His Unknown Heir. Chantelle Shaw
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‘I mean where our relationship is going,’ Lauren said with quiet dignity.
Sick fear churned in her stomach. Under ordinary circumstances Ramon’s forbidding expression would have warned her not to proceed with a conversation that felt horribly as if it was going to smash full-pelt into a brick wall. But these were not ordinary circumstances. She was pregnant with his child, and her instinct to do the best for her baby was more important than her pride.
‘Tell me honestly: do you envisage us having any kind of future together?’ she asked quietly. ‘Or am I just another blonde to temporarily share your bed?’
His silence confirmed what her heart already knew.
Ramon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have never made false promises, or led you to believe that I wanted more than an affair. You never hid the fact that your career plays a major part in your life, and I thought you were content with a relationship that did not put the pressure of unrealistic expectations on either of us.’
She had never had expectations, Lauren thought sadly. But she had hoped that she was beginning to mean something to him. How could she have been such a fool? she asked herself angrily. She had been blinded by her love for Ramon, and had kidded herself that the companionship they shared was proof that he cared for her. Now she knew that he had only ever regarded her as a convenient mistress—who provided sex and entertaining conversation on demand, but never made demands of her own.
As for her career… Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach. She had worked hard to become a lawyer, and undoubtedly her job was important to her. But in eight months time she was going to take on the most important role a woman could fulfil—and it looked increasingly as though she was going to be bringing up her baby on her own.
She stared at Ramon’s perfectly sculpted features and her heart clenched. ‘Things change,’ she said huskily. ‘Life can’t stay the same or we would stagnate. How do you see your future, Ramon? I mean…’ her voice shook slightly ‘…do you ever want to marry?’
This was not how he had envisaged spending his first night back in London, Ramon thought furiously. Up until now he had been clinging to the hope that this new Lauren, who had broken the unwritten rules of their liaison by demanding to discuss it, would suddenly metamorphose back into the familiar, delightfully easygoing Lauren, whose sole aim had always seemed to be to please him in bed. He was outraged that she had brought up the thorny subject of marriage, but now that she had asked he did not intend to lie to her.
‘The Velaquez family are among the oldest members of the Spanish nobility, and can trace their ancestors back to the eleventh century,’ he told her harshly. ‘As the only son of the Duque de Velaquez it is my duty to marry a bride from another aristocratic Spanish family and provide an heir to continue the bloodline of Velaquez.’
‘You’re the son of a duke?’ Lauren said faintly, stunned by the revelation. She had thought that the supreme self-confidence which sometimes revealed itself as arrogance was simply his nature. But he was a titled member of the Spanish nobility—it was small wonder he had a regal air about him.
‘The title will pass to me on the death of my father,’ Ramon said tersely, feeling a shaft of pain when he thought of his father’s prognosis. The Duque had always been a strict, rather remote parent, and Ramon’s childhood had been dominated by rules and stifling formality, but sadly lacking in displays of affection. He had always respected his father, but it was only now that he realised he also loved him, and it was for that reason more than any other that he intended to one day fulfil his duty and marry a woman suitable to fill the role of Duquesa.
He stared grimly at Lauren, and was infuriated by the hurt he could see in her grey eyes. Dios, he had never given her any reason to believe that their affair might lead to him offering her a permanent place in his life. They had a good routine that suited both of them, and he wished they could abandon this discussion that had no purpose and lose themselves in the fiery passion that had blazed between them from the moment they had first met.
He took a deep breath. Perhaps, if he was patient, he could salvage the evening. Now that he had explained his situation to Lauren he could see no reason why their affair should not continue. Duty beckoned him, but, his father’s illness aside, he was in no hurry to sacrifice his freedom and choose a bride.
‘What is the point in worrying about the future when the present is so enjoyable?’ he murmured, stepping closer to her and lifting his hand to stroke her hair back from her face. She instantly shrank away from him, and his jaw hardened.
How could she do anything else but worry about the future? Lauren thought wildly. ‘Let me get this straight. You intend to marry—not necessarily for love—you will choose a bride who is of suitably noble birth in order to have a child—presumably it will have to be a boy—who will carry on your family name,’ she said slowly.
Ramon’s mouth tightened at her insistence on carrying on with the conversation when he had made it clear that he wanted to drop it. ‘As I have explained, it is my duty to ensure the continuation of the Velaquez line,’ he said curtly. ‘When my father dies I will return to Spain to live at the historic family home, the Castillo del Toro, and it is important that I have a son who will one day take my place.’
‘You live in a castle!’ Maybe this was all part of some horrible nightmare, Lauren thought desperately, and soon she would wake up and find that Ramon had not turned into an icy stranger who inhabited the rarefied world of the Spanish nobility which an ordinary English lawyer from Swindon could never belong to.
Duty was such a cold word, she thought with a shiver. Ramon did not sound as though he planned to have a child because he wanted to be a father, but because it was necessary for him to produce an heir. But would he want the baby she was carrying? Would he demand that she marry him so that his half-English child would be his legal heir? Or—and this seemed more likely—would he offer her money? Maybe buy somewhere for her and the baby to live and pay his illegitimate child the occasional duty visit, retaining his freedom to marry a woman suitable to be his duquesa, who could give him a child with noble Spanish blood running through its veins?
A primitive maternal instinct to protect her child swept through Lauren. She stared at Ramon and saw him for what he really was—a ruthless billionaire businessman. It struck her then that she had never known him at all. He had acted the role of charming lover, but he had never allowed her to see the real man, the son of a duque, whose home was a castle. And in that moment she decided that she must keep her baby a secret from him. Ramon needed an heir to continue the Velaquez name, but her baby deserved a father who would love it unconditionally. It would be better for her child to have no father at all than one who did not love it, and would perhaps make him or her feel inadequate and not worthy of the Velaquez name.
Never the most patient of men, Ramon had suddenly had enough of being grilled by Lauren. ‘Is there any point to this conversation?’ he demanded explosively.
She hesitated, sure that the painful thudding of her heart could not be good for the baby. ‘I think there is,’ she said sombrely. ‘I felt it was time to establish what kind of relationship we have, and it’s clear that we view things very differently. I am not your mistress,’ she insisted fiercely, when he lifted his brows sardonically.
His eyes dropped deliberately to the sexy silk bustier that