The Frenchman's Captive Wife

The Frenchman’s Captive Wife

Chantelle Shaw

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

COMING NEXT MONTH

PROLOGUE

August

‘OF COURSE WE didn’t bribe Jean-Luc to marry you!’ Sarah Dyer said crisply, ‘although I admit there was some financial incentive.’

‘Oh, God.’ Emily swung away from her mother as a wave of sickness gripped her. Sarah always spent a few weeks of the summer with friends in Hampstead and, although mother and daughter had never been particularly close, she was the first person Emily had turned to in her hour of need. But rather than sympathising, Sarah had unwittingly added the final nail to the coffin. She couldn’t stay with Luc now.

‘Darling, you have to understand that Jean-Luc Vaillon isn’t like other men. You don’t amass a multimillion-pound fortune without a ruthless streak, and your husband is first and foremost a businessman.’

‘I know,’ Emily murmured dully. She didn’t need anyone to remind her of Luc’s dedication to work, but she was prepared to put up with the endless business trips and the long hours he spent shut away in his study if she thought there was any hope that he might love her.

‘The trouble with you, Emily, is that you’re a romantic,’ Sarah went on, after another glance at her daughter’s pale face. ‘Perhaps Jean-Luc is having a fling with his personal assistant, but you’re his wife and it’s in everyone’s best interests that you remain so. Pregnancy can place a marriage under huge strain,’ she added, eyeing Emily’s swollen abdomen, ‘and, to put it frankly, I imagine your husband is an extremely virile man. Once the baby’s born, everything will return to normal, you’ll see.’

But what constituted normal? Emily wondered bleakly as she trudged across the heath, after assuring her mother she would do nothing rash. She had realised soon after her marriage that her role in Luc’s life was designated almost exclusively to the bedroom. The fierce sexual attraction that had existed from the moment they had first met was their only real form of communication. Their passion for each other had made them equal but without it they had nothing.

It was busy on the heath. The air rang with children’s high-pitched laughter as families took advantage of the late summer sunshine, and as Emily watched a man and a little boy flying a kite, something snapped in her head. She gave a low moan, like an animal in pain, and swiftly covered her mouth with her hands as if she could push the sound back inside. She couldn’t fall apart now, not here, but her legs gave way and she sank onto a bench as she faced the reality that her son would never enjoy such an innocent pastime with his father.

She could stay, she thought desperately. For the sake of the baby inside her she could turn a blind eye to the fact that her husband was an unfaithful liar. But Jean-Luc did not want their child any more than he wanted her. His look of horror when he had learned of her pregnancy still haunted her, and his coldness towards her ever since only reinforced her belief that he viewed their marriage as a mistake.

How long had his affair with his personal assistant been going on? she wondered miserably. Robyn Blake had worked for him for years and right from the start she had never missed a chance to emphasise the special relationship she shared with Luc. She was his brother’s widow, not just a member of his staff, and Emily had tried to banish her feelings of jealousy at the obvious affection that existed between her husband and his PA. But now she had irrefutable proof that Robyn was Luc’s mistress and her sense of betrayal was unbearable.

What about her baby? her mind argued. Her excitement when the ultrasound scan had revealed she was carrying a boy had been overshadowed by misery that Luc hadn’t been with her. Of all the hurt he had inflicted on her, that had been the worst, she acknowledged bitterly. He hadn’t even bothered to turn up at the hospital to see the magical, grainy image of their child, and she had to face the agonising truth that he just didn’t care. Even if she told him he was going to have a son it would make little difference to his attitude. He seemed to grow more and more distant with each passing day and his polite indifference tortured her. Surely it would be better to go now, before her baby was born, and envelop him in her love rather than let him suffer the pain of realising his father had a lump of ice where his heart should be?

Leaving Luc would break her heart, Emily accepted bleakly, but to stay with him now would kill her, and with a muffled sob she stumbled towards the road.

