The Spaniard's Surprise Love-Child / A Bride Fit For A Prince?

Why was she worrying about the rights of an accidental father who thought parenthood was just about making a genetic contribution? Presumably he’d ask her for DNA proof too. How could a man like that, a reluctant father, be good for her daughter? After all, this was all about what was best for her baby. Holding the warm, perfect person she had given life to, the cold-bloodedness of Rio’s attitude to being a father chilled her. She decided then and there that this baby would never know she had a father who didn’t want her.

After all, Gwen knew exactly what that felt like. She might have no siblings but growing up she hadn’t been the only child in the house. Her father was a man who expected to be the centre of attention at all times. Gwen had learnt not to compete with him for her mother’s attention, but it hadn’t stopped him resenting her existence.

She didn’t know how old she had been, or even how she had found out that her serial-adulterer father had had his first affair when her mother had been pregnant with her. In his eyes that, at least, was an excuse for his behaviour. After that it seemed things had gone downhill, although to the outside world they had continued to present the image of a happy, perfect family—and it had all started with the birth of the baby he’d never wanted anyway.

And now Gwen’s decision not to tell Rio he was a father, which had seemed so right at the time, was being severely tested. She had made it assuming that their lives would never intersect again. Because what were the odds? They lived in totally different worlds. She remembered the day she had seen a missed call on her phone and recognised his number. It had been a very weak moment and if she’d picked up she might, just might, have told him. Though imagining his face if he had seen her the way she was that day, attached to a drip in a hospital ward unable to keep any fluids down, made her very glad she hadn’t. She hadn’t felt lucky at the time but now she knew that some women suffered that sort of debilitating nausea all through their pregnancy. For her it had only lasted five months, which had been more than long enough.

‘Miss… Miss…’

Gwen shook her head and turned to the little boy standing there. He’d washed his face a little too enthusiastically and his hair was wet, as was the front of his uniform shirt. She felt a tug of affection and smiled. She had fallen into teaching through a mixture of accidents and necessity, but she loved it.

‘What have you got there?’ she asked, looking at his cupped chubby hands.

‘A bee, a big, big bee! It was stuck on the window.’ He lifted his hands to his ear. ‘It’s still buzzing but he won’t sting me. He’s a nice bee.’

Gwen sincerely hoped this nice bee lived up to expectations and hastily opened the window, letting in a waft of warm scented summer air and the murmur of young voices as pupils began to file out of the hall and through the wide stone arch at the far end of the quadrangle. She picked up her damp pupil and she smiled encouragingly until he opened his hand, giving his captive freedom.

‘Ah, there she is now.’

Gwen’s smile became fixed as she froze, only the child in her arms preventing her from humiliating herself by ducking down out of sight. The headmaster didn’t appear to notice her deer-in-headlights pose, framed in the window as he looked at the man standing beside him.

‘Mrs Meredith, I was just telling Mr Bardales…’

‘Rio, please—’

The headmaster tipped his head in pleased acknowledgement. ‘How interested his mother was when I was telling her of your enthusiasm for outdoor teaching.’

‘I share her enthusiasm,’ Rio lied without a flicker and bared his white teeth in a smile that did not touch his eyes as they drifted down her body, or what he could see of it.

Self-preservation kept her expression blank as the shock, guilt and fear that paralysed her were virtually obliterated beneath a shameful hot thrum of sexual awareness that made her legs tremble. Her nerve endings were screaming out in recognition as she turned away from the window and, after taking a deep soothing breath, opened the adjacent door and stepped outside.

The headmaster beamed, blissfully oblivious of any undercurrents seething around him. ‘Excellent…well, we have the expert here to explain.’ He gave an impatient little shake of his head. ‘Come along, Mrs Meredith.’ He paused and lifted a hand. ‘Ah, here is your class now.’

She huffed out a sigh of relief, saved by the bell—or at least by the scuffle of twenty pairs of small feet as the reception class, with Ruth bringing up the rear, came filing out of the hall into the archway.

