar. But Jean-Luc did not want their child any more than he wanted her. His look of horror when he had learned of her pregnancy still haunted her, and his coldness towards her ever since only reinforced her belief that he viewed their marriage as a mistake.

How long had his affair with his personal assistant been going on? she wondered miserably. Robyn Blake had worked for him for years and right from the start she had never missed a chance to emphasise the special relationship she shared with Luc. She was his brother’s widow, not just a member of his staff, and Emily had tried to banish her feelings of jealousy at the obvious affection that existed between her husband and his PA. But now she had irrefutable proof that Robyn was Luc’s mistress and her sense of betrayal was unbearable.

What about her baby? her mind argued. Her excitement when the ultrasound scan had revealed she was carrying a boy had been overshadowed by misery that Luc hadn’t been with her. Of all the hurt he had inflicted on her, that had been the worst, she acknowledged bitterly. He hadn’t even bothered to turn up at the hospital to see the magical, grainy image of their child, and she had to face the agonising truth that he just didn’t care. Even if she told him he was going to have a son it would make little difference to his attitude. He seemed to grow more and more distant with each passing day and his polite indifference tortured her. Surely it would be better to go now, before her baby was born, and envelop him in her love rather than let him suffer the pain of realising his father had a lump of ice where his heart should be?

Leaving Luc would break her heart, Emily accepted bleakly, but to stay with him now would kill her, and with a muffled sob she stumbled towards the road.

‘Where to, love?’ the taxi driver asked cheerfully as she climbed into the cab, and for a split second she was torn by indecision, the address of Luc’s Chelsea penthouse hovering on her lips.

Maybe she should give him one more chance? Maybe there was a rational explanation why he had spent the night he’d arrived back from Australia with Robyn, rather than returning home to her? But she could not dismiss the images that tortured her mind of Luc making love to his beautiful assistant, and despair overwhelmed her.

Face it, it’s over, she told herself savagely, biting down on her lip until her mouth filled with blood. Luc didn’t love her and, to give him his due, he had never pretended to. Her mother’s revelation that his proposal had been part of a shrewd financial deal only emphasised that fact.

She loved him so much, maybe too much. He was her life, her reason for living, but at that moment the baby kicked and she felt a determined little foot push against her stomach. Now there was a new reason, she reminded herself fiercely, and lifting her chin she relayed the address of her friend Laura’s flat to the waiting driver.

CHAPTER ONE

A year later—San Antonia

‘ARE YOU SURE you’ve got everything? Passports, tickets, keys to the flat?’

‘Everything’s under control—stop fretting,’ Emily bade her friend cheerfully. ‘You’ve got enough to worry about. The coach is here.’

Arrivals day was always hectic, she mused as she followed Laura out into the courtyard. The farmhouse at San Antonia had once been a quiet refuge for Laura’s boyfriend and his crowd of artist friends. All that had changed when Nick had persuaded Laura to join him in Spain and she had opened up her cookery school. The business had been an instant success, catering for tourists eager to take lessons from an innovative chef who had earned her stars at a top London restaurant. Emily was pleased for Laura and glad she had been able to help out by organising the guests’ living and sleeping facilities, but the time had come for her go back to England and take control of her life.

‘I hope you’ll manage,’ she murmured as she joined her friend on the front step and watched the party alight from the coach. ‘I could be away for a couple of months while the lawyers sort out the divorce.’

‘From bitter experience, I’d better warn you it could take a lot longer than that,’ Laura replied grimly. ‘Mine took over a year to finalise and cost me a small fortune.’

‘I’m not anticipating any problems,’ Emily said with a shrug. ‘Luc will be as pleased as me to see the end of our marriage.’ Especially if the recent photo in one of the British tabloids was anything to go by, she thought bleakly. Seeing his dark, handsome features again had momentarily caused her heart to stop beating. She had been shocked to discover the effect he still had on her, even after more than a year apart, but it had been the sight of his companion, the stunningly beautiful Robyn Blake, that had been the catalyst for her decision to bring a legal end to their farcical marriage.

It was time to put the past behind her, she thought resolutely. She had a baby, a burgeoning new business of her own and the freedom to live her life the way she chose. She enjoyed her independence, she reminded herself fiercely. She had fought hard to rebuild her self-respect and it was time to sever the legal ties that bound her to Jean-Luc Vaillon.

‘How do you think you’ll feel about seeing your husband again?’ Laura asked.

‘With any luck, I won’t have to. I don’t want anything from him, certainly not money,’ Emily added fiercely.

‘You’re entitled to demand that he make proper provision for Jean-Claude,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Luc is his father after all, and it won’t hurt him to dip into the Vaillon millions.’

‘No!’ Emily instantly refuted the suggestion. ‘I’m responsible for my son and I’ll provide for him. Luc never wanted a child. Jean-Claude’s conception was an accident and I refuse to use him as leverage for financial gain. I’ll manage,’ she assured her friend brightly when Laura frowned in concern, ‘but I won’t take anything from Luc.’

In theory it all seemed so simple. She would make contact with Luc through a third party, and if he expressed any interest in seeing his son, the lawyers could thrash out the access arrangements along with the divorce. She wasn’t expecting any complications but as she glanced over to where Jean-Claude was sleeping in his pushchair, shaded from the sun by a parasol, she was filled with a sense of foreboding. Nothing about Jean-Luc Vaillon was simple. He was a man of secrets and despite the fact that they had been married for two years, she didn’t really know him at all.

‘Someone’s arrived in style.’ Laura’s voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced across the courtyard at the sleek black limousine that had swung in behind the coach. ‘I hope they appreciate that this is a working holiday. I won’t have time to run around after some spoilt millionaire’s wife who can’t boil an egg. The coach driver is quite happy to take you to the airport,’ she added as she stepped forward to greet her guests. ‘He’s finished unloading now so you can give him your luggage before you have to disturb Jean-Claude.’ She gave Emily a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘Take care. We’ll celebrate your new life as a single woman when you come back.’

A quick glance at the buggy revealed that Jean-Claude was still sleeping soundly and Emily decided to leave him for a few more minutes while she loaded her cases.

‘How are you, Enzo?’ she greeted the coach driver, who regularly made the journey between San Antonia and the airport.

‘Hola, Señora, you’re looking pretty today.’

Conversation about Enzo’s huge extended family took another five minutes and when Emily looked back at the pushchair, it was empty. Laura must have taken Jean-Claude into the farmhouse, she thought, a prickle of unease threading along her spine. Something made her turn her head towards the car parked at the further end of the courtyard.

For a few seconds she thought it must be a trick of the light, a mirage brought on by the heat of the midday sun, but when she blinked she realised he was no illusion. Handsome was hardly an adequate description of him, she acknowledged numbly. This man was awesome, the power of his broad shoulders beneath his superbly tailored jacket so formidable that a trembling started deep inside her.

The air in the courtyard was still and sultry but she could not suppress a shiver as her eyes travelled up to the visitor’s face and locked with his cold, grey stare. His eyes were hooded, hiding his expression, but she was struck by the hardness that emanated from him, the air of arrogance, of ruthlessness and sheer power, and she gave a cry as the world spun.

‘Luc!’

Confusion made her close her eyes, as if by doing so she could rid herself of the unwelcome vision, but when she opened them again he was still there, larger than life, taller and more imposing than anyone she had ever met and her hands flew to cover her mouth, forcing back her cry.

‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’ she demanded tremulously, shock almost robbing her of her voice. He smiled, his mouth stretching to reveal his teeth so that she was reminded of a wolf preparing to devour its prey.

‘I’ve already got what I came for, chérie,’ he taunted softly, and she stared at him in confusion. ‘It’s up to you whether you choose to join us.’

‘Us?’ Emily parroted, her brain moving as sluggishly as treacle. ‘I don’t understand.’ She felt breathless and disorientated as he towered over her. Her heart was pounding and it took every ounce of her courage to lift her eyes to his face. If anything he was even more devastatingly good-looking than she remembered, leaner and harder than the man who regularly haunted her dreams. Looking at him caused a peculiar feeling inside, like a knife being thrust between her ribs, and she quickly tore her eyes away, blinking under the brilliant glare of the sun.

Luc’s arrival at the farmhouse was so unexpected she didn’t know what to do, what to say. ‘How did you find me?’ she croaked at last, and his expression hardened.

‘You wrote to your solicitor, requesting that he start divorce proceedings,’ he reminded her coolly. ‘I must commend him for the speed with which he contacted my legal firm to set the wheels in motion.’

‘Mr Carmichael has taken care of the Dyer family’s legal matters for years,’ Emily faltered. ‘I specifically asked him to withhold my whereabouts and I don’t believe he would have willingly handed you that information.’

‘No, but his very pretty junior secretary proved much more amenable,’ he murmured silkily. ‘The evenings spent wining and dining her proved highly profitable—in more ways than one,’ he added dulcetly, and the sudden gleam in his eyes sickened her.

‘I really don’t want to know the details of your grubby love life,’ she snapped, hurt coursing through her, ‘although from past experience I imagine love plays very little part in it. But I still don’t understand why you’re here,’ she continued stonily, refusing to acknowledge that the familiar tang of the aftershave he favoured had evoked a host of memories she wished had remained buried. ‘Presumably you read my letter explaining to Mr Carmichael that I would be returning to England to sort out the divorce. Why didn’t you just wait for me?’

Luc inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he sought to control the anger that surged through him. ‘I have spent almost a year longing to see my child,’ he ground out savagely, his eyes as cold and hard as slate, and Emily shivered as she realised the full extent of his fury. ‘Did you really expect me to wait passively, hoping you would show up? Do you have any idea what it felt like to learn from a letter you’d sent your solicitor that I had fathered a son? Sacré bleu!’ he ground out, his jaw rigid with tension. ‘You were happy to inform Monsieur Carmichael, but you didn’t even have the decency to tell me my son had been born, and for that I can never forgive you.’

‘Why should I have done?’ Emily defended herself, genuinely puzzled by his anger. ‘Why would I have rushed to tell you I’d given birth to our child when you were so vehemently opposed to his conception? You made it clear that you didn’t want either of us, Luc, so how can you blame me for wanting to bring Jean-Claude up among people who care for him?’

‘If you think I will allow my child to spend his formative years in a hippy commune you are even more delusional that I thought,’ he snarled furiously. ‘I have lost the first precious months of my son’s life and I hold you and your half-baked theories about my supposed affair with my personal assistant completely to blame. Jealousy is not an attractive emotion, chérie,’ he said, his eyes raking over her trembling form disparagingly. ‘You allowed your childish craving for attention to colour your judgement but the one to suffer most is our son. You had no right to deny him a relationship with me, and from now on he will know exactly who his father is,’ he told her forcefully, his gaze brimful of bitterness that corroded her soul.

‘I would never prevent you from seeing Jean-Claude, if that’s what you want,’ she muttered as she tried to come to terms with the astounding realisation that Luc seemed to want his son after all. Perhaps it had only been the sight of her pregnant body that had filled him with revulsion, she thought bitterly. ‘I assumed you would want nothing to do with him but I’m prepared to be reasonable about access arrangements if you’ve really lost your aversion to fatherhood.’

‘How very generous of you.’ Luc’s voice dripped with sarcasm and she flushed. He’d always had the knack of making her feel two feet high and once she would have backed down at the slightest hint of confrontation. Now she lifted her chin and stared at him, cursing her body’s involuntary reaction to him. How could he still have such an effect on her after everything he’d put her through, the humiliation he’d heaped on her?

She’d been overwhelmed from the first moment she’d set eyes on him, she acknowledged grimly. There was something about his face, the sharp cheekbones and very slightly hooked nose, that gave him the appearance of a hawk, his eyes gleaming from beneath heavy black brows, watchful and calculating. It was hard to believe that those eyes had once softened to the colour of woodsmoke, that the cruel line of his mouth had moulded into a sensual curve as he had explored her lips with a degree of passion and tenderness that had left her weak with longing.

She bit back a gasp as a curious pain uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, self-disgust swamping her as her imagination ran riot. What was desire doing, rearing its ugly head at a time like this, when Luc was studying her with insolent appraisal as if she was something unpleasant that had crawled out from beneath a stone? Swiftly she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her body’s blatant betrayal, sickness flooding through her when his gaze settled on her breasts and she saw his lip curl in sardonic amusement.

‘But, then, in certain areas you were always very generous, weren’t you, Emily?’ he drawled. ‘Especially in bed.’

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped, tears of mortification stinging her eyelids. How dared he look at her like that, as if she was some cheap tart and he was considering sampling her wares? ‘I’m surprised you even remember. It’s a long time since you chose to share my bed but, then, you didn’t need to did you, Luc? You were busy elsewhere.’ She broke off abruptly, twin spots of colour staining her cheeks. Now was not the time to reveal the depths of the clawing jealousy she’d experienced on those long, lonely nights when she’d waited in vain for him to come home.

‘As soon as I arrive in London, I’ll have my lawyers contact yours to arrange suitable access to Jean-Claude,’ she told him briskly as she looked towards the farmhouse. No doubt Laura was struggling to give her guests a guided tour of the kitchens with Jean-Claude clamped to her hip. The sooner she held her son in her arms the happier she would be, she decided after risking another peep at Luc’s inscrutable face. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find him,’ she murmured awkwardly. She supposed she should invite Luc into the farmhouse to meet his son and her conscience prickled uncomfortably as he continued to stare down at her with those laser-beam eyes that she was sure could read her mind.

She didn’t want to take him inside, she acknowledged as a faint edge of apprehension gripped her once more. San Antonia was her territory, and for some reason she would prefer Luc’s first meeting with his son to take place on the neutral ground of her solicitor’s office. Time was getting on, she realised with a glance at her watch. The coach driver was looking impatient and if she wasn’t careful she would miss her flight.

‘Are you in the habit of losing my son?’ Luc enquired, his brows raised sardonically, and she flushed.

‘Of course not. I haven’t lost him, just mislaid him,’ she added, her vain attempt to lighten the situation, receiving no flicker of response from him. ‘So, I’ll see you in London.’ She needed to walk away from him but it seemed as if her feet were trapped in quicksand and she couldn’t move as her eyes greedily absorbed every detail of his beloved face. Not that she loved him any more, her mind hastily pointed out, but he possessed a magnetism that even now was wrapping itself around her, making coherent thought impossible.

