Carole Mortimer - The Balfour Legacy

Carlos nodded, her perception surprising him, even though he found it slightly unnerving. ‘Exactly.’

Kat nodded. It made more sense now—or rather, he did. He had known brutality and hardship on a scale which few others would identify with—and not only because he had been beaten by his father. Fancy putting a little boy of three on a bull and then two years later presenting him with a real sword. No wonder they called him Cold Heart!

She rose to her feet. The expression on his face expressly told her that he did not want any sympathy. In fact, there was only one thing which she was in a position to give him—and maybe not for much longer. Because if she wasn’t pregnant, what then? She tried to push the unwelcome thoughts from her mind—but one in particular kept coming back to taunt her. That if he hadn’t taken her virginity, then he would have put her on a plane back to London days ago and it would all be over. She was only here because she had to be .

But still she went over to him and put her arms around his neck, tenderly nuzzling her lips in the thick dark curls which grew around its nape. And, as if sensing her thoughts, he lifted his head to look at her, but his eyes were shuttered.

‘Any day now, you should know?’

‘Yes.’ The question took her by surprise and she found herself resenting it for all kinds of reasons. It made her feel like some hen sitting on top of an egg, waiting to see if it was going to hatch. Suddenly, she saw the vivid image of her body as a cage, its contents having the potential to trap them both with a baby they’d never planned. And Kat shuddered—for how on earth could she bear to trap a man like Carlos, a man who had spent his childhood trapped by his father’s ambition?

In the muted light of stars and candles, Carlos observed her tense reaction to his question and narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t want to be pregnant, do you?’ he bit out harshly.

She walked away from him, distractedly shaking her head to halt words which seemed intrusive—afraid that she might give herself away, because how could she possibly explain to him all her mixed emotions? Especially when he’d never made any secret of the fact that he didn’t want a baby. He hadn’t even wanted an affair with her, had he? We are too different , he’d said.

But Kat knew that she couldn’t dwell on Carlos’s lack of feelings for her. She had to be strong. She would cope with whatever hand fate had dealt her. And if she was pregnant, then she would love his baby with a fierce love, but she would not hold Carlos Guerrero ransom to fate. It would not be fair, not after all that he had told her. She shook her head. ‘Not now, Carlos,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. In fact, I’m…I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’

His mouth hardened—angry with himself for having broken a lifetime rule of non-disclosure. Why the hell had he poured out all that poison about his childhood? And angry too at the way his rashness—his lust —had the potential to complicate Kat Balfour’s life in a way she’d never envisaged. Nor deserved. ‘So go,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

She did—but for once he didn’t follow her, though she waited and waited with breathless expectation, until she realised that her wait was in vain. Eventually, she must have fallen asleep because when she awoke in the cold, grey hours of dawn, Carlos was not beside her—and a chill feeling of dread stole over her heart. Creeping from her cabin, she went to look for him, half hoping he might still be out on deck, perhaps having fallen asleep where he sat.

But the deck was empty and, for once, the light there was gloomy, the stars fading into insignificance in the pearly light and the first blush of sunrise not yet visible. In the distance she could see the faint twinkling of lights and Kat blinked her eyes in surprise. Land. Funny how it could just loom up and surprise you—when all you’d seen for days were just different variations of a stunning sea. Yet, all the time, the yacht was moving—taking them back towards France from where they’d started. And Kat realised that Carlos had cleverly timed it to coincide with her finding out whether or not she was pregnant.

Barefooted, she tiptoed to his cabin, and when the door swung quietly open it was to see his sleeping form sprawled on the bed. He had flung the bedclothes away and was lying there—gloriously naked—outlined like a golden statue against the pristine whiteness of the sheet.

His black hair was ruffled and she found herself gazing lovingly at his face—the proud lips and the haughty slash of cheekbones. She remembered what he had told her about his heartbreaking childhood—about his cruel father and a mother who sounded weak and put-upon. Was that why she had not been able to put a stop to her son’s beatings? she wondered sadly—and Kat’s heart turned over with a love she knew he was not seeking.

As she stood there silently watching him, his dark eyes fluttered open.

‘Kat?’ But he said it with all the emotion of someone saying window or door , and for a moment, their gazes locked—until she realised that he seemed to be gazing right through her. As if he hadn’t really seen her. Or hadn’t really wanted to. And then he turned over and went right back to sleep.

A dull kind of pain cloaked her heart as she crept back to her own cabin—but during the night came a different and very familiar kind of pain. Snapping on the bedside light, she found herself staring down at the crimson flowering of blood with eyes which were inexplicably filled with tears.

And it was a white-faced and trembling Kat who was already dressed and on deck the following morning when Carlos emerged.

‘You’re up early,’ he observed.

‘You didn’t come to bed last night,’ she accused, wondering if she was hiding the trembling hurt in her voice.

Dark eyebrows rose in arrogant query. ‘Are you nagging me, Kat?’

‘I’m just asking a question.’

He remembered the way she had shuddered when the subject of pregnancy had come up. Her avowal that she had no desire to have a baby. And even though her words made complete sense, something in her statement had filled him with distaste. So that he had been glad to spend the night apart from her—yes, glad . For what man would want to make love to a woman when she’d just told him something like that? ‘You said you were tired,’ he said coldly.

Was that the only reason? Kat wondered—as she registered the sudden iciness in his voice. Or was he regretting everything he’d told her about his tortured childhood? Had he wanted to distance himself after the confidences he’d shared—or simply decided that the affair had now run its course?

Well, in that case, his wish was about to come true. Biting her lip, she looked up into his hard and handsome face, trying to tell herself that this was all for the best, even if it felt as if her heart was breaking in two. ‘Well, anyway—all that’s irrelevant now. I’ve…well, it’s good news really,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘I think…’ She swallowed down the terrible feeling of loss which had washed over her and presented him with a resolute face instead. ‘I’d like someone take me ashore please, Carlos.’ She met the cool question in his eyes but she didn’t flinch, even though the unbearable intimacy of what she was about to say made her cheeks turn hot. ‘That is unless you happen to carry sanitary protection on board.’

AN ATMOSPHERE like a heavy blanket greeted her announcement and Kat insisted on being ferried ashore as quickly as possible. She just wanted to get away from the yacht—and away from the cool indifference with which Carlos had greeted the news that there wasn’t going to be a baby.