report to shut off his mind. “I have just discovered that Edouard Bellamy paid for your education and your efficient Mini Cooper car. And how interesting that you moved into the spacious flat that Peter had called home for over a year.”
“You had me investigated?” she asked, features suddenly tense and expressive eyes wary.
“Oui.” She was the product of a single parent, and raised in an elite boarding school. Illegitimate, with “father unknown” marked on her birth certificate. “Bellamy gave you your first job as the hospitality manager at Le Cygne. Were you Peter’s mistress by then?”
An angry red flush mottled her cheeks. “No! Edouard offered me a scholarship to further my education, but I landed that position at Le Cygne because of my high marks. I had no idea that his son had once lived in the flat I was lent.”
He didn’t believe that for a heartbeat. “What did you do to acquire forty-nine percent of Chateau Mystique?”
“We’ve been over this once—which was quite enough. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. Because I’ve never been any man’s mistress!”
She whirled toward the door and stumbled. He caught her, alarmed by her too-pale complexion and near faint.
“You should have eaten more,” he said.
“It wouldn’t stay down.”
His brows slammed together. “You’re ill? Should I send for a physician?”
“No, I’m just tired and thirsty. The doctor stressed I need to drink more fluid in my condi—” She broke off, her lips parting and her eyes going wide. It was the look of someone who’d said more than they’d intended.
His gaze narrowed on hers, his heart beating too fast as his mind found the only appropriate word to finish her thought. “What is your condition?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze locking on his. “I’m three months pregnant.”
Mon Dieu! He drove his fingers through his hair, his mind reeling with that news. Had he known, had he suspected, he never would have taken her from the Chateau.
“But of course—you are enceinte with Peter’s child.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, jerking free of him. “You are the father.”
It was a lie. It had to be. But even as he thought it his mind replayed a vivid image of the one time he’d neglected to use protection. He’d wanted Kira so much that he’d not even thought about birth control until after the fact.
Now he would pay for that consequence. If it were true.
“When did you plan to tell me, ma chérie?”
She shook her head, hating that she’d blurted out the truth. But at least that secret was out. “I hadn’t decided.”
“Convenient.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Was this part of Bellamy’s scheme to further smear my reputation, or your ticket to gain a greater fortune?”
Kira stared into dark angry eyes that flashed as fierce as the desert lightning storms that terrified her. She was crushed he believed her so mercenary. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—explain herself, for she’d only incur his wrath.
“Answer me! Whose idea was it to steal my heir?”
A glint of longing softened his features, so brief she wondered if she’d imagined it, so real she nearly spoke with her heart. But no, it was too soon to trust him without question—never mind that she longed to do just that.
She’d been an unwanted child, disowned by her mother and regarded as an obligation by her father. She wouldn’t let her child be treated so dispassionately by a rich father.
“Your heir?” She forced a laugh, the sound harsh to her own ears. “Is that all our child means to you?”
How dared she ask that? André’s jaw throbbed from clenching his teeth. “There are tests that will prove if the baby you carry is your lover’s or—”
“I won’t risk my child’s life to satisfy your curiosity,” she said, a hand pressed protectively to her belly.
His temper flared. “Mon Dieu, do you think I’d put the baby’s life at risk?”
“I don’t know. You’ve done nothing to earn my trust.”
“Touché.”
André ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, damning the tremor streaking up his arm. The baby was likely Bellamy’s.
But it was possible the child was his.
“My baby’s health is more important than anything,” she said, and he silently agreed with her. “Let me return to the Chateau. I need to see my doctor regularly—”
“I will arrange for an obstetrician from Martinique to visit you weekly here on Petit St. Marc.”
“Weekly? You can’t mean to keep me here.”
“Oui, you will stay on the island for the duration of your pregnancy.”
Until paternity could be proved, Kira realized with renewed annoyance.
Petit St. Marc would be her prison for the next six months. Unless she could break through the wall of resistance and hatred André had erected. Unless she could finally gain his trust. And if not—
“I never meant for you to find out this way,” she said at last, to fill the awful silence that roared in the room.
He let out a course bark of laughter. “Forgive me for not believing you.”
The thought of being unable to bridge this impasse made her queasy. “I’m going to my room.”
André cut her a sharp glare and cringed at the dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked ready to collapse.
Guilt niggled at him, for he was responsible for her long, arduous journey here. He’d gone to Las Vegas to kidnap a scheming mistress, not an expectant mother. What the hell had he brought on himself?
Time would tell. For now he’d err on the side of caution. “Come. I’ll escort you to your room.”
She glared at him. “So you can lock me in again?”
He affected a negligent shrug as he longed to throw something—ah, she did speak to his inner beast. He waited until she’d started up the stairs before following her up.
“My apology for doing so earlier.” His fit of anger had been so reminiscent of his father that he still longed to rail at himself.
“But you did it anyway,” she said.
“You have my word that it won’t happen again.”
“Your word?” She laughed, a glacial sound vibrating with anger. “Why would I believe
