When she had ended their affair he had told her he would not take her back, yet he had come to find her. Perhaps he had only come because of the fierce sexual chemistry between them, but what mattered was that he was here. She could no longer use the excuse that she did not know where to contact him. She was through with playing God. Ramon had a right to know that he had a son, and as soon as he woke she would tell him.
The sound of her mobile phone made her jump, and she quickly slid out of bed and hurried through to the sitting room, rifling through her handbag to answer it before it disturbed Ramon. She gave a faint smile when she saw that it was her mother calling. She’d warned Frances that Mateo invariably woke at dawn, and not to expect a lie-in.
‘Mum?’ She kept her voice low. ‘Has Matty been awake for long?’
‘Oh, Lauren…’ Frances’s voice shook. ‘Lauren, Matty’s not well.’
‘What do you mean—he’s not well?’ An icy hand of fear gripped Lauren’s heart. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He…he settled fine when I put him in his cot last night, and he slept well. But this morning I woke up when I heard him make a funny noise. It wasn’t a cry…’ Frances’s voice wavered. ‘More a sort of choking sound.’
Dear God! Lauren gripped her phone so hard that her knuckles whitened.
‘Of course I rushed into his room,’ her mother continued. ‘And, well…he seemed to be having some kind of a fit. I called an ambulance immediately, and the medics are here now. They’re going to take him to the hospital.’
‘I’ll go straight there,’ Lauren told her mother urgently, and cut the call. Her dress and underwear were scattered on the carpet—a shameful reminder of how she had become a wanton creature in Ramon’s arms last night. But at this moment she could think of nothing but being with her sick child.
Heart pounding with fear, she dragged the dress over her head and tore out of Ramon’s suite, into the lift. Once back in her own room she changed into jeans and a jumper, snatched up her overnight bag, and minutes later was racing across the hotel’s reception area. She did not allow herself to dwell on what might be wrong with Mateo. Her brain focused exclusively on the necessity to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Nothing and no one else mattered right now—not even Ramon. She did not spare him a thought.
She cannoned into Alistair Gambrill, who was standing on the hotel steps, holding a set of golf clubs. ‘Lauren, you’re up early.’ He frowned when he saw her tense expression. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Matty’s ill. I have to go,’ she called over her shoulder as she flew down the steps. There was no time to stop and talk to the senior partner. Her baby was on his way to hospital, and the devil himself would not prevent her from being with him.
Ramon gunned his Porsche along the busy North London streets. It was late on Saturday afternoon, and there was a lot of traffic as he headed in the direction of Lauren’s flat.
‘Lauren left early this morning because her son is unwell.’
Alistair Gambrill’s words played over and over in his head. Her son! Lauren had a child? Dios! His brain could not take it in. Whose child? He wanted, demanded an explanation, but all day her phone had been switched off, and his anger had increased with every abortive attempt to call her.
His mind re-ran the day, from the moment he had woken at the hotel and discovered that his bed was empty. At first he had thought she was in the bathroom, but when he had found that her clothes were gone he’d felt irritated that she must have returned to her room some time during the night. But he had reminded himself that Lauren had been upset by the idea that the other lawyers at PGH were discussing her relationship with him, and he understood her reluctance to risk being seen leaving his room.
With that in mind he had eaten breakfast in his suite and visited the hotel gym. He had only later learned from a casual remark by Alistair Gambrill of Lauren’s early departure—and the astonishing reason for it.
‘You’d never believe Matty was rushed into hospital this morning,’ Lauren said for the umpteenth time, as she watched her son crawling energetically around the sitting room. ‘He looks a hundred times better than he did when I saw him on the children’s ward.’
‘He looks a lot better than you,’ her mother commented. ‘You’re still as white as a ghost.’
‘I was worried.’ Lauren grimaced at the understatement, and tears blurred her eyes. Worried came nowhere near the stark fear she had felt as she had raced to the hospital. The possibility that Mateo was seriously ill had filled her with terror, as well as guilt that she had left him with her mother while she had attended the Valentine’s Ball. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to the wretched ball last night,’ she said thickly.
