The Gold Collection

EPILOGUE

MELLOW September sunshine bathed the Casa di Colombe in golden light. In the courtyard Rebekah was collecting herbs to use in the new recipe she was planning to make for dinner. Her first cookery book had been such a success that she had been commissioned to write another one, and this time her recipes were influenced by traditional Tuscan dishes.

She glanced up at the sound of excited laughter and smiled at the sight of her son, held in his father’s arms, trying to catch the spray from the fountain in his chubby hands.

‘Easy, tiger,’ Dante murmured as he held the wriggling baby a little tighter. ‘He’s so strong,’ he said proudly. ‘And so determined to get into the water,’ he added ruefully as he moved away from the ornamental pool and Leo gave a loud yell of protest.

‘He likes to have his own way—just like his father,’ Rebekah said drily. She had experienced Dante’s forceful personality ten months ago, when in the space of a week he had arranged their wedding and booked a honeymoon in the Seychelles. They had married in the tiny chapel in Wales close to her parents’ farm. Her father had given her away, and her seven brothers and their families had packed the pews. Rebekah had worn an exquisite white silk and lace dress and carried a bouquet of pink roses, and her five little nieces had acted as bridesmaids.

She recalled how her heart had leapt when she had walked towards Dante and seen his love for her blazing in his silver-grey eyes. He had looked breathtakingly handsome in a tuxedo. But he looked just as gorgeous now, she thought as she skimmed her gaze over his denim shorts and bare chest. His skin was dark olive after the month they had spent in Tuscany and she could not resist running her fingers through the whorls of black hairs that arrowed down over his flat abdomen.

‘If our son would deign to take a nap, I would take you upstairs to bed and make love to you,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting with sensual promise that sent a quiver of longing through Rebekah.

‘He doesn’t look very tired,’ she said doubtfully as she lifted Leo into her arms and her heart melted when he gave her a wide smile that revealed his solitary tooth. She hugged the baby tightly and felt a fierce surge of emotion. ‘He’s amazing, isn’t he? It’s hard to believe he had heart surgery three months ago.’

There had been no complications with Leo’s birth, and he had fed and thrived so well that when he was three months old the doctors had decided he was strong enough to undergo the operation to repair his heart defect. The few days he had spent in intensive care had been the most nerve-racking ordeal of Rebekah’s life, but the worrying time had brought her and Dante even closer and she did not know how she would have coped without his support. Fortunately Leo’s quick recovery had been nothing short of miraculous and now, at six months old, he was healthy, full of energy and seemed to require remarkably little sleep.

‘I think he’ll drop off,’ Dante said, watching the baby nestle against Rebekah’s neck and give a yawn. ‘And when he does I’ll have my wicked way with you.’

‘Is that a promise?’ she said teasingly.

Her soft smile stole Dante’s breath. He hadn’t known he could feel this happy, he reflected, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. For the first time in his life he felt utterly content and secure in the knowledge that his wife loved him as much as he adored her.

‘Oh, yes,’ he assured her huskily as he pulled her and their son into the circle of his arms. ‘I promise I will never stop loving you.’

His Unknown Heir

For my mother-in-law Julia, my other mum. Thank you for all your encouragement.

PROLOGUE

RAMON VELAQUEZ’S private jet touched down at London City Airport exactly on schedule. He swiftly cleared customs, and as he walked out of the airport building to his waiting limousine his chauffeur sprang forward to take his suitcase.

‘Welcome back, Mr Velaquez. I hope you had a good trip.’

‘Gracias, Paul.’ Ramon climbed into the rear of the car and rested his dark head against the plush leather upholstery. A sense of well-being swept through him when he lifted the glass of whisky and soda that had been prepared for him from the drinks cabinet. ‘It’s good to be home.’

As the car pulled smoothly away he dwelled on his unconscious use of the word home. Because of course England was not his home; he was Spanish, and immensely proud of his country and his long and noble ancestry. His true home was the Castillo del Toro, and one day—he feared in the not too distant future, when he considered his father’s health problems—he would be the new Duque de Velaquez and would live permanently at the castle, surrounded by an army of servants.

