The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

by Kim Lawrence

‘I know,’ he said, thinking better late than never. Gutless, he thought in self-disgust. I’ve been bloody gutless. His way of dealing with his feelings for her, his solution, had been to quash them... Gutless!

  ‘Give the chef my compliments.’

  ‘Sure,’ Seb returned as the waiter took away his untouched plate, cutting off for a moment his view of his wife. His wife sitting there looking poised as a queen while inside she must be... Pride and love welled up in his aching throat. While he was eaten up with shame that he’d not been able to protect her from the truth, at least he could protect her from anything that waste of space imagined he could do. The moment this damned thing was over he’d tell her.

  It was not the only thing he planned to tell her.

  ‘A toast to our lovely hostess.’

  Seb, fighting a losing battle to control his impatience and frustration, closed his eyes and thought, Not another one!

  Maybe he said it out loud, because the woman to his right laughed. Frankly he was past caring.

  Her scattered wits were dragged back to the moment and the toast directed to her. Mari bowed her head in what she hoped passed for gracious thanks and...there was nothing, just a deep wrenching pain that made her cry out and bend forward, tumbling into blackness.

  * * *

  Mari heard voices but didn’t open her eyes. Her head felt as though it were filled with cotton wool.

  ‘Where am I?’ She lifted a hand to her head and thought, My God, I’m a walking, talking cliché.

  Except she wasn’t walking; she was lying in bed. The sudden pain in her hand made her lower it; squinting at the drip brought the memory rushing back.

  ‘The baby?’

  Seb was there; maybe he’d been there all along. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. It was there in his face.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He took her hand, the one that didn’t have the intravenous drip attached, and squeezed gently. She looked fragile enough to shatter, like a piece of semitransparent porcelain. ‘It’ll be fine.’

  He clamped his jaw and swallowed the aching occlusion in his throat. It would be; it had to be.

  For a time after the nightmare ambulance journey, when they had arrived at the hospital and he had been sidelined as the medical machine had swung into action, he had actually thought he had lost her.

  The memory was enough to return the grey tinge to his skin. He braced his hand on the metal bed frame to stop it shaking as he fought his way clear of the expanse of aching empty darkness.

  It was a place that he never wanted to visit again.

  He never wanted to think of the precious moments they could have had, moments he had wasted because he had refused to accept that there were some things you could not control—like your heart.

  * * *

  Mari sighed and closed her eyes. When she woke Seb was still there, the shadow on his chin was darker and more pronounced and he was still wearing his dinner jacket.

  ‘Why haven’t you been home?’ Then she remembered it wasn’t her home and she wanted to cry. Instead she sniffed.

  He smiled and looked beautiful and haggard as he caught her small hand between his. ‘I didn’t know what you’d get up to if I wasn’t here.’

  She struggled into a sitting position. ‘I’m so sorry, Seb.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’

  ‘Ruining your dinner. The baby, my father, everything, and don’t worry, I know what you’re going to say.’

  He arched a dark brow and looked at her really strangely, but that might be the drugs they’d given her. She did feel a bit...floaty.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Conman, jailbird father...’ She forced back the rush of emotional tears that welled in her eyes by the sheer force of her will, and delivered in a carefully flat voice, ‘No baby, the eighteen-month rule kicks in...’ Her pale lips ghosted a smile. ‘No-brainer?’

  The smile just about broke his heart. With her hair pulled back by a nurse into a ponytail she looked so young, so fragile and so beautiful it hurt...literally hurt, a physical pain. Was this heartache? Before she came into his life he hadn’t even acknowledged he had one; now he could barely think a sentence without referring to that organ!

  ‘Get Sonia to pack my things. I’ll go straight back to the flat,’ she offered bravely.

  ‘The hell you will!’

  Her eyes widened; he wasn’t being nice to her. ‘I’ll miss this,’ she sighed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You being a total jerk. Could you pass me some water? I can...’ Despite her protests, he held the glass to her lips.

