Аннотация к произведению His Unknown Heir - Шантель Шоу

About the Author

‘I want to know where our relationship is going,’ Lauren said with quiet dignity.

Sick fear churned in her stomach. Under ordinary circumstances Ramon’s forbidding expression would have warned her not to proceed with a conversation that felt horribly as if it was going to smash full-pelt into a brick wall. But these were not ordinary circumstances. She was pregnant with his child, though he didn’t know it yet, and her instinct to do the best for her baby was more important than her pride.

‘Tell me honestly: do you envisage us having any kind of future together?’ she asked quietly. ‘Or am I just another blonde to temporarily share your bed?’

His silence confirmed what her heart already knew.

HIS

UNKNOWN HEIR

CHANTELLE SHAW

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my wonderful mother-in-law Julia, my other mum.

Thank you for all your encouragement.

About the Author

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. She’s been an avid reader from an early age. Her schoolfriends used to hide their books when she visited—but Chantelle would retreat into her own world, and still writes stories in her head all the time. Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years, and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon® as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women, and even stronger-willed sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, walking, and eating chocolate (followed by more walking!). Catch up with Chantelle’s latest news on her website: www.chantelleshaw.com

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.

Just as she had as a little girl, when she had witnessed her pony bolt out of the field into the path of a lorry, or as a teenager when she had watched her adored father walk down the garden path and out of her life for ever.

She stepped away from Ramon and clutched the edges of the bustier together, her hands shaking. ‘A mistress is a kept woman, and you do not keep me. I have my own flat, a job, and I pay my own way.’

‘You virtually live at my apartment when I am in London,’ Ramon reminded her tersely. He was frustrated that Lauren was wasting time arguing when all he could think about was thrusting his throbbing erection between her soft thighs.

‘True. But I keep the fridge stocked with your favourite foods—including caviar and champagne—and I take your suits to the cleaners. They are only little things, I know, but I try to balance out our living costs fairly.’

Irritated beyond measure, Ramon raked a hand through his hair. How on earth had he allowed his affair with Lauren to evolve into such cosy domesticity that she dealt with his dry-cleaning? That was the sort of thing a wife did, not a mistress. And how were they even having this conversation when seconds ago they had been on the verge of making love?

Having sex, he corrected himself. Love was certainly not a factor of their relationship. Yes, she had become important to him, he admitted. More so than he had realised until he’d spent the past couple of weeks missing her like hell. But, whether she agreed or not, she was his mistress. The course of his life had been determined from birth, and the responsibilities that came with being a member of the Spanish nobility meant that she could never be anything else.

Tension thrummed between them, and the unedifying label of mistress drummed in Lauren’s brain. She had thought they were lovers who shared an equal relationship, but clearly Ramon did not view her in that way. Her voice sounded rusty when she forced herself to speak. ‘I…need to know where we’re going,’ she said baldly.

Dark eyebrows winged upwards in an expression of arrogant amusement, and sherry-brown eyes rested insolently on the unlaced bustier that she was clutching across her breasts. ‘I had thought we were going to bed,’ Ramon drawled.

The flare of hurt in her eyes tugged on his conscience, and he cursed his quick temper. But, Dios mio, she had started this ridiculous conversation. He was tempted to snatch her back into his arms and kiss her until she melted into submission, but she looked as fragile as spun glass tonight—something he had only just noticed, he thought grimly. He wondered if she was ill. She was certainly upset. But why was she insisting on defining the nature of their affair when it worked perfectly well for both of them without the need for explanation?

‘I mean where our relationship is going,’ Lauren said with quiet dignity.

Sick fear churned in her stomach. Under ordinary circumstances Ramon’s forbidding expression would have warned her not to proceed with a conversation that felt horribly as if it was going to smash full-pelt into a brick wall. But these were not ordinary circumstances. She was pregnant with his child, and her instinct to do the best for her baby was more important than her pride.

‘Tell me honestly: do you envisage us having any kind of future together?’ she asked quietly. ‘Or am I just another blonde to temporarily share your bed?’

His silence confirmed what her heart already knew.

Ramon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have never made false promises, or led you to believe that I wanted more than an affair. You never hid the fact that your career plays a major part in your life, and I thought you were content with a relationship that did not put the pressure of unrealistic expectations on either of us.’

She had never had expectations, Lauren thought sadly. But she had hoped that she was beginning to mean something to him. How could she have been such a fool? she asked herself angrily. She had been blinded by her love for Ramon, and had kidded herself that the companionship they shared was proof that he cared for her. Now she knew that he had only ever regarded her as a convenient mistress—who provided sex and entertaining conversation on demand, but never made demands of her own.

As for her career… Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach. She had worked hard to become a lawyer, and undoubtedly her job was important to her. But in eight months time she was going to take on the most important role a woman could fulfil—and it looked increasingly as though she was going to be bringing up her baby on her own.

She stared at Ramon’s perfectly sculpted features and her heart clenched. ‘Things change,’ she said huskily. ‘Life can’t stay the same or we would stagnate. How do you see your future, Ramon? I mean…’ her voice shook slightly ‘…do you ever want to marry?’

This was not how he had envisaged spending his first night back in London, Ramon thought furiously. Up until now he had been clinging to the hope that this new Lauren, who had broken the unwritten rules of their liaison by demanding to discuss it, would suddenly metamorphose back into the familiar, delightfully easygoing Lauren, whose sole aim had always seemed to be to please him in bed. He was outraged that she had brought up the thorny subject of marriage, but now that she had asked he did not intend to lie to her.

