Читать книгу The Gold Collection - Ким Лоренс, Maggie Cox - Страница 28

‘LAUREN—Mr Velaquez has explained that he is one of your clients…’ Frances’s voice tailed to a halt as she glanced from her daughter to the darkly handsome man whom she had invited into the flat, and who was now staring grimly at Lauren and Mateo.

Silence fell in the room. A silence that simmered with an undercurrent of tension that made Lauren’s skin prickle. She was barely aware of her mother. Her eyes were riveted on Ramon’s face. He had paled beneath his tan, his shock palpable. She could not tear her gaze from him, and she watched as his shocked expression changed to one of bitter fury.

‘So it’s true—you have a child.’ His voice was so harsh it was almost unrecognisable, his accent very pronounced. Silence stretched between them once more, shredding Lauren’s nerves, before he spoke again. ‘He is my son.’

It was a statement, not a question. The resemblance between Ramon and Matty was startling. Lauren could not have denied the truth even if she had wanted to, and she gave a tiny nod.

He swore violently, and Lauren flinched. ‘You kept my son a secret from me,’ he said hoarsely, disbelievingly. He stared at the baby and saw his own features in miniature. There was no doubt that Lauren was holding his child in her arms, but his brain was struggling to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

And not just his eyes, he thought as he walked jerkily across the room, moving without his usual lithe grace. His heart, his soul recognised his own flesh and blood. He did not understand how it had happened, but that was immaterial now. Lauren had given birth to his son—and had never told him.

For the second time in his life Ramon tasted the rancid bile of betrayal in his throat. The only other occasion he had felt like this was when he had been eighteen, standing in the doorway of a hotel bedroom, fixated by the sight of the woman he loved lying naked on the bed with another man.

‘Now do you see why you cannot marry this trollop?’ his father asked from behind him. ‘Catalina Cortez was never in love with you, my son. It was all a trick, devised with her lover, to seduce you into marriage so that she could claim a vast divorce settlement. You have been taken for a fool, Ramon,’ Estevan Velaquez had told him harshly. ‘But fortunately no damage has been done—except to your pride, perhaps,’ the Duque had added perceptively.

The disappointment in his father’s eyes had intensified Ramon’s humiliation, and as he had stared at Catalina he had vowed never to trust another woman again. Over the years that decision had served him well, for he had found most women to be untrustworthy. But Lauren had been different. One of the qualities he had most admired about her had been her honesty. He had spent his life surrounded by people who fawned on him and told him what they thought he wanted to hear, and he had found Lauren’s tendency to speak her mind a refreshing change.

Now he knew that she no more deserved his trust than Catalina had, Ramon thought bitterly. Lauren had not cheated on him with another man, but she had cheated him out of the first months of his son’s life, and he would never forgive her for her duplicity.

‘How old is he?’ he ground out, forcing the words past a peculiar constriction in his throat.

‘Ten months.’

Lauren bit her lip. Ramon looked shell-shocked, almost haggard, and the terrible realisation was dawning inside her that she had been wrong to keep his son a secret from him. He was a playboy Spanish duque, who had freely admitted that he viewed marriage as an unwelcome duty necessary to begat the next Velaquez heir, she tried to reassure herself. But the look of devastation in his eyes tore at her conscience.

‘Ten months?’ he repeated harshly. ‘You have kept my son from me for almost a year.’ He did a quick mental calculation. ‘You knew you were pregnant the night you ended our affair, didn’t you? Dios!’ He closed his eyes briefly, trying to take it in. ‘Why, Lauren?’

‘Lauren—what’s going on?’ Frances interrupted in a shocked voice. ‘Who is this man?’ She stared warily at the formidable stranger dressed in black jeans, sweater and a leather jacket. ‘Shall I call the police?’