‘As you wish.’ The curtness of Luc’s tone broke the spell and she became aware of his sudden impatience as he flicked back the sleeve of his jacket to read his watch. The brief glimpse of his tanned wrist, dusted with a sprinkling of fine black hairs, caused her tummy to lurch and she inhaled sharply. ‘We need to make a move anyway.’

His words puzzled her and she gave a harsh laugh. ‘Let me guess. Robyn is waiting in the car for you. I can’t fault her dedication to duty,’ she said sarcastically.

He was already walking away from her and paused briefly to glance over his shoulder. ‘Oui, Robyn’s behaviour and attitude are exemplary,’ he replied in a tone that clearly indicated her own failing in both departments. ‘But she is not with me this time. Jean-Claude is in the car and, no doubt, growing restless. Au revoir, chérie.’

Incredibly he had already dipped his head prior to sliding into the car and her feet suddenly grew wings. ‘Luc! Wait, what do you mean, he’s in the car? Jean-Claude is in the house with Laura—isn’t he?’ she finished uncertainly, and the blandness of his expression only served to increase her fear.

‘I took the liberty of stowing my son safely in the car while your attention was…’ He paused fractionally. ‘Elsewhere. Tell me, chérie, are you always so careless about leaving him unattended and in the full glare of the sun?’

‘He was shaded by the parasol,’ Emily defended herself fiercely, ‘and I did not leave him unattended. He was asleep and I was…’She was going to explain how she had taken advantage of Jean-Claude’s brief nap to load her luggage onto the coach, but the scathing disgust in Luc’s eyes made her want to crawl away.

‘You were too busy to watch over him. Anyone could have taken him.’ He pushed home the point by glancing into the car and she flushed. It was true that her attention had been focused on the trip back to London, but she had regularly checked on the baby and, besides, the farmhouse was miles from anywhere. A person would have to have been extremely determined, not to mention devious, to snatch him and unfortunately the description fitted Jean-Luc Vaillon to the letter.

She had reached the car and her shocked glance revealed that Jean-Claude was indeed inside, strapped into a baby seat and happily absorbed playing with the brightly coloured toys in front of him. ‘But you can’t just take him,’ she faltered, her shock giving way to stark fury. ‘How dare you try to take him from me? I’m his mother.’ She rounded on him, her voice bristling with outrage as her fingers fumbled with the door-handle.

Instantly his hand closed over hers, his grip bruising as he surveyed her steadily from beneath his ridiculously long, black lashes. ‘And I am his father, yet you thought nothing of keeping him from me. You deliberately hid yourself away and if it hadn’t been for your greed, it’s possible that I still wouldn’t have found you or, more importantly, my son.’

‘My greed?’ Emily echoed faintly.

‘I assume you were banking on a hefty divorce settlement to keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed,’ he mocked, his disdainful glance taking in the rambling farmhouse and various outbuildings, ‘although I’m not sure why you need money in this God-forsaken spot. Perhaps you want it for other reasons than providing a secure environment for Jean-Claude?’

‘Such as?’ She glared at him, one hand on her hip while the other was still trapped beneath his.

‘Drugs?’ he suggested with a nonchalant shrug that belied the gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘Who knows what goes on inside your hippy commune? All I care is that it is not a suitable place to bring up a small child, certainly not my child.’

‘Because, of course, you are such a caring parent.’ She could hardly speak as her anger choked her. ‘San Antonia is not some sort of drugs den. It’s a thriving community where everyone works together and where my friend Laura runs a cookery school for middle-aged ladies. The only drugs you’ll find here are for rheumatism or the menopause!’

‘I have never been given the opportunity to prove my worth as a parent,’ Luc snapped, ‘but that’s about to change. My son is coming with me.’

‘The hell he is!’ From the corner of her eye Emily saw the coach driver lean out of his window.

‘Señorita, we have to go.’

‘Yes, I won’t be a minute.’ She tried to open the car door but Luc’s hand tightened around her fingers until she was sure they would break. ‘For God’s sake, Luc!’ Tears brought on through a mixture of pain and fear filled her eyes. ‘You can’t have him.’

‘On the contrary, chérie, I already have him. It’s up to you whether you come, too. Personally speaking, you can rot in hell,’ he told her savagely. ‘I would enjoy watching you burn in the eternal flames, but for his sake I suggest you get in the car.’ Abruptly he released the catch and opened the door while she stared wildly around the courtyard, searching for someone to help her.

‘There’s no way I’d allow you to take him without me,’ she vowed fiercely, and then gave a despairing cry as the coach began to move. ‘My luggage is on the coach. Enzo, wait!’

Enzo must have caught sight of her frantic waving in his mirror and braked, but it took Emily precious minutes to drag her cases from the luggage compartment, and when she looked round, the limousine was already rolling forward.

‘You bastard, you knew I was coming,’ she sobbed as she yanked open the rear door and threw her cases into the footwell while Luc made no attempt to ask his chauffeur to halt. She was panting as she scrambled into the car and pulled the door shut after her. ‘I’ve a good mind to have you charged with kidnap,’ she snapped, and his sardonic smile told her he was as aware as she that she stood no chance of carrying out her threat. The trap was sprung. She was entirely at his mercy, she realised and trepidation filled her as, with a barely discernible snick, the door lock was activated.

‘Not kidnap,’ he murmured coolly as his gaze settled on her flushed face, ‘I prefer repossession. And I promise you, chérie, this time you will not escape!’

CHAPTER TWO

THE ATMOSPHERE INSIDE the car crackled with antagonism. Jean-Claude suddenly lost interest in his toys, stared unblinkingly at Luc and then back at Emily, his bottom lip wobbling.

‘It’s all right, Mama’s here. No one’s going to hurt you,’ she reassured him softly, stroking his cheek, and he turned his enormous, velvet grey eyes on her, his tears drying as his face broke into a smile that revealed his one solitary tooth. Luc was sitting on the other side of the baby seat and he stiffened at her words, outrage and bitter, corrosive anger filling him.

‘Of course I’m not going to hurt him,’ he snarled, aware of the necessity of keeping his voice low so that he did not frighten Jean-Claude. ‘What kind of barbarian do you think I am to suggest I would hurt my own son?’

‘You don’t want to know my opinion of you,’ Emily returned, her smile solely for Jean-Claude’s benefit, belying the venom in her voice. ‘You tried to drive off without me. Don’t you think that wrenching a young baby from his mother’s arms would hurt him?’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Luc snapped impatiently. ‘You weren’t even with him. You’d abandoned him. What kind of mother does that make you?’

‘A damn good one, and I did not abandon him.’ Emily ran a shaky hand over her face as reaction set in. ‘He’s eleven months old, for heaven’s sake. How do you think he would cope without me? He needs me.’

Luc surveyed her silently, his eyes raking disparagingly over her slender figure and she cringed, wishing she’d worn anything but her bright orange gypsy skirt and yellow strap top. With her hair caught up in a ponytail secured with a livid yellow band and the long, beaded earrings and necklace that one of the artists had made for her, she looked funky and modern, a complete antithesis of the sophisticated, elegant women Luc admired. Women like his PA Robyn Blake.

‘You’re not as indispensable as you like to think,’ he said icily. ‘He’d soon forget you and instead of a mother he will have a father. However,’ he continued, ignoring her fearful gasp, ‘I accept that it is in Jean-Claude’s best interests that you play a part in his life, for now at least.’