He knew from his childhood that it would be a life dictated by formality and protocol—so different from the relaxed atmosphere of his London penthouse apartment, where he employed the minimum of staff and enjoyed a sense of freedom away from the avid gaze of the Spanish media.

He felt a faint pang of guilt that he had chosen to fly from his business meeting in New York to England rather than to Spain. He cared deeply for his parents, but he had been reluctant to face another lecture about the necessity for him to marry a highborn Spanish woman and provide an heir to ensure the continuation of the illustrious family name. So he had made the excuse that he needed to be in London to deal with an urgent business matter.

Ramon knew his father, the Duque, was pleased with his dedication to Velaquez Conglomerates, but it was doubtful he would be so impressed if he knew that Ramon’s real reason for racing back to London was because he was impatient to see his English mistress.

Lauren was at her desk, reading through a complicated lease agreement, when her mobile phone rang. Her heart gave a jolt, and she scrabbled in her handbag, a smile curving her lips when she saw that the caller was Ramon. She had been on tenterhooks all day, waiting for him to call. Like a lovesick teenager in the throes of her first romance, she thought ruefully.

Of course today there was a special reason why she was anxious to speak to him, she acknowledged, feeling once again the curious sensation that she was plummeting downwards in a fast-moving lift and had left her stomach behind. She was still reeling from the shock she had received a week ago—still couldn’t quite believe it was true. It had made her desperate to hear Ramon’s voice and to feel reassured that their relationship had developed into something deeper than a casual sexual liaison.

The closeness that she sensed had grown between them over the past months was not simply her imagination or wishful thinking, she assured herself. When she had first met the enigmatic Spaniard in a nightclub six months ago her journalist friend Amy had told her that Ramon Velaquez had a reputation as a playboy—but he conducted his affairs discreetly, and his love-life was rarely reported by the English media.

Lauren had been unable to deny the fierce chemistry that had blazed between her and Ramon, but mindful of Amy’s warning, she had embarked on an affair with him accepting that he would not want a serious relationship any more than she did. She was busy with her career and sceptical of love. And yet somehow, against all the odds, a relationship had developed between them that she felt was more than simply mind-blowing sex.

Admittedly Ramon discouraged discussions about his personal life. All she really knew about him was that his family owned a famous winery in the Rioja region of Northern Spain. But in every other way they were a couple who shared a life together: companionship, laughter, a mutual appreciation of art galleries and the theatre, and frequently, of late, Ramon’s London apartment. For whenever he was in town Lauren always stayed with him.

One important lesson she had learned during their affair was that he disliked displays of emotion, and an instinctive sense of self-protection had made her keep to herself the fact that she had fallen in love with him. But now she forgot her resolve to act cool with him, and quickly answered her phone.

The sound of his gravelly, sexy accent sent a little shiver of pleasure down her spine. ‘Buenas tardes, Lauren.’

‘Ramon.’ Her voice sounded annoyingly breathless, but she had never been able to control the effect he had on her. ‘How was your trip?’

‘Successful. You must know me well enough by now, querida, to understand that I would not settle for anything less.’

Ramon had smiled at the sound of Lauren’s voice. It was good to be back in London, and even better to know that soon he would be making love to his beautiful English rose, whose demure smile hid a delightfully passionate nature.

Business had kept him in the States for two weeks, and he was impatient to relieve the ache of sexual frustration that had grown more intense with every day that he had been away. Lauren had been in his mind more often than he was comfortable with, but now was not the time to question why she had such an effect on him. He wanted her with an urgency he had never felt for any of his previous lovers, and he knew that tonight she would be gratifyingly impatient for him to take her to bed.

He almost gave in to the temptation to instruct her meet him at his apartment when she finished work, but he resisted. A leisurely meal in an exclusive restaurant would heighten his anticipation of the delights to follow, and on a practical level he had refused the bland in-flight meals served on the plane so it was not only his sexual appetite that demanded appeasement.