‘Where to, love?’ the taxi driver asked cheerfully as she climbed into the cab, and for a split second she was torn by indecision, the address of Luc’s Chelsea penthouse hovering on her lips.

Maybe she should give him one more chance? Maybe there was a rational explanation why he had spent the night he’d arrived back from Australia with Robyn, rather than returning home to her? But she could not dismiss the images that tortured her mind of Luc making love to his beautiful assistant, and despair overwhelmed her.

Face it, it’s over, she told herself savagely, biting down on her lip until her mouth filled with blood. Luc didn’t love her and, to give him his due, he had never pretended to. Her mother’s revelation that his proposal had been part of a shrewd financial deal only emphasised that fact.

She loved him so much, maybe too much. He was her life, her reason for living, but at that moment the baby kicked and she felt a determined little foot push against her stomach. Now there was a new reason, she reminded herself fiercely, and lifting her chin she relayed the address of her friend Laura’s flat to the waiting driver.

CHAPTER ONE

A year later—San Antonia

‘ARE YOU SURE you’ve got everything? Passports, tickets, keys to the flat?’

‘Everything’s under control—stop fretting,’ Emily bade her friend cheerfully. ‘You’ve got enough to worry about. The coach is here.’

Arrivals day was always hectic, she mused as she followed Laura out into the courtyard. The farmhouse at San Antonia had once been a quiet refuge for Laura’s boyfriend and his crowd of artist friends. All that had changed when Nick had persuaded Laura to join him in Spain and she had opened up her cookery school. The business had been an instant success, catering for tourists eager to take lessons from an innovative chef who had earned her stars at a top London restaurant. Emily was pleased for Laura and glad she had been able to help out by organising the guests’ living and sleeping facilities, but the time had come for her go back to England and take control of her life.

‘I hope you’ll manage,’ she murmured as she joined her friend on the front step and watched the party alight from the coach. ‘I could be away for a couple of months while the lawyers sort out the divorce.’

‘From bitter experience, I’d better warn you it could take a lot longer than that,’ Laura replied grimly. ‘Mine took over a year to finalise and cost me a small fortune.’

‘I’m not anticipating any problems,’ Emily said with a shrug. ‘Luc will be as pleased as me to see the end of our marriage.’ Especially if the recent photo in one of the British tabloids was anything to go by, she thought bleakly. Seeing his dark, handsome features again had momentarily caused her heart to stop beating. She had been shocked to discover the effect he still had on her, even after more than a year apart, but it had been the sight of his companion, the stunningly beautiful Robyn Blake, that had been the catalyst for her decision to bring a legal end to their farcical marriage.

It was time to put the past behind her, she thought resolutely. She had a baby, a burgeoning new business of her own and the freedom to live her life the way she chose. She enjoyed her independence, she reminded herself fiercely. She had fought hard to rebuild her self-respect and it was time to sever the legal ties that bound her to Jean-Luc Vaillon.

‘How do you think you’ll feel about seeing your husband again?’ Laura asked.

‘With any luck, I won’t have to. I don’t want anything from him, certainly not money,’ Emily added fiercely.

‘You’re entitled to demand that he make proper provision for Jean-Claude,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Luc is his father after all, and it won’t hurt him to dip into the Vaillon millions.’

‘No!’ Emily instantly refuted the suggestion. ‘I’m responsible for my son and I’ll provide for him. Luc never wanted a child. Jean-Claude’s conception was an accident and I refuse to use him as leverage for financial gain. I’ll manage,’ she assured her friend brightly when Laura frowned in concern, ‘but I won’t take anything from Luc.’

In theory it all seemed so simple. She would make contact with Luc through a third party, and if he expressed any interest in seeing his son, the lawyers could thrash out the access arrangements along with the divorce. She wasn’t expecting any complications but as she glanced over to where Jean-Claude was sleeping in his pushchair, shaded from the sun by a parasol, she was filled with a sense of foreboding. Nothing about Jean-Luc Vaillon was simple. He was a man of secrets and despite the fact that they had been married for two years, she didn’t really know him at all.