‘Meaning what exactly?’

‘Meaning that the situation is likely to change as he grows older but at the moment he is a baby and naturally depends on you. It is for that reason alone that I have decided to take you back,’ he informed her in his cold, clipped tones, and Emily’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

‘Well, pardon me for not jumping for joy, but I don’t want to be taken back. I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is—without you in it. In fact,’ she stressed, ‘I’ve never been happier.’ As she spoke she made the mistake of looking at him and her face flamed as she felt her body’s involuntary reaction to his seductive charm. She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want to be pierced by this overwhelming, almost obsessive sexual attraction, and the worst of it was, he was aware of his power over her.

‘I’m sure I can come up with a few ideas to keep you content,’ he drawled with an arrogant smile that made her want to scream or hit him, or both. ‘I don’t remember having any problems satisfying you when we were first married. In fact, chérie, after a night in my bed, you used to remind me of a cat who’d gorged on cream.’

The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her total and utter weakness where he was concerned. One look from those flashing grey eyes and she had been putty in his hands, her body desperate to experience the ecstasy of his full possession. She had been little better than a sex slave, she thought disgustedly, and he had exerted his power over her ruthlessly, subjugating her to his will with shameful ease.

Luc had to be playing a cruel game with her, she thought desperately. His insinuation that he knew he could keep her happy by sleeping with her was his despicable way of reminding her of her vulnerability where he was concerned. But she had changed during the year they had spent apart. She had grown up and taken charge of her emotions. With his incredible looks and raw, sexual magnetism, it wasn’t surprising that he had once had such a strong hold over her but she had broken free of his spell and she refused to be bewitched again.

Jean-Claude was watching her and the beauty of his smile tore at her heart. He was innocently unaware of the bitterness that existed between his parents, a bitterness that would only fester if they were forced together again. At the moment he was just a baby, but as he grew older he would detect the signs that his parents detested one another and would surely be damaged by their antagonism.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she whispered huskily. ‘For our son’s sake, can’t we call a truce and aim for an amicable divorce instead of fighting over him? Surely the most important thing is to give Jean-Claude the best upbringing we can?’

‘I agree,’ Luc replied, his gaze clashing with hers, ‘which is why there will be no divorce. Our son deserves to be brought up by two parents who love him, even if they do not love each other,’ he continued, ignoring Emily’s shocked gasp. ‘You will remain my wife, chérie, for better or worse. And make no mistake,’ he warned her in a tone that gave some indication of his determination, ‘it will be a proper marriage, in every sense of the word.’

‘You can’t really expect me to…to sleep with you,’ Emily spluttered, outrage rendering her temporarily speechless as the full meaning of his words sank in.

‘Why not? Our marriage may have had its problems, but the sex was always good. You were the most responsive lover I’ve ever known,’ he told her, and she died a little at the way he could discuss something that had been so precious to her with such clinical detachment.

‘Well, you’ve known a lot so I’ll take your word for it but I’m afraid it’s not an experience I want to repeat.’

‘Is that so, ma petite?’ The sudden amusement in his voice fuelled her anger and she curled her fingers into fists so that her nails bit into her palms. ‘Time will tell, although not too much time, I hope. Patience isn’t one of my finer virtues.’

‘I’d rather kill myself than bear your touch again,’ she snapped with a shudder as she contemplated the certain humiliation that would follow if she ever lowered her guard against him. He inhaled sharply, a nerve jumping in his cheek as he stared at her.

‘Don’t joke about such things, especially as we both know that you’re lying,’ he ground out, and she jerked her head round, startled by the bitterness in his eyes. ‘You might have wrapped that cloak of virginal shyness around you like a nun’s habit but you were a whore in the bedroom. Not that I’m complaining,’ he added silkily when she turned her stunned, pain-filled eyes on him. ‘I may be willing to put up with your presence in my life for Jean-Claude’s sake, but I think I’m entitled to some compensations!’

He swung away to stare out of the window and in the ragged silence that followed his shocking statement she could only stare at his harsh profile. He really hated her, she realised as a combination of pain and panic washed over her. During the brief months they’d spent together after their marriage, she’d glimpsed his ruthless streak in his business dealings. Beneath his charismatic charm lurked a merciless disregard for anyone who dared cross him, and despite his insistence that their marriage would continue, he viewed her as the enemy. For a moment she quailed but from somewhere her pride came to the rescue and she lifted her chin.

‘You don’t really want me back, any more than you want to play happy families with Jean-Claude. I intend to seek a divorce, Luc, and I’ll fight you tooth and nail for my baby. You never wanted him and I can prove that while I was pregnant you were too busy sleeping with your bloody secretary to give a damn about your unborn child or me. This has nothing to do with wanting Jean-Claude, has it?’ She pressed on, ignoring the ominous tightening of his jaw that gave some indication of his fury. ‘This is about your obsession to win, the need to exert your power. You didn’t want me and perhaps when you were good and ready you’d have divorced me, but you can’t bear the fact that I was the one to walk away. I defied you and now you want to punish me by claiming the child you never even wanted to be born.’

‘Enough!’ His voice stung like the crack of a whip as he jerked his head round to face her and Emily visibly flinched, although she refused to drop her gaze. Once she had been in awe of him, her painful lack of self-confidence no match for his brilliant mind and acerbic wit, but she had Jean-Claude to fight for now and she glared across the car, determined not be cowed. ‘Mon Dieu! You have developed the tongue of a viper. I am trying very hard to be fair, which is more than you deserve when you never once gave me the same consideration. You stole my son, and like a thief in the night you hid him from me. Let me set something straight once and for all Emily,’ he growled. ‘I always wanted our child. I longed to hold our baby in my arms, but for all these months you denied me even the knowledge of his existence. Now, finally, I have found him and nothing in this world will ever make me let him go. If you insist on filing for divorce I can’t stop you, but I will fight you for Jean-Claude with all the means at my disposal, and financially those means are considerable. If you want there to be war between us rather than peace, go ahead, but I hope you have the stomach for it because it is a war I will win.’

The car was speeding along the road, the locked doors preventing her escape even if it had been possible to jump out. The plush leather upholstery, the uniformed chauffeur and the discreet but well-stocked bar all indicated a level of wealth that would render any legal fight between them a waste of time. Luc could afford the best lawyers and if he chose to seek custody of Jean-Claude she would stand no chance against him. For the moment at least, she was out of options. Luc had won as usual and she seethed silently. ‘I hate you,’ she spat at him, and he shrugged indifferently.

‘I’m devastated, chérie, but I won’t force you to endure my company. If you really can’t make Jean-Claude and what’s best for him your priority, then you’d better get out now. Say the word and I’ll ask my driver to stop and drop you off.’

Emily glanced out at the barren landscape, which was as dry and unforgiving as a desert. The empty road snaked past jutting boulders and huge, spiteful cacti, and once again fear gripped her. ‘You surely wouldn’t abandon us out here, miles from anywhere?’ she whispered and Luc gave her a chilling smile.

‘Of course not. I’ve told you, from now on Jean-Claude stays with me. But you are free to go wherever and whenever you like, mon amour.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she said sharply, her body clenching in rejection of the careless endearment that even now had the power to make her long for the moon. She had never been his love. ‘Your cruelty is beyond belief,’ she whispered, and he gave a harsh laugh.