All she had to do now was to walk past Rio and she was home free. She clenched her jaw and with determined optimism told herself that this could still turn out all right.

‘There you go.’ She put down the child still in her arms, took his hand and led him towards the arch, where, the moment he saw his classmates, he took off, ignoring the headmaster’s bellow of ‘No running!’ as he pounded across the gravel to join his friends, the tiny stones scattering in his enthusiasm.

It was an enthusiasm to get away that Gwen shared.

Careful not to make eye contact with Rio, her heart pumping frantically beneath her pale blue cotton blouse as she struggled to channel calm indifference, she nodded towards the head and made to join her class.

‘No, Mrs Meredith.’

She stopped and sighed, her eyes following her class as she thought wistfully, So near and yet so far, before squaring her shoulders and turning back, an expression of polite enquiry painted on her face.

‘Come and explain to our guest about your initiative. I admit I had my doubts initially but I have been won over,’ he said graciously. ‘We have even included it in our new prospectus and the parents are most enthusiastic…but now I’ll allow our expert to explain,’ he added to Rio as Gwen joined them, struggling to hide her reluctance. ‘I will leave you in her very capable hands.’

‘My class—’ Gwen protested, clutching at straws.

‘If you could bring our guest to my office at two-thirty, the governors are joining us there for coffee.’

‘I shall look forward to that,’ Rio, who up to this point had been fully intending to find himself regretfully having to leave long before any convivial chat over coffee, assured with plausible sincerity.

Gwen pulled in a breath and, thinking it was now or never, forced herself to meet his stare head-on. She had chosen to forget about the skin-tingling effect of his proximity, because, until you were actually feeling it, the aura of raw masculinity he exuded was hard to quantify.

She struggled to think past it and waited.

His expression was one of unstudied cool, a calmness contradicted by his hands, which were clenched into fists at his side. ‘So, Mrs Meredith, this is a surprise.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, relieved and slightly amazed that she sounded so calm. Now all she had to do was string two words together in the right order and make an excuse to leave, after finding someone else to dump him on. That shouldn’t be too difficult, as she was certain she wasn’t the only female who couldn’t see past the packaging.

She allowed her eyes to sweep up scornfully from his toes to his face, but midway through their journey the scorn got lost. All right, in her defence, it was very pretty packaging.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO, YOU’RE MARRIED?’ She had not adopted her husband’s surname, but that was not unusual these days. The thought that she was married lay in a tight knot in his belly, his own reaction surprising him. Or maybe like his own mother she was divorced and now went by her maiden name?

A speculative crease appeared in his brow as she looked at him like a cornered animal and said nothing…which suggested that perhaps things were not all smooth sailing on the marriage front.

‘Does your husband work at the school too?’ he asked, instinctively disliking with a vengeance this unknown sexist jerk who had asked her to give up her dreams for him, leave her high-flying career and bury herself here…in sensible clothes.

His nostrils flared in outraged contempt as his glance slid to the flare of her hips below the cinched-in waist. The undeniable fact was she would look desirable in a sack. He didn’t probe too deeply into the question of why the idea of her falling in love with some guy deeply enough to give up everything she’d worked so hard for made him so angry, then decided that it was the waste of talent. It was her choice, obviously, but she’d probably end up resenting the man at some point in future.

You didn’t want her but you don’t want anyone else to have her, suggested the sly voice in his head.

‘It’s been lovely to catch up,’ she said brightly.

He laughed. ‘Is that the conversational version of fake news?’

Gwen’s polite mask slipped. What did he want her to say?

The truth was a luxury she didn’t have, which narrowed her conversational options. Veiling the animosity she knew he had to be seeing in her eyes, she lowered her lashes to half mast and continued doggedly as though she hadn’t heard his sarcastic insertion.

‘But I really should get back to my class. They’ll be running riot, and—’

‘I thought you were going to explain to me about your outdoor teaching scheme.’

