The Blackmail Baby

For the first time she was grateful that none of her family had made it to the wedding. Her mother and sister were too involved in their new life in Australia, and since Chloe had decided not to go with them it was almost as if they’d forgotten she existed. And of course her father was not there. She didn’t even know where he was—or if he was still alive.

She drew in a deep breath and forced herself into action. She’d thought that this was the happiest day of her life, but Lorenzo had woken her up from that fairy tale with a merciless jolt. Now she’d have to hurry if she wanted to have any chance of making a clean getaway. And at that moment all she wanted was to be as far away from Lorenzo as possible.

She pulled her faux fur hat tight onto her head to completely cover her light blonde hair and obscure her face as much as she could. Then she turned up the collar of her long coat and slipped out into the corridor, heading towards the side staircase that led to the palazzo’s water gate.

She knew there’d be many boats at the Grand Canal entrance, waiting to ferry the wedding guests back to their hotels after the reception, and she needed transportation to get across the lagoon to the airport as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much time before the last plane left the city that night.

Disguised in bulky winter layers, she didn’t look anything like the petite blonde bride who had arrived that day, radiant with happiness and fresh from her wedding ceremony—and she desperately hoped that no one would recognise her. She couldn’t bear it if one of Lorenzo’s security staff dragged her back inside—back to Lorenzo.

She shivered as she climbed into a water taxi and gave directions for Marco Polo Airport. An icy wind that felt as if it had blown straight from the frozen spires of the Dolomites sliced right through her and started her shivering deep inside.

That afternoon the sparkling flurries of snow had seemed beautiful and romantic. Now the weather seemed unrelenting and cruel.

But at least she’d got away from the palazzo unchallenged, and was on her way across the dark lagoon to the airport. The windows of the boat were completely misted over so that she couldn’t see anything, and the movement of the water was making her feel sick.

Suddenly the night seemed impenetrable—a swirling black and white uncertainty, with no visible landmarks. And her heart was breaking into a million tiny fragments that were no different from the icy shards of snow blowing down from the mountain peaks, to be swallowed up by the ink-black water of the lagoon.

Lorenzo stood outside on the balcony, staring into the snowstorm in a temper that was as foul as the night. The snow was falling so thickly that the lights shining from the buildings on the other side of the Grand Canal were just a dim glow, and there was no way to see any distance across the open water.

Not that there was anything to see. Chloe was gone.

She had boarded the final commercial plane to leave the city that night, and now the weather made it impossible for him to follow—even in his private jet.

He swore bitterly, gripping the balustrade with fingers that were as cold and hard as the stone beneath them.

He knew where she was almost certainly heading—to the home of her best friend, Liz, in a small village south of London. But as a precaution he had people waiting at Gatwick Airport to track her onward journey and to confirm her final destination.

It was not a long flight. In fact she was probably nearly there by now. He lifted his arm automatically to check his wristwatch, and cursed again as he saw that the face of his watch and his dark wedding suit were covered with icy white snow.

He turned abruptly and stepped into the bedroom, dashing the snow away with rough, impatient sweeps of his hands. But it was already melting with the heat of his body, so he shrugged his wet jacket off and tossed it aside.

Suddenly he froze—staring down at the wedding dress Chloe had abandoned on the bed. His heart thudded violently in his chest and he felt his blood surge angrily through his veins.

How dared she walk out on him like this?

How dared she turn tail and run away into the night?

The end of their marriage was not her decision to make on a whim, simply because he had quashed her sentimental outburst.

But that was immaterial now. He did not know or care whether her declaration of love had been a calculated ploy. Or if it had been a simple misguided notion brought about by the grandeur of the occasion. It made no difference now. By running away she had sealed her fate. Their marriage was over.

He picked up the dress and found himself picturing how sexy Chloe had looked wearing it. He’d spent most of the afternoon imagining peeling it slowly off her delectable body.

He had truly believed that she would be a good wife. That she would make a good mother for his heirs.

But their union had been short-lived—finished before it had even begun.

A sudden, unwelcome memory flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists, unaware that he was crushing the delicate fabric in his hands. This was not the first time someone had walked away from him at the palazzo. But no one would ever get away with it again.

He looked down at the soft silk dress. Then, with an abrupt, violent movement, he threw it savagely out onto the balcony.

He stood, staring at it for a moment, forcing himself to breathe slowly and consciously bringing his pounding heartbeat back under his control. In the eerie light of the storm the dress already looked indistinguishable from the snow that had settled on the stone balcony. If the weather didn’t let up, it would soon be covered.

He slammed the glass door shut. Then he turned his back and walked away.

Chapter Two

Three months later.

IT WAS a beautiful day in early May. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. And Chloe stood at the graveside of her best friend, holding an orphaned baby in her arms.

It was almost impossible to believe—but it was true. Liz, baby Emma’s mother, had really gone. Chloe had had three months to come to terms with the fact that her dear friend was losing her battle against cancer, but somehow her death had still come as a shock.

She’d flown from Venice on that bitter night in February and travelled straight to Liz’s country village home. She’d been desperate to see her friend—partly to talk about what had happened with Lorenzo. But mostly just to seek the comfort of her company.

But when Liz had opened the door of her cottage and beckoned her inside, Chloe had known at once that something was wrong. The cancer that they’d hoped and prayed would stay in remission had come back.

Liz had delayed telling Chloe because she didn’t want to spoil what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—her wedding day. And even more heartbreaking was the news that the disease had progressed too far for the doctors to save her.

Chloe looked down at the baby snuggled in her arms, feeling cold and empty. The May sunshine did nothing to take the chill away, and at that moment she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She recognised the concerned voice of Gladys, Liz’s kindly neighbour. The old lady had been an incredible support during the past weeks. She’d helped to keep up her spirit at the bleakest of times, and offered to look after the baby, enabling Chloe to spend as much time as possible with Liz at the hospital, and then later on at the hospice.

Chloe turned and tried to make her smile convincing, although she knew Gladys was unlikely to be fooled.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

‘It was a lovely service,’ Gladys said. ‘The readings Liz asked for were beautiful.’

Chloe nodded, swallowing against the hard lump of sorrow that was constricting her throat. She had found the funeral almost unbearable. The pain of losing her best friend was still too raw. Liz had been too young to die. And baby Emma was too young to lose her mother.

‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get back to the cottage,’ Gladys said gently. ‘They’ll all be waiting for me by now.’

‘Thank you for inviting everyone back for tea,’ Chloe said gratefully. It had been thoughtful of the old lady to offer to host a small gathering after the funeral, and something Chloe just didn’t feel up to.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ Gladys brushed her thanks aside. ‘You’ve got your hands full with little Emma. And you’ve already done so much.’

‘I only did what anyone would have done,’ Chloe said.

‘No, not anyone,’ Gladys said stoutly. ‘You took good care of your friend during a difficult time. And now you are doing a wonderful thing—taking on her baby as your own. Liz was truly blessed to have a friend like you.’

Chloe pressed her trembling lips together and tried to smile at her. She knew Gladys meant well, but at that moment it was hard to think of Liz as blessed. She’d suffered so much, only to have her life snatched away by cancer.

‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village, she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.

She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.