‘That you can accuse me of cruelty when you stole my son is also beyond belief but believe this, Emily, I do not forgive easily, and I will never forget.’

The barely concealed bitterness in his voice shook her and she took a deep breath as she concentrated on the scenery flashing past. Slowly her panic faded slightly as she envisaged the bustling airport. Presumably Luc was intending to fly back to England, but he would hardly be able to frogmarch her and Jean-Claude aboard a plane. Hopefully, if she kept her wits, there would be an opportunity to snatch back her son and slip away.

She forced herself to relax and bide her time, but in the tense silence her eyes turned involuntarily towards the man whose presence dominated the car. It wasn’t fair that he was so gorgeous, she thought bleakly, feeling a knife skewer her heart as she studied his stern profile. His incredible bone structure could have been fashioned from marble by one of the Old Masters. His olive-gold skin stretched taut over the hard planes of his face. Despite the fact that he was in his late thirties, there was no hint of silver in his thick black hair, and she closed her eyes on a wave of pain as she remembered the feel of it against her fingers when she had pulled his head down to hers. His mouth was to die for and he had delighted in teasing every inch of her body with it, his tongue a wicked instrument of torturous pleasure during their long hours of loving that had left her utterly satiated.

That had been a long time ago, she hastily reminded herself. In those first heady weeks of their marriage when she’d almost convinced herself she had done the right thing by marrying the enigmatic Frenchman and that he might one day even grow to love her as she loved him.

The illusion had been quickly shattered. They had spent the weekend after their wedding in Paris, too absorbed in their mutual passion for each other to do much sightseeing. On their arrival back in London, Luc had swept her into his arms as the lift carried them up to his penthouse flat, but instead of carrying her straight to the bedroom, he had hesitated in the doorway as the most beautiful woman Emily had ever seen moved forward to greet them.

Robyn Blake, once a world-famous model, was Luc’s sister-in-law as well as his personal assistant. She was exquisite, there was no other word to describe her, and Emily had immediately felt young and gauche, aware that her chain-store dress had been no match for Robyn’s designer outfit.

At first she had been taken in by Robyn’s apparent friendliness. Having spent her childhood in the shadow of her sisters, she was plagued by a crushing lack of self-confidence and had followed Robyn around like a puppy desperate to please its master. She had sought the older woman’s advice on everything from clothes and make-up to the problems that were emerging in her marriage, and it had taken her a long time to realise that Robyn was the cause of many of those problems.

She could not lay all the blame at Robyn’s door, she admitted miserably. Her own insecurity and lack of self-belief hadn’t helped any more than the growing realisation that Jean-Luc Vaillon was incapable of loving anyone. He had treated her suspicions about the true nature of his relationship with his PA with scathing dismissal. It was time she grew up instead of behaving like a silly child, he’d told her, but in her heart she accepted that he had never felt more than a faint affection for her and now she had proof that his reasons for making her his wife had been far more prosaic than love.

With a sigh she turned to find Luc watching Jean-Claude. He seemed utterly absorbed, as though he could not drag his gaze from his son, but he must have felt her scrutiny and she blushed as he lifted his head and subjected her to a hard stare. Pride dictated that she should turn away but she was trapped by the brooding sensuality that emanated from him, her eyes focused on his mouth, remembering the taste of him, the feel of his lips on hers. Suddenly she was too hot. The air inside the car seemed stifling despite the air-conditioning, and tiny beads of sweat formed above her top lip. She wanted to wipe them away but her hands were trembling and she shoved them into her lap, her tongue darting out to capture the salty pearls on its tip.

Luc’s eyes narrowed as he watched the nervous foray of her tongue and she knew with humiliating certainty that he was aware of her thoughts. What was the matter with her? she asked herself impatiently. He despised her, his contempt clearly visible in the cool grey gaze that speared her. He only tolerated her presence for the sake of his son so why was she consumed with this wild longing to feel his mouth on hers? She hated him, her mind totally rejected his ruthless power, but it seemed that her body had a will of its own and it recognised its master.

With a barely suppressed gasp she tore her gaze from his, biting down hard on her lip until she tasted blood. Luc was a cheat and a liar and he had broken her heart. For the sake of her self-preservation it was crucial that she remembered that fact.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she demanded, seeking refuge in her anger. ‘You lost the right to look at me like you own me when you increased your personal assistant’s duties.’

‘You’re still blinded by your ridiculous insecurities, I see,’ Luc murmured coolly, and her cheeks flooded with colour as his jibe hit home. She had always been so unsure of herself, especially where he was concerned, and she hated the fact that he had been aware of her vulnerability.

With her head turned determinedly away from him, Luc was left with the view of Emily’s taut shoulders and his eyes rested on the curve of her cheek and one small, pink ear, her long, dangly earring emphasising the slender column of her neck. She looked heartbreakingly young with her glorious chestnut hair caught up on top of her head. A few tendrils had escaped to curl around her cheek and he fought the urge to reach across and brush them back behind her ear, to cup her chin in his hand and turn her face to his.

What was he thinking? he berated himself furiously. This woman, his wife, had walked out on him without a backward glance. Not only that, but she had disappeared so conclusively that gossip and speculation among London’s society had been rife. He had been terrified for her safety, not knowing if she was alive or dead, but for all those long months she had been living quite comfortable in her Spanish hide-away.

Her accusation that he hadn’t wanted their child was ridiculous. His longing for their baby had shaken him with its intensity, but alongside hope had been fear. His secret terror that history would repeat itself had made him appear distant and his perceived disinterest had cost him dear.

He inhaled sharply and forced himself to drop his gaze to the baby who was sitting quietly in his child seat. Jean-Claude, his son. It still seemed incredible that this beautiful, wide-eyed baby was his own flesh and blood, yet there was no mistaking the likeness between them and his heart clenched in primitive recognition. Wonderingly he touched the baby’s satiny curls, which were as black as his own hair, and when Jean-Claude lifted his long lashes to survey him solemnly with huge, grey eyes, it was like looking into a mirror. His son, the child he’d feared he would never see. He loved him instantly, a huge wave of adoration sweeping through him, and he vowed that nothing would ever separate him from his child again.

‘He looks like you,’ Emily said grudgingly as she watched Jean-Claude smile at his father. From the moment her son had first opened his eyes and focused on her, she’d been taken aback by his likeness to Luc. It was as if fate itself was on Luc’s side, determined that he would not be forgotten, but seeing them together brought home to her that her baby was all Vaillon, truly his father’s son.

Jean-Claude regarded the stranger solemnly. At almost a year old, he knew his own mind, knew whom he liked and whom he didn’t, and Emily felt a sharp stab of jealousy when he stretched out his chubby arms to Luc. Would all Vaillon men betray her? she wondered bitterly. And then dismissed the shabby thought. She wanted Jean-Claude to have a good relationship with his father and incredibly it now seemed that Luc shared that desire. Perhaps, once he had calmed down, she could broach the idea of divorce once more. She was certain he did not really want her as his wife and if she assured him of her willingness to share custody of Jean-Claude, their parting could at least be amicable.

‘Jean-Claude and I are booked on an evening flight to London,’ she murmured. ‘It seems silly to waste the tickets but I’ll meet you as soon as possible, tomorrow if you insist,’ she added when Luc made no reply and simply surveyed her with his cool grey stare.

