‘Oh, I do—I do—I do…’
At least that was what he had thought. It was what he had wanted to believe too.
He had married the woman he adored; brought her here to his home on this tiny island that his family had owned for centuries, thinking that he could put it all behind him. He’d hardly been able to keep his hands off his beautiful bride, and had made passionate love to her just as soon as they had reached the house. Their marriage couldn’t have begun in a more perfect way, he had told himself.
And then the photographs had arrived. The faxes had been waiting for him when he walked into his office. Sent by the investigator he had put on the case. Photos he couldn’t deny, no matter how much he wanted to.
Stooping, Andreas picked up a flat stone and flung it into the sea, watching as it skipped its way over several waves, and then sank deep into the water, disappearing without a trace.
Becca hadn’t been able to deny anything either, when he’d challenged her with Roy Stanton’s name. She’d gone white, and he had seen the near-panic in her eyes. She’d never expected to be found out, that much was obvious. Had she really thought that she could hide her affair with the other man while being married to him?
Had she really thought that the money she could hope to give her lover would keep him by her side?
Because obviously, when she had returned home, her tail between her legs, without the huge financial settlement they must have been expecting, Roy Stanton had grown tired of her and his eye had started wandering. Or perhaps he had wandered even before then, and Becca had been duped all along.
Did she really care for him so much that she would come here, plead for money for his child? Or was the child now her uppermost concern? And if that was why she was here then why—why— had she gone to bed with him today?
Just remembering the experience of that afternoon, the passion that had blazed between them, made Andreas’ blood pound in his veins, setting his whole body throbbing in recollection. He would pay any price to have that experience all over again.
Any price…
Daisy’s not my baby—though I love her as if she were. She—she’s my niece. And I would do anything I could to help her.
In the back of his thoughts he heard Becca speaking as clearly as if she had been standing behind him, whispering in his ear.
I would do anything I could to help her.
All right, let’s see if she meant that…
Becca hadn’t been able to move from her place on the terrace since Andreas had left her there. She had seemed to be frozen there, her legs unable to move, as she watched him walk away and out of her sight. And then she had sunk down onto one of the low stone walls that edged the terrace, shielding anyone on it from the long, sheer cliff to the sea, covering her eyes with her hands briefly as she faced the fact that she might have ruined everything. That she might have destroyed Daisy’s one and only chance of help.
She didn’t know how she was going to go back and face Macy, what she was going to tell her sister, if that was true. Macy was barely back on the straight and narrow as it was, and another setback could ruin everything. Brutal claws of anxiety clutched at her heart, making her wish for the relief of tears. But somehow the tears that had burned in her eyes so hotly before, now seemed to have vanished completely, leaving her eyes dry and uncomfortable.
And suddenly she knew why. Whatever had made Andreas walk off like that, it was nothing to do with Daisy. Andreas had been listening, his attention totally focused, when she had been telling him about Macy and her baby. It was only when the name of Roy Stanton had come into the conversation—when he had forced it out of her—that his mood had changed, become blackly savage, and he had turned and walked off without another word. Perhaps there was still hope—and if there was any sort of a chance, she wasn’t going to let it go.
She had said that she would do anything she had to to save Daisy’s life—and she’d meant it. She only prayed that Andreas would give her the opportunity.
The sun was setting by the time that Andreas came back from the beach. He appeared at the top of the cliff steps just when the burning red ball had hit the horizon, and his tall, powerful figure was silhouetted against it, like some demon appearing out of hell, making Becca shiver in dreadful apprehension in spite of the warmth of the evening.
He had made up his mind, that much was obvious. She could see it in the way he held himself, the tension in his shoulders, the set to his jaw that etched white lines of determination around his nose and mouth. His decision was made, and if he had decided against her then she doubted very much that there was anything she could do to change it for better or worse.