The Frenchman's Captive Wife. Chantelle Shaw

be known in no uncertain terms. The nanny he had employed, Liz Crawford, had an impressive record in child care, but she had been unable to pacify the baby, whose cries had only subsided once he was in his mother’s arms.

      ‘He needs me,’ Emily had insisted, and watching them now, mother and son, Luc knew she was right. She was cradling Jean-Claude against her shoulder, rocking gently as she sang to him in her sweet, husky voice, and Luc felt a curious twisting in his gut as he recognised the familiar French lullaby that evoked memories of his own childhood.

      He shouldn’t have kissed her, he conceded grimly. He shouldn’t have given in to the basic, almost primal need to hold her in his arms once more. He needed to be in control, to take things slowly and persuade her that coming back to him would be the best thing for all of them, not just the baby.

      He had convinced himself that he had every right to hate her but from the moment he’d walked across the courtyard at San Antonia the battle being waged in his head had been lost. She had deprived him of the first year of his son’s life, and when he’d received notice from her solicitor that she wanted a divorce he had been ready to commit murder. If she no longer wanted to be his wife, that was fine, he had assured himself, because he’d had enough of feeling a fool and he didn’t want her back.

      Brave words, but unfortunately, as soon as he’d set eyes on her he’d known he could not back them up. He still wanted her, heaven help him. She was in his blood and he’d known instantly that he couldn’t let her go, but the flash of fear in her eyes when she first caught sight of him had shaken him. He had never been an ogre, had he? She had no reason to cower from him and as he stared at her it was confusion rather than anger that filled him. She had ripped his heart out, damn it, when his only crime had been to fear for her safety. He wanted her but he was determined to discover the truth about why she had left him before he could even begin to trust her again. It was nothing more than sexual attraction, he consoled himself. The fierce chemistry that had existed from the moment they’d first met still burned for both of them. He wasn’t blind, he had seen the way she’d looked at him in the car, had known she felt the same primitive tug of awareness, and when he’d kissed her he had felt her response despite her efforts to hide it.

      He set his glass back on the tray and resisted the urge to ask for another drink. He might tell himself that he had every right to despise Emily, but the unpalatable truth was that she had stolen his heart long before she had stolen his child. He resented the hold she had over him but seeing her again had forced him to accept that their lives were inextricably linked for ever.

      Jean-Claude’s sobs gradually subsided as he fell asleep and Emily reluctantly handed him over to the nanny, who took charge of him with an air of quiet authority. Not knowing what to do, unsure of her role, she glanced round and grimaced as Luc beckoned that she should join him.

      ‘Why did you sing to him in French?’ he demanded when she slid into the seat beside him, the expression in his eyes unfathomable as he studied her small, delicate face and the way the strap of her top had slid down to leave her shoulder bare.

      ‘I hoped to bring him up to recognise both English and French,’ Emily explained, her cheeks pink as she hastily readjusted the strap. ‘One of the artists at San Antonia was French and she taught me some lullabies to sing to him.’ She bit her lip at the unforgiving hardness of Luc’s face.

      ‘I honestly believed you didn’t want him,’ she said huskily, ‘but I still hoped to give you a chance to meet him. I want Jean-Claude to know his father and I was going to tell my solicitor that I was happy for us to share custody.’

      ‘Then why hide away in Spain?’ he demanded impatiently and she sighed.

      ‘I was ill after Jean-Claude was born. It was a difficult birth and it took me a while to recover. I was staying at my friend Laura’s flat while she set up her cookery school at San Antonia and she invited me to Spain to recuperate. I was so busy looking after a new baby and helping Laura and the time passed so quickly…’

      ‘What do you mean by a difficult birth?’ Luc growled. ‘Are you saying there were problems?’

      ‘It was a long labour, thirty-eight hours and he was a big baby. I lost a lot of blood,’ Emily admitted, and Luc’s face darkened as he fought to control the nausea that swept through him. He should have been there. She should have given him the opportunity to support her during her labour but he had driven her away. She was his wife, the woman he had sworn to protect, but once again, it seemed, he had failed in his duty.

      ‘If you had stayed with me, you would have received the best medical care,’ he muttered savagely, trying to disguise his pain. ‘You needn’t have suffered, yet out of spite, a ridiculous urge to hurt me, you put not just your life at risk but his, too.’

      ‘Hurt you!’ Emily stared at her husband with blank incomprehension in her eyes. ‘When I mentioned the idea of starting a family you were adamant that you didn’t want children. Jean-Claude’s conception was a mistake—somehow the antibiotics I’d been prescribed interfered with the reliability of the Pill—but you refused to believe me. I remember how angry you were when I told you I was pregnant. It’s not something a new bride is likely to forget,’ she added painfully.

      ‘Sacré bleu! It was our honeymoon,’ Luc said explosively, ‘and you did not tell me, chérie, you waited until we were on a remote island in the Indian Ocean before you collapsed. It was the emergency medic airlifted from the mainland who informed me of your condition.’

      He could not repress a shudder as he relived the moment he had lifted her limp, lifeless body into his arms and had run up the beach, calling frantically for help. It was happening all over again his mind had drummed over and over, dismissing any semblance of calm in a tidal wave of terror. He had truly believed he had been about to lose her and it had been as devastating as the realisation of how deeply he cared. He had been unable to bear the thought of carrying on without her. He wasn’t strong enough to survive such pain again, and even after it was made clear that she was in no danger, he had withdrawn into himself as a form of self-protection. He didn’t want to love her. Love hurt.

      ‘I hadn’t known I was pregnant. It was as much of a shock to me as it was to you,’ Emily muttered miserably, but with a savage oath, Luc swung away from her, flipped open his laptop and was instantly immersed in his work.

      He obviously did not want to discuss the past, she thought darkly. Perhaps he felt guilty about the way he had treated her. She didn’t know and she told herself that she didn’t care. She knew from experience that he would resent any disturbance while he was working and she stared bleakly out of the window, wishing she found it as easy to dismiss him from her thoughts.

      She must have been the only member of the Dyer household who had forgotten the dinner party planned to honour the potential saviour of Heston Grange, Emily recalled as memories of her first meeting with Luc filled her mind. Rushing in from the stables in her muddy jodhpurs, she had stumbled to a halt, her embarrassment excruciating when she’d viewed her elegant sisters and silently seething mother, but everything had faded to insignificance when she’d caught sight of Jean-Luc Vaillon for the first time.

      The world really could tilt on its axis, she thought with a rueful smile, remembering the way she had literally grabbed hold of the back of a chair for support when he’d surveyed her with his cool grey stare. With his amazing facial bone structure and lean, hard body, he had been the sexiest man she had ever met and she had been unable to repress a shiver when he’d trapped her startled gaze with his, the gleam of amusement in those silvery depths warning her that he was aware of the effect he’d had on her.

      Conscious of her mother’s impatience, she fled upstairs to change into her serviceable navy-blue dress and spent the evening peeping at Luc from beneath her lashes, leaving her sisters to impress him with their sparkling conversation. The head of Vaillon Developments was irresistible with his suave good looks and seductive charm, but despite her sisters’ frantic efforts to capture his attention, Emily glanced up several times during dinner to find him watching her. Embarrassment saw her quickly drop her gaze, but throughout the evening he continued to regard her with