surprise me, ma chérie. I expected you would insist that the baby you carry is mine and not Bellamy’s,” he said, his eyes dark and accusatory.
“Why should I bother? You don’t believe a word I say.”
“For once we are in agreement.” He strode to the door, back straight and broad shoulders stiff. “You will remain my guest until you have the baby.”
“Your prisoner, you mean,” she said.
“If you choose to look at it that way.”
“Fine—play the tyrant,” she said, so angry she could scream. But he’d expect that, and she’d not surrender to hysterics. Not now. “I can work on my laptop from here as easily as I can from the Chateau.”
He stopped at the door, his expression incredulous. At last she’d gotten some reaction from him. But in a flash it was gone, replaced by the hard look she’d come to hate.
“Your only job until you give birth is to take care of yourself and the baby,” he said.
“I can do that and continue working.”
“Out of the question.”
“Why? Have you fired me?”
“You have a new job now,” he said, leaving her to wonder. “Or have you so quickly forgotten your condition?”
She glared at him, chafing at the order. “Not likely. I’ll be pregnant for another six months. If I don’t have something with which to occupy my time I’ll go out of my mind.”
His smile came slowly—a thief of passion, sneaking in unaware. The sensual curl to his mouth sent heat unfurling in her and reminded her just how much she craved his touch, his kiss. Just how responsive she was to him.
“I will endeavor to keep you busy, ma chérie.” And with that he was gone.
Kira pressed her fists to her temples, so frustrated with André’s high-handedness she could scream. If she stayed she’d become his mistress. But no matter how appealing it would be to lose herself in his arms again, to stay placed her in a dangerous game she feared she’d not win.
For once André discovered she was a Bellamy, he’d treat her with the same hatred he harbored for Edouard and Peter. He’d hate her and their child.
She had to contact her solicitor today. She had to find out who had set her up to look like Peter’s accomplice.
Perhaps when the truth was out in the open she and André could reach a rational decision regarding the future of the Chateau and their child? And their own relationship? She could only hope.
Kira paced her room, wondering how she’d manage to sneak into André’s office and ring up her solicitor. It would have to be when he left the house. Even then she’d have to be careful, for Otillie was always around.
Kira dressed quickly in khaki capri pants and a floral blouse that made her eyes gleam like rich amber and enriched the auburn highlights in her hair.
She slipped into comfortable espadrilles and made her way downstairs to the dining room. Otillie appeared almost immediately, which confirmed what Kira feared—the housekeeper was watching her closely.
She took a seat and forced a casual mien. “Will André be joining me for breakfast?”
“No,” Otillie said, as she set an assortment of thinly sliced baguettes topped with ruby-tinted jelly and chocolate-filled croissants on the table. “Monsieur Gauthier ate earlier.”
“Perhaps I’ll see him at lunch, then.”
Otillie frowned as she poured coffee that smelled rich and strong. “Monsieur will not return until this afternoon. He requested dinner at seven, and will join you then, oui?”
“Of course. I’ll enjoy the beach, then,” she said, hoping Otillie would take her at her word.
The older woman looked her up and down, then nodded. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
Kira ate a croissant, though her appetite was nil, then left the table. She resisted the urge to rush into André’s office, and waited until Otillie disappeared into the kitchen.
Her nerves twanged a discordant beat as she slipped into his masculine domain. She hadn’t been in this room in three months, yet it looked the same. With one exception. There was no telephone evident.
She searched everywhere, her frustration rising. He must have anticipated she’d try to place a call and removed the phone. He’d trumped her plan. Or so he thought.
Kira was not to be deterred—not on something as important as discovering who was set on discrediting her. She knew none of the cottages had telephones, yet there must be one at the restaurant.
Fifteen minutes later she slipped into the only restaurant on the island. A guard sat at the bar, which was manned by a tall thin Carib.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” the bartender said. “What is your pleasure?”
“Sparkling water with a twist of lime,” she said as she claimed a stool at the end of the bar.
From here she had a good view of behind the bar. But the only telephone visible was the mobile hooked to the bartender’s belt.
Feeling defeated, Kira grabbed her glass of water and took a stroll along the beach. She saw more guards positioned at the dock. Though they appeared to be resting, she knew they were watching her.
Kira continued onward, down the leeward side of the island away from the public beach, so frustrated she wanted to scream.
Petit St. Marc was a beautiful prison, a verdant green rainforest surrounded by white sand. The turquoise sea rolled in an endless expanse toward the horizon, broken only by a passing ship that was soon out of sight. She walked around the spit of land that jutted into the froth of water and stepped into a protected cay.
She caught a glimpse of a guard patrolling the beach before he disappeared around an outcropping. Closer to her, a Carib boy stood on the crescent of sand, staring out to sea. Kira followed his gaze.
Not far offshore she spotted a sleek kayak, slicing through the water with apparent ease. And far out in the water she spied the unmistakable green of trees. Another island?
Of course. The kayak must have come from there.
A daring plan teased her mind as she stood in the protection of the rocks while the mariner rowed toward the shore. Just before the lime-green kayak reached the beach the young Carib bounded out and pulled the shallow boat the rest of the way onto the sand.
The two boys ran up the track and disappeared into the forest. Her gaze flitted from the kayak to the other island. There’d be a telephone there—one that was not guarded.
If she left immediately she could ring her solicitor and be back on the island before anyone missed her. She’d know what Claude had found out in her absence. But she’d have to journey there in the kayak first.
Her