  * * *

  He sat down beside her, making the mattress give. ‘I think we should talk about it, don’t you?’

  She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. Talking about it was the last thing she wanted to do. Her baby was gone, and there was just a big black gaping hole.

  ‘Look, I know you feel obliged not to throw me out because I’ve just come out of hospital, but I will be fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine.’

  His loving tone brought tears to her eyes. ‘And he’ll do it, you know...my father, and it will be much easier for you to distance yourself from the scandal if I’m not here. In fact, if I’m not here there won’t be a story.’

  ‘I don’t care about a story.’

  ‘You do. My father is a criminal.’

  ‘Yes, he is, which makes him very vulnerable to...manipulation.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I know, that’s what I love about you, but let’s just say that I have a feeling your father will be making a new life quite soon in Argentina.’

  ‘He won’t go.’ But, God, she wanted him to. Did that make her a terrible person? Her own father...?

  Seb gave a wolfish smile and kissed her. ‘I can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Well, even if he does go, I’m still his daughter, a bastard.’ She lifted her teary eyes to his. ‘I think our mother... I think she would have kept us if she could have, but he...’

  ‘I think your mother wanted you to have a better life than she had.’

  Mari nodded. ‘And I have.’

  He entwined his fingers in her small pale ones and lifted her hand to his lips, promising fervently, ‘It’s going to get even better, I promise.’

  ‘There’s no baby. You don’t have to pretend.’

  ‘The only thing I’ve pretended is that I didn’t love you, but I do. You’re my heart and soul, Mari.’

  She looked up at him, wonder shining in her eyes like stars. ‘You’re not saying this because of the mi...mi...’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Miscarriage.’ He watched her wince and said calmly, ‘We’ll adopt. I’ve been thinking about it and you were right. Why bring a new baby into the world when there are so many children out there that need homes? We could adopt two, three if you like.’

  ‘But you want a baby?’

  He bent and kissed her lips with a tenderness that brought a fresh rush of hot, emotional tears to her eyes. ‘I want you more. For a while back there...’ His voice broke and with a groan he squeezed his eyes closed.

  Mari watched, her heart thudding fast in her chest as he struggled for control, able to feel the intensity of his emotions. ‘Seb...?’ She stroked his hand.

  At the light touch his eyes opened. ‘Sorry, but...’ He swallowed hard before continuing, ‘You had lost a lot of blood, and I could never... I don’t want to run the risk.’ Fixed on her face now, his dark eyes held a shadow of the fear he had felt as he finished in a throaty whisper, ‘I couldn’t go through that again, Mari.’

  She started to weep in earnest, great gulping sobs that shook her. ‘You really love me?’

  ‘I adore you.’

  ‘But you were nice and polite to me.’

  He burst out laughing. ‘I promise I will never be polite to you again.’

  She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, pressing a fervent kiss to his palm before spreadin
g his long fingers around her cheek. ‘I love you, Seb, so very much, but I can’t stay married to you.’

  Beneath his confident smile there was a hint of wariness as he asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re a Defoe and your name means a lot to you, you’re proud of it and so you should be and I’m—’

  ‘You’re stupid,’ he completed lovingly. ‘I am proud. I’m proud of having the most beautiful woman in the universe as my wife.’

  ‘I love you, Seb.’

  ‘We have a lifetime to love. Right now you need to sleep.’

  Mari struggled to keep her heavy eyes open. ‘I can’t, I want—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll use the time to plan our wedding.’

  Her tired eyes opened. ‘We’re already married.’

  ‘I want to do it right this time... You deserve everything, my darling. A church, the dress, flowers, your foster dad to give you away. They were here, by the way, to see you, and Mark sends his love. Fleur is outside in the waiting room.’

  ‘How about your parents?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? What is a wedding without a scandal? Though you do realise that no one will be looking at us with them there?’

  Mari gave a watery smile; her eyes filled with tears that slid down her face. ‘That would all be lovely,’ she agreed. ‘But all I really want, Seb, is you.’

