hitched, that her stomach remained queasy. She could barely force the much needed fluid down her throat, even though she was thirsty. It had been like that all day—nerves and tension and the unknown, all battling together in a gigantic knot within her.
“You must understand,” she began. “I—I’ve never told anyone before, you see. Edouard insisted, and I never thought to disobey.”
“Then I should feel honored to be the first to hear your story.” He saluted her with his glass and drank deeply. “Bravo to you and your father for launching this honeytrap. You planned it well—right down to getting pregnant.”
“There was no conspiracy,” she said. “I just came here to meet with you about the Chateau. How dare you insinuate that I set out to trap you?”
He smirked, the expression a barbed taunt that angered her more than any insult, any accusation. “How fitting that you should begin with a lie.”
She closed her eyes a moment, knowing he’d read it as guilt but no longer caring, knowing he’d not listen to her denials again. He’d believe what he wished.
He’d close his mind to the truth.
The door to the kitchen opened, and a Carib bustled in to serve them. Kira stared at the exquisite meal and knew that she’d never get a morsel down her throat.
She draped her napkin over the plate, hating that she’d offend the cook, and met André’s hooded glare. She read hatred in his eyes. All targeted at her.
“It is senseless to continue. You know the truth and you’ve condemned me without hearing my side. Enjoy your meal.” She rose, praying her trembling legs would support her.
“Sit down.” His command cracked like a whip.
She hesitated a moment, staring into his dark eyes and silently challenging him. A crazy thing to do, for she knew André could pounce on her with the stealth and power of a jaguar.
He could crush her with a condemning look, rip her heart out with a word—for he’d done both with ease. Was doing so now. And the pain of his hatred was tearing her apart inside.
She grabbed the edge of the table, her fingernails biting into the polished surface. “If you’ll listen to me, I’ll stay.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze never leaving hers, his anger so strong she felt it pulsing in the room, in her veins. “You’ll stay whether I choose to listen or not.”
“Fine. Rant and pound your chest if you like.” She dropped onto the chair, so defeated, so weary. “How did you find out?”
He pushed his own food away without sampling it and lounged back in his chair with an insolent air. “Through a private detective. He tracked down your mother.”
Kira stared at him, unblinking, an incredulous laugh escaping her. How ironic that the one person she hadn’t seen in over twenty years should return to ruin her life.
“She’s still alive, then?” she said, hearing the bitterness ring in her voice and not caring.
She’d given up being concerned about the woman who’d given birth to her long ago.
“You don’t like her?” he said.
She shrugged. “I told you before, I barely remember her.”
He looked away, frowning, and she wondered what went through his mind. He’d had a mother and father who’d loved him. A family that cared.
“I hope you didn’t pay her for the information,” she said, angry. Hurt. “She made far too much off me years ago.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. She sold me to my father—which was odd, since he didn’t want me either.”
Something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of something warm. Or was it just a reflection from the candles?
Kira didn’t know anymore. Her head pounded and her back ached. She hurt inside. Felt drained, battered. Everything was an effort. Sitting here, talking, breathing, thinking about what had happened. Worrying about what was to come.
“Tell me,” he said.
She shook her head, believing there was no point in divulging so much now. All her life she’d held her secrets close, hid them and hid the pain.
“Tell me, ma chérie,” he said, his voice softer, lower, intimate.
How devastating that the hushed timbre of his voicing the endearment melted the starch holding her up. She dashed away a tear that slipped free, but another quickly formed, then too many to stop.
Silly, really, for she couldn’t remember crying for her mother. Not once.
“I was an accident. She never wanted me, but for some reason she kept me for a few years. Until I was hurt in a boating mishap.” She frowned, remembering that horrid event so clearly, yet she had trouble remembering her mother’s face. “Edouard told me that she offered me to him then. He paid her price and I never saw her again.”
“How old were you?”
“Nearly five.”
“That’s when he placed you in an elite boarding school in England?”
“Yes. I spent the rest of my formative years being shuffled from nannies to boarding school. Not once did my father welcome me to his home for a holiday or a brief visit. Not once.”
She looked away, for there was really nothing more to tell. She had studied, read, and had seen Edouard once or twice a year when the mood had struck him.
And all the while she’d dreamed of one day having a family. Of having someone in her life who cared about her. Who would love her and who she could love in return.
Her hand stole to her belly to cradle her baby. She would have that dream become a reality soon.
“What was your reward for seducing me?” André asked.
She shook her head, scowling, angry that he thought she’d seduce him for money, that he equated her with her mother. “There was no reward, because there was no conspiracy.”
“The truth, s’il vous plaît.”
She slapped both palms on the table, her patience and energy spent. “I am telling you the truth.”
He swore and jumped to his feet, chest heaving, fists clenched tight. His gaze raked over her, furious, insulting in its curt, deliberate movement.
Then he stalked from the room.
Kira put her head down and sighed, giving in to the tremors that whispered over her. But that only made her dizziness worse and set her stomach churning. If she could just find the strength to return to her room…
She heard heavy footsteps approaching. She’d tarried too long. Her respite was gone.
André stopped beside her chair, currents of anger