‘No. It’s all right, Mum.’ Lauren took a shaky breath. ‘Ramon is Matty’s father. I…I need to talk to him, and you need to go. I think your taxi is here now. Please don’t worry,’ she begged her mother, who looked as though she was going to argue. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

If only she could believe that, she thought a few minutes later, as she gave Frances a wave and shut the front door. Her headache had developed into an excruciating pain, as if someone was drilling through her skull. She longed to take some painkillers and lie down on her bed for a few minutes, but instead she took a deep breath and walked back into the sitting room.

Ramon was standing by the mantelpiece, studying a photo of Mateo taken when he had been a few days old. He speared her with a savage glare. ‘I don’t even know his name,’ he said, in a low tone that could not disguise his tightly leashed anger.

‘It’s Mateo.’

‘Mateo.’ Ramon spoke his son’s name with a sense of wonder. His son—his son. He still couldn’t take it in. Until now he had viewed fatherhood simply as a duty he would have to fulfil at some point in the future. He had never actually envisaged what it would be like to have a child. But now he was faced with his son, whose features so resembled his own that it was like looking at a miniature version of himself, and he felt awed that this perfect, beautiful child was his.

Matty was sitting on Lauren’s hip, his head resting on her shoulder, but he looked up enquiringly at the sound of his name and gave Ramon a gummy smile. The baby was usually wary of strangers, especially when he was tired, but to Lauren’s shock he held his arms out to his father. Ramon moved closer, his hands visibly shaking as he touched his son for the first time, and Lauren felt a sudden, irrational feeling of panic. She did not want to let Matty go, but the baby smiled happily as Ramon lifted him and held him against his chest.

‘Mateo.’ Ramon stroked his son’s silky black hair, and as he stared down into the baby’s sherry-brown eyes that were the exact same shade as his own the tidal wave of emotion that swept through him threatened to unman him. He had missed most of the first year of his son’s life. Lauren had stolen those irreplaceable months from him, and the knowledge filled him with black fury.

Lauren swallowed the tears that clogged her throat. Matty looked so small in Ramon’s arms, and the look of tenderness in Ramon’s eyes as he studied his son evoked a host of emotions in her. ‘Matty is tired,’ she said quietly. ‘He usually has a nap about now. I’ll put him in his cot.’ She held out her hands to take the baby, but Ramon shook his head.

‘I’ll take him. Show me where he sleeps.’

It would be childish to refuse, and she could hardly snatch Matty out of Ramon’s arms, she acknowledged as she reluctantly led the way down the hall to the tiny box-room that served as a nursery.

‘He’s had a traumatic day,’ Lauren explained a few minutes later, after Ramon had carefully laid Mateo in his cot.

‘Alistair Gambrill told me this morning that you had rushed home because your son was ill.’

So that was how he had found out about Matty. And now she could not deny Ramon the answers he clearly wanted. Her head felt as though it was about to split open, but she tried to ignore the pain and led the way back into the sitting room.

‘What was wrong with Mateo?’ Ramon demanded. ‘He seems to be perfectly well now.’

‘He had a fit this morning. My mother called an ambulance and he was rushed into hospital. Apparently it was what is called a febrile convulsion, brought on by a high temperature. Tests revealed that he has a throat infection, and the doctor prescribed a course of antibiotics. There should be no lasting damage, although babies who have had febrile convulsions are slightly more at risk of having them again,’ she added shakily.

Tears filled her eyes once again, although she knew it was pathetic to cry when the doctor had assured her that Matty had been completely unharmed by the fit.

She dashed her hand across her face and glanced up, to find Ramon watching her through narrowed eyes. He had taken off his leather jacket, and suddenly he flung it forcefully onto a chair, his barely leashed violence making Lauren jump.

‘Why did you do it, Lauren?’ He caught hold of her shoulders in a bruising grip that made her cry out.

‘Ramon! You’re hurting me.’

‘I could kill you,’ he snarled. His face was a hard mask, his skin drawn taut over razor-sharp cheekbones. He glimpsed the fear in her eyes and felt infuriated that even in the midst of his anger Lauren’s air of vulnerability got to him. He flung her from him, disgusted as much with himself as with her. ‘You treacherous bitch. How could you deny me my own son?’