‘Someone’s arrived in style.’ Laura’s voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced across the courtyard at the sleek black limousine that had swung in behind the coach. ‘I hope they appreciate that this is a working holiday. I won’t have time to run around after some spoilt millionaire’s wife who can’t boil an egg. The coach driver is quite happy to take you to the airport,’ she added as she stepped forward to greet her guests. ‘He’s finished unloading now so you can give him your luggage before you have to disturb Jean-Claude.’ She gave Emily a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘Take care. We’ll celebrate your new life as a single woman when you come back.’

A quick glance at the buggy revealed that Jean-Claude was still sleeping soundly and Emily decided to leave him for a few more minutes while she loaded her cases.

‘How are you, Enzo?’ she greeted the coach driver, who regularly made the journey between San Antonia and the airport.

‘Hola, Señora, you’re looking pretty today.’

Conversation about Enzo’s huge extended family took another five minutes and when Emily looked back at the pushchair, it was empty. Laura must have taken Jean-Claude into the farmhouse, she thought, a prickle of unease threading along her spine. Something made her turn her head towards the car parked at the further end of the courtyard.

For a few seconds she thought it must be a trick of the light, a mirage brought on by the heat of the midday sun, but when she blinked she realised he was no illusion. Handsome was hardly an adequate description of him, she acknowledged numbly. This man was awesome, the power of his broad shoulders beneath his superbly tailored jacket so formidable that a trembling started deep inside her.

The air in the courtyard was still and sultry but she could not suppress a shiver as her eyes travelled up to the visitor’s face and locked with his cold, grey stare. His eyes were hooded, hiding his expression, but she was struck by the hardness that emanated from him, the air of arrogance, of ruthlessness and sheer power, and she gave a cry as the world spun.

‘Luc!’

Confusion made her close her eyes, as if by doing so she could rid herself of the unwelcome vision, but when she opened them again he was still there, larger than life, taller and more imposing than anyone she had ever met and her hands flew to cover her mouth, forcing back her cry.

‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’ she demanded tremulously, shock almost robbing her of her voice. He smiled, his mouth stretching to reveal his teeth so that she was reminded of a wolf preparing to devour its prey.

‘I’ve already got what I came for, chérie,’ he taunted softly, and she stared at him in confusion. ‘It’s up to you whether you choose to join us.’

‘Us?’ Emily parroted, her brain moving as sluggishly as treacle. ‘I don’t understand.’ She felt breathless and disorientated as he towered over her. Her heart was pounding and it took every ounce of her courage to lift her eyes to his face. If anything he was even more devastatingly good-looking than she remembered, leaner and harder than the man who regularly haunted her dreams. Looking at him caused a peculiar feeling inside, like a knife being thrust between her ribs, and she quickly tore her eyes away, blinking under the brilliant glare of the sun.

Luc’s arrival at the farmhouse was so unexpected she didn’t know what to do, what to say. ‘How did you find me?’ she croaked at last, and his expression hardened.

‘You wrote to your solicitor, requesting that he start divorce proceedings,’ he reminded her coolly. ‘I must commend him for the speed with which he contacted my legal firm to set the wheels in motion.’

‘Mr Carmichael has taken care of the Dyer family’s legal matters for years,’ Emily faltered. ‘I specifically asked him to withhold my whereabouts and I don’t believe he would have willingly handed you that information.’

‘No, but his very pretty junior secretary proved much more amenable,’ he murmured silkily. ‘The evenings spent wining and dining her proved highly profitable—in more ways than one,’ he added dulcetly, and the sudden gleam in his eyes sickened her.

‘I really don’t want to know the details of your grubby love life,’ she snapped, hurt coursing through her, ‘although from past experience I imagine love plays very little part in it. But I still don’t understand why you’re here,’ she continued stonily, refusing to acknowledge that the familiar tang of the aftershave he favoured had evoked a host of memories she wished had remained buried. ‘Presumably you read my letter explaining to Mr Carmichael that I would be returning to England to sort out the divorce. Why didn’t you just wait for me?’

