November Harlequin Presents 1(138)

‘Andreas? What’s happened? What’s this about?’

‘You tell me what it’s about. Tell me about Roy Stanton.’

He flung the name at her like a weapon, watching through narrowed eyes so that he caught the way she flinched, the sudden step she took backwards in uncontrolled shock.

‘So you do know the name, then?’

It was too late to deny it. Her reaction had already given her away.

‘How—how did you…?’

‘How did I find out?’

An arrogant flick of his wrist tossed away the question as so obvious that it didn’t need an answer.

‘An investigation into these things is easy to arrange.’

‘You—had me investigated!’ She sounded as appalled as she felt. And she felt even worse when Andreas shrugged off that question too, with even less concern than he had given the first.

‘I have every right to know what my prospective wife is doing with the small fortune I’ve given her. And I do not believe that you have the right to judge my actions when what you did was give that money to some other man. Or are you claiming that that’s not true?’

‘No…’

Becca sank down onto one of the wooden benches in the changing room as the bitter memories of that day took all the strength from her legs. Andreas hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He had bombarded her with questions like some brutal counsel for the prosecution, demanding answers to a new one even while she was still stumbling over the answer to the last. And all the time she had been bound by the promise she had made to Macy. The promise to her newly discovered sister. The sister she had never known she had until just a few short weeks before.

At first Macy had wanted nothing to do with her but then suddenly she had phoned, asking to meet, asking for help. But she had made Becca promise that she wouldn’t tell a soul.

‘No, I’m not claiming that.’

‘You gave this man money?’ Andreas had thundered. ‘All the money I gave you, by the look of it.’

‘You said it was mine!’

‘You know damn well that I gave that to you to buy your wedding dress and anything else you wanted for—’

‘Are you saying that the dress I wore wasn’t good enough?’ Becca rushed in, jumping to the defensive in a panic as she struggled to think of some explanation she could give him.

Her mind was reeling in shock at just the thought that Andreas had found out about Roy Stanton. There was no reason at all that he should even know the man’s name. And so she tried to stall him, using any argument she could to distract him while she tried to work out just what was happening and how she could possibly answer him at all.

But going on the attack was the wrong move—the worst possible move of all. From being icily angry, Andreas’ temper went into meltdown, blazing fierce and furious as a forest fire, engulfing everything that stood in its way. And before she knew what was happening, it seemed that he was accusing her. But of what she was not quite sure.

‘The dress was fine—as far as it went. But it could have been more—should have been more…’

‘Should have! So now I have to wear what you order just to make sure that—that what? That I didn’t show you up by not wearing something suitable to match your status? Is that it, Andreas? Are you angry because I didn’t marry you in a couture gown—a designer original? One that would show my family—your friends—how wonderfully you can provide for me? That you can give me a fortune to spend on a single dress for a single day…’

‘A fortune that you gave to another man.’

‘I had my reasons!’

‘And what were they?’

And that simple question brought the whole argument to a crashing halt. The words died on her lips, crushed back down her throat as if someone had put a gag right over her mouth and tied it so tightly that she had no chance of saying a word in her own defence.

Because the truth was that she was gagged by her promise to Macy. She had sworn on everything she held sacred not to say a word. Not until Macy was safe. And when she had discovered that her already emotionally vulnerable half-sister was also very newly pregnant that vow had become even more important. So, even though it tore at her heart, she had to hold to that promise.

‘I—can’t say.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ Andreas snarled and the savagery of his tone had her flinching back, terrified of his rage, the flames of fury that blazed in the darkness of his eyes.

‘Andreas—please…’

How had this happened? How had the wonderful, blissful mood in which they’d reached the villa been turned into this terrible horror, this brutal tearing each other apart?