The Frenchman's Captive Wife

‘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.