‘I’m not taking him to London,’ he replied at last, and she stared at him in confusion.

‘Then where are you going?’ She had hated Luc’s Chelsea penthouse, which had all the appeal of a dentist’s waiting room and had never felt like her home, but Luc had seemed perfectly at ease there and she assumed it was still his London base.

‘To France, of course. Jean-Claude is a Vaillon, my son and heir. Naturally he will be brought up in my homeland,’ he informed her, his brows raised in surprise that there could be any doubt.

‘Naturally,’ Emily snapped sarcastically, ‘but what about my homeland? Hasn’t it occurred to you that I’d like to bring him up in England?

‘But you weren’t, were you?’ he pointed out silkily. ‘For some peculiar reason you decided that an artists’ commune in the middle of the Spanish wilderness was the best place for our son to live. But no longer. From now on Jean-Claude will enjoy all the benefits of his heritage at my château in the Loire Valley. The Vaillons are an old French family. Surely you would not want to deprive him of his birthright?’

‘I didn’t even know you owned a château. Something else you failed to mention. But what of Jean-Claude’s British heritage?’ Emily argued, panic assailing her once more at Luc’s resolute expression. ‘The Dyers are an old family, too. Heston Grange was their ancestral seat for over four hundred years, until you bought it,’ she finished bleakly. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded with a hollow laugh, ‘did you know from the beginning that my parents hoped you would marry one of their daughters so that the Dyers would retain some link with the family’s heritage? Did they offer you Heston at a fraction of its value as long as you agreed to marry one of us? And if that’s true, Luc, why on earth did you pick me? I was the plain one, the drab Dyer, more at home with horses than people. My sisters are beautiful, clever and sophisticated, any one of them would have made you a far more suitable wife, but I suppose you thought I would be the easiest to manipulate, the one least likely to make a fuss when you resumed your relationship with your mistress.’

At twenty she had been shy and severely lacking in confidence, unable to disguise her massive crush on the handsome, enigmatic Frenchman who had turned all their lives upside down, but to him she must have seemed a pushover. She had been a pawn in a far more serious game.

‘You always did seriously undervalue yourself,’ Luc murmured dryly, as his eyes skimmed her flushed face and huge navy blue eyes. ‘I admit there were a number of reasons why you were suitable…’

‘All to do with money and prestige, and none to do with love,’ Emily finished for him. She didn’t want to hear every cold, calculated detail of why he had decided to marry her. She already knew it was because her parents had offered him Heston Grange at a massively reduced price if he married one of the Dyer daughters, thereby retaining the family’s link with their heritage. It was archaic, she thought bitterly. She felt like a brood mare, sold off with a suitable dowry, but Luc hadn’t even wanted her for her childbearing ability. He hadn’t wanted children at all, which made his sudden determination to gain custody of their son all the more shocking.

‘Jean-Claude is a Vaillon,’ Luc repeated stubbornly, ‘and from now on the Château Montiard will be his home, not some filthy dump in the middle of nowhere.’

‘San Antonia is not filthy. The farmhouse is beautiful and Jean-Claude loved it there.’

‘Really.’ Luc’s brows rose as he murmured sardonically. ‘He must be a child prodigy to express his opinion when he’s not even a year old. Tell me, chérie, what would you have done if he’d been taken ill? The nearest hospital is miles away. For someone who expresses such maternal devotion, you seem to have little regard for his well-being.’

‘While you, of course, are an expert on child care,’ Emily snapped furiously. ‘Jean-Claude was perfectly well cared for, but it’s not easy being a single mother and I was grateful for the help of the other members of the commune.’

‘You were a single mother by choice,’ he pointed out hardily, ‘but you never gave Jean-Claude a choice. You forced him to live his life with only one parent and you denied me a relationship with my own son. Now it’s your turn to suffer,’ he told her darkly, and she shivered at the contempt in his gaze.

‘For heaven’s sake, can’t we be adult about this?’ she cried despairingly and he gave a harsh laugh.

‘It would be a first for you, chérie, that’s for sure, but I’m afraid you’ve pushed me way beyond the boundaries of wanting to be reasonable. Now that I have my son I have no intention of ever letting him go, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.’

The car was slowing and Emily glanced out of the window, frantically searching for the signs to the airport, but there were none. Instead they drove through the gates of what appeared to be a private airfield and sick fear gripped her. How could she have forgotten that Luc owned his own private jet? There was no bustling airport, no queues at the check-in desk where there might have been an opportunity to grab Jean-Claude and run. Luc’s plane was ready and waiting on the runway. He had stated that he was prepared to take her to his château for their son’s sake but he couldn’t force her to resume the role of his wife, could he?

Suddenly her pride was an expendable commodity she would gladly sacrifice in return for her baby and she stared beseechingly at Luc as the car drew to a halt. ‘Please, don’t do this,’ she begged huskily. ‘I can’t live without Jean-Claude but neither can I live with you. You must see that.’

‘Surely, if you have any sense of fairness you must see that it is my turn to have him now,’ Luc replied coldly. ‘Jean-Claude is coming home with me, with or without you.’

‘But you didn’t want him!’ she cried, her voice rising with frustration. ‘From the moment you knew I was pregnant you made it clear that you had no interest in either of us. You slept in another room,’ she reminded him huskily, ‘when you bothered to come back to the flat at all. And you were completely uninvolved in my pregnancy. You didn’t even show up at the hospital for my ultrasound scan.

‘Do you have any idea how I felt that morning?’ she demanded bitterly as a wave of memories hit her. ‘The fact that you’d spent the night with Robyn was unforgivable but I still thought…hoped you cared enough about our child to want to see the first pictures of him. I sat in that waiting room alone surrounded by excited, happy couples, and I prayed you would come,’ she whispered brokenly. Every time they called my name I allowed someone else to go in my place until there was no one left, just me on my own with a very sympathetic nurse who tried to make a joke about men being useless timekeepers.’ She scrubbed her eyes furiously with the back of her hand, desperate that he didn’t see her cry. ‘But you hadn’t mistaken the time, had you, Luc? You just didn’t care about the baby or me, and that’s why I left. I knew I’d outstayed my welcome.’

‘That’s not true,’ he began, his face twisting with emotions she refused to try and decipher any more.

‘It is true,’ she cried angrily. ‘I didn’t need any more proof of your indifference. How can you blame me for questioning your motives now?’ she finished brokenly.

Luc paused as he opened the door. She looked as young and innocent as on that first day when she had stared up at him and an arrow had pierced his heart. He wanted to hate her—indeed, there had been many times during the past year when he’d convinced himself that he despised her—but she was watching him with those expressive blue eyes. He glimpsed her vulnerability and something tugged at his heart.

He had never been any good at saying how he felt, he conceded, and his conscience prickled as he remembered how his unspoken fears had caused him to appear tense and uncommunicative. His childhood had left scars, a wariness of revealing his emotions. He hadn’t forgotten her scan. Dieu, he would have given anything to be with her but Robyn had been distraught, he had been torn and by the time he had managed to phone and explain the situation, Emily had already left for the hospital. He had been too late but at that point he hadn’t realised the extent of the damage his decision had cost him, and he had never been given the chance to make amends.