‘I’ve booked a table at the Vine for seven-thirty,’ he said. It was satisfying to reflect on his business trip, which had gone just the way he had planned it. As usual he had left nothing to chance, and the take-over bid had been completed with a brutal swiftness that had taken his competitors by surprise. ‘We’re celebrating.’

Lauren’s heart missed a beat, and for a few seconds her brain went into freefall before her common sense returned. She was the only person in the world who knew the result of the pregnancy test she had done a week ago. There was no way Ramon could be suggesting that they were celebrating the fact that she was expecting his baby, which must mean—Lauren’s heart gave another little flip—he had remembered it was the six-month anniversary of when they had first met.

She stared at the silk tie she had bought him after spending her entire lunch-break agonising over whether she should give him an anniversary gift. Clearly she had made the right decision. Ramon had remembered the special significance of today, and tonight, over dinner, she would tell him about the baby.

‘Wonderful,’ she murmured, unable to disguise the little tremor in her voice. Trying to hide her feelings for Ramon was always a struggle, and the knowledge that she was carrying his child made it even harder to mask her emotions.

Ramon glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll meet you at the restaurant in three hours.’

A little shiver of pleasure ran through Lauren at the thought of seeing him again, but she could not help feeling anxious at the prospect of telling him about the baby. ‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she said. ‘My afternoon meeting is going to drag intolerably.’

He had missed her, Ramon acknowledged. The thought caused his dark brows to draw together. No woman had ever been important enough in his life for him to miss being with her, and he was startled to realise just how often he had thought about Lauren while he had been away. But he did not intend to share that information with her. He did not want her to think she could ever be more to him than his mistress.

His frown deepened as his thoughts turned once more to the news that his father’s cancer had returned after a brief period of remission. This time it was incurable. Now he understood why lately the Duque had been more insistent than ever that he should choose a suitable bride—with emphasis on the word suitable, Ramon thought grimly, recalling how his father had raked up the old story of Catalina during their last conversation.

Catalina Cortez was a mistake from his past of whom he did not like to be reminded, he brooded irritably. Dios, he had been a testosterone-fuelled eighteen-year-old when he had lost his heart and his head to the gorgeous glamour model whose bountiful curves had been regularly displayed on the pages of certain top-shelf magazines. But almost two decades later his father still would not allow him to forget that he had been utterly determined to marry Catalina.

Ramon did not suppose he was the first man to have been made a fool of by love, but he had learned his lesson well and he would not be a fool again. The memory of discovering Catalina with her lover and realising that she was a slut who had only been so flatteringly eager to marry him to get her greedy hands on the Velaquez fortune still touched a raw nerve—but no more than the humiliation he had felt that his father had been proved right.

Far worse than Catalina’s treachery had been the knowledge that he had disappointed his family. But it had been a long time ago, Ramon thought impatiently. Since then he had assured his father that he was prepared to do his duty by marrying a woman suitable to be a duquesa and to beget an heir. Now it seemed that assurances were no longer enough. His father was dying and wanted to see his only son married. Duty was calling him in an ever louder voice, and the freedom to take his pleasure with mistresses was drawing to an end—for when he did marry he intended to be a faithful husband to his as yet unknown bride.

‘Ramon, are you still there?’ Lauren’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. ‘It must be a bad signal. I thought I’d lost you for a moment.’

‘I am still here,’ Ramon replied smoothly. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ He ended the call and stared out at the London traffic, conscious that his earlier feeling of contentment had evaporated.

Lauren arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, and went to the bar to wait. Butterflies were leaping in her stomach at the prospect of seeing Ramon again. She had missed him badly while he had been away, and wondering how he would react to the life-changing news she was about to tell him exacerbated her tension.

Even though her back was to the door she knew the exact moment he walked into the restaurant by the startled silence that fell, followed by a ripple of curiosity in the voices of the diners and those, like her, at the bar. She turned her head and her knees felt weak.

Six foot four, with heart-stopping good-looks and a simmering sensual magnetism, he drew interested glances wherever he went. Mainly from women, Lauren thought ruefully as she noticed an attractive brunette who was sitting at the bar attempt to gain his attention by crossing her legs so that her skirt rode up her thigh.

