Anger coursed through him—directed as much at his own stupidity as Rachel’s duplicity. He would demand proof that the child was his before he paid her a penny—because of course money was what she wanted. And then he would … what? Walk away? Could he really go back to Argentina and get on with his life, knowing that his own flesh and blood was being brought up in a field? He did not want a child, and yet if Rachel was to be believed his child would come into this world in a matter of weeks. A mixture of frustration and fury gnawed in his gut, but at the same time he could not deny a sense of wonderment at the idea of being a father.
Diego had no memory of his own father. According to his mother, Ricardo had left her for some harlot he’d picked up in Buenos Aires when he and Eduardo were babies. Lorena Ortega had married a good-for-nothing gigolo—a fact that Diego’s grandfather had frequently pointed out, before adding in the same breath that Diego was just like his father.
He could almost hear the old man now, taunting him that he was a feckless, unreliable playboy. Such was Alonso Ortega’s hatred of his son-in-law that after Lorena had divorced Ricardo Hernandez she had abided by her father’s wishes and changed her name, and that of her two sons, back to Ortega. Alonso would not have been surprised that Diego had fathered an illegitimate child. Like father, like son, he would have decreed, had he still been alive. But his grandfather would have been wrong, Diego thought fiercely, pushing his half-drunk cup of coffee aside and jerking to his feet. If he really was the father of Rachel’s baby, then he would accept his responsibilities and do what needed to be done.
Moving house was stressful at the best of times, and Rachel had discovered that moving, after spending the previous night alternating between rage and tears after her confrontation with Diego, and with a soaring temperature and a throat that felt as though she’d swallowed broken glass had sent her stress levels through the roof.
Not that she had actually moved into a house, she acknowledged as she stared around the shabby bedsit on the top floor of the Rose and Crown. But the room was marginally bigger and warmer than the caravan, and she was grateful to Bill Bailey, the landlord, for offering it to her for a very reasonable rent.
Thanks to Bill, she also had a job working as a waitress in the pub’s restaurant, at least until the baby came. Being on her feet for hours every evening made her legs and back ache, but since she could no longer ride she could not afford to be choosy about where she worked. Job opportunities for an unmarried pregnant stable-hand were not exactly thick on the ground, she thought ruefully. Since she had left Hardwick Polo Club the news of her pregnancy had flown around the village, and speculation that Diego Ortega was the father of her baby had been fuelled by Jasper Hardwick.
What she was going to do when the baby was born, she had no idea. Earl Hardwick had said he would abide by the terms of her employment contract and keep a job for her at the polo club, but in reality she knew she could not return to work at the stables when she had a baby to care for and her low wages would not cover child-care fees. She was struggling to survive now on the small amount of maternity pay she was entitled to, and without Bill’s kindness she did not know how she would manage.
The future was beginning to loom frighteningly close when she considered that she was due to give birth in the middle of February and it was already late November. One thing was certain—she would have to manage on her own, she thought grimly. Diego had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, or the baby that he refused to believe was his.
She sat on the edge of the bed and glanced wearily at the boxes that Bill had carried up the three flights of stairs to the attic flat. She really should start to unpack, but she was so cold that her teeth were chattering and she curled up in a ball, dragged the duvet over her and fell instantly into a restless doze.
Even while she was asleep her head was pounding. The insistent hammering was going right through her brain, but then suddenly, blessedly it stopped.
‘So you are here—the landlord said you were in. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. Why didn’t you open the door?’
Rachel winced as the angry growl penetrated her skull, and she forced her eyes open and peered groggily at Diego. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice sounded over-loud in her ears—she was unaware that it had emerged from her raw throat as a hoarse whisper.
There was a frown of concern on Diego’s face as he hunkered down next to the bed and placed his hand on her brow. ‘Dios, you’re burning up with a fever,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t go back to sleep, Rachel; I need to get you to a doctor.’
‘I saw my doctor two days ago,’ she told him, fighting her way out of the duvet because she was now boiling over. ‘I’ve just got a flu virus, that’s all, but I can’t take any of the usual cold remedies because of the baby.’
The mere mention of the baby caused Diego’s brows to lower ominously—although, even when he looked angry, he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on, Rachel thought bleakly. Today he was wearing pale denim jeans and a thick oatmeal sweater topped by a suede car-coat, and he looked so powerful and ruggedly good-looking that her insides melted. She pushed the duvet aside and as his eyes skimmed over her she felt horribly self-conscious of her stomach, clearly defined beneath her maternity top.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded tersely.
God alone knew—because he certainly didn’t, Diego thought grimly. All he knew was that the sight of Rachel looking so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable evoked a curious ache in his chest. He forced himself to ignore it and stood up, no flicker of warmth in his amber eyes as he stared down at her.
‘I want the truth,’ he said harshly, his accent sounding very pronounced. ‘I will ask you one more time. Who is the father of your child?’
‘You can ask me a hundred times and the answer will still be the same,’ Rachel snapped. How dared he doubt her word? She glared at him, stiff with pride and anger, unaware of how fragile she looked with her hair spilling around her shoulders and the hectic, unhealthy flush on her cheeks. ‘You are.’
