Housekeeper in the Headlines Page 10

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CARLOS WONDERED IF he had heard correctly. Impossibly, it had sounded as though Betsy was defending him when she’d told his father that she had been to blame for keeping Sebastian’s birth a secret.

  Betsy had wanted to protect him!

  Carlos did not know what to make of that, nor of the warmth that curled around his frozen heart. She had no idea how little he deserved her to champion him, he thought bleakly. But his father knew. And Roderigo’s tears for his beloved wife had the same impact on Carlos that they always did.

  A familiar sense of guilt ripped through him. And now there was new guilt—because he should have stayed and spoken to Betsy after he’d slept with her, instead of rushing back to Spain like a goddamned coward. But he’d been shaken by how she’d made him feel. Scared that she’d made him feel at all when he’d blocked out his emotions for his entire adult life.

  How had he thought that this woman was unremarkable? Carlos thought wryly. Betsy never ceased to amaze him. She looked like a ray of sunshine in her yellow dress. The caramel streaks in her hair had lightened to blonde in the sun, and her lush mouth tempted him to claim her lips with his. He had ached to kiss her since he had brought her and his son to Toledo.

  But right now Betsy was sitting on the edge of his father’s bed, and had Sebastian balanced on her knees. ‘He’s a good baby, and mostly he sleeps well at night—except when he’s cutting a tooth,’ she told Roderigo. ‘During the day he has so much energy. As soon as he learned to walk, he wanted to run.’

  ‘Carlos was the same when he was young. His mother used to say she could not keep up with him.’

  Roderigo chuckled, and Carlos decided that he must have stepped into a parallel universe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his father laugh, but he guessed it had been twenty years ago—before his teenage emotions and hot temper had ruined everything.

  Nothing good ever came from making an emotional response to a situation, Carlos brooded. But that wasn’t entirely true, he realised as he looked at his beautiful son. Two years ago he had recognised that Betsy was a threat to his peace of mind, but he’d ignored the alarm bells in his head, driven by something more than simply lust when he’d taken her to bed. The result was this unplanned child who had captured his heart.

  They stayed for a while longer, until Sebastian started to become fractious and his grandfather looked tired.

  ‘Will you bring el nene to visit me tomorrow?’ Roderigo asked as Carlos scooped his son off Betsy’s lap.

  ‘I’m flying to South Africa later today, to play in an exhibition match, and I’ll be away for the rest of the week. When I return, I’ll bring Sebastian to see you.’

  His father lay back on the pillows. ‘So you are still putting tennis first, Carlos. You have brought Betsy and Sebastian to Spain, but now you are about to leave them and travel halfway around the world. Family is precious. You, of all people, should know that.’

  ‘The exhibition match was arranged months ago and the revenue from the ticket sales will go to the Segarra Foundation.’

  Carlos’s jaw clenched. He did not need his father to remind him that the price of his ruthless ambition had been his mother’s life. She had been the lynchpin of the family and the person he’d loved most in the world.

  ‘Carlos’s charity does important work for underprivileged children, and I wouldn’t want him to cancel a fundraising match,’ Betsy told Roderigo. ‘But I can bring Sebastian to visit you.’

  They left his father’s apartment and Carlos carried a by now very fretful Sebastian back to the main part of the house.

  ‘He’s hungry—I need to give him his lunch,’ Betsy said.

  Carlos’s suitcase and tennis rackets were by the front door. ‘I’ll have to go to the airport soon,’ he told her. He tightened his arms around his son, hating the prospect of leaving him behind. Ginette came down the stairs. ‘Let Ginette give Sebastian his lunch. I want to talk to you,’ he told Betsy.

  ‘I thought we’d finished discussing the wedding.’ She gave him a puzzled look after the nanny had taken Sebastian to the kitchen.

  ‘In future, when I play exhibition matches abroad, I’ll take you and Sebastian with me.’ He grimaced. ‘I don’t want you to think I am abandoning you.’

  ‘I don’t think that.’ She met his gaze. ‘I know how much you care about Sebastian.’

  ‘I care about your feelings too.’

  Carlos did not know if he or Betsy was more surprised by his statement. He had spoken unthinkingly, but it was the truth, he realised.

  ‘I want you to be happy here.’ He released his breath slowly. ‘Why did you tell my father that you had kept Sebastian a secret from me?’

  ‘Because it’s true. He blamed you unfairly and it was only right that I explained the situation.’ She hesitated before saying in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that you had a child. You had a right to know.’

  The ice around Carlos’s heart thawed a little. Betsy’s apology meant a lot. But an unanswered question still remained. Would she ever have told him that she’d given birth to his son? If fate hadn’t sent that journalist to report on the floods in a Dorset village, would Betsy have kept Sebastian a secret for ever?

  Since that night at the penthouse, when he had quite literally turned his back on Betsy to stop himself from pulling her into his arms, he had struggled to control his hunger for her. He’d resorted to keeping his distance from her unless they were both spending time with Sebastian.

  The evenings when there were just the two of them at dinner had tested his self-control, so he arranged dinner parties or accepted social engagements, telling Betsy that it was a chance for her to meet his friends.