Lauren rubbed her shoulders and stared at him with huge, wary eyes. ‘I didn’t think you would want him.’

‘You never gave me a choice.’ Nostrils flaring, Ramon fought to control his temper. ‘Why would you think that I would not want my own child?’

Lauren gave a bitter laugh. ‘Because you told me that it was your duty to marry an aristocratic Spanish bride and provide a blue-blooded heir to continue the Velaquez line. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that last night, when we went to the Vine for dinner, but you made it clear that I meant nothing to you.’

She would never forget his appalled expression when she had given him an anniversary gift.

‘You insisted that I could only ever be your mistress. I was afraid you would think that Matty wasn’t a suitable heir—because I certainly don’t have any noble ancestors,’ Lauren continued in a low tone when Ramon gave her a scathing look. She bit her lip. ‘From the moment I walked out of your apartment I was tormented by guilt and indecision. I didn’t know what to do. I was torn between wanting to tell you that I was expecting your baby, and being afraid of your reaction. Many times—before Matty was born, and after—I brought up your number on my phone. But each time I lost my nerve and didn’t put the call through,’ she admitted huskily.

‘I didn’t want Matty to grow up feeling that he wasn’t good enough to be part of the illustrious Velaquez family.’ She voiced the fear that had gnawed at her. ‘Children need to feel valued.’ It was something she had learned when her father had left and she had realised how unimportant she was to him. ‘Although you might have been willing to marry for duty, I wasn’t.’

‘You thought it better to bring Mateo up without a father?’ Ramon accused her scathingly. ‘What right did you have to deny him one of his parents? Did you ever think about what he might want?’

Lauren paled. She had felt guilty that Matty would grow up without a father, but it had seemed preferable to an uninterested father whom she had feared would regard fatherhood as an irksome duty.

‘And how much more of his life were you going to steal from me?’ Ramon demanded furiously. ‘Would you ever have told me about him?’ His blood ran cold. ‘Or was that chance remark by Alistair Gambrill the only reason I discovered my child’s existence?’

When she did not answer, he glared at her with bitter contempt.

‘Dios! You slept with me last night, and even then you said nothing. What was all that about, anyway? Were you using me as a stud, in the hope of conceiving a sibling for Mateo?’

‘No! Don’t be ridiculous.’ Lauren’s temper flared at his outrageous accusation. ‘You came on to me, if you remember. You danced with me all evening, and took me up to your room.’

‘You came willingly enough.’

‘Only because Guy had upset me. I never intended for things to turn out the way they did.’ She looked away from him, colour flooding her cheeks—because she was lying, she admitted bleakly.

During the ball she had been intensely aware of Ramon, and deep down she had longed for him to take her to his room and make love to her. Even now she was acutely conscious of him. Her traitorous body ached for him to touch her as he had touched her last night. The memory of how he had stroked his hands over her naked flesh and brought her to the peak of arousal with his clever fingers made her limbs tremble.

Ramon raked his hand through his hair and swung away from her, pacing around the small living room like an angry caged bear. ‘Who cares for Mateo while you are at work all day? You told me your mother lives in Jersey, so presumably she is not involved in his upbringing?’

‘He is in a daycare nursery. It’s an excellent nursery—the absolute best,’ she continued quickly, when Ramon frowned. The nursery fees were exorbitant, but she was happy to pay them for peace of mind that Matty was happy and well cared for.

‘And when did you return to work?’

‘When he was three months old.’

‘Dios mio! You dumped him in daycare when he was just three months old?’ There was genuine horror in Ramon’s eyes. ‘My sisters did not leave their babies’ sides for the first years of their lives.’

Lauren gave him a startled look. ‘I didn’t even know you had sisters. In all the months that we were together you never spoke about your family.’

He shrugged. ‘I learned long ago to guard my privacy, and that of my family, after a couple of ex-mistresses blabbed to the tabloids about my personal life. Even the colour scheme of my bathroom seems to be fascinating to some people,’ he added dryly.