Luc inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he sought to control the anger that surged through him. ‘I have spent almost a year longing to see my child,’ he ground out savagely, his eyes as cold and hard as slate, and Emily shivered as she realised the full extent of his fury. ‘Did you really expect me to wait passively, hoping you would show up? Do you have any idea what it felt like to learn from a letter you’d sent your solicitor that I had fathered a son? Sacré bleu!’ he ground out, his jaw rigid with tension. ‘You were happy to inform Monsieur Carmichael, but you didn’t even have the decency to tell me my son had been born, and for that I can never forgive you.’

‘Why should I have done?’ Emily defended herself, genuinely puzzled by his anger. ‘Why would I have rushed to tell you I’d given birth to our child when you were so vehemently opposed to his conception? You made it clear that you didn’t want either of us, Luc, so how can you blame me for wanting to bring Jean-Claude up among people who care for him?’

‘If you think I will allow my child to spend his formative years in a hippy commune you are even more delusional that I thought,’ he snarled furiously. ‘I have lost the first precious months of my son’s life and I hold you and your half-baked theories about my supposed affair with my personal assistant completely to blame. Jealousy is not an attractive emotion, chérie,’ he said, his eyes raking over her trembling form disparagingly. ‘You allowed your childish craving for attention to colour your judgement but the one to suffer most is our son. You had no right to deny him a relationship with me, and from now on he will know exactly who his father is,’ he told her forcefully, his gaze brimful of bitterness that corroded her soul.

‘I would never prevent you from seeing Jean-Claude, if that’s what you want,’ she muttered as she tried to come to terms with the astounding realisation that Luc seemed to want his son after all. Perhaps it had only been the sight of her pregnant body that had filled him with revulsion, she thought bitterly. ‘I assumed you would want nothing to do with him but I’m prepared to be reasonable about access arrangements if you’ve really lost your aversion to fatherhood.’

‘How very generous of you.’ Luc’s voice dripped with sarcasm and she flushed. He’d always had the knack of making her feel two feet high and once she would have backed down at the slightest hint of confrontation. Now she lifted her chin and stared at him, cursing her body’s involuntary reaction to him. How could he still have such an effect on her after everything he’d put her through, the humiliation he’d heaped on her?

She’d been overwhelmed from the first moment she’d set eyes on him, she acknowledged grimly. There was something about his face, the sharp cheekbones and very slightly hooked nose, that gave him the appearance of a hawk, his eyes gleaming from beneath heavy black brows, watchful and calculating. It was hard to believe that those eyes had once softened to the colour of woodsmoke, that the cruel line of his mouth had moulded into a sensual curve as he had explored her lips with a degree of passion and tenderness that had left her weak with longing.

She bit back a gasp as a curious pain uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, self-disgust swamping her as her imagination ran riot. What was desire doing, rearing its ugly head at a time like this, when Luc was studying her with insolent appraisal as if she was something unpleasant that had crawled out from beneath a stone? Swiftly she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her body’s blatant betrayal, sickness flooding through her when his gaze settled on her breasts and she saw his lip curl in sardonic amusement.

‘But, then, in certain areas you were always very generous, weren’t you, Emily?’ he drawled. ‘Especially in bed.’

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped, tears of mortification stinging her eyelids. How dared he look at her like that, as if she was some cheap tart and he was considering sampling her wares? ‘I’m surprised you even remember. It’s a long time since you chose to share my bed but, then, you didn’t need to did you, Luc? You were busy elsewhere.’ She broke off abruptly, twin spots of colour staining her cheeks. Now was not the time to reveal the depths of the clawing jealousy she’d experienced on those long, lonely nights when she’d waited in vain for him to come home.