‘The Velaquez family are among the oldest members of the Spanish nobility, and can trace their ancestors back to the eleventh century,’ he told her harshly. ‘As the only son of the Duque de Velaquez it is my duty to marry a bride from another aristocratic Spanish family and provide an heir to continue the bloodline of Velaquez.’

‘You’re the son of a duke?’ Lauren said faintly, stunned by the revelation. She had thought that the supreme self-confidence which sometimes revealed itself as arrogance was simply his nature. But he was a titled member of the Spanish nobility—it was small wonder he had a regal air about him.

‘The title will pass to me on the death of my father,’ Ramon said tersely, feeling a shaft of pain when he thought of his father’s prognosis. The Duque had always been a strict, rather remote parent, and Ramon’s childhood had been dominated by rules and stifling formality, but sadly lacking in displays of affection. He had always respected his father, but it was only now that he realised he also loved him, and it was for that reason more than any other that he intended to one day fulfil his duty and marry a woman suitable to fill the role of Duquesa.

He stared grimly at Lauren, and was infuriated by the hurt he could see in her grey eyes. Dios, he had never given her any reason to believe that their affair might lead to him offering her a permanent place in his life. They had a good routine that suited both of them, and he wished they could abandon this discussion that had no purpose and lose themselves in the fiery passion that had blazed between them from the moment they had first met.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps, if he was patient, he could salvage the evening. Now that he had explained his situation to Lauren he could see no reason why their affair should not continue. Duty beckoned him, but, his father’s illness aside, he was in no hurry to sacrifice his freedom and choose a bride.

‘What is the point in worrying about the future when the present is so enjoyable?’ he murmured, stepping closer to her and lifting his hand to stroke her hair back from her face. She instantly shrank away from him, and his jaw hardened.

How could she do anything else but worry about the future? Lauren thought wildly. ‘Let me get this straight. You intend to marry—not necessarily for love—you will choose a bride who is of suitably noble birth in order to have a child—presumably it will have to be a boy—who will carry on your family name,’ she said slowly.

Ramon’s mouth tightened at her insistence on carrying on with the conversation when he had made it clear that he wanted to drop it. ‘As I have explained, it is my duty to ensure the continuation of the Velaquez line,’ he said curtly. ‘When my father dies I will return to Spain to live at the historic family home, the Castillo del Toro, and it is important that I have a son who will one day take my place.’

‘You live in a castle!’ Maybe this was all part of some horrible nightmare, Lauren thought desperately, and soon she would wake up and find that Ramon had not turned into an icy stranger who inhabited the rarefied world of the Spanish nobility which an ordinary English lawyer from Swindon could never belong to.

Duty was such a cold word, she thought with a shiver. Ramon did not sound as though he planned to have a child because he wanted to be a father, but because it was necessary for him to produce an heir. But would he want the baby she was carrying? Would he demand that she marry him so that his half-English child would be his legal heir? Or—and this seemed more likely—would he offer her money? Maybe buy somewhere for her and the baby to live and pay his illegitimate child the occasional duty visit, retaining his freedom to marry a woman suitable to be his duquesa, who could give him a child with noble Spanish blood running through its veins?

A primitive maternal instinct to protect her child swept through Lauren. She stared at Ramon and saw him for what he really was—a ruthless billionaire businessman. It struck her then that she had never known him at all. He had acted the role of charming lover, but he had never allowed her to see the real man, the son of a duque, whose home was a castle. And in that moment she decided that she must keep her baby a secret from him. Ramon needed an heir to continue the Velaquez name, but her baby deserved a father who would love it unconditionally. It would be better for her child to have no father at all than one who did not love it, and would perhaps make him or her feel inadequate and not worthy of the Velaquez name.

Never the most patient of men, Ramon had suddenly had enough of being grilled by Lauren. ‘Is there any point to this conversation?’ he demanded explosively.

She hesitated, sure that the painful thudding of her heart could not be good for the baby. ‘I think there is,’ she said sombrely. ‘I felt it was time to establish what kind of relationship we have, and it’s clear that we view things very differently. I am not your mistress,’ she insisted fiercely, when he lifted his brows sardonically.

His eyes dropped deliberately to the sexy silk bustier that barely covered her breasts. ‘Yet, like a good mistress, you dressed to please me,’ he drawled, his mouth curving into a hard smile when she blushed scarlet and frantically pulled the laces together. ‘A mistress is all you can ever be to me, querida.’ He could not pretend that there were any other possibilities.

The careless endearment tore at her heart, but she refused to cry in front of him. The tears could come later, when she was alone—which was likely to be for a very long time, she thought dismally.

‘In that case I would like to go home,’ she whispered. ‘And…and I won’t be coming back.’

Incredulity ripped through Ramon, but his disbelief that Lauren appeared to be dumping him swiftly turned to outrage. Although he had ended more affairs than he cared to remember, no woman had ever broken up with him before.

‘Dios! What do you expect from me?’ he demanded furiously. ‘Would you rather I made false promises I can never keep?’ He did not want to lose her, but he was certainly not going to plead with her to change her mind. It was not as if he needed her. There were plenty more attractive blondes willing to share his bed.

He regarded her arrogantly, the noble lines of his illustrious ancestry etched onto his perfectly sculpted features. ‘If you really want to leave then I will arrange for my driver to take you home,’ he informed her in an icy tone. ‘But once you walk out of the door our arrangement is over, and I will not have you back.’

Lauren felt numb beyond words as it hit her that this really was the end. ‘I just want to go,’ she said huskily. She stiffened when he caught her chin and forced her face up to meet his angry gaze. Tension throbbed between them. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and she despaired that she would have the strength to resist him, but then he swore savagely and flung her from him.

‘Go, then,’ he said savagely. And without another word she fled.

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