‘The doctor said that febrile convulsions are fairly common in babies when they are running a high temperature,’ Frances reminded her. ‘He confirmed that Matty has a throat infection and that the antibiotics should take effect quickly. He’s going to be fine, Lauren.’
‘I know. I just keep thinking what if it had been worse? What if he’d had something life-threatening? I couldn’t bear to lose him.’ Lauren’s voice wobbled and she lifted Mateo up and hugged him to her. ‘I love him so much.’
Her legs suddenly felt weak, and she collapsed onto the sofa. She had been feeling unwell since they had brought Matty home from the hospital a few hours ago, but had put her pounding headache and aching limbs down to the aftereffects of shock. Now she had developed a sore throat, and felt shivery. It seemed likely she had caught the virulent flu virus that had been going round the PGH offices recently. That was all she needed, she thought wearily.
The doorbell pealed. ‘That’s probably my taxi,’ Frances murmured, getting to her feet. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right if I go to Southampton tonight?’
‘Of course I will,’ Lauren assured her mother. ‘You can’t miss a world cruise—and you must go tonight if you’re to board the ship at eight tomorrow morning.’
She rested her aching head against the back of the sofa, grateful that Matty was playing contentedly with a new toy for a few minutes. She could hear voices in the hall. Maybe her mother’s taxi wasn’t here yet, and a neighbour who had seen the ambulance arrive that morning had called to ask after the baby? Footsteps sounded in the hall. She glanced towards the living room door as it opened. Her mother walked in—and then Lauren gave an audible gasp at the sight of the dark and infinitely dangerous-looking man following closely behind Frances.
Ramon! A grim-faced Ramon, whose eyes were glittering with rage. Lauren instinctively tightened her grip on Mateo and swallowed when Ramon’s gaze swung from her to her baby son.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘LAUREN—Mr Velaquez has explained that he is one of your clients…’ Frances’s voice tailed to a halt as she glanced from her daughter to the darkly handsome man whom she had invited into the flat, and who was now staring grimly at Lauren and Mateo.
Silence fell in the room. A silence that simmered with an undercurrent of tension that made Lauren’s skin prickle. She was barely aware of her mother. Her eyes were riveted on Ramon’s face. He had paled beneath his tan, his shock palpable. She could not tear her gaze from him, and she watched as his shocked expression changed to one of bitter fury.
‘So it’s true—you have a child.’ His voice was so harsh it was almost unrecognisable, his accent very pronounced. Silence stretched between them once more, shredding Lauren’s nerves, before he spoke again. ‘He is my son.’
It was a statement, not a question. The resemblance between Ramon and Matty was startling. Lauren could not have denied the truth even if she had wanted to, and she gave a tiny nod.
He swore violently, and Lauren flinched. ‘You kept my son a secret from me,’ he said hoarsely, disbelievingly. He stared at the baby and saw his own features in miniature. There was no doubt that Lauren was holding his child in her arms, but his brain was struggling to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.
And not just his eyes, he
thought as he walked jerkily across the room, moving without his usual lithe grace. His heart, his soul recognised his own flesh and blood. He did not understand how it had happened, but that was immaterial now. Lauren had given birth to his son—and had never told him.
For the second time in his life Ramon tasted the rancid bile of betrayal in his throat. The only other occasion he had felt like this was when he had been eighteen, standing in the doorway of a hotel bedroom, fixated by the sight of the woman he loved lying naked on the bed with another man.
‘Now do you see why you cannot marry this trollop?’ his father asked from behind him. ‘Catalina Cortez was never in love with you, my son. It was all a trick, devised with her lover, to seduce you into marriage so that she could claim a vast divorce settlement. You have been taken for a fool, Ramon,’ Estevan Velaquez had told him harshly. ‘But fortunately no damage has been done—except to your pride, perhaps,’ the Duque had added perceptively.
