Page 34 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

He kissed Marie-Isabelle’s powdery cheek and dipped his head respectfully. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment. David will take you straight through to the terrace. I shouldn’t be long.’

He turned just as Augusto’s shrill voice cut in. ‘Please invite your lady-friend to join us. The lovely young lady in red. Isn’t she the dancer you were photographed with in London last month? We saw the feature in the press. I would be delighted to meet her. Wouldn’t you, my dear?’

Marie-Isabelle smiled graciously.

‘What a lovely idea,’ said Matteo, and with a slight nod he took two paces across the carpet, past the curious faces, and lifted Ruby’s hand into his.

He didn’t pause to look at her or at anyone else as they moved off together, as if to the music of some practised pas de deux.

Away from the guests, down a short flight of steps and through some huge French windows, he led her into a drawing room full of nothing other than heavy antique furniture and vast windows that lent no privacy.

‘Whatever you’ve come to say, you’ll do so in private,’ he said, moving briskly through the hallway, scanning the area for signs of listening ears or probing cameras.

‘That depends,’ she said.

Her fingers were snug in his hand. He felt a certain satisfaction from that, even as her words put him on guard.

‘How did you know I was here?’ he said as they breezed through the house and up the wide staircase.

Staff bustled about everywhere. Rooms all over the house were being used to interview the various stars who were due to arrive.

‘You’re not exactly hard to find,’ she said, and he tried to hear in her voice the emotion that had caused her to come. There was an edge, a steely forceful tone through her words that put every nerve in his body on guard.

‘Of course,’ he said, thinking that she, too, would have seen the photographs of them at the benefit.

He wondered if she’d felt any of the yearning he’d felt as he’d scanned the press coverage of that night. Discretion hadn’t been top of their list, he’d realised.

‘You’ll have seen, then, that this is the biggest Regatta we’ve ever attempted. And my mother’s still in Africa so it’s just me this year—and the biggest A-list donors we could find.’

As well as the start of talks with Arturo. Did she know she was exposing him to gossip just by being here?

The stress hormones in his blood were pumping higher and higher as he hurried them along silken rugs, down a high-ceilinged corridor flooded with light from an immense circular window at the end, right above the terrace where—please, God—David was keeping Augusto and his wife quietly entertained.

‘In here.’

He opened a door on the left and led them into a bedroom, then paced around opening doors into cupboards and an en-suite bathroom. With microphones and lip-readers everywhere you couldn’t ever be too sure, but it seemed safe.

He walked back across to where she stood—a vision in red that he would never forget.

‘How is your knee?’

She closed her eyes, and the sweep of those eyelashes tugged at the memory of that night, that beautiful night...

She nodded. ‘Fine. All clear. I’m back dancing full-time. For now.’

‘Good...that’s good.’ He nodded.

For a second a smile lit her up, then vanished into the sorrowful beautiful hollows of her face.

‘You look well. You suit this dress very much.’

‘It’s the only one I have. I thought I’d better make an effort or they might not let me gatecrash your party.’

‘There was no need for you to gatecrash anything. You could have said—’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted.

‘You’re what?’ he said.

An instant image sprang into his mind—Ruby, plump with child. Her figure full and soft and feminine, rounded and abundant with life.

But not his—surely not his? It couldn’t be his. But she was here. She’d tracked him all the way to France...

‘It’s yours.’

The words he most dreaded punched him in the stomach like two fists.

‘No...’ He started shaking his head. ‘You can’t be. It can’t be—Are you sure? Pregnant?’

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