‘Because you’re so interested.’ And she was so in trouble, if the head overheard her talking to the guest of honour that way. She saw the flare of interest in the glitter of his dark-framed eyes…the lush eyelashes his daughter had inherited…and wished the words unsaid.

‘Absolutely,’ he came back, not missing a beat.

She tightened her lips and this time didn’t react to the provocation. ‘Fine.’

‘Outdoor learning sounds a bit New Age and out there for a place like this.’ His eyes swept across the black and white Tudor building behind her.

His sneering attitude really riled her, despite the fact she knew full well that his interest was feigned. She could only assume he was enjoying making her feel uncomfortable. She snorted. As if he weren’t born to a life of privilege.

‘Because you went to an inner-city school, of course.’ The words popped out before she could stop them. Flustered, she slid her eyes from his, her cheeks burning with embarrassment that she’d lost her cool.

‘Did you?’

Surprise brought her eyes back to his. Dizzied by the direct eye-to-eye connection, she brought her lashes down in a protective shield that cast shadows across the curve of her high, smooth cheekbones. She gave her head the tiniest of shakes.

‘No, I was brought up in a smallish market town in mid Wales.’

The primary school had been overcrowded after several large estates had mushroomed around the town. After that, she had taken the bus with everyone else to the red-brick comprehensive in the nearest large town.

He had asked the question, she had answered, and he felt…?

What?

They had been as intimate as two people could be, he had explored every inch of her body and she had shown an endless fascination for his, and yet, other than conversations that involved work, he knew virtually nothing about her. But then this shouldn’t be so surprising; intimacy outside the bedroom was not something Rio did.

It was a choice, and he didn’t feel as though he was missing out on anything. If there were occasions in the cooling aftermath of satisfying sex that made him conscious of a nebulous feeling of something that could be called emptiness, he considered it a price worth paying to avoid drifting into a relationship where he’d be expected to profess feelings he didn’t believe existed, or, even worse, might convince himself did. His own father had never stopped believing he loved someone, even when it had nearly destroyed the person he’d claimed to love.

She saw a flicker of awareness move across the dark surface of his eyes before he lowered his gaze, frustrating her curiosity.

And why was she acting as if that were a bad thing? Gwen told herself she didn’t want to know what made this man tick. She wanted him and his disruptive aura the hell out of her life.

‘So tell me about outdoor teaching.’

Her shoulders lifted in a fractional shrug and she began by hoping to bore him but then, despite herself, warming to the subject until she heard herself talking about key-stage attainment and came to an abrupt halt. There was boring and then there was being an anorak.

‘So you’re basically telling me that kids are more engaged when learning outdoors?’

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t come across the sceptical response before, and was usually tolerant of it, but in this instance her chin came up. ‘Quite definitely,’ she said confidently. ‘Learning through direct experience gives a greater understanding and research shows it raises academic attainment and—’

‘It’s fun,’ he cut in with a quirky smile that made her heart flip. He thrust one hand in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a vibrating phone. Silencing the low purr, he replaced it without even glancing at the screen. ‘Relax.’

Gwen almost laughed at the advice, and so would he if he knew about Ellie. No, he probably wouldn’t be laughing at all, but what he would be doing remained something of a question mark, and she was quite happy for it to remain that way.

‘I’m all for anything that doesn’t involve falling asleep in a stuffy classroom, although it might be tough to do in a city. But here—’ his glance took in the parkland that surrounded the school buildings ‘—you have the advantage in that you don’t have to go far to find a green space.’

‘It’s very lovely,’ she agreed gravely. Who would have known when she got up this morning that in just a few short hours she’d be discussing the countryside with the father of her child? How long would it be before they got onto the topic of the weather?

‘But not a cheap place to set up home?’ he asked, clearly digging for information on what job her so-called husband did.

‘We live in a cottage in the grounds.’ Now, if he chose to assume that the we she referred to was a husband, that was his business. She hadn’t lied; not that she wouldn’t if she had to in order to protect Ellie. The problem was she wasn’t very good at it. For once she was thoroughly glad of the outdated tradition in the school—so far unchallenged—which meant that every female teacher, regardless of her marital status, was referred to as Mrs.