The disappointment in his father’s eyes had intensified Ramon’s humiliation, and as he had stared at Catalina he had vowed never to trust another woman again. Over the years that decision had served him well, for he had found most women to be untrustworthy. But Lauren had been different. One of the qualities he had most admired about her had been her honesty. He had spent his life surrounded by people who fawned on him and told him what they thought he wanted to hear, and he had found Lauren’s tendency to speak her mind a refreshing change.
Now he knew that she no more deserved his trust than Catalina had, Ramon thought bitterly. Lauren had not cheated on him with another man, but she had cheated him out of the first months of his son’s life, and he would never forgive her for her duplicity.
‘How old is he?’ he ground out, forcing the words past a peculiar constriction in his throat.
‘Ten months.’
Lauren bit her lip. Ramon looked shell-shocked, almost haggard, and the terrible realisation was dawning inside her that she had been wrong to keep his son a secret from him. He was a playboy Spanish duque, who had freely admitted that he viewed marriage as an unwelcome duty necessary to begat the next Velaquez heir, she tried to reassure herself. But the look of devastation in his eyes tore at her conscience.
‘Ten months?’ he repeated harshly. ‘You have kept my son from me for almost a year.’ He did a quick mental calculation. ‘You knew you were pregnant the night you ended our affair, didn’t you? Dios!’ He closed his eyes briefly, trying to take it in. ‘Why, Lauren?’
‘Lauren—what’s going on?’ Frances interrupted in a shocked voice. ‘Who is this man?’ She stared warily at the formidable stranger dressed in black jeans, sweater and a leather jacket. ‘Shall I call the police?’
‘No. It’s all right, Mum.’ Lauren took a shaky breath. ‘Ramon is Matty’s father. I…I need to talk to him, and you need to go. I think your taxi is here now. Please don’t worry,’ she begged her mother, who looked as though she was going to argue. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’
If only she could believe that, she thought a few minutes later, as she gave Frances a wave and shut the front door. Her headache had developed into an excruciating pain, as if someone was drilling through her skull. She longed to take some painkillers and lie down on her bed for a few minutes, but instead she took a deep breath and walked back into the sitting room.
Ramon was standing by the mantelpiece, studying a photo of Mateo taken when he had been a few days old. He speared her with a savage glare. ‘I don’t even know his name,’ he said, in a low tone that could not disguise his tightly leashed anger.
‘It’s Mateo.’
‘Mateo.’ Ramon spoke his son’s name with a sense of wonder. His son—his son. He still couldn’t take it in. Until now he had viewed fatherhood simply as a duty he would have to fulfil at some point in the future. He had never actually envisaged what it would be like to have a child. But now he was faced with his son, whose features so resembled his own that it was like looking at a miniature version of himself, and he felt awed that this perfect, beautiful child was his.
Matty was sitting on Lauren’s hip, his head resting on her shoulder, but he looked up enquiringly at the sound of his name and gave Ramon a gummy smile. The baby was usually wary of strangers, especially when he was tired, but to Lauren’s shock he held his arms out to his father. Ramon moved closer, his hands visibly shaking as he touched his son for the first time, and Lauren felt a sudden, irrational feeling of panic. She did not want to let Matty go, but the baby smiled happily as Ramon lifted him and held him against his chest.
‘Mateo.’ Ramon stroked his son’s silky black hair, and as he stared down into the baby’s sherry-brown eyes that were the exact same shade as his own the tidal wave of emotion that swept through him threatened to unman him. He had missed most of the first year of his son’s life. Lauren had stolen those irreplaceable months from him, and the knowledge filled him with black fury.
Lauren swallowed the tears that clogged her throat. Matty looked so small in Ramon’s arms, and the look of tenderness in Ramon’s eyes as he studied his son evoked a host of emotions in her. ‘Matty is tired,’ she said quietly. ‘He usually has a nap about now. I’ll put him in his cot.’ She held out her hands to take the baby, but Ramon shook his head.
‘I’ll take him. Show me where he sleeps.’
It would be childish to refuse, and she could hardly snatch Matty out of Ramon’s arms, she acknowledged as she reluctantly led the way down the hall to the tiny box-room that served as a nursery.