  He bent and pressed a long loving kiss to her pale lips. ‘You’ve had me from the moment I saw you. I was just slow catching on.’

  EPILOGUE

  ‘LOOK AT YOUR SISTERS.’

  Seb lifted his son, Ramon, up to see the babies sleeping side by side in the crib.

  The toddler’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Can I touch?’ he whispered.

  Seb nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he watched his son touch a gentle finger to each baby’s nose.

  ‘They look like Mummy,’ he said wonderingly as he stared at their golden-red curls.

  ‘They do,’ Seb agreed.

  ‘Who do I look like, Daddy?’

  Seb swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. It was sometimes hard to believe how lucky he was. The early months of their marriage had been marvellous. After a fairy-tale wedding and extended honeymoon Mari had returned to her job at the school, which had accepted her back with open arms, scandal forgotten, after they realised she was married to the family who funded ten scholarship places.

  But in the midst of their happiness, the shadow of the baby they’d lost had hung over them. It had been the arrival of Ramon, who had been one when they had adopted him, that had chased away the shadows, though not the precious memory of the baby they had lost.

  He had been more terrified than he thought possible when Mari had fallen pregnant with twins. She, who had been working part-time since the adoption went through and with typical selflessness, had given up work immediately in an effort to ease his fears. If he hadn’t had to keep it together for Ramon, Seb really thought he might have fallen apart. The little boy was a blessing in every way, and now they had two gorgeous daughters.

  ‘You look like your birth mummy, Ramon, who loved you very much.’

  ‘She went to live with the angels.’

  ‘She did,’ Seb agreed. ‘Now, quiet, we don’t want to wake the girls or Mummy, do we?’

  Seb pressed a kiss to the forehead of his sleeping wife and left the room hand in hand with his son.

  Outside, his brother-in-law, on the crutches he was due to exchange for a stick, stood waiting with his wife—Mark had married his nurse—and Fleur, who was talking to Mari’s foster parents.

  ‘You can go in,’ Ramon told them all importantly. ‘But only if you’re very quiet—right, Daddy?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And we’re proud as Punch, aren’t we?’

  ‘We are,’ Seb agreed, looking through the window to where his wife slept. ‘Very proud and very, very lucky.’

  * * * * *

  Read on for an extract from THE MARAKAIOS MARRIAGE by Kate Hewitt

  Chapter One

  ‘HELLO, LINDSAY.’

  How could two such innocuous-sounding words cause her whole body to jolt, first with an impossible joy, and then with a far more consuming dread? A dread that seeped into her stomach like acid, corroding those few seconds of frail, false happiness as she registered the cold tone of the man she’d once promised to love, honour and obey.

  Her husband, Antonios Marakaios.

  Lindsay Douglas looked up from her computer, her hands clenching into fists in her lap even as her gaze roved helplessly, hungrily over him, took in his familiar features now made strange by the coldness in his eyes, the harsh downturn of his mouth. With her mind still spinning from the sight of him, she said the first thing that came into it.

  ‘How did you get in here?’

  ‘You mean the security guard?’ Antonios sounded merely disdainful, but his whisky-brown eyes glowed like banked coals. ‘I told him I was your husband. He let me through.’

  She licked her dry lips, her mind spinning even as she forced herself to focus. Think rationally. ‘He shouldn’t have,’ she said. ‘You have no business being here, Antonios.’

  ‘No?’ He arched an eyebrow, his mouth curving coldly, even cruelly. ‘No business seeing my wife?’

  She forced herself to meet that burning gaze, even though it took everything she had. ‘Our marriage is over.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, Lindsay. It’s been six months, after all, since you walked out on me without any warning.’

  She heard the accusation in his voice but refused to rise to it. There was no point now; their marriage was over, just as she’d told him.

