The Frenchman's Captive Wife. Chantelle Shaw

but I’m prepared to be reasonable about access arrangements if you’ve really lost your aversion to fatherhood.’

      ‘How very generous of you.’ Luc’s voice dripped with sarcasm and she flushed. He’d always had the knack of making her feel two feet high and once she would have backed down at the slightest hint of confrontation. Now she lifted her chin and stared at him, cursing her body’s involuntary reaction to him. How could he still have such an effect on her after everything he’d put her through, the humiliation he’d heaped on her?

      She’d been overwhelmed from the first moment she’d set eyes on him, she acknowledged grimly. There was something about his face, the sharp cheekbones and very slightly hooked nose, that gave him the appearance of a hawk, his eyes gleaming from beneath heavy black brows, watchful and calculating. It was hard to believe that those eyes had once softened to the colour of woodsmoke, that the cruel line of his mouth had moulded into a sensual curve as he had explored her lips with a degree of passion and tenderness that had left her weak with longing.

      She bit back a gasp as a curious pain uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, self-disgust swamping her as her imagination ran riot. What was desire doing, rearing its ugly head at a time like this, when Luc was studying her with insolent appraisal as if she was something unpleasant that had crawled out from beneath a stone? Swiftly she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her body’s blatant betrayal, sickness flooding through her when his gaze settled on her breasts and she saw his lip curl in sardonic amusement.

      ‘But, then, in certain areas you were always very generous, weren’t you, Emily?’ he drawled. ‘Especially in bed.’

      ‘Go to hell,’ she snapped, tears of mortification stinging her eyelids. How dared he look at her like that, as if she was some cheap tart and he was considering sampling her wares? ‘I’m surprised you even remember. It’s a long time since you chose to share my bed but, then, you didn’t need to did you, Luc? You were busy elsewhere.’ She broke off abruptly, twin spots of colour staining her cheeks. Now was not the time to reveal the depths of the clawing jealousy she’d experienced on those long, lonely nights when she’d waited in vain for him to come home.

      ‘As soon as I arrive in London, I’ll have my lawyers contact yours to arrange suitable access to Jean-Claude,’ she told him briskly as she looked towards the farmhouse. No doubt Laura was struggling to give her guests a guided tour of the kitchens with Jean-Claude clamped to her hip. The sooner she held her son in her arms the happier she would be, she decided after risking another peep at Luc’s inscrutable face. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find him,’ she murmured awkwardly. She supposed she should invite Luc into the farmhouse to meet his son and her conscience prickled uncomfortably as he continued to stare down at her with those laser-beam eyes that she was sure could read her mind.

      She didn’t want to take him inside, she acknowledged as a faint edge of apprehension gripped her once more. San Antonia was her territory, and for some reason she would prefer Luc’s first meeting with his son to take place on the neutral ground of her solicitor’s office. Time was getting on, she realised with a glance at her watch. The coach driver was looking impatient and if she wasn’t careful she would miss her flight.

      ‘Are you in the habit of losing my son?’ Luc enquired, his brows raised sardonically, and she flushed.

      ‘Of course not. I haven’t lost him, just mislaid him,’ she added, her vain attempt to lighten the situation, receiving no flicker of response from him. ‘So, I’ll see you in London.’ She needed to walk away from him but it seemed as if her feet were trapped in quicksand and she couldn’t move as her eyes greedily absorbed every detail of his beloved face. Not that she loved him any more, her mind hastily pointed out, but he possessed a magnetism that even now was wrapping itself around her, making coherent thought impossible.

      ‘As you wish.’ The curtness of Luc’s tone broke the spell and she became aware of his sudden impatience as he flicked back the sleeve of his jacket to read his watch. The brief glimpse of his tanned wrist, dusted with a sprinkling of fine black hairs, caused her tummy to lurch and she inhaled sharply. ‘We need to make a move anyway.’

      His words puzzled her and she gave a harsh laugh. ‘Let me guess. Robyn is waiting in the car for you. I can’t fault her dedication to duty,’ she said sarcastically.

      He was already walking away from her and paused briefly to glance over his shoulder. ‘Oui, Robyn’s behaviour and attitude are exemplary,’ he replied in a tone that clearly indicated her own failing in both departments. ‘But she is not with me this time. Jean-Claude is in the car and, no doubt, growing restless. Au revoir, chérie.’

      Incredibly he had already dipped his head prior to sliding into the car and her feet suddenly grew wings. ‘Luc! Wait, what do you mean, he’s in the car? Jean-Claude is in the house with Laura—isn’t he?’ she finished uncertainly, and the blandness of his expression only served to increase her fear.

      ‘I took the liberty of stowing my son safely in the car while your attention was…’ He paused fractionally. ‘Elsewhere. Tell me, chérie, are you always so careless about leaving him unattended and in the full glare of the sun?’

      ‘He was shaded by the parasol,’ Emily defended herself fiercely, ‘and I did not leave him unattended. He was asleep and I was…’She was going to explain how she had taken advantage of Jean-Claude’s brief nap to load her luggage onto the coach, but the scathing disgust in Luc’s eyes made her want to crawl away.

      ‘You were too busy to watch over him. Anyone could have taken him.’ He pushed home the point by glancing into the car and she flushed. It was true that her attention had been focused on the trip back to London, but she had regularly checked on the baby and, besides, the farmhouse was miles from anywhere. A person would have to have been extremely determined, not to mention devious, to snatch him and unfortunately the description fitted Jean-Luc Vaillon to the letter.

      She had reached the car and her shocked glance revealed that Jean-Claude was indeed inside, strapped into a baby seat and happily absorbed playing with the brightly coloured toys in front of him. ‘But you can’t just take him,’ she faltered, her shock giving way to stark fury. ‘How dare you try to take him from me? I’m his mother.’ She rounded on him, her voice bristling with outrage as her fingers fumbled with the door-handle.

      Instantly his hand closed over hers, his grip bruising as he surveyed her steadily from beneath his ridiculously long, black lashes. ‘And I am his father, yet you thought nothing of keeping him from me. You deliberately hid yourself away and if it hadn’t been for your greed, it’s possible that I still wouldn’t have found you or, more importantly, my son.’

      ‘My greed?’ Emily echoed faintly.

      ‘I assume you were banking on a hefty divorce settlement to keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed,’ he mocked, his disdainful glance taking in the rambling farmhouse and various outbuildings, ‘although I’m not sure why you need money in this God-forsaken spot. Perhaps you want it for other reasons than providing a secure environment for Jean-Claude?’

      ‘Such as?’ She glared at him, one hand on her hip while the other was still trapped beneath his.

      ‘Drugs?’ he suggested with a nonchalant shrug that belied the gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘Who knows what goes on inside your hippy commune? All I care is that it is not a suitable place to bring up a small child, certainly not my child.’

      ‘Because, of course, you are such a caring parent.’ She could hardly speak as her anger choked her. ‘San Antonia is not some sort of drugs den. It’s a thriving community where everyone works together and where my friend Laura runs a cookery school for middle-aged ladies. The only drugs you’ll find here are for rheumatism or the menopause!’

      ‘I have never been given the opportunity to prove my worth as a parent,’ Luc snapped, ‘but that’s about to change. My son is coming with me.’

      ‘The hell he is!’ From the corner of her eye Emily saw the coach driver lean out of his window.

      ‘Señorita,