Diego’s jaw clenched as bitter anger swirled inside him. Anger at himself for having been such a gullible fool, and anger at her for … for walking out on him, he owned grimly. He had felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut when he had returned to his London apartment after Ascot and found she’d gone. And now, months later, she was insisting that her body was swollen with his child. ‘I want proof,’ he said icily. ‘I did some research last night and discovered that it’s now possible to run a DNA test while a child is in the womb. You’ll have to give a blood sample, and from that the baby’s DNA can be detected with no risk to either of you.’
‘I don’t need to prove anything,’ Rachel snapped furiously. ‘You were the first and only man I’ve ever had sex with and, like it or not, this baby is yours.’
An unexpected surge of possessiveness swept through Diego at the idea that he was Rachel’s only lover. She could be lying, but he could not dismiss his memory of her rapt expression that first time he had made love to her, the look of startled wonder in her eyes when he had eased into her and joined their bodies as one. But, if she had been a virgin, why hadn’t she told him?
‘Did you plan to get pregnant?’ he growled angrily.
Rachel was so shocked by his accusation that for a moment she could not speak. ‘Did I plan it?’ she said in a tight, cold voice. ‘Do you think I want to be pregnant?’ Blinding, burning rage swept through her. ‘I have lost everything,’ she told him bitterly. ‘The job that I loved, my home—my horse.’ She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat every time she thought of Piran. ‘I had won a place with the British Show Jumping Team, but obviously I had to stand down.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I couldn’t deprive Piran of his chance to compete in the European Championships, and fortunately Peter Irving managed to find another rider to take my place. Piran now lives on his new owner’s farm in Norfolk—too far away for me to visit him,’ she said thickly.
&n
bsp; She closed her eyes wearily, blocking out Diego’s startled expression. ‘No, I didn’t plan it, and I didn’t lie to you. I was on the pill but it didn’t work properly—something to do with the antibiotics I was prescribed after I was bitten by that horse. It was just … bad luck,’ she said quietly. ‘But it’s my problem, Diego, and I’ll deal with it. I don’t want anything from you. I’ll manage fine on my own.’
Diego’s brows drew together. The conversation wasn’t going as he had envisaged. He had expected Rachel to be pleased to see him, grateful that he had given her another chance to convince him that he was the baby’s father. And he was convinced, he realised with a jolt. Even without a DNA test, his instincts told him that the child she was carrying was his—but, instead of seeming pleased that he was here, she was prickly and belligerent, and plainly unhappy about being pregnant.
His eyes were drawn to her swollen stomach and he felt a curious sensation in his chest, as if his heart were expanding. His child was growing inside her. If she was seven months along, then the baby must be fully formed—his son or daughter, and the next Ortega heir. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch Rachel’s abdomen, to feel his child move. But something in her angry stare warned him that she would not allow him the liberty of touching her, not when there was this yawning chasm of mistrust between them.
‘How do you intend to manage?’ he queried, glancing around the shabby room with its collection of old furniture and wallpaper peeling in places from the walls.
Rachel moved over to the window and looked down on the paved back yard where the pub guard dogs—two massive black Rottweilers—were prowling. She certainly wouldn’t be able to put the baby outside in the pram for some fresh air, she thought ruefully. It was yet another reminder that her situation was far from ideal.
‘I’m thinking about having the baby adopted.’
For the second time in his life Diego felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. Discovering that he was going to be a father had been shocking enough, but Rachel’s calm statement sent the oxygen rushing from his lungs. ‘How could you even contemplate such a thing?’ he grated savagely. ‘Do you think I would allow you to hand my child over to strangers?’
Something pinged in Rachel’s chest at the possessive way Diego had said ‘my child’, and for the first time since her pregnancy had been confirmed she pictured the baby as a little human being rather than an alien growing inside her and altering her body-shape out of recognition. Up until now she had viewed her unplanned pregnancy as a problem—a huge life-changing problem that she felt ill-equipped to deal with. But now, suddenly, she was intrigued by the little person that she and Diego had created. Was the baby a boy, with dark hair and his father’s tiger-like amber eyes? she wondered. And could she really give birth to this baby and then give it away?
Diego was staring at her as if she were a despicable mass murderer, and she knew she sounded defensive when she snapped, ‘Your child, Diego? Yesterday you were adamant that the baby’s father was one of my legions of lovers.’
‘And today I am prepared to accept the likelihood that the child is mine,’ he bit back tersely. He shook his head, utterly taken aback by the idea that she did not intend to keep the baby. What kind of life would this child have, he wondered grimly, deprived of that most fundamental requirement—a mother’s love? He knew what that felt like. From as far back as he could remember, his mother had disliked him and had reserved all her love for Eduardo. His grandmother had told him before she had died that his birth had taken everyone by surprise. His mother had not known she was expecting twins and his arrival into the world had been a traumatic experience for her after Eduardo’s uncomplicated birth. According to abuela Elvira, Lorena had failed to bond with her second-born son, and as Diego had grown up his resemblance to his father had caused his mother to reject him even more.