  But they were alone now, and it was impossible to ignore the sexual chemistry simmering between them.

  Carlos had spent his whole adult life pretending to be someone else, and he’d hidden behind his image of careless playboy for so long that it was a shock to realise that he wasn’t really an empty shell. There was hot blood in his veins and a fire in his heart—and this woman was the cause.

  ‘I made a mistake when I kissed you,’ he muttered.

  Colour ran along her cheekbones, but she said drily, ‘It’s all right, Carlos. I got the message when we went back to your apartment after the party. I’m not likely to forget how I made a fool of myself.’

  He moved closer to her, his eyes on the pulse jerking erratically at the base of her throat. ‘It was a mistake because one kiss wasn’t enough. Not for me, and not for you. Am I right, querida?’

  This close, he could see the pale blue veins beneath her creamy skin. He thought again that she was an English rose with a heady fragrance that intoxicated his senses.

  She swallowed, and her tongue darted across her lower lip. ‘What does querida mean?’

  ‘In English I suppose it translates to “darling,” or “lover.”’

  ‘I’m neither of those things to you.’

  ‘We were lovers once.’

  Carlos knew that his driver was waiting outside in the car, to take him to the airport, but he could not tear himself away from Betsy. Her eyes were huge in her face.

  ‘We spent one night together. I’m not sure that qualifies us as lovers,’ she whispered.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten a single second of that night.’ Memories of her lush body and her sweet ardency had haunted him for two goddamned years. He slid his hand beneath her silky hair and clasped her nape as he lowered his head towards hers. ‘Have you?’

  Her reply was muffled against his lips as he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her as he’d imagined doing every night for the past three weeks, when he’d tossed and turned in his enormous bed and fought the urge to stride down the hallway to Betsy’s room.

  He kissed her as if he couldn’t have enough of her. And she kissed him back
with a fervour that made him so much hungrier, so much more desperate to feel her soft curves beneath him. He pressed his mouth to the sweet hollow at the base of her throat before moving up her neck to explore a delicate ear. She gave a little gasp when he nipped her velvety earlobe, and he laughed and kissed her lips again, revelling in their moist softness.

  Carlos forgot that Betsy was the only woman who had ever slipped under his guard, and by the time he remembered he didn’t care that she had done so again. He was only aware of the taste of her on his tongue, of the lemon-fresh scent of her hair that spilled around them, and the hard points of her nipples pressed against his chest. He skimmed his hand down her spine and spread his fingers over her bottom, hauling her against the throbbing hardness of his erection.

  His brain was entirely focused on how quickly he could get her to a bed, or any flat surface. He doubted they’d make it upstairs to the bedroom, but there was a sitting room across the hallway.

  Vaguely, Carlos remembered again that his jet had been fuelled, ready to fly him to South Africa, and that he had a number of business commitments besides the exhibition match in Cape Town.

  He pushed his tongue into the heat of Betsy’s mouth. To hell with the trip. He would pull out of the exhibition match. Nothing was more vital than satisfying the ravenous beast of his desire for this woman who rocked him to his core.

  Carlos froze.

  What the hell was he doing? he asked himself as sanity made a belated appearance. Why had he forgotten how easily Betsy could dismantle the barriers that he had put in place when he’d been a traumatised teenager?

  Dios! If he hadn’t come to his senses he would have had sex with her in a room where any of the household staff might have walked in and seen them. It would have been embarrassing, but worse was the realisation that he’d been prepared to cancel an important trip so that he could stay here with Betsy.

  He dropped his arms down to his sides and stepped back from her. She looked as stunned as he felt, and there was still a part of him that wanted to draw her against his chest and simply hold her.

  He shoved the thought away, appalled by his loss of control, and made a show of checking the time on his watch. ‘I must go,’ he murmured, thankful that his voice was level even though his heart was thundering. ‘I’ll be back in a week.’

  An expression that might have been disappointment crossed Betsy’s face.

  ‘I’m thinking of taking Sebastian to England while you’re away. We left Fraddlington in such a hurry and I’d like to catch up with my friends in the village.’

  He frowned. ‘I doubt the cottage will be habitable yet.’

  ‘Sarah says that we can stay at the pub.’

  ‘Our wedding is in a week. You will see your friends then. Anyway, I’m using the jet to fly to South Africa,’ Carlos said dismissively.

  ‘I don’t expect to travel by private jet. There are regular flights to England from Madrid. Why are you objecting?’ Betsy looked mutinous. ‘You’re leaving Sebastian—it doesn’t matter if he’s here or in Dorset. I miss my old life...the regular customers at the pub and the other mothers at the baby group I used to take Sebastian to. I feel cut off here,’ she muttered. ‘You can’t stop me from taking him home.’

  ‘This is his home.’

  Carlos raked his hair off his brow, feeling frustration surge through him—and something else that knotted in the pit of his stomach and felt a lot like fear.

  ‘If you disappear with my son there is nowhere in the world you can hide where I won’t find you.’

  The implied threat in his statement was clearly not lost on Betsy. She bit her lip. ‘Do you really think I would abduct Sebastian like my father did to me?’ She sighed. ‘If our marriage is going to work, you will have to trust me.’

