The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

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helpless as no other man could. She had hated him for it, hated herself for her own vulnerability. But, most of all, she had hated the circumstances that bound her to him.

      She wanted to cry out a rejection, but the words choked in her throat. ‘The night of the accident,’ she revealed bleakly, ‘I’d decided to leave you.’

      His eyes speared her. ‘How long did you imagine it would take before I tracked you down?’

      ‘I intended to see a lawyer and file for separation.’

      His features hardened measurably. ‘You hate me so much that you would attempt to deny me knowledge of your pregnancy, my child’s existence?’ His voice lowered to a dangerous silkiness that sent tiny shivers along her spine. ‘Or did you plan an abortion?’

      ‘No,’ she jerked out in shocked denial, reasserting in a hushed tone, ‘No.’ The thought had never entered her head.

      He was silent for several interminable minutes, and when he spoke his voice was hard and held unaccountable bleakness. ‘The child you carry is as much mine as yours. Uniquely ours. Our son or daughter deserves to be more than someone we fight custody for in a law court.’

      ‘I married you because I couldn’t stand by and see my father emotionally and financially beaten. It would have killed him.’ She had to take some consolation from the knowledge that the last few months of his life had been happy. ‘You engineered a diabolical game,’ she accused him fiercely. ‘I should have damned you to the depths of hell and walked away.’

      He regarded her steadily for what seemed an age. ‘Yet you didn’t,’ he reminded her, his gaze alert beneath partly lowered lids. ‘You accepted the arrangement as a challenge, and attempted to score against me.’

      That had been her intention. At first, she had fooled herself that she was succeeding. Except that somewhere along the way she had fallen in love with him.

      ‘Displaying beautiful manners in public,’ he went on in musing reflection, ‘while behaving like a virago when we were alone.’

      Her eyes were dark and accusing. ‘A fact you deliberately withheld from me.’

      ‘If you remember,’ Alejandro pursued, ‘I made no pretence that we shared an idyllic relationship.’

      ‘You said we argued occasionally!’ Elise flung, hating his skilful employment of words.

      ‘Frequently,’ he corrected. ‘The resolving of such arguments was always——’ he paused deliberately ‘—satisfactory, wouldn’t you say?’

      That was an understatement. In bed, they had always been in perfect accord. In the beginning it had been a source of anguish, for she found it difficult to condone the degree of her emotional involvement with a man she professed to hate.

      ‘Our marriage breaks all the rules,’ she offered wretchedly, her eyes stormy with anger, and her hand shook as she lifted it to push hair back from her face.

      ‘The reason for its existence remains the same,’ he said in a hard voice.

      She looked at him carefully, aware of his immense strength of will, the arresting elemental quality that made her feel suddenly afraid. ‘You can’t mean for the marriage to continue?’

      ‘Indeed,’ Alejandro declared inflexibly. He subjected her to a long, level appraisal. ‘What is more, I insist that you honour the two-year term listed in our pre-nuptial agreement.’

      Anger emanated from every pore in her body. ‘That’s barbaric!’

      ‘Perhaps.’ His smile was a mere facsimile, his eyes dark and forbidding.

      ‘You expect me to act a part?’ She felt like screaming with indignant resentment. ‘Pretend?’

      His expression was resolute, and his voice held infinite mockery. ‘You have managed admirably for the past seven months.’

      ‘Six,’ she flung back angrily, incensed by his imperturbability. ‘I cannot be held responsible for the past one and a half.’

      He lifted a hand and brushed light fingers along the edge of her jaw. ‘Relieved of the barriers of your animosity for a few short weeks,’ he said, ’there was no reason to generate hatred for your Spanish esposo.

      She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘There wasn’t meant to be a child!’ It was a cry from the heart.

      His voice gentled as he caught hold of her chin and tilted it towards him. ‘Nevertheless, there is. Its unexpected existence is something I refuse to consider as anything other than a very special gift.’ His thumb lightly caressed the lower edge of her lip. ‘For several weeks we were able to dispense with any hostility.’ His eyes darkened measurably. ‘Friends, as well as lovers.’

      Her eyes glittered with anger, sheer emerald flecked with gold. ‘We can never be friends!’

      A smile tinged with wry mockery tugged the edges of his mouth. ‘Perhaps at this moment you do not believe so.’ Dark eyes gleamed with cynical humour. ‘Why don’t you get into bed?’

      Her pulse tripped its beat and measurably quickened—as a result of anger, she assured herself, not passion. ‘I don’t want to go to bed, and I especially don’t want to share a bed with you/

      ‘We share, Elise,’ he insisted in a dangerously soft voice, ‘as we have done from the beginning.’

      His threat wasn’t an idle one, and she looked at him in silent mutiny for several long seconds. ‘If you touch me, so help me, I’ll hit you,’ she vouched with low-pitched vehemence, and, turning away from him, she caught up her nightgown and crossed into the bathroom to remove her make-up.

      Her fingers shook so badly that the cream got into her eyes, and she dabbed frantically at it before sluicing her face.

      Alejandro was in bed when she emerged, stretched out, his arms crossed behind his head.

      Elise eyed him warily as she slipped in beneath the covers and closed her eyes. Seconds later she heard the snap of the bedside lamp as the room was plunged into darkness.

      Slowly her lashes swept upwards, and for a long time she stared sightlessly ahead, discerning shadows and a thin strip of moonlight threading between the curtains as her eyes adjusted to the grey light of night.

      She was acutely aware of every sound, her own breathing, his, and she knew the moment when Alejandro’s steadied and assumed a deep rhythmic beat.

      Tomorrow, she promised as her eyelids became heavy and began to flutter down. Tomorrow she would launch an attack about the depth of his involvement with the glamorous Savannah.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ELISE woke late to discover that Alejandro had already left for the city. His absence provided an anticlimax, for there was a fine edge to her inner rage that longed for the satisfaction of a full-scale confrontation.

      ‘Alejandro asked

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