  ‘I only meant that all the academic buildings are locked, with security guards by the door,’ she answered. Her voice sounded calm—far calmer than she felt. Seeing Antonios again was causing memories to rise up in her mind like a flock of seagulls, crying out to her, making her remember things she’d spent the last six months determined to forget. The way he’d held her after they’d made love, how he’d always so tenderly tucked her hair behind her ears, cupped her cheek with his hand, kissed her eyelids. How happy and safe and cherished he’d once made her feel.

  No, she couldn’t remember that. Better to remember the three months of isolation and confusion she’d spent at his home in Greece as Antonios had become more and more obsessed with work, expecting her simply to slot into a life she’d found alien and even frightening.

  Better to remember how depressed and despairing she’d felt, until staying in Greece for one more day, one more minute, had seemed impossible.

  Yes, better to remember that.

  ‘I still don’t know why you’re here,’ she told him. She placed her hands flat on the desk and stood, determined to meet him at eye level, or as close as she could, considering he topped her by eight inches.

  Yet just looking at him now caused her to feel a tug of longing deep in her belly. The close-cut midnight-dark hair. The strong square jaw. The sensual, mobile lips. And as for his body...taut, chiselled perfection underneath the dark grey silk suit he wore. She knew his body as well as her own. Memories rushed in again, sweet and poignant reminders of their one sweet week together, and she forced them away, held his sardonic gaze.

  Antonios arched one dark eyebrow. ‘You have no idea why I might be here, Lindsay? No reason to wonder why I might come looking for my errant wife?’

  Errant wife. So he blamed her. Of course he did. And she knew he had a right to blame her, because she’d left him without an explanation or even, as he’d said, a warning. But he’d forced her to leave, even if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, ever understand that. ‘It’s been six months, Antonios,’ she told him coolly, ‘and you haven’t been in touch once. I think it’s reasonable to be surprised to see you.’

  ‘Didn’t you think I’d ever come, demanding answers?’

  ‘I gave you an answer—’

  ‘A two-sentence email is not a
n explanation, Lindsay. Saying our marriage was a mistake without saying why is just cowardice.’ He held up a hand to forestall her reply, although she couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘But don’t worry yourself on that account. I have no interest in your explanations. Nothing would satisfy me now, and our marriage ended when you walked away without a word.’

  Frustration bubbled through her and emotion burned in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t had so many words when she’d finally left, but that was because she’d used them all up. Antonios hadn’t heard any of it. ‘The reason I’m here,’ he continued, his voice hard and unyielding, ‘is because I need you to return to Greece.’

  Her jaw dropped and she shook her head in an instantaneous gut reaction.

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘You’ll find you can, Lindsay. You pack a bag and get on a plane. It’s that easy.’

  Mutely she shook her head. Just the thought of returning to Greece made her heart start to thud hard, blood pounding in her ears. She focused on her breathing, trying to keep it even and slow. One of the books she’d read had advised focusing on the little things she could control, rather than the overwhelming ones she couldn’t. Like her husband and his sudden return into her life.

  Antonios stared at her, his whisky-brown eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, his gaze ruthlessly assessing. In. Out. In. Out. With effort she slowed her breathing, and her heart stopped thudding quite so hard.

  She glanced up at him, conscious of how he was staring at her. And she was staring at him; she couldn’t help herself. Even angry as he so obviously was, and had every right to be, he looked beautiful. She remembered when she’d first seen him in New York, with snowflakes dusting his hair and a whimsical smile on his face as he’d caught sight of her standing on Fifth Avenue, gazing up at the white spirals of the Guggenheim.

  I’m lost, he’d said. Or at least I thought I was.

  But she’d been the one who had been lost, in so many ways. Devastated by the death of her father. Spinning in a void of grief and fear and loneliness she’d been trying so hard to escape.

  And then she’d lost herself in Antonios, in the charming smile he’d given her, in the warmth she’d seen in his eyes, in the way he’d looked at her as if she were the most interesting and important woman in the world. For a week, a mere seven days, they’d revelled in each other. And then reality had hit, and hit hard.