  ‘Trust has to be earned,’ he told her curtly. ‘I checked with the courier company and their records show that the package I sent to your aunt’s house was signed for by “B. Miller.” I have proof that you could have called me before Sebastian was born.’

  * * *

  Betsy stared at the mirror and a fairy-tale princess stared back at her. There was an air of unreality about seeing herself in a wedding dress, having vowed since she was eight years old that she never wanted to get married. It did not help that in this particular story the handsome prince had awoken her desire with a kiss before he’d abandoned her—again.

  Carlos had arrived back from his trip to South Africa late the previous night, but Betsy had already been in bed and so hadn’t seen him. When she’d woken this morning she had heard him in the nursery, talking to Sebastian in Spanish.

  Shyness, or bridal nerves—probably a mixture of both—had stopped her from opening the connecting door between her room and the nursery. It was supposed to be unlucky for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. Betsy wasn’t superstitious, but her marriage had enough bad omens without tempting fate.

  For the past week she had spoken to Carlos on the phone every day. They had mostly talked about Sebastian, but Carlos had also told her about the series of exhibition matches he’d played. Betsy had found it easier to chat to him on the phone, when she was not physically aware of him. Without the sexual tension that simmered between them when they were together she was able to relax, and she’d found herself looking forward to his calls.

  She had decided against taking Sebastian to England to visit her old friends in the village. It was understandable that Carlos did not trust her, she acknowledged. But she was determined to prove to him that she genuinely regretted not telling him about Sebastian when he had been born.

  Her sense of isolation had increased while Carlos had been away. None of the household staff spoke more than a few words of English, and Betsy felt that she did not belong in a grand house that was served by a butler, a housekeeper, a cook and several maids. Her only friend in the whole of Spain was Hector, at the art supplies shop, and she had found excuses to visit the shop often, so that she could chat to him and ease her loneliness.

  The grandfather clock on the landing chimed twice and Betsy’s heart missed a beat. Carlos, Sebastian and Ginette the nanny had gone ahead to the church. Now it was time for her to go to her wedding.

  She made a last check that her chignon was secure and tucked an escapee curl behind her ear before she picked up her bouquet of palest pink roses. She wished that her parents could be there to see her marry, but yet again they had put their acrimony before her happiness, she thought sadly.

  Thinking about their bitter divorce added to her tension. Was she doing the right thing by marrying for convenience rather than love? She thought of the love that Carlos clearly felt for Sebastian, and knew she had no choice.

  Carlos had told her that their wedding was to be held in a church in the centre of Toledo, but to Betsy’s surprise the driver turned the car in the opposite direction from the city. Soon they were travelling along narrow roads surrounded by wide open plains and vast vineyards and dotted with squat white windmills, beneath a cloudless, blue sky. She knew this landscape of the Castile La Mancha area of Spain was often called the heartland of the country.

  After a while they came to a small village, and went through some gates into what seemed to be a private estate. A driveway led to a house that looked like a castle, complete with turrets. Further along the driveway was a whitewashed chapel. The driver brought the car to a halt.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Betsy asked him when he held the door open for her to climb out of the car.

  ‘Si, señorita.’

  She had been expecting a horde of paparazzi, and was surprised to see that there was just one photographer.

  A man stepped out of the church and she stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Dad? I didn’t think you were coming. Where’s Tiffany?’

  Betsy knew she would never hear the last of it if her father and his wife attended the
wedding, but her mother was left out.

  ‘Hello, honey. You make a beautiful bride.’ Drake Miller smiled as he offered her his arm. ‘Tiffany is in Paris.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She’s probably flexing my credit card in the designer stores. Your mother is in the church,’ he said casually.

  Betsy stopped walking. ‘Are you and Mum...okay together? It doesn’t look like a very big church.’ She tensed, imagining her parents arguing in front of the other wedding guests.

  ‘Carlos told us that we had to put aside our differences at our daughter’s wedding, and he’s right. Stephanie and I both want to be here for you on your big day,’ Drake reassured her as they stepped into the church porch, where it was cool and dark after the bright sunshine outside. ‘Your fiancé is an amazing guy and it’s obvious that he is madly in love with you.’

  Betsy’s steps faltered. Carlos did not love her, nor she him, she reminded herself. Who needed love, anyway? They were marrying for sensible, practical reasons, so that they could both be full-time parents to their son.

  Through the doorway she could see the pretty chapel was filled with flowers. In the front pew there was an enormous cerise pink hat which must belong to her mother. She saw Sarah and Mike and other close friends who had flown over from England. On the other side of the nave she recognised some of Carlos’s friends, whom she’d met at dinner parties, and she noticed his father in a wheelchair and his sister Graciela, with a man who must be her husband, holding their little boy Miguel. But to Betsy’s relief there were certainly not three hundred guests, and not a celebrity in sight.

  Finally she turned her gaze to Carlos. He was standing by the altar, his back ramrod-straight, and every few seconds he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t possibly be feeling nervous, she told herself. His supreme self-confidence was what had helped to make him a world-class tennis champion. He looked devastatingly handsome in a pale grey three-piece suit...the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.