It Started With One Night: The Magnate's Mistress / His Bride for One Night / Master of Her Virtue

It suddenly struck Max as he opened the squeaky iron gate and walked up onto the small front porch that Tara’s upbringing would not have been filled with luxuries. He recalled how awestruck she’d been the morning after the first night they’d spent together, when she’d walked through the penthouse and oohed and aahed at everything.

For the first time, a small doubt entered his mind about her falling pregnant. Could she be lying about it having been a rare accident? Could she have planned it? Was it a ploy to get him to marry her?

If it was, she would have to be the cleverest, most devious female he had ever known.

No, he decided as he rang the doorbell. The Tara he knew and loved was no gold-digger. She had a delightfully transparent character. She wasn’t capable of that kind of manipulative behaviour. She was as different from the Alicias of this world as chalk was to cheese.

That was why he loved her so much.

The door opened and Max peered down into eyes which were nothing like Tara’s. In fact, the short, plump, dark-haired woman glowering up at him was nothing like Tara at all, except perhaps for her nose. She had the same cute little upturned nose.

‘You’ve wasted your time coming here, Mr Richmond,’ she said sharply. ‘You should have rung first.’

‘I thought it best to speak to Tara in person. I did try to ring last night from the airport, but Tara must have taken the phone off the hook. She wasn’t answering her mobile, either. Look, Mrs Bond, I can understand your feelings where I’m concerned. You think I’m one of those rich guys who prey on beautiful young girls, but you’re wrong. I love your daughter and I would never do anything to hurt her. Now, could you tell her that I’m here, please?’

His words seemed to have taken some of the anger out of the woman’s face. But she still looked concerned. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She’s not here.’

‘What? You mean she’s gone to work, even after she knew I was coming?’

‘No. She left here last night. Packed a bag and took a taxi to I don’t know where.’

Max’s astonishment was soon overtaken by frustration. The woman had to be lying. ‘What do you mean you don’t know where? That’s crazy. You’re her mother. She would have told you where she was going.’

A guilty colour zoomed into the woman’s cheeks. ‘We had an argument. She was angry with me for making her tell you about the baby. And I was angry with her for hanging up on you, then taking the phone off the hook. I thought she was being silly. And stubborn. I…I…’

Joyce bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. If only she could go back to yesterday. She’d handled the situation terribly from the moment Tara had told her about the baby. After the initial shock had worn off, she’d begun badgering the girl about telling Max and demanding that he marry her. When Tara threw back at her that men these days didn’t marry girls just because they were pregnant, Joyce had been less than complimentary over the morals of men like Max Richmond, and the silly girls who became involved with them. By the time the man himself had rung last night, Joyce had been determined to somehow let him know that Tara was having his baby.

She’d thought she was doing the right thing. But she’d been wrong. It had not been her decision to make. Tara was a grown woman, even if Joyce had difficulty seeing her daughter as that. To her, she would always be her baby.

‘I don’t know where she’s gone. Honestly, Mr Richmond,’ she said, her head drooping as tears pricked at her eyes.

‘Max,’ he said gently, feeling genuinely sorry for the woman. ‘I think it’s about time you called me Max, don’t you? Especially since I’m going to be your son-in-law.’

Joyce’s moist eyes shot back up to his. ‘You…you mean that? You’re going to marry my Tara?’

‘If she’ll have me.’

‘If she’ll have you. The girl adores you.’

‘Not enough to stay here when I asked her to.’

‘I was partly to blame for that. I…I didn’t handle the news of her pregnancy very well.’

‘Don’t worry, neither did I. Did she say something before she left?’

‘She said to tell you she had to have some time by herself. Away from everyone telling her what to do. She said it was her body and her life and she needed some space to come to terms with the situation and work out what she was going to do. I spoke to Jen after she left. Jen’s her older sister, by the way…’

‘Yes, I know all about Jen.’

‘You do?’ Joyce was surprised.

Max’s smile was wry. ‘We do talk sometimes, Tara and I.’