‘He’s had a traumatic day,’ Lauren explained a few minutes later, after Ramon had carefully laid Mateo in his cot.
‘Alistair Gambrill told me this morning that you had rushed home because your son was ill.’
So that was how he had found out about Matty. And now she could not deny Ramon the answers he clearly wanted. Her head felt as though it was about to split open, but she tried to ignore the pain and led the way back into the sitting room.
‘What was wrong with Mateo?’ Ramon demanded. ‘He seems to be perfectly well now.’
‘He had a fit this morning. My mother called an ambulance and he was rushed into hospital. Apparently it was what is called a febrile convulsion, brought on by a high temperature. Tests revealed that he has a throat infection, and the doctor prescribed a course of antibiotics. There should be no lasting damage, although babies who have had febrile convulsions are slightly more at risk of having them again,’ she added shakily.
Tears filled her eyes once again, although she knew it was pathetic to cry when the doctor had assured her that Matty had been completely unharmed by the fit.
She dashed her hand across her face and glanced up, to find Ramon watching her through narrowed eyes. He had taken off his leather jacket, and suddenly he flung it forcefully onto a chair, his barely leashed violence making Lauren jump.
‘Why did you do it, Lauren?’ He caught hold of her shoulders in a bruising grip that made her cry out.
‘Ramon! You’re hurting me.’
‘I could kill you,’ he snarled. His face was a hard mask, his skin drawn taut over razor-sharp cheekbones. He glimpsed the fear in her eyes and felt infuriated that even in the midst of his anger Lauren’s air of vulnerability got to him. He flung her from him, disgusted as much with himself as with her. ‘You treacherous bitch. How could you deny me my own son?’
Lauren rubbed her shoulders and stared at him with huge, wary eyes. ‘I didn’t think you would want him.’
‘You never gave me a choice.’ Nostrils flaring, Ramon fought to control his temper. ‘Why would you think that I would not want my own child?’
Lauren gave a bitter laugh. ‘Because you told me that it was your duty to marry an aristocratic Spanish bride and provide a blue-blooded heir to continue the Velaquez line. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that last night, when we went to the Vine for dinner, but you made it clear that I meant nothing to you.’
She would never forget his appalled expression when
she had given him an anniversary gift.
‘You insisted that I could only ever be your mistress. I was afraid you would think that Matty wasn’t a suitable heir—because I certainly don’t have any noble ancestors,’ Lauren continued in a low tone when Ramon gave her a scathing look. She bit her lip. ‘From the moment I walked out of your apartment I was tormented by guilt and indecision. I didn’t know what to do. I was torn between wanting to tell you that I was expecting your baby, and being afraid of your reaction. Many times—before Matty was born, and after—I brought up your number on my phone. But each time I lost my nerve and didn’t put the call through,’ she admitted huskily.
‘I didn’t want Matty to grow up feeling that he wasn’t good enough to be part of the illustrious Velaquez family.’ She voiced the fear that had gnawed at her. ‘Children need to feel valued.’ It was something she had learned when her father had left and she had realised how unimportant she was to him. ‘Although you might have been willing to marry for duty, I wasn’t.’
‘You thought it better to bring Mateo up without a father?’ Ramon accused her scathingly. ‘What right did you have to deny him one of his parents? Did you ever think about what he might want?’
Lauren paled. She had felt guilty that Matty would grow up without a father, but it had seemed preferable to an uninterested father whom she had feared would regard fatherhood as an irksome duty.
‘And how much more of his life were you going to steal from me?’ Ramon demanded furiously. ‘Would you ever have told me about him?’ His blood ran cold. ‘Or was that chance remark by Alistair Gambrill the only reason I discovered my child’s existence?’
When she did not answer, he glared at her with bitter contempt.
‘Dios! You slept with me last night, and even then you said nothing. What was all that about, anyway? Were you using me as a stud, in the hope of conceiving a sibling for Mateo?’
‘No! Don’t be ridiculous.’ Lauren’s temper flared at his outrageous accusation. ‘You came on to me, if you remember. You danced with me all evening, and took me up to your room.’
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