The muscles along Rio’s jaw clenched and he had a sour taste in his mouth as her words conjured an image of bucolic domesticity. He had never craved for domesticity, bucolic or otherwise.

Being bound to your soul mate for life might be some people’s dream, but it definitely wasn’t his. Leaving aside the fact that soul mates occupied the same space in his brain as unicorns, to him the marriage contract was not a cause for celebration and certainly not one he ever planned to put his name to.

He was ready to concede that it was possible not all marriages were toxic—perhaps even his parents’ marriage had had a honeymoon period—but why take the chance? He’d often been called a risk-taker in business, but his risks were calculated and based more on facts than speculation. Marriage was just a risk too far for him.

The sound of a child crying behind him provided a distracting respite from his thoughts, but, respite or not, the wail had a nerve-shredding intensity and brought an expression of pained irritation to his face. However, the irritation turned to speculation when he saw the expression on Gwen’s face. She was frozen with fear, but this was the first time he had seen it. The only movement was provided by her long lashes fluttering like some exotic butterfly’s wings against her bone-white skin and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the blue cotton shirt that looked like a paler version of her striking cobalt eyes. She looked so dreadful he was convinced she was about to pass out and he tensed, ready to catch her before she hit the ground.

Then, as he watched, she unfroze like a statue coming to slow life, her eyes swivelling from a point beyond his shoulder to his face. A tiny amount of colour seeped back into her skin, robbing it of its marble appearance, and her expression was now almost…resigned? The furrow between his darkly etched straight brows deepened, but before he could ask what was wrong an older woman dressed in a floral-print dress that looked as if she’d fashioned it out of the curtains of a small bungalow rushed past, barging him with her elbow as she struggled to soothe the child she was carrying. He was no expert but this tiny dark-haired bundle did not look anywhere near school age, although she did look as though she might be rather a handful.

‘Gwen, I’m so sorry,’ the crèche assistant gasped. ‘We simply couldn’t pacify her; she just wants you, I’m afraid.’

‘Has she been like this for—?’

‘No, it’s only been the last half-hour.’

‘Don’t worry, that’s fine.’ Gwen held out her arms, and Ellie, still sobbing, wrapped her arms and legs limpet-wise around her. Hot and sticky, the heat of her small body penetrated through Gwen’s shirt and made her think of that first moment when Ellie had been laid on her chest, so warm and heavy. ‘Hush, sweetheart, I know…’ She smiled at the other woman feeling oddly calm now the worst was actually happening and she had no other option than to just deal with it. ‘Thanks and don’t worry.’

‘Poor sweetheart…’ The motherly woman stroked the child’s dark hair before turning away. ‘I have to get back, Gwen.’

‘Of course and thanks again. I had a feeling she wasn’t right this morning and I wish I’d kept her home now.’ She had time owing in lieu of the sixth-form economics after-school club she had filled in for last month. It was a role she’d originally arrived at the school to take up, covering maternity leave. She’d had nothing to go to afterwards and the offer of a six-month stint in the reception class had seemed like a gift.

At the end of the six months she had been offered a permanent contract and she had found her niche in a place it would never have occurred to her to look. The days when she imagined that monetary rewards and kudos would make her happy seemed a long time ago.

Rio found himself rooted to the spot as the cogs in his brain clicked incredibly slowly. He considered the facts in front of him, but, despite a reality that was literally staring him in the face, it still took him a few seconds for comprehension to dawn. He waited until the pretty floral woman moved outside hearing distance before he spoke.

‘She’s yours.’ He ignored the twisting sensation in his chest; the problem was all in his head, where Gwen had remained frozen in time as the incredibly desirable, ambitious young executive who had seemed so sweet, so open and honest, that he’d started to feel guilty, among other things, that their affair was only temporary, until he’d caught her reading his correspondence. It had instantly resurrected toxic memories of watching his father read his mother’s mail, take her phone and check her messages, delete numbers he felt she didn’t need. Dios, he’d only just got his head around Gwen being married and now it seemed she was a mother too.