The implication sent some pink into Joyce’s cheeks. But truly, now that she’d met the man in the flesh, she couldn’t blame Tara for losing her head over him. He was just so handsome. And impressive, with an aura of power and success about him. A wonderful dresser too. That black suit must have cost a small fortune.

‘You were saying?’ he prompted. ‘Something about Tara’s sister.’

‘Oh, yes, well, I thought at first that Tara might have gone there, so I called Jen. I was probably on the phone when you rang from the airport. Tara had taken it off the hook but I put it back on later. Much later, I guess,’ she added sheepishly. ‘Anyway, she wasn’t there and Jen didn’t know where she might have gone. I was feeling awful because I thought I’d made her run away. But Jen said it was also because she was frightened you might try to talk her into getting rid of the baby when you got here.’

Max was appalled. But he could see that it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.

‘And there I was,’ he said wearily, ‘worrying that she might do that.’

‘Oh, no. Tara would never have an abortion. Never!’

‘I’m glad to hear that. Because she’d never get over it, if she did. She’s far too sweet and sensitive a soul.’

Joyce was touched that he knew Tara so well. This was not a man who wanted her daughter for her beauty alone. ‘You…you really love Tara, don’t you?’

‘With all my heart. Clearly, however, she doesn’t believe that. And I have only myself to blame. I’ve been thinking about our relationship all night on the plane and I can see I’ve been incredibly selfish and arrogant. People say actions speak louder than words, but not once did I stop to think what my actions were shouting to Tara. No wonder she had no faith in my committing to her and the baby. All I’ve ever given her were words. And words are so damned cheap. I have to show her now that I mean what I say. But first, I have to find her. Do you think you might invite me in for a cup of coffee, Mrs Bond, and we’ll try to work out where she might have gone?’

‘Joyce, Max,’ she said with a smile which did remind him of Tara. ‘If I’m going to be your mother-in-law, then I think you should call me Joyce.’

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_a8258c35-0fa6-596b-9e04-df68c585fba8)

MAX waved Joyce goodbye through the taxi window, feeling pleased that he’d been able to make the woman believe that his intentions towards Tara were, at last, honourable. Not an easy task, given the way he’d treated her daughter this past year.

Joyce had not been backward in coming forward over his misdeeds. He was accused of having taken Tara for granted. Of neglecting her shamefully. But worst of all, of not caring enough to see how a girl like Tara would feel with his not making a definite commitment to her a lot sooner.

She’d poo-poohed Max’s counter-arguments that Tara hadn’t wanted marriage and children up till this point any more than he had.

‘Tara needs security and commitment more than most girls,’ she’d explained. ‘She was more upset at losing her father than her older sister, yet Tara was only three at the time. She cried herself to sleep every night for months after the funeral. Having met you, I think, in a way, you are more than a lover to her. You are a father figure as well.’

Max hadn’t been too pleased with this theory. It had made him feel old. He didn’t entirely agree with it, either. Maybe Joyce didn’t know her daughter as well as she thought she did. The grown-up Tara was a highly independent creature, not some cling-on. Yes, she was sensitive. And yes, she probably needed reassurance at this time in her life. But he didn’t believe she thought of him as a father figure. Hell, she didn’t even think of him as a father figure for their baby! If she had, she wouldn’t have run away like this.

‘Where in heaven’s name are you, Tara?’ he muttered under his breath.

‘You say somethin’, mate?’ the taxi driver asked.

‘Just having a grumble,’ Max replied.

‘Nothin’ to grumble about, mate. The sun’s out. We’re winnin’ the cricket. Life’s good.’

Max thought about that simple philosophy and decided he could embrace it, if only he knew where Tara was.

He and Joyce decided she probably hadn’t gone too far at night. Probably to a friend’s house. The trouble was he’d discovered Tara had dropped all of her friends during the year she’d spent being his lady friend.

That was the term Joyce had tactfully used, although he had a feeling she was dying to use some other derogatory term, like mistress. Tara’s mother hadn’t missed an opportunity to put the knife in and twist it a little. Guilt gnawed away at him, alongside some growing frustration.