But who could blame the woman? Ramon was utterly gorgeous, she thought helplessly, her heart-rate quickening when he strode towards her. His dark eyes focused on her face, seemingly oblivious to every other female in the room. His superbly tailored suit drew attention to his broad shoulders and lean, hard body, while the bright lights of the restaurant danced over his bronzed, chiselled features and made his black hair gleam like raw silk. As he came nearer his sensual mouth curved into a smile that touched her soul—a smile that was just for her and made her feel as if she was special to him.

She hadn’t planned to fall in love with him. Until Ramon had swept into her life she had been scornful of love, and although she had had other relationships they had been conducted on her terms and had left her emotions untouched. But Ramon was different. From the very beginning she had felt at ease with him; he was witty and intelligent, with a wicked sense of humour, and she enjoyed his company.

The fact that he was an incredible lover who had given her the confidence to explore her intensely passionate nature was just one reason why he had captured her heart—although at this moment it was a very pressing reason, she acknowledged, conscious that her nipples had hardened and now felt acutely sensitive as they rubbed against the silk bustier she was wearing beneath her jacket.

He was so close now that she could inhale the familiar spicy scent of his cologne, and the urge to fling her arms around his neck and press her lips feverishly over his face, his mouth, was almost irresistible. But she did resist, knowing that he would be appalled by such a public display. Ramon guarded his privacy fiercely, and only ever kissed her when they were alone. But when he halted in front of her and she saw the genuine warmth in his smile she gave up trying to act cool and beamed at him.

‘You look gorgeous, querida,’ Ramon greeted her, heat flaring inside him as he raked his eyes over Lauren’s tight-fitting, pillar-box-red skirt, and settled on the tantalising confection of silk and lace visible beneath her jacket. ‘And very sexy. I’m amazed the male lawyers at your firm can concentrate on their work when you are such a delicious distraction.’

‘I wore a high-necked, very prim blouse to the office,’ Lauren assured him. ‘But I thought you would appreciate it if I changed into something more decorative.’ The low-cut black silk bustier which revealed a daring amount of cleavage had cost a fortune, but the flare of dull colour that winged along Ramon’s cheekbones told her it was worth every penny.

‘I will demonstrate my appreciation all night long,’ he promised her huskily.

The heat inside him was now a burning throb of need that was centred in his groin and caused his blood to pound through his veins. Lauren was a delectable package of honey-blonde hair and voluptuous curves, and it was not surprising he had missed her, Ramon assured himself. He was sorely tempted to pull her into his arms and plunder her pouting scarlet lips in a searing kiss until she clung to him, trembling and eager, but with an enormous effort of will he controlled himself.

It was not only the Spanish paparazzi who were fascinated by the son of one of the nation’s most prominent and wealthy families. The English media had labelled him the most eligible bachelor in Europe, and a picture of him kissing a blonde in a bar would make the kind of headlines he was determined to avoid. And so, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the floral fragrance of Lauren’s perfume, he placed his hand lightly on her waist and propelled her out of the bar.

‘I believe our table is ready.’ He dipped his head towards her as they followed a waiter, and murmured, ‘Let’s hope service is quick tonight, querida, because I am very hungry.’

The gleam in his eyes left Lauren in no doubt of his meaning, and a quiver of excitement ran the length of her spine. After two weeks apart she ached for him to make love to her. Soon they would go back to his apartment. But first—her heart skittered—first she must tell him that she was expecting his baby.

She simply did not know how he was going to react to her accidental pregnancy. For unquestionably it was an accident—caused by one forgetful moment when they had shared a shower, she remembered ruefully. She had not planned to have a baby at this stage of her life, and had spent the past week veering between panic and disbelief. But, strangely, the moment she had seen Ramon tonight the baby had become real to her—no longer simply a blue line on the pregnancy test, but a new life growing inside her, created by her and the man she loved.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Would Ramon feel the same way? He had never made any reference to the future, and although he was a wonderful lover who treated her with consideration and respect she did not know how he really felt about her. But he had invited her to dinner tonight to celebrate their six-month anniversary, Lauren reminded herself. Surely that meant something?