‘Yes…now, if you’ll excuse us…’

‘Hold on!’ He bent down.

She ran her tongue across her dry lips and tightened her grip on the child, who now lay limp in her arms. It looked as if the crying had tired her out; she was almost asleep.

Rio straightened up and held out the dog-eared stuffed rabbit that the little girl had dropped.

‘Is this yours?’

He waited as the child’s head lifted from her mother’s shoulder. She regarded him with deep suspicious eyes like velvety brown pansies before she snatched the toy from his hand and buried her face back in her mother’s neck.

Several feet of air separated them but Gwen could still literally feel his big body clench and still. His intimidating concentrated maleness was even more pronounced than normal as the tension stretched the skin tight against his incredible bone structure. His eyes swivelled from her hand cradling the back of Ellie’s head to her face.

It felt like years before he spoke but it was probably only seconds, his voice low and soft. He seemed unaware that he was speaking Spanish and, while she only had a schoolgirl smattering of the language, Gwen didn’t need a dictionary to translate the stream of hoarse words.

He knew—of course he knew!

You’d have to be wilfully blind or stupid not to see what had drained the vibrant colour from his olive-toned face and dissolved his habitual aura of cool command.

He was seeing the same thing she had the moment she’d looked into her newborn baby’s face. Previous to that day she had gone along with loving new parents who said their baby was the spitting image of one or other parent, while in her experience the soft infant features all looked alike.

But Ellie’s baby face had borne a startling likeness to Rio from day one. She’d tried to tell herself that the likeness would lessen as the little girl got older, but seeing them together now dispelled that vain hope. If anything, being able to study their faces side by side made the likeness between father and daughter all the more striking.

He wouldn’t need a DNA test to confirm his fatherhood this time, she thought bitterly. It was practically like looking in a mirror for him. It was all in the bones, the angle of the jaw, the hairline, the shape of Ellie’s forehead and, most of all, her eyes, fringed by a double row of sooty eyelashes.

‘The child…she is mine.’ He sounded as shocked as he looked for a man who’d presumably been there and done this before. But maybe it was easier to deal with the facts on paper rather than be confronted with a real-life person. For all she knew he might never have even seen his son.

Or he might be with, or even have married, the mother of his firstborn. Both were equally possible, she realised with a rush of shock.

Strangely she found the latter possibility more disturbing and her feelings could not be totally explained away by her natural sadness for the things his firstborn would have that Ellie wouldn’t—like the love of his father.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the muscle clenching and unclenching in his concave cheek. It didn’t even cross her mind to lie—what would be the point now?

‘Yes, she is yours. Her name is Ellie and she’s just two.’

She could see he was struggling to string a sentence together and waited, stomach clenched, for what he might say next.

‘Does your husband know the truth or does he think she is his?’

Her delicate jaw clenched as she eyed him with disdain. If she’d had a free hand she might have forgotten she was a committed pacifist—again!—and slapped his face! The question of why something about this man had bypassed a few thousand years of evolution and made her feel primal was for another time.

‘Your opinion of me is so flattering, as always.’ So not only was she the woman who went through his private correspondence, now she was the woman who pretended another man’s child was her husband’s. ‘But I don’t actually have a husband. All female staff here are referred to as Mrs, regardless of marital status.’

He dismissed the explanation with an impatient shake of his dark head. ‘But you said—’

Her chin lifted to a challenging angle. ‘Actually,’ she countered, ‘I didn’t say anything, you just assumed. Hush, Ellie, darling,’ she murmured, and brushed a strand of dark hair back from her daughter’s flushed forehead as the sharp voices made her start to cry again.

‘You allowed me to think—’

‘I don’t owe you any explanations,’ she hissed back quietly between clenched teeth for the sake of her fretful, feverish daughter. She really didn’t have the time or energy to deal with his indignation or anger right now.