‘Wait there while I see if they’re ready for us,’ he growled as he climbed out of the car. ‘I have employed a nanny to take care of Jean-Claude. It might be better if he meets her before we get on the plane.’

‘He doesn’t need a nanny,’ Emily pointed out sharply. ‘I can look after him perfectly well on my own.’

‘Mon Dieu! Do you have to argue about everything?’ He was already striding across the tarmac and she watched him go, adrenalin coursing through her as she tapped on the car’s glass partition to gain the attention of the chauffer. This was probably a hired car, she reasoned feverishly, and it was likely that the driver was Spanish.

‘Drive on, please,’ she requested in a confident tone that did not match the sick fear in the pit of her stomach. The months she’d spent in Spain meant that she was fairly fluent in the language and she smiled reassuringly at the driver. ‘There’s been a change of plan and Señor Vaillon wishes you to take me to the international airport.’

The chauffer was young and his dark eyes flashed with a boldness he made no effort to hide as he responded to her smile.

‘Sí, señora.’

The car rolled forward and she took a sharp breath. ‘As quickly as you can, por favor.’ But it was too late. Luc must have moved faster than the speed of light and already he was wrenching the door open.

‘You little bitch,’ he swore at her savagely, his face contorted with fury. He yelled at the driver to cut the engine and swiftly released Jean-Claude’s safety harness before lifting him into his arms. ‘I was prepared to be fair, to treat you with a respect that you clearly don’t deserve. But not any more,’ he snarled as his fingers curled around her arm.

‘Is everything all right, Monsieur Vaillon?’ The woman at the bottom of the plane’s steps looked calm and professional in her grey uniform. Presumable she was the nanny Luc had hired, Emily thought desperately as she struggled to break free of his bruising grip.

‘Shall I take the baby?’

‘Merci.’ Luc transferred Jean-Claude into the woman’s arms and immediately turned his attention back to Emily, his eyes dark and dispassionate as he watched a single tear roll down her face.

‘You can’t do this,’ she whispered as he jerked her into his arms.

‘Watch me,’ he taunted, and before she realised his intentions his head obliterated the sunlight. It was not so much a kiss as a public branding, his lips hot and hard, forcing hers apart and uncaring if he evoked a response. Emily was so shocked that she simply leaned against his chest fearing that her legs would buckle beneath her. Her humiliation was complete when she was forced to cling to him for support. It was as quick as it was brutal and he released her with a savage imprecation while she stared up at him, her trembling fingers covering her mouth. For a few brief seconds she had been on fire for him, her body reacting instantaneously to his raw sexuality, and her cheeks burned with shame at the speculative gleam in his eyes. He knew the effect he had on her, knew that for those few seconds he had made her forget everything, even her son, and with that knowledge came power.

‘Take your hands off me,’ she demanded, her voice shaking with outrage, and he threw back his head and laughed.

‘You’re a good actress, I’ll give you that. But you don’t fool me, ma chérie. I know you too well and I have forgotten nothing. I remember vividly what pleases you,’ he breathed in her ear and the warmth of his breath on her skin caused a trembling within her that had nothing to do with fear. ‘Welcome back, my sweet wife,’ he goaded softly as he put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her up the steps into the waiting jet.

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT THE HELL had he done?

Luc stared moodily at the glass on the tray in front of him and with a muttered oath snatched it up and downed its contents in one gulp, although he rarely drank alcohol in the middle of the day. Right now he needed something to anaesthetise the effect that Emily had on him—had always had on him, he admitted begrudgingly, although fortunately she seemed unaware that his emotions were veering dangerously out of control.

She was sitting away from him at the front of the plane, nursing Jean-Claude who had taken an instant dislike to his new surroundings and let his displeasure be known in no uncertain terms. The nanny he had employed, Liz Crawford, had an impressive record in child care, but she had been unable to pacify the baby, whose cries had only subsided once he was in his mother’s arms.

‘He needs me,’ Emily had insisted, and watching them now, mother and son, Luc knew she was right. She was cradling Jean-Claude against her shoulder, rocking gently as she sang to him in her sweet, husky voice, and Luc felt a curious twisting in his gut as he recognised the familiar French lullaby that evoked memories of his own childhood.

He shouldn’t have kissed her, he conceded grimly. He shouldn’t have given in to the basic, almost primal need to hold her in his arms once more. He needed to be in control, to take things slowly and persuade her that coming back to him would be the best thing for all of them, not just the baby.

He had convinced himself that he had every right to hate her but from the moment he’d walked across the courtyard at San Antonia the battle being waged in his head had been lost. She had deprived him of the first year of his son’s life, and when he’d received notice from her solicitor that she wanted a divorce he had been ready to commit murder. If she no longer wanted to be his wife, that was fine, he had assured himself, because he’d had enough of feeling a fool and he didn’t want her back.

Brave words, but unfortunately, as soon as he’d set eyes on her he’d known he could not back them up. He still wanted her, heaven help him. She was in his blood and he’d known instantly that he couldn’t let her go, but the flash of fear in her eyes when she first caught sight of him had shaken him. He had never been an ogre, had he? She had no reason to cower from him and as he stared at her it was confusion rather than anger that filled him. She had ripped his heart out, damn it, when his only crime had been to fear for her safety. He wanted her but he was determined to discover the truth about why she had left him before he could even begin to trust her again. It was nothing more than sexual attraction, he consoled himself. The fierce chemistry that had existed from the moment they’d first met still burned for both of them. He wasn’t blind, he had seen the way she’d looked at him in the car, had known she felt the same primitive tug of awareness, and when he’d kissed her he had felt her response despite her efforts to hide it.

He set his glass back on the tray and resisted the urge to ask for another drink. He might tell himself that he had every right to despise Emily, but the unpalatable truth was that she had stolen his heart long before she had stolen his child. He resented the hold she had over him but seeing her again had forced him to accept that their lives were inextricably linked for ever.

Jean-Claude’s sobs gradually subsided as he fell asleep and Emily reluctantly handed him over to the nanny, who took charge of him with an air of quiet authority. Not knowing what to do, unsure of her role, she glanced round and grimaced as Luc beckoned that she should join him.

‘Why did you sing to him in French?’ he demanded when she slid into the seat beside him, the expression in his eyes unfathomable as he studied her small, delicate face and the way the strap of her top had slid down to leave her shoulder bare.

‘I hoped to bring him up to recognise both English and French,’ Emily explained, her cheeks pink as she hastily readjusted the strap. ‘One of the artists at San Antonia was French and she taught me some lullabies to sing to him.’ She bit her lip at the unforgiving hardness of Luc’s face.

‘I honestly believed you didn’t want him,’ she said huskily, ‘but I still hoped to give you a chance to meet him. I want Jean-Claude to know his father and I was going to tell my solicitor that I was happy for us to share custody.’

‘Then why hide away in Spain?’ he demanded impatiently and she sighed.

‘I was ill after Jean-Claude was born. It was a difficult birth and it took me a while to recover. I was staying at my friend Laura’s flat while she set up her cookery school at San Antonia and she invited me to Spain to recuperate. I was so busy looking after a new baby and helping Laura and the time passed so quickly…’

‘What do you mean by a difficult birth?’ Luc growled. ‘Are you saying there were problems?’

