away—an urgent conference call he must take.
Alarm bubbled in her. Her first fear was he’d made good on his threat to destroy her hotel. “If this concerns the Chateau—”
“It doesn’t.” He drained his glass of wine, his features remote. “Enjoy your meal, Miss Montgomery.”
Without a backward glance, he strode from the room. His plate remained untouched.
Worry nipped along Kira’s nerves, leaving her edgy. She didn’t trust André to tell her the truth, for he was convinced that she was in league with Peter Bellamy.
He swore he had proof. So what did he have that condemned her? Or was it a bluff?
She speared a wedge of orange and trailed it through her serving of chicken, tomato and pepper and into a bed of wild rice. The subtle aroma of garlic and citrus that had appealed earlier deserted her. Yet she knew that she must eat something for the baby’s sake.
She forced herself to eat and let her mind roam. What electronic proof could he have that tied her to Peter Bellamy?
It couldn’t be genuine. So who’d manufactured this proof?
There were those at the Chateau who disliked her. Since she’d taken over things had gone awry. Items she’d needed hadn’t been ordered. Reservations were often jumbled.
But even if one of them took their dislike of her beyond reasonable in an attempt to ruin her, nobody there had the power to sell Edouard Bellamy’s shares.
No one except Peter. Edouard’s son. He’d been made executor of Edouard’s will. He’d inherited his father’s corporation. Had he set out to strip her of her inheritance?
She dropped her fork on her plate and rubbed her aching temples. It was very possible that he’d discovered the role she’d played in Edouard’s life. That Peter resented her with a towering hatred—just as Edouard had predicted would happen should the truth ever come out.
Everything had been a jumble since the accident. Edouard had clung to life while his mistress had lost hers. The dissolution of her stock had been swift and secretive, with André buying those shares in the Chateau.
That was what had sent Kira here to confer with André. A meeting André swore he’d never agreed to. Had she been set up from the start?
André believed she’d conspired with Peter to ruin him. Not true, but she had no idea how to prove her innocence. She didn’t know what to do, who to trust beyond Claude, her solicitor.
Kira slumped back in her chair, her appetite and what little remained of her energy gone. She wanted to crawl in bed and sleep. Wanted to forget this nightmare that had become her life. Her hand stole over her belly and, despite her annoyance and fears and worries, she smiled. More than anything she wanted to protect her baby. The best way to do that was rest.
She put her napkin on the table and rose. Her gaze collided with André’s.
As before, his stance was deceptively casual as he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, arms hanging loose at his sides and one foot crossed over an ankle.
But his expression was dark and forbidding, and censure burned in his eyes. He was angry, and she wondered if that ire was the result of his conference call or with her.
“How long have you been there?” she asked.
“Long enough. You didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“It’s enough for now.”
He snorted. “But of course you must ensure your figure remains desirable, oui?”
His handsome face had graced many a business magazine, but she’d only seen this ferocious expression once before. Three months ago, when she’d fled Petit St. Marc.
So much had happened, so quickly. It seemed surreal that she’d gone from being the hospitality manager at Edouard Bellamy’s elite Le Cygne Hotel in London to stockholder of Chateau Mystique to André’s impromptu lover.
But that seemed a lifetime ago.
Now fury ruled his features. From the rigid set of his lean jaw to the grim slash of his firm full lips. As ruthless as he’d seemed when she’d escaped the island, he appeared menacing now, like a bloodthirsty pirate instead of a renowned island tycoon.
Whatever had taken him away tonight had put him in a dangerous mood. But she was too tired and emotionally spent to spar with him tonight.
Still she asked, “Is something wrong?”
He shrugged, but his body remained tense. Wary. “My guards intercepted paparazzi off the coast.”
“That should please you,” she said, suspecting that diverting the media was a common occurrence on the island.
He pushed away from the doorjamb and prowled the room, like a predator stalking its prey. “What is he paying you to continue this charade?”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Am I to assume you mean Peter again? Because, if so, the answer is the same as before. I’ve never met Peter Bellamy, and I’ve never taken any directives from him.”
“Oui, just from Edouard. He selected well when he chose you for his son,” he said, and she debated lobbing the water carafe at his arrogant head.
“Why do you hate him?” she asked, thinking she should know what drove André before she said anything more. Certainly before she divulged her secret.
“Why?” André released a caustic laugh, his features devoid of humor. “Edouard Bellamy destroyed my family.”
A sickening chill swept over Kira. “That’s why you engineered the takeover of the Chateau? Why you want to break Bellamy Enterprises?”
“Revenge, ma chérie.”
“But Edouard’s dead.”
His smile was so cold she felt as if she’d been plunged in ice water. “You are familiar with the concept of the sins of the father being visited upon his children, oui?”
Kira managed a weak nod, though her knees nearly buckled. “What has Peter done to you?”
Again the negligent shrug. “He’s a Bellamy.”
And that answer said it all. For she was a Bellamy as well, Edouard’s daughter. And her baby—their baby!—had Bellamy blood.
She had to escape Petit St. Marc before he discovered the truth—before his vendetta against the Bellamys destroyed her and their child.
ANDRÉ watched Kira. The skin at his nape was hot, his muscles bunched to spring forward and catch her should she faint. It seemed imminent. She swayed slightly and her face was leached of color again. All because he’d told her that he intended to destroy Edouard Bellamy’s empire.
“It’s