The waiter took their drinks order. Ramon made no comment when she requested fruit juice, because she had told him when they had first met that she disliked alcohol—although not her reasons for being strictly teetotal. The memory of how her mother had regularly drowned her sorrows in gin after her father had left them was something Lauren never spoke about to anyone.

With impressive speed the waiter returned with their drinks, and Ramon lifted his glass of champagne. ‘I’d like to make a toast—to another successful take-over bid by Velaquez Conglomerates.’

Lauren froze—until the lengthening silence became awkward, and then she hurriedly snatched up her glass of juice. ‘Oh…yes—to Velaquez Conglomerates.’ She touched her glass to Ramon’s and gave him a tentative smile, which faltered when he made no mention of the other reason they were celebrating.

‘So, tell me what you’ve been doing while I was away,’ Ramon said comfortably.

It was not a question he had been prone to asking his previous lovers, he mused. Usually he was bored to death by the details of shopping and celebrity gossip that most women seemed to find so fascinating, but Lauren was a highly intelligent corporate lawyer, and he enjoyed discussing their respective careers, or the latest political thriller by an author they both admired.

Lauren could recall little of the past two weeks other than the mind-numbing panic that had swamped her after she had discovered she was pregnant. She could think of nothing to say, and instead fumbled in her handbag and handed Ramon a small gift-wrapped package.

‘It’s a present,’ she told him when he viewed the package suspiciously, as if he expected it to blow up in his face. ‘It’s nothing, really.’ She could feel hot colour flooding her cheeks. ‘Just a little token…to celebrate our anniversary.’

Ramon stiffened, and the sense of impending disaster he had felt when he had spoken to Lauren earlier in the day settled over him like a black cloud. ‘Anniversary?’ he queried coolly.

‘It’s six months since we met. I thought that was what we were celebrating—the reason you’d arranged for us to have dinner at the restaurant where you brought me on our first date…’ Lauren’s voice trailed away. She stared at Ramon’s shocked expression and cringed with embarrassment as it became apparent that she had got things very wrong. ‘I thought you had remembered,’ she muttered, wishing that a hole would open in the floor beneath her chair and swallow her up.

Ramon regarded her in a taut silence. ‘I must admit I did not,’ he said bluntly, frowning as the implication of her words sank in. Six months! How had so much time passed without him noticing it? And how had Lauren insinuated herself into his life so subtly that he had grown used to her being there? Ordinarily he never dated women for more than a few weeks before he reached his boredom threshold. But even though she had been his mistress for half a year Lauren never bored him—either in bed or out—he acknowledged grimly. He hadn’t even been tempted to look at another woman.

His frown deepened. Dios! He had been faithful to her without realising the longevity of their affair, but now that she had made him aware of it he was shocked that he had allowed what had started off as just another casual fling to continue for so long. He felt as though it was Lauren’s fault. If she had started to irritate him—or, as so often happened with his mistresses, shown possessive tendencies—he would have ended the affair months ago. But she had been the perfect mistress: undemanding, and happy to take a discreet role in his life. Her desire to celebrate an anniversary was like a bolt from the blue. It had overstepped a line in their relationship, Ramon brooded, annoyance replacing his contentment of a few minutes ago.

‘I do not set great store by anniversaries,’ he told her curtly.

Impeccable manners forced him to untie the gold ribbon on top of the package, and he parted the wrapping paper to reveal a striped silk tie in muted shades of blue and grey. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have chosen for himself, but the realisation that Lauren knew his tastes so well did not improve his temper.

He looked up to find her watching him anxiously, and it struck him that she had seemed unusually tense since he had greeted her at the bar.

‘It’s charming,’ he said, forcing a smile as he lifted the tie from its wrapping. ‘An excellent choice. Gracias.’

‘I told you it was only a small gift,’ she mumbled, sounding defensive.

But it was not the size or the value of the present that was a problem. It was the reason why she had given it to him that disturbed him, Ramon mused. Lauren had never seemed the type who indulged in sentimental gestures, and it was disconcerting to think that he might not know her quite as well as he had believed.