‘It was a long labour, thirty-eight hours and he was a big baby. I lost a lot of blood,’ Emily admitted, and Luc’s face darkened as he fought to control the nausea that swept through him. He should have been there. She should have given him the opportunity to support her during her labour but he had driven her away. She was his wife, the woman he had sworn to protect, but once again, it seemed, he had failed in his duty.

‘If you had stayed with me, you would have received the best medical care,’ he muttered savagely, trying to disguise his pain. ‘You needn’t have suffered, yet out of spite, a ridiculous urge to hurt me, you put not just your life at risk but his, too.’

‘Hurt you!’ Emily stared at her husband with blank incomprehension in her eyes. ‘When I mentioned the idea of starting a family you were adamant that you didn’t want children. Jean-Claude’s conception was a mistake—somehow the antibiotics I’d been prescribed interfered with the reliability of the Pill—but you refused to believe me. I remember how angry you were when I told you I was pregnant. It’s not something a new bride is likely to forget,’ she added painfully.

‘Sacré bleu! It was our honeymoon,’ Luc said explosively, ‘and you did not tell me, chérie, you waited until we were on a remote island in the Indian Ocean before you collapsed. It was the emergency medic airlifted from the mainland who informed me of your condition.’

He could not repress a shudder as he relived the moment he had lifted her limp, lifeless body into his arms and had run up the beach, calling frantically for help. It was happening all over again his mind had drummed over and over, dismissing any semblance of calm in a tidal wave of terror. He had truly believed he had been about to lose her and it had been as devastating as the realisation of how deeply he cared. He had been unable to bear the thought of carrying on without her. He wasn’t strong enough to survive such pain again, and even after it was made clear that she was in no danger, he had withdrawn into himself as a form of self-protection. He didn’t want to love her. Love hurt.

‘I hadn’t known I was pregnant. It was as much of a shock to me as it was to you,’ Emily muttered miserably, but with a savage oath, Luc swung away from her, flipped open his laptop and was instantly immersed in his work.

He obviously did not want to discuss the past, she thought darkly. Perhaps he felt guilty about the way he had treated her. She didn’t know and she told herself that she didn’t care. She knew from experience that he would resent any disturbance while he was working and she stared bleakly out of the window, wishing she found it as easy to dismiss him from her thoughts.

She must have been the only member of the Dyer household who had forgotten the dinner party planned to honour the potential saviour of Heston Grange, Emily recalled as memories of her first meeting with Luc filled her mind. Rushing in from the stables in her muddy jodhpurs, she had stumbled to a halt, her embarrassment excruciating when she’d viewed her elegant sisters and silently seething mother, but everything had faded to insignificance when she’d caught sight of Jean-Luc Vaillon for the first time.

The world really could tilt on its axis, she thought with a rueful smile, remembering the way she had literally grabbed hold of the back of a chair for support when he’d surveyed her with his cool grey stare. With his amazing facial bone structure and lean, hard body, he had been the sexiest man she had ever met and she had been unable to repress a shiver when he’d trapped her startled gaze with his, the gleam of amusement in those silvery depths warning her that he was aware of the effect he’d had on her.

Conscious of her mother’s impatience, she fled upstairs to change into her serviceable navy-blue dress and spent the evening peeping at Luc from beneath her lashes, leaving her sisters to impress him with their sparkling conversation. The head of Vaillon Developments was irresistible with his suave good looks and seductive charm, but despite her sisters’ frantic efforts to capture his attention, Emily glanced up several times during dinner to find him watching her. Embarrassment saw her quickly drop her gaze, but throughout the evening he continued to regard her with a mixture of amusement and another, indefinable emotion in his dark grey eyes.

‘I have a feeling you are happier in the company of horses than humans,’ he remarked a few days later, when he suddenly appeared in the stables. He had accepted her parents’ suggestion to stay at Heston and discuss plans for its possible acquisition, but Emily was too shy to respond to his friendly charm and went out of her way to avoid him.

His husky French accent caused a delicious shiver to run all the way down to her toes, and she blushed and half hid her face against the mane of her darling Arab stallion, Kasim.

‘I find horses are generally less complicated,’ she agreed huskily, and his slow smile took her breath away. He remained chatting for several minutes, displaying an impressive knowledge of horsemanship, although she had been too tongue-tied to respond and afterwards had been furious with herself. She must have appeared a halfwit, but surprisingly he came again the next day, and the next, requesting that she ride out with him, and it was during those blissful excursions through the New Forest that she found herself falling in love with him.

What a fool she’d been, she now thought bitterly, to believe that the charismatic multimillionaire Frenchman would really be interested in a plain little nobody like her. Common sense should have warned her that he must have a hidden agenda, especially when he’d proposed to her so soon after they’d first met. She had ignored her doubts, swept away by his passionate kisses when he’d followed her into the stables and pulled her down into the hay. He’d overwhelmed her senses. She’d loved the way he’d made her feel, loved him and amazingly he’d seemed to want her, too.

Their wedding, in the magnificent grounds of Heston Grange, had been like a fairy-tale, a dream come true, and the dream had lasted for the whole of that first weekend when he had whisked her off to Paris. She had been a virgin on her wedding night, due only to his iron self-control. The memory of the way he had made love to her for the first time still brought tears to her eyes. He had been so tender, so gentle, treating her reverently as if she were made of the finest porcelain. Her untutored body had been eager to learn and his tenderness had given way to a fierce passion that should have shocked her but had only made her love him more.

Unfortunately their arrival back in London had signalled the end of the fantasy. Luc was always busy and always with Robyn, and Emily had resented the elegant American’s close relationship with her husband as she’d struggled to fit in to her new life. As her insecurity grew so did the rows, but six months after the wedding Luc suddenly announced he had a break in his busy work schedule and was taking her on a belated honeymoon. It should have been an ideal time to repair the holes in their marriage, but instead the queasiness she had been suffering from for the past few weeks increased and on arrival at their remote island destination, she fainted. A result of dehydration and hormones, the doctor cheerfully informed her before he dropped the bombshell that she was expecting a baby and one glance at Luc’s shocked face warned her that the fairy-tale was over. The moment he discovered she was pregnant their marriage died.

‘We’ll be landing in an hour,’ Luc suddenly informed her, his cold, clipped tone interrupting her thoughts, although he barely bothered to lift his eyes from his computer screen as he addressed her. ‘I’m sure you remember the way to the bathroom.’

‘I don’t need it, thank you,’ she replied, stung by his indifference. This time he did look up, his brows raised fractionally in disdain.

‘You need to tidy yourself up,’ he told her bluntly, unmoved by the stain of colour that flooded her cheeks. ‘You’ll find your luggage in the bedroom. Hopefully you have something to wear in that vast suitcase that is a little less loud.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Emily said sweetly, her chin coming up. ‘The larger suitcase contains Jean-Claude’s clothes, and this is one of my more discreet outfits.’

‘Then we need to go shopping as a matter of urgency. You look like a tramp,’ he told her, calmly ignoring her gasp of outrage. ‘Your gaudy clothes might be suitable wear for an artists’ commune but you are not a hippy—you are my wife and I expect you to dress accordingly.’

‘You can go to hell. I’d rather run around naked than allow you to buy my clothes,’ Emily snapped furiously, and his mouth curved into an insolent smile that still did strange things to her insides.

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