what was going through André’s mind.
“We have unfinished business between us,” he said.
“Business? Are you talking about the Chateau?”
“No, personal business.”
Surely he didn’t mean—? “We have a child between us.”
“I am aware of my obligations, ma chérie.”
She flinched, angry and hurt that he chose to regard the tiny life they’d created as an obligation. Hurt that he thought so little of their precious child, and angry at herself for deluding herself about André Gauthier.
He didn’t want her, and he certainly didn’t want their child. He was just like her father—cold, calculating, ruthless.
André had returned for one reason—to bestow a settlement on her. To shuffle her out of his life. He’d likely want her to sign a document agreeing to his denouncing any obligation to her or their child.
“Fine. State your business,” she said, her fingers bunching the sheet in a tight knot that rivaled the hard ache in her stomach.
“I have confronted Peter Bellamy.”
She released a bitter laugh, more saddened than surprised that André still believed the worst of her. “Did he deny there was a conspiracy? Or did he perhaps swear I’d concocted some devilish scheme alone?”
“Neither. Peter laughed, pleased by the turmoil he’d wrought. He hates you.”
She’d known her half-brother resented her. She’d deduced he’d been the one who set out to ruin her. But she’d not considered that he’d be so pleased by her downfall. That he hated her so much.
Her insides felt raw, scraped of emotion, of feeling. She’d been a fool, longing for family, doing as asked by her mother for that brief time she’d known her, and by her father, who had been little more than a name throughout her life. She’d not asked for more, for it had been drummed into her that what she had was all she’d get.
She’d abided by her father’s rules, and in the end her family had betrayed her. Family she hadn’t even known.
But it crushed her spirit, her heart, that André had shut her out of his life after all they’d shared. Even now he stared out the window, as if unable to tolerate looking at her.
“Yet you still believe the worst of me,” she said.
His shoulders snapped a bit straighter. “You were innocent of his machinations.”
That admission failed to tell her how he felt about her, only that he believed her claim of innocence long after the fact.
“Is that the business you came here to attend to, then?” she asked.
“Not entirely.” André strode toward her, his broad shoulders straight, his jaw resolute, his arrogantly handsome face—
“My God!” She leaned forward, her heart hammering as she took in the bruises, the cut lip, the swollen eye. “What happened to you?”
His fierce scowl made him look more ravaged, more dangerous, despite the custom-tailored suit that screamed sophistication. “Peter and I fought as our ancestors did when pirating ships collided.”
Her mouth dropped open. She was shocked that the billionaire who was famed for his rapier-sharp verbal sparring had engaged in a physical fight on her behalf. That he seemed proud of it. What was she to make of that?
“You attacked him?”
“Oui. I could have killed him for his underhand dealings involving you, but I didn’t,” he said, looking away from her as if the admission pained him.
A tiny bud of hope unfurled inside her. He’d stood up for her.
But that didn’t mean he cared for her.
André was a complicated man. His reasons for fighting Peter could have nothing to do with her at all. It could all center around defending his honor.
“Why, André? Why did you do it?”
He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and stared down on her, his bearing so rigid she felt it snap the air with electricity like an approaching thunderstorm. “I have no tolerance for a man who endeavors to ruin his sister.”
“Illegitimate half-sister,” she said, unable to feel anything but pity for the half-brother who’d attacked her with such hatred.
“The same Bellamy blood flows in you and in him.”
She laughed at that, for even her father hadn’t welcomed her into his legitimate family. He’d sequestered her from them all her life, and made it clear she was never to admit her paternity to anyone. He’d stressed that if she ever directly contacted his family there’d be severe consequences to bear.
She’d abided by his wishes because she’d learned to be happy on her own. Because she’d had no wish to cause more scandal. Yet Peter obviously hadn’t felt the same.
“In this case water is thicker than blood,” she said.
He stared at her a long, uncomfortable moment. “Oui. You became the target of familial vengeance the day Edouard placed you in a position of power at Le Cygne.”
She suspected it had begun the day Peter had learned about her existence, but he’d bided his time until Edouard couldn’t defend her. “Peter obviously resented that his father had acknowledged his by-blow so richly.”
“Oui. But it was your solicitor who took umbrage.”
Had she heard him correctly? “Claude? But why?”
“You really don’t know?” He faced her, and she shook her head in answer. “Claude Deveaux is Edouard’s brother-in-law.”
More family. More hatred. She blinked back angry tears, sick of being manipulated by powerful men with hidden agendas.
“I trusted him,” she said.
“You made it easy for them both.”
She reached for her glass of water and drank, waiting for him to expound, forcing more than a sip down her emotion-clogged throat. But he simply watched her, his expression unreadable.
“How long have you known all this?” she asked.
He shrugged, a careless gesture she loathed and loved in turn, for she was never sure if he was the uncaring rake or the troubled man she’d lost her heart to. “I suspected something was amiss when your shares went public. But I didn’t begin to believe you were a pawn until our jaunt to St. Barthélemy, when you emailed your solicitor demanding answers.”
When had he had the time to check his computer? Or had he charged someone else to search it?
The Windward Islands were his domain. His world. She was merely a puppet in it, dancing to the melody he’d arranged.
“You