But there had been another reason why he had maintained a distance between himself and Lauren, Ramon admitted silently. Over the years he had learned to compartmentalise his life; in Spain he had been the son of a duque, who could never forget the life of duty that lay ahead of him, but in London he had enjoyed a playboy lifestyle. His relationship with Lauren had begun as just another affair with a pretty blonde, and because he had known that that was all it could ever be he had deliberately not allowed his two worlds to mix.

‘You must have known that I wouldn’t do something like that,’ Lauren muttered, hurt by his lack of trust in her. It reinforced the fact that he had regarded her as just another casual lover, and once again she wondered how she had been stupid enough to believe he had started to care for her.

‘Unlike your sisters, I live in the real world,’ she said curtly. ‘I had to go back to work to pay the bills. I’m not saying the situation is ideal, but I have done my very best for Matty. I even used to spend my lunch hour in the ladies’ loo, expressing my breast milk so that the nursery staff could give it to him the next day.’

Her life in the first few months after she’d had Mateo had been a blur of exhaustion, worry, and guilty tears shed silently in the cloakroom at work in between meetings. Ramon would never understand what a terrible wrench she still found it to leave her baby for hours every day.

‘It would have been better for him if you had held him in your arms and fed him yourself,’ he said harshly. ‘Breastfeeding is a crucial time, when the special bond between a mother and her child is formed.’

‘I had no idea you were such an expert in childcare,’ Lauren snapped, infuriated by his arrogance. ‘I hate having to leave Matty, but I have no choice…’

‘Yes, you do. You have always had a choice,’ Ramon said bitterly. ‘If you had told me you were expecting my child I would have ensured that you received the best care. My son would have been born in Spain and would have spent the past ten months at the Castillo del Toro, surrounded by his grandmother and his aunts and cousins—not here in this poky flat, farmed out to a nursery all day while you pursue your precious career.’

Poky flat…farmed out…Ramon’s scathing indictment of the way she was bringing up Mateo rendered Lauren speechless with fury. But before she could formulate a reply he spoke again—this time in a cold, implacable voice that she found more frightening than his explosive temper.

‘I want my son. And I will have him; do not doubt it, Lauren.’

The moment Ramon had laid eyes on his son he had realised he did not give a damn if the baby was not deemed to be of true Spanish noble blood because he had been born to an English mother. Mateo was his child, and he felt fiercely possessive and protective of him.

‘It is obvious from Mateo’s striking similarity to me that he is a Velaquez, but if you deny that I am his father I will demand a DNA test, and then I will take him to Spain, where he belongs.’

‘You can’t do that.’ Lauren shook her head, and winced as starbursts of pain shot through her skull. She could not stop shivering, yet two minutes ago she had been burning up. Her legs must be trembling because she had a fever, but as she stared at Ramon’s hard face fear swept through her, and she sank weakly onto the sofa. ‘You have no right to take him,’ she said shakily.

He slammed his hand down on the table, his temper exploding once again. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me about rights! What right did you have to keep my son from me? And what right did you have to deny Mateo his father? This is not about us,’ Ramon said grimly. ‘The only important thing is what is best for Mateo.’

‘How can taking him away from me be best for him?’ Lauren held her hand to her throbbing head and tried to think clearly. ‘I may not have specialised in family law, but no court would separate a baby from his mother.’

‘We’ll see,’ Ramon said coldly. ‘I think it is entirely likely a judge would agree that it would be better for Mateo to live with his father, who is prepared to devote his life to him, within a huge extended family who will welcome him and love him, than with a mother who is at work all day while he is left in the care of nursery staff. A child of Mateo’s age needs the security of being cared for mainly by one or two family members, and I will be there for him night and day.’

‘Really?’ Lauren said disbelievingly. ‘What about when you are jet-setting around the globe for work? Or attending numerous social functions? I suppose you’ll leave Matty with a nanny?’

‘I intend to cut my business trips to a minimum, and to be frank I’m bored with parties. I would much rather spend my time with my son.’

