The Frenchman's Captive Wife. Chantelle Shaw

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      The Frenchman’s Captive Wife

      Chantelle Shaw

      

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      COMING NEXT MONTH

      PROLOGUE

      August

      ‘OF COURSE WE didn’t bribe Jean-Luc to marry you!’ Sarah Dyer said crisply, ‘although I admit there was some financial incentive.’

      ‘Oh, God.’ Emily swung away from her mother as a wave of sickness gripped her. Sarah always spent a few weeks of the summer with friends in Hampstead and, although mother and daughter had never been particularly close, she was the first person Emily had turned to in her hour of need. But rather than sympathising, Sarah had unwittingly added the final nail to the coffin. She couldn’t stay with Luc now.

      ‘Darling, you have to understand that Jean-Luc Vaillon isn’t like other men. You don’t amass a multimillion-pound fortune without a ruthless streak, and your husband is first and foremost a businessman.’

      ‘I know,’ Emily murmured dully. She didn’t need anyone to remind her of Luc’s dedication to work, but she was prepared to put up with the endless business trips and the long hours he spent shut away in his study if she thought there was any hope that he might love her.

      ‘The trouble with you, Emily, is that you’re a romantic,’ Sarah went on, after another glance at her daughter’s pale face. ‘Perhaps Jean-Luc is having a fling with his personal assistant, but you’re his wife and it’s in everyone’s best interests that you remain so. Pregnancy can place a marriage under huge strain,’ she added, eyeing Emily’s swollen abdomen, ‘and, to put it frankly, I imagine your husband is an extremely virile man. Once the baby’s born, everything will return to normal, you’ll see.’

      But what constituted normal? Emily wondered bleakly as she trudged across the heath, after assuring her mother she would do nothing rash. She had realised soon after her marriage that her role in Luc’s life was designated almost exclusively to the bedroom. The fierce sexual attraction that had existed from the moment they had first met was their only real form of communication. Their passion for each other had made them equal but without it they had nothing.

      It was busy on the heath. The air rang with children’s high-pitched laughter as families took advantage of the late summer sunshine, and as Emily watched a man and a little boy flying a kite, something snapped in her head. She gave a low moan, like an animal in pain, and swiftly covered her mouth with her hands as if she could push the sound back inside. She couldn’t fall apart now, not here, but her legs gave way and she sank onto a bench as she faced the reality that her son would never enjoy such an innocent pastime with his father.

      She could stay, she thought desperately. For the sake of the baby inside her she could turn a blind eye to the fact that her husband was an unfaithful liar. But Jean-Luc did not want their child any more than he wanted her. His look of horror when he had learned of her pregnancy still haunted her, and his coldness towards her ever since only reinforced her belief that he viewed their marriage as a mistake.

      How long had his affair with his personal assistant been going on? she wondered miserably. Robyn Blake had worked for him for years and right from the start she had never missed a chance to emphasise the special relationship she shared with Luc. She was his brother’s widow, not just a member of his staff, and Emily had tried to banish her feelings of jealousy at the obvious affection that existed between her husband and his PA. But now she had irrefutable proof that Robyn was Luc’s mistress and her sense of betrayal was unbearable.

      What about her baby? her mind argued. Her excitement when the ultrasound scan had revealed she was carrying a boy had been overshadowed by misery that Luc hadn’t been with her. Of all the hurt he had inflicted on her, that had been the worst, she acknowledged bitterly. He hadn’t even bothered to turn up at the hospital to see the magical, grainy image of their child, and she had to face the agonising truth that he just didn’t care. Even if she told him he was going to have a son it would make little difference to his attitude. He seemed to grow more and more distant with each passing day and his polite indifference tortured her. Surely it would be better to go now, before her baby was born, and envelop him in her love rather than let him suffer the pain of realising his father had a lump of ice where his heart should be?

      Leaving Luc would break her heart, Emily accepted bleakly, but to stay with him now would kill her, and with a muffled sob she stumbled towards the road.

      ‘Where to, love?’ the taxi driver asked cheerfully as she climbed into the cab, and for a split second she was torn by indecision, the address of Luc’s Chelsea penthouse hovering on her lips.

      Maybe she should give him one more chance? Maybe there was a rational explanation why he had spent the night he’d arrived back from Australia with Robyn, rather than returning home to her? But she could not dismiss the images that tortured her mind of Luc making love to his beautiful assistant, and despair overwhelmed her.

      Face it, it’s over, she told herself savagely, biting down on her lip until her mouth filled with blood. Luc didn’t love her and, to give him his due, he had never pretended to. Her mother’s revelation that his proposal had been part of a shrewd financial deal only emphasised that fact.

      She loved him so much, maybe too much. He was her life, her reason for living, but at that moment the baby kicked and she felt a determined little foot push against her stomach. Now there was a new reason, she reminded herself fiercely, and lifting her chin she relayed the address of her friend Laura’s flat to the waiting driver.

      CHAPTER ONE

      A year later—San Antonia

      ‘ARE YOU SURE you’ve got everything? Passports, tickets, keys to the flat?’

      ‘Everything’s under control—stop fretting,’ Emily bade her friend cheerfully. ‘You’ve got enough to worry about. The coach is here.’

      Arrivals day was always hectic, she mused as she followed Laura out into the courtyard. The farmhouse at San Antonia had once been a quiet refuge for Laura’s boyfriend and his crowd of artist friends. All that had changed when Nick had persuaded Laura to join him in Spain and she had opened up her cookery school. The business had been an instant success, catering for tourists eager to take lessons from an innovative chef who had earned her stars at a top London restaurant. Emily was pleased for Laura and glad she had been able to help out by organising the guests’ living and sleeping facilities, but the time had come for her go back to England and take control of her life.

      ‘I hope you’ll manage,’ she murmured as she joined her friend on the front step and watched the party alight from the coach. ‘I could be away for a couple of months while the lawyers sort out the divorce.’

      ‘From bitter experience, I’d better warn you it could take a lot longer than that,’ Laura replied grimly. ‘Mine took over a year to finalise and cost me a small fortune.’

      ‘I’m not anticipating any problems,’ Emily said with a shrug. ‘Luc will be as pleased as me to see the end of our marriage.’ Especially if the recent photo in one of the British tabloids was anything to go by, she thought bleakly. Seeing his dark, handsome features again had momentarily caused her heart to stop