Thankfully the waiter arrived with their first course, and while they ate he steered the conversation away from the contentious topic of their so-called anniversary to a discussion about the mixed reviews for a new play that had opened in the West End.

The food at the Vine was always superb, but afterwards Lauren had no recollection of what she had eaten. She ordered a camomile tea to end the meal, and sipped it frantically to try and counteract her queasiness induced by the aroma of Ramon’s coffee. Usually she loved coffee, but for the past week just the smell of it had been enough to send her running to the bathroom.

Morning sickness—which seemed to strike at any time during the day—was a physical indication that her pregnancy was real, and if she was honest she felt scared and uncertain of the future. Tell Ramon about the baby now, her brain insisted. But she could not forget his harsh tone when he had announced that he did not set much store by anniversaries, and the words I’m pregnant remained trapped in her throat.

Ramon’s reaction to her innocuous gift had been bad enough. He had made her feel like a criminal for wanting to celebrate the fact that their relationship was special to her. Clearly it was not special to him, she thought miserably. But the stark fact remained that she was expecting his baby, and sooner or later he was going to have to know.

During dinner she’d managed to smile and chat to him as if her humiliating discovery that their anniversary meant nothing to him had never happened. Ramon certainly seemed to have put it out of his mind. But when he draped his arm around her shoulders in the back of his limousine and instructed the chauffeur to take them to his apartment overlooking Hyde Park, anger slowly replaced the hurt inside her. If they did not have a relationship that was worth celebrating, what did they have? she wondered bitterly.

The car purred into the underground car park beneath his apartment block. Moments later they entered the lift and he pulled her into his arms.

‘Alone, finally,’ Ramon murmured in a satisfied voice. Lauren’s perfume tantalised his senses, and his breathing quickened when he took the clip from her chignon and ran his fingers though the mass of silky blonde hair that tumbled to her shoulders. Dios, he was hungry for her. She was like a fever in his blood. With a muttered oath he covered her mouth with his and teased her lips apart with his tongue to plunder her moist warmth.

The unsettled feeling that had dogged him throughout dinner faded when he felt her instant response. For a few moments he had wondered if he was going to have to end their affair, and he was surprised by his reluctance to do so.

But once a mistress started to mention anniversaries it was time she became an ex-mistress—because how could you celebrate what was essentially a casual sexual relationship? He had thought Lauren understood the rules, and he was relieved that it seemed now, after all, that she did. She had made no further reference to the amount of time they had been together, and when she pressed her soft, curvaceous body against him his doubts were swept away by the thunderous intensity of his desire.

He steered her out of the lift and through the front door of his apartment without lifting his lips from hers. His hands deftly tugged off her jacket and set to work unlacing the front of the sexy bustier while he backed her along the hall towards his bedroom.

How could she resist him? Lauren thought despairingly, her body trembling with anticipation. Soon he would be caressing her naked flesh. With his dark hair falling over his brow, his jacket and tie flung carelessly to the floor and his shirt now open to the waist, to reveal a muscular, bronzed chest covered with a mass of wiry dark hairs, he was lethally sexy—but, more than that, he was her world.

But she wasn’t his. The thought forced its way into her head, and her mouth quivered beneath the demanding pressure of his kiss. Her legs hit the end of the bed at the same time as he loosened the bustier and her breasts spilled into his hands.

‘I missed you, querida,’ Ramon groaned hoarsely.

But instead of his words soothing her battered pride they caused her to stiffen and draw back from him.

‘Did you miss me—or sex with me?’ she asked him tremulously, watching him with wary grey eyes when he frowned.

‘Don’t play games,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s one and the same thing. Of course I missed having sex with you. After all, you are my mistress.’

The blood drained from Lauren’s face, and she could have sworn she actually heard the ripping sound of her heart being slashed by sharp knives as her pathetic hopes crumbled to dust.

‘I am not your mistress,’ she said tightly, gritting her teeth to stop herself from wailing like a distraught child—because that was how she felt.