He stared at Lauren’s white face and hardened his heart against a faint flicker of sympathy. She had coldbloodedly denied him his child, and she did not deserve his compassion.

‘What you did was unforgivable,’ he said harshly. ‘You had better start praying you win that promotion Alistair Gambrill told me you are in line for, because you are going to need all the money you can get to pay for the custody battle—and for the appeal if I lose the first round, and then the next appeal. Do you get the picture, Lauren? I will never give up fighting for my son because I genuinely believe he will have a better life with me. Mateo is the Velaquez heir, and I don’t understand how you could want to deny him his birthright.’

Lauren suddenly sneezed violently, and could not stifle a groan as pain tore through every muscle in her body. She still could not stop shivering, but when she pushed her hair back from her face her brow felt clammy with sweat. She rested her head against the back of the sofa, unaware of Ramon’s sharp scrutiny.

He frowned when he saw that her skin was a strange grey colour. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded tersely. ‘You look terrible.’

She gave a mirthless smile. ‘You don’t think that might have something to do with the fact that you’re threatening to take Matty from me?’ Her throat felt as though she had swallowed shards of glass, and talking was agony. ‘I must have picked up the flu virus that’s been doing the rounds at work.’ She dropped her gaze from the blazing fury in his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I honestly believed you would want nothing to do with Matty—or, worse, consider him an obligation. But, whatever you think, I swear I have done my best to be a good mother to him.’

Dark eyes stared back at her, icy cold and unforgiving. ‘Unfortunately I do not consider your best to be good enough.’ He frowned when she sneezed again. ‘Dios! You are in no fit state to look after a baby. You can barely stand,’ he growled as she got up from the sofa and swayed. ‘I understand your mother is embarking on a cruise tomorrow and won’t be around?’

Lauren gave a reluctant nod, and winced as the slight movement of her head sent more starbursts of pain through her skull.

Ramon pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll arrange for a private jet to collect us tonight. There is an airfield about twenty miles from here.’

‘Collect us and take us where?’ Lauren croaked, dismayed to find that she was losing her voice. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so ill in her life, and the grim determination in Ramon’s voice scared her to death.

‘I’m taking my son to Spain—and you’re coming too. Unlike you, I believe that Mateo needs both his parents,’ he said curtly.

‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head, and could not prevent a moan of agony. ‘I won’t let you take Matty anywhere,’ she said wildly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re ill, and he needs to be cared for until you are better. The only place he should be right now is with his family. My mother will be overjoyed to meet her new grandson, and I will hire a nurse who will watch over Mateo in case he should suffer more convulsions.’

A disgruntled wail sounded from along the hall. Matty often woke up grouchy after a late nap, and when Lauren hurried into his room he was standing up in his cot, rattling the bars and yelling so loudly that she felt her head would split open.

‘Come on, sweetie, I expect you want your tea,’ she murmured, trying to pacify him. But the baby was beside himself with temper, and wriggled so violently when she picked him up that she almost dropped him.

‘Give him to me,’ Ramon said grimly from the doorway. ‘You don’t have the strength to hold him.’ He moved towards Lauren, his eyes focused on the hysterical baby.

His son had certainly inherited the Velaquez temper, he thought ruefully. Even at less than a year old it was clear that Mateo was a strong-willed little boy, who would need guidance from his father as well as his mother as he grew up.

‘Mateo.’ Ramon spoke gently yet firmly, and to Lauren’s chagrin Matty stopped screaming and stared in fascination at the tall man who held out his hands. ‘Come to your papito, mi precioso.’

Come to your daddy! Lauren caught her breath when Matty suddenly grinned and leaned towards Ramon. Every instinct inside her fought against the idea of handing her baby over, but Matty wanted to go, and she felt so weak that her knees sagged when Ramon took his son from her.

‘Ramon…’ she called him desperately.

He paused on his way out of the tiny nursery and flicked cold eyes over her. ‘Get your coat,’ he ordered harshly. ‘The car will be here in five minutes.’