His eyes were drawn to Rachel’s belly and he felt a surge of empathy with the child she carried within her. ‘Don’t you want our baby, Rachel?’ he queried harshly.
He was doing it again—stirring her emotions with the words ‘our baby’. Rachel bit her lip as she thought back over the past few months when she had almost resented the child she had never expected to conceive. ‘It’s not that I don’t want it,’ she said shakily, ‘but, more importantly, I want what is best for the baby.’ She glanced around the dingy bedsit. ‘I don’t have the means to bring up a child, but there are hundreds of couples who are desperate for a baby, and who are in a better financial situation to give it a happy, secure upbringing with two parents who will love it.’
‘Are you saying then that you do not think we can do all those things?’
Rachel gave Diego a scathing glance. ‘There is no we, Diego. Until yesterday you didn’t know I was pregnant, and I had no way of contacting you. If you hadn’t shown up, you would never have known you had fathered a child.’
The idea that Rachel could have had his baby and handed it over to adoptive parents made Diego’s blood run cold. He was startled by the feelings of protectiveness and possessiveness that swept through him, and by the realisation that he would love his child unconditionally.
‘Tell me honestly,’ he demanded harshly. ‘If you were in a situation where you could bring up the child properly, would you want to keep it? Would you love it?’
It was so unexpected to hear cool, controlled Diego talk about love, in a voice deepened by emotion, that tears stung Rachel’s eyes. ‘Of course I would love it,’ she whispered, images of a tiny dark-haired infant swirling in her mind. Did Diego believe she had contemplated putting her baby up for adoption lightly? ‘Of course I would.’
‘Then there is only one thing to be done.’ For the first time in twenty-four hours, a feeling of calm settled over Diego—an acceptance of the inevitable and a realisation that there could only be one resolution to the situation. Since Eduardo’s death, he had deliberately avoided relationships where his emotions might become involved, but he would not abandon his child, and he could not spend the rest of his life running away. ‘You will marry me, Rachel, and we will bring our child up together in Argentina.’
Rachel’s legs suddenly felt like jelly, although whether because of shock at Diego’s outrageous statement or the effects of the flu virus, she did not know. Possibly both, she conceded as she sank weakly down onto the bed. A dozen responses whirled in her aching head, but one thought took precedence over all the others.
‘My mother married my father because she was pregnant with me—and, trust me, it really didn’t work. I have no intention of repeating my parents’ mistakes,’ she told him fiercely.
For a moment he made no reply, just stood watching her intently as if he was determined to read her mind. ‘As a matter of fact, my mother and father married for the same reason,’ he said coolly. ‘I have no memories of my father—apparently he walked out when my twin brother and I were babies. But clearly a shotgun wedding didn’t work for my parents, either.’
Rachel gave him a startled glance. It was the first time he had ever mentioned his family and she was annoyed with herself for wanting to hoard any small snippet of information about him. ‘I didn’t know you have a twin. Are you identical?’ It seemed impossible that there was another man as dynamic and possessing the same powerful magnetism as Diego in the world.
‘We were alike, but not identical,’ he said abruptly.
‘Were?’ Rachel murmured hesitantly.
‘My brother died ten years ago.’
Diego’s tone warned Rachel not to pursue the subject, but she caught the flare of pain in his eyes and her heart contracted. To lose a twin must be devastating. She thought of her twin half-sisters from her mother’s third marriage. Emma and Kate were five now. They shared such a close bond that each seemed to know what the other twin was thinking, and when they spoke they frequently finished each other’s sentences. She could not imagine how one of her sisters would function without the other, and she wondered how Diego had coped with his t
errible loss.
During the month they had spent together she had believed him to be the wealthy, successful but emotionally shallow playboy he liked to portray. The passion they had shared had been electrifying, but she realised now that she hadn’t known the real Diego Ortega at all.
‘If a marriage of convenience didn’t work for either of our parents, why suggest it when you know it’s doomed to failure…?’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘What did you want more than anything when you were growing up, Rachel?’
‘A horse,’ she said tersely, wondering where the conversation was leading. She cast her mind back over her childhood and shrugged. ‘Actually, what I wanted more than anything was to be my friend Clare—to live in a normal family with a mum and dad who weren’t for ever screaming abuse at each other. Clare’s parents liked each other, and I’ve always thought that that’s how marriage should be—an equal partnership, friendship …’
‘It seems that we share the same views on marriage,’ Diego said quietly. ‘As a child, I too wished that I had two parents who loved and cared for me.’ Rather than a mother who despised him because he was a constant reminder of the man who had broken her heart. ‘I think that for the sake of our child we could be friends, Rachel, and have the kind of marriage you described.
‘We were friends once,’ he reminded her when she stared at him in stunned silence. ‘Until the day we went to Ascot, we had a good relationship.’ They had shared a closeness that he had neither sought nor expected and, although he hated to admit it, he had missed her when she had abruptly ended their affair. ‘I ended my friendship with Guy Chetwin, by the way. And threatened him with legal action if he ever insulted you again,’ he added grimly.
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