Lynne Graham: Duarte's Child

‘Leave the file on my desk,’ Duarte continued in a tone of dismissal. ‘There will be a substantial bonus when you present the bill for your services.’

On his way past what he assumed to be the secretary’s desk in the ante-room outside, the investigator paused: the secretary was the most stunning Nordic blonde he had ever laid eyes on. ‘Your boss is kind of chilling,’ he murmured confidentially.

‘My boss is a brilliant financial genius and also my lover,’ the blonde whispered in a voice as cutting as slashing glass meeting tender skin. ‘You just lost your bonus.’

Rearing back in startled disbelief at that poisonous response, the young investigator stared at the beautiful blonde, aghast.

‘Shall I call Security to have you removed?’ she added sweetly.

Within his imposing office, Duarte was pouring himself a brandy and contemplating the immediate future. He had an overwhelming desire to muster his entire security team and spring a middle-of-the-night assault on his estranged wife and child’s accommodation. He had to move fast before she disappeared again with his son. His mobile phone gripped between lean brown fingers, he tensed and then frowned. For an instant, he could not believe that he had even contemplated such an act of madness. He could wait until morning… Well, he could wait until dawn at least.

He stabbed out the number for the head of his protection team. ‘Mateus? You will proceed to the address I am about to give you. There you will find a caravan—’

‘A caravan…?’

‘Which contains my wife and my child,’ Duarte admitted with a grimace at the sheer incredulity he could hear in Mateus’s voice. ‘You will ensure that if that caravan moves so much as an inch it will be followed. You will also be discreet while treating this as a matter of the utmost urgency and importance.’

‘We’ll leave immediately, sir,’ Mateus confirmed, sounding shaken. ‘Your faith in us won’t be misplaced.’

‘Discretion, Mateus.’

Duarte made a second call to put his private jet on standby for the next day. Was he planning to kidnap them both? She was his wife. Kidnapping was a crime. She had kidnapped his son. Inferno! A bloody caravan! Duarte gritted his even white teeth, a flash of white-hot rage threatening his hard self-discipline. She was bringing his son up in a caravan while she mucked around with horses. Who was looking after their child while she devoted her attention to four-legged animals?

Emily—safe, quiet, humble and as easily read as an open book—a young woman unlikely to rock any boats. How had he ever thought that? With a raw-edged laugh, Duarte drained the brandy. He had picked her quite deliberately for those unassuming qualities. He’d given her everything that would have kept most women purring with delighted contentment. Fabulous wealth, a selection of luxurious homes and glittering social occasions at which she could show off her equally fabulous jewellery. His reward for his unquestioning generosity? She’d betrayed her marriage vows and his trust: she’d got into bed with another man. Obviously quiet women needed to be watched.

One of his medieval ancestors had murdered his unfaithful wife and got off scot-free because it had been regarded as an act of cleansing the family honour, rather than a crime. Duarte could not contemplate ever laying rough hands on any woman, even his estranged wife, no matter how enraged he was by her shameless behaviour. Then, Duarte never lost control in any field. He would deal with the situation as he saw fit. Walling her up alive would not have given him the slightest satisfaction and he could only assume his ancestor had been a seriously sick pervert.

There were other infinitely more subtle ways of controlling women. And Duarte knew all the ways. Duarte had never practised those arts on his seemingly innocent and shy little wife. So she was in for a surprise or two in the near future…

‘I just don’t understand why you have to move on,’ Alice Barker confessed. ‘I can drum up enough eager learners to keep you employed right through the year.’

Stiff with tension, Emily evaded the older woman’s questioning gaze. Small in stature and slight of build, she wore her long curly red hair in a sensible plait. ‘I don’t usually stay anywhere for long—’

‘You have a six-month-old baby. It’s not so easy to stay on the move with a young child,’ Alice pointed out. ‘I need a permanent riding instructor and the job’s yours if you want it. My stables would profit from you staying on just as much as you would—’

Feeling the dialogue had gone far enough when there was not the smallest chance of her changing her mind about leaving, Emily lifted her bright head. Her aquamarine eyes were troubled and embarrassed, for she hated to turn down an offer that she would have loved to accept. However, telling the truth about why she had to refuse wasn’t an option. ‘I’m sorry, but we really do have to leave—’

‘Why?’ The older woman’s weathered face was set in stubborn lines.

Emily’s fair complexion was flushed with discomfiture. ‘I guess I’m a rolling stone—’

‘I don’t believe that. I know travelling folk and you don’t have that restlessness. You could have a comfortable home and job here with friends—’

‘You’re making this very difficult for me, Alice—’

The older woman tilted back her greying head and studied Emily with wry eyes. ‘Maybe I’m hoping that you’ll come clean and admit that you’re running from something or somebody…and that the only thing keeping you on the road is fear of that somebody or something catching up with you!’

Emily turned very pale at that disturbingly accurate assessment.

‘Of course, I suspected that you might be in some sort of fix,’ Alice Barker admitted with a sympathetic look. ‘You’re too reserved and, by nature, I’d say you were a much more relaxed person. You’re also too nervous of strangers.’

‘I haven’t broken the law or anything,’ Emily responded in a strained undertone. ‘But I’m afraid that’s as much as I can say.’

But even as she made that assurance, she wondered if it was still true. Had she broken any English law in what she had done? How was she to know when she had not taken legal advice? She’d been on the run for eight months and she’d not got back in touch with her family or indeed anyone else during that period.

‘Are you trying to shake off an abusive boyfriend?’ Alice was keen to get to the root of Emily’s problems. ‘Why don’t you let me help you? Running away never solves anything.’

Dismayed by her companion’s persistence, Emily muttered in a rush, ‘You’ve been really great to us. I’ll never forget that but we have to leave first thing tomorrow.’

Recognising the sheen of tears in Emily’s eyes, Alice sighed and gave the younger woman an awkward hug. ‘If you change your mind, there’ll always be a bed here for you.’

Closing the caravan door behind her, Alice trudged back down the lane to the stable block to lock up for the evening. Emily drew in a slow, deep, shaken breath. One thing that Alice had said had hit Emily on a very tender nerve. Running away never solves anything. That was so horribly true, Emily conceded heavily. Nothing had been solved or settled. It was eight months since she had left Portugal. She had run home to her family for support but her family had treated her like an escaped convict.

‘Don’t think that we’re going to get involved!’ Emily’s mother had pronounced in furious dismissal. ‘So please don’t embarrass us with the details of your marital problems.’