There was a picture of a cherub above her head. Lauren opened her eyes wider and saw that the cherub was part of an exquisite mural painted on the ceiling. She frowned, puzzling over how the mural had got there, and what had happened to her plain white bedroom ceiling.

‘Ah, you’re awake.’

The voice came from over by the window. Lauren squinted against the sunlight filtering through the blinds to see a pleasant-faced woman walking towards the bed.

‘Hello, Lauren. I’m Cathy Morris,’ the woman said gently. ‘I’m an English nurse, and I’ve been helping Señor Velaquez to look after you.’

Ramon! Snatches of memory flooded Lauren’s mind— blurred images of him carrying her up the steps of a plane. And then later she had opened her eyes briefly to find herself in a car, speeding towards a huge castle, ominous and forbidding in the moonlight, surrounded by jagged-edged mountains.

She struggled to sit up, shocked to discover that she had no strength. But Ramon had Matty. She had to get up and find him.

‘I don’t think you’re ready to get out of bed just yet,’ the nurse said, in a kind but firm tone. She eased Lauren back against the pillows and straightened the bedcovers. ‘You’ve been very ill for the past four days, with a particularly nasty flu virus. Señor Velaquez has barely left your side. He has even been sleeping in the chair next to your bed so that he could see to you during the night. He’s giving your son his breakfast at the moment, but I expect he’ll be back here before long.’

When Cathy finally paused for breath Lauren mumbled weakly, ‘So I’m in Spain? At Ramon’s castle?’

‘At the Castillo del Toro,’ the nurse confirmed. ‘It’s a wonderful place—built in the thirteenth century, apparently, and oozing with all the history of the Velaquez family. The English translation is the Castle of the Bull—named after one Señor Velaquez’s ancestors, who was renowned for his fighting skills on the battlefield as well as his prowess with the ladies.’ Cathy grinned. ‘I get the impression from the local villagers that the current Duque is as revered as his famous forefather.’ She walked over to the door. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea—and then I’ll help you into the bathroom so that you can freshen up.’

In the nursery, along the hall from Lauren’s room, Ramon strapped his son into a highchair and surveyed the baby’s immaculate clothes, scrubbed face and shining, silky black curls with a sense of achievement. Not that bathing and dressing Mateo had been without its difficulties, he thought ruefully as he glanced down at his damp trousers and shirt. He hadn’t realised that a wet, wriggling ten-month-old was as slippery as an eel, and after towelling Mateo dry and struggling to fasten the fiddly buttons of his romper suit Ramon felt he deserved a medal.

‘How did your madre do this every day before going off to work?’ he asked the baby, feeling a begrudging sense of admiration for Lauren.

His first four days of fatherhood had been an eye-opener, he admitted. Of course he could have simply handed Mateo over to the nurse, Cathy Morris, whom he had also employed as a nanny, but he was fascinated by this little human being who was his son, and he wanted to get to know him better.

All his life he had known that he had a duty to provide an heir and ensure the continuation of the Velaquez name, but he had never actually considered what it would be like to have a child, Ramon reflected. For one thing he had assumed that it would not happen for several years. He had accepted that he would eventually have to choose a suitable bride, but he had been in no hurry to sacrifice his freedom. Now the privilege of choice had been taken from him. He had a child, and he would never be free again. But as he stared into Mateo’s sherry-brown eyes it struck him that his freedom to jet off around the world whenever he felt like it was a small price to pay for his son.

‘Breakfast time,’ he announced to Mateo, when a maid entered the nursery bearing a tray.

He picked up the bowl of milky cereal, filled a spoon, and offered it to the baby—who stubbornly refused to open his mouth.

‘Come on, chiquito, it’s good,’ Ramon said persuasively. ‘Try it for Papà, hmm?’ Instead, Mateo tried to grab the spoon. ‘Okay, you want to be independent and feed yourself?’

Maybe his son was a child genius? he mused as he handed the baby the spoon and set the bowl down on the highchair’s tray.