‘As soon as I arrive in London, I’ll have my lawyers contact yours to arrange suitable access to Jean-Claude,’ she told him briskly as she looked towards the farmhouse. No doubt Laura was struggling to give her guests a guided tour of the kitchens with Jean-Claude clamped to her hip. The sooner she held her son in her arms the happier she would be, she decided after risking another peep at Luc’s inscrutable face. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find him,’ she murmured awkwardly. She supposed she should invite Luc into the farmhouse to meet his son and her conscience prickled uncomfortably as he continued to stare down at her with those laser-beam eyes that she was sure could read her mind.

She didn’t want to take him inside, she acknowledged as a faint edge of apprehension gripped her once more. San Antonia was her territory, and for some reason she would prefer Luc’s first meeting with his son to take place on the neutral ground of her solicitor’s office. Time was getting on, she realised with a glance at her watch. The coach driver was looking impatient and if she wasn’t careful she would miss her flight.

‘Are you in the habit of losing my son?’ Luc enquired, his brows raised sardonically, and she flushed.

‘Of course not. I haven’t lost him, just mislaid him,’ she added, her vain attempt to lighten the situation, receiving no flicker of response from him. ‘So, I’ll see you in London.’ She needed to walk away from him but it seemed as if her feet were trapped in quicksand and she couldn’t move as her eyes greedily absorbed every detail of his beloved face. Not that she loved him any more, her mind hastily pointed out, but he possessed a magnetism that even now was wrapping itself around her, making coherent thought impossible.

‘As you wish.’ The curtness of Luc’s tone broke the spell and she became aware of his sudden impatience as he flicked back the sleeve of his jacket to read his watch. The brief glimpse of his tanned wrist, dusted with a sprinkling of fine black hairs, caused her tummy to lurch and she inhaled sharply. ‘We need to make a move anyway.’

His words puzzled her and she gave a harsh laugh. ‘Let me guess. Robyn is waiting in the car for you. I can’t fault her dedication to duty,’ she said sarcastically.

He was already walking away from her and paused briefly to glance over his shoulder. ‘Oui, Robyn’s behaviour and attitude are exemplary,’ he replied in a tone that clearly indicated her own failing in both departments. ‘But she is not with me this time. Jean-Claude is in the car and, no doubt, growing restless. Au revoir, chérie.’

Incredibly he had already dipped his head prior to sliding into the car and her feet suddenly grew wings. ‘Luc! Wait, what do you mean, he’s in the car? Jean-Claude is in the house with Laura—isn’t he?’ she finished uncertainly, and the blandness of his expression only served to increase her fear.

‘I took the liberty of stowing my son safely in the car while your attention was…’ He paused fractionally. ‘Elsewhere. Tell me, chérie, are you always so careless about leaving him unattended and in the full glare of the sun?’

‘He was shaded by the parasol,’ Emily defended herself fiercely, ‘and I did not leave him unattended. He was asleep and I was…’She was going to explain how she had taken advantage of Jean-Claude’s brief nap to load her luggage onto the coach, but the scathing disgust in Luc’s eyes made her want to crawl away.

‘You were too busy to watch over him. Anyone could have taken him.’ He pushed home the point by glancing into the car and she flushed. It was true that her attention had been focused on the trip back to London, but she had regularly checked on the baby and, besides, the farmhouse was miles from anywhere. A person would have to have been extremely determined, not to mention devious, to snatch him and unfortunately the description fitted Jean-Luc Vaillon to the letter.

She had reached the car and her shocked glance revealed that Jean-Claude was indeed inside, strapped into a baby seat and happily absorbed playing with the brightly coloured toys in front of him. ‘But you can’t just take him,’ she faltered, her shock giving way to stark fury. ‘How dare you try to take him from me? I’m his mother.’ She rounded on him, her voice bristling with outrage as her fingers fumbled with the door-handle.

Instantly his hand closed over hers, his grip bruising as he surveyed her steadily from beneath his ridiculously long, black lashes. ‘And I am his father, yet you thought nothing of keeping him from me. You deliberately hid yourself away and if it hadn’t been for your greed, it’s possible that I still wouldn’t have found you or, more importantly, my son.’