‘You do it, then. No, Mateo—with the spoon…’ In disbelief Ramon watched Mateo pick up the bowl and upend its contents on top of his head, completely covering his mop of curls.

‘Now I’ll have to bath you all over again!’ Ramon raked his hand through his hair.

He stared at Mateo, and the baby stared solemnly back at him, his rosebud mouth suddenly curving into an angelic smile. And in that moment Ramon fell utterly and irrevocably in love.

He threw back his head and laughed until he ached. ‘You’re a monster—you know that?’ He lifted Mateo out of the highchair, his laughter dying as he hugged the baby to him. ‘You are my son, and I will never be apart from you again,’ he vowed fiercely.

A faint sound made him swing round, and he stiffened when he saw Lauren standing in the doorway. She looked pale and fragile, but it was the gleam of tears in her eyes that caused Ramon to frown.

‘Why are you out of bed?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Cathy told me you were awake, but not strong enough to get up yet.’

Lauren swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of her son sitting contentedly in his father’s arms. ‘I wanted to find Matty,’ she said huskily. ‘The nurse said that you were giving him his breakfast.’ She could not disguise her surprise that Ramon had wanted to take care of the baby rather than allow the nanny to see to him. He even looked different, she noticed. In faded jeans and a black polo shirt, rather than one of the designer suits that she was used to seeing him wear, he looked relaxed and somehow more human than the coldly arrogant, aristocratic duque who had stormed into her flat and threatened to fight her for their child.

Ramon glanced at the cereal plastering Matty’s hair and gave a rueful grimace. ‘As you can see, giving him his breakfast has not been a resounding success.’

Lauren gave him a faint smile. ‘I can’t count the number of times he has done that at home—usually on a morning when I’ve been running late for work. But he doesn’t like to be fed. Even at this age he’s very determined and wants to do everything for himself.’

‘Rather like his mother,’ Ramon commented dryly. ‘It can’t have been easy, caring for him on your own and holding down your job, but you never considered asking for my help—did you, Lauren?’

She heard the latent anger in his voice and bit her lip. ‘I didn’t know how you would feel about having a baby,’ she mumbled.

Ramon made an impatient sound. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t ask me.’

Guilt surged through Lauren once more. She could stand here all day, trying to defend her actions, but in her heart she accepted that she had been wrong not to tell Ramon he had a son. She could not look at him, and instead glanced around the nursery. Through a half open door she could see an en suite bathroom. ‘I’ll run Matty another bath,’ she said hurriedly, desperate to escape Ramon’s accusing gaze.

Matty loved bath-time, and was perfectly happy to spend another twenty minutes playing in the bubbles.

‘He’s a real water baby,’ Ramon said, smiling at Matty’s squawk of displeasure when at last he lifted him out of the water and Lauren wrapped the disgruntled baby in a fluffy towel. ‘In a month or so, when the weather is warmer, I’ll take him in the pool. It will be good for him to learn to swim at an early age.’

His words made Lauren’s heart jolt. She could not stay in Spain for months. She needed to get back to work. The mortgage on her flat would not pay itself. But she certainly did not intend to leave Matty here at the Castillo del Toro.

She followed Ramon back into the nursery, and her heart clenched when she watched him tenderly drying Matty. For such a big man he was amazingly gentle. Tears blurred her eyes. If only she had known this side of Ramon perhaps she would have acted differently. But when he had spoken of his duty to father an heir she had assumed from his tone that he did not relish the prospect of having a child. Clearly she had been wrong. She could see that already there was a special bond between father and son, and innate honesty forced her to acknowledge that she had no right to try and break it.

Ramon glanced at her white face and frowned. ‘You look terrible. Go back to bed. I’ll dress Mateo and take him downstairs to my mother,’ he continued when Lauren shook her head. ‘Go,’ he insisted. You do not need to be here. I can take care of him fine without you.’

The words felt like a knife through her heart, and with a low cry she hurried out of the nursery, wondering despairingly what on earth she was going to do.