Mistress Of His Revenge. Chantelle Shaw

manufacturing company.

      Cruz had been under no illusions about why he was an honoured guest. Porchester had sucked up to him all evening, but when Cruz had stepped outside onto the terrace for some fresh air he had been hidden in the shadows and had overheard his host discussing him with another guest.

      ‘Delgado’s a self-made millionaire from South America. Apparently he bought a diamond mine and struck lucky. Of course you can always pick out the nouveau riche by their lack of breeding.’

      The two men had laughed and Cruz had gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he would have the last laugh because money was money at the end of the day, and Porchester needed a loan. But Lord Porchester’s meaning had been clear. It did not matter how many millions Cruz had in the bank, he would never be accepted by the social elite. Not that he gave a damn about other people’s opinion of him, Cruz brooded. But he was determined to establish Delgado Diamonds as one of Europe’s most exclusive jewellers and being regarded as an outsider by the aristocracy was a disadvantage.

      Perhaps he should have accepted Porchester’s daughter’s unsubtle hints that she hoped he would take her to bed, he mused. If he was seen to be dating a lord’s daughter it could open doors for him. Business relied on networking and making useful contacts. Unfortunately, the half an hour he had spent listening to Lisette Porchester gossiping about her ‘Chelsea Set’ friends had bored him rigid.

      But there were plenty of other upper-class women he could choose from. Cruz knew it was not just his millionaire status that the opposite sex found attractive. Women were drawn to the sensual promise in his eyes and the athleticism of his muscular body. They called him a stud and he was happy to prove it. Since he was a youth, women had thrown themselves at him. Maybe that was why he found the cut and thrust of business so exciting—there was an element of risk and the possibility of failure that was never present in his numerous sex-without-strings affairs.

      He turned away from the window, bored by the scene of drunken debauchery taking place on the lawn, and glanced around the library. Eversleigh Hall deserved its reputation as one of England’s finest stately homes. From the outside the house was a gracious manor house, predominantly Georgian in style, although some of the original sixteenth-century building still remained. Inside, the impressive entrance hall and the library had a rather faded elegance about them—as if the house had been trapped in a time warp when grand country houses were run by dozens of staff.

      The only member of staff Cruz had seen was the elderly butler who had admitted him into the house. He frowned. Had he imagined an odd expression had crossed the butler’s face when he’d asked to see Earl Bancroft?

      He wondered why the earl was hosting a party for guests who seemed to be barely out of high school. Perhaps the party was for Sabrina’s younger brother, he mused. Tristan Bancroft must be in his early twenties now. Ten years ago Sabrina had used the excuse that she wanted to return to Eversleigh Hall because her kid brother needed her. The real reason, Cruz knew, was because she’d felt trapped in Brazil when she had been expecting his child. After she’d lost the baby she had rushed back to England and the privileged lifestyle she was used to.

      His mind snapped back to the present as he noticed the door handle turn, and his jaw hardened at the prospect of meeting Earl Bancroft—the man he held responsible for his father’s death.

      The door opened and Cruz stiffened.

      * * *

      ‘It is you.’ Shock stole Sabrina’s breath and her voice emerged as a thread of sound. Cruz was instantly recognisable and yet he looked different from the man she had known ten years ago. Of course he was older, and the boyishly handsome features she remembered were harder, his face leaner, with slashing cheekbones and a chiselled jaw that gave him an uncompromising air of power and authority combined with devastating sensuality.

      The curve of his lips was achingly familiar and memories of the feel of his mouth on hers flooded back. How could she remember his kiss so vividly after all this time? she wondered, dismayed by her reaction to him. She unconsciously flicked her tongue across her lower lip and saw his eyes narrow on the betraying gesture.

      Cruz had always been able to decimate her equilibrium with one glittering glance from his olive-green eyes, Sabrina thought ruefully. She recalled the first time she had seen him in Brazil. Even as a young man, his body had been honed and muscular from working in the diamond mine. His jeans and shirt had been filthy, and when he’d taken his hat off, she had noticed that his black hair curling onto his brow was damp with sweat.

      She had never met a man so overwhelmingly male before. The sheltered life she had led at Eversleigh Hall and at an all-girls boarding school had not prepared her for Cruz’s smouldering sensuality. She’d taken one look at him and scorching heat had swept through her body. Disconcerted by her reaction, she had behaved with an uncharacteristic lack of manners and ignored him. But a few days later she had met him while she was out walking and he had told her that his name was Cruz Delgado before he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a blazing passion that had set the pattern of their relationship.

      For a moment Sabrina felt like a shy, unworldly eighteen-year-old again and she was tempted to run out of the library away from Cruz’s brooding stare. She was twenty-eight, had a PhD and was highly regarded in her field of expertise in antique furniture restoration, she reminded herself. His unexpected appearance at Eversleigh Hall was undeniably a shock, but she assured herself that she was immune to his simmering sexual chemistry.

      ‘Why are you here?’

      She was thankful her voice sounded normal. But seeing him again brought back memories of her miscarriage just four and a half months into her pregnancy. She wondered if Cruz ever imagined what their son would be like if her pregnancy had gone to term. Did he sometimes picture, as she did, a strong-jawed, dark-haired boy with his father’s green eyes, or perhaps his mother’s grey ones? The raw pain that had torn her apart in the weeks and months after the miscarriage had faded with time, but there would always be a lingering ache in her heart for the child she had lost.

      ‘I need to speak to your father.’

      Fool, Sabrina berated herself, remembering that the butler had said Cruz had asked to see Earl Bancroft. The reason for his visit had nothing to do with her. He hadn’t cared about her ten years ago. The only reason he had asked her to marry him was because he had wanted his child. But having witnessed her parents’ disastrous marriage, Sabrina had been wary of making such a commitment. She had been sure Cruz did not love her and so she had turned him down.

      Cruz did not look as though he was besieged by memories of the past. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored grey suit that moulded the lean lines of his body, and a white shirt that contrasted with his darkly tanned face. He looked the phenomenally successful multimillionaire businessman that she had read about in both the financial pages and the gossip columns of the newspapers. Yet beneath his air of suave sophistication she sensed there was still a wild, untameable quality about Cruz Delgado that had so intrigued her when they had been lovers.

      Once again she felt the urge to flee from the library but she forced herself to walk into the room, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.

      Cruz was standing behind the desk, his hawk-like features set in an arrogant expression as if he owned Eversleigh Hall, damn him. A memory slid into her mind of when she had been a little girl called into her father’s study to explain some misdemeanour. Earl Bancroft had not been a particularly strict parent, more an uninterested one. He’d spent most of his time abroad and when Sabrina was a child her father had been a stranger who upset her mother and created a fraught tension in the house that disappeared when he went away again.

      Lifting her chin, Sabrina walked around the desk to where Cruz was standing by the window, but she regretted her actions when she realised how close she was to him. She was sure it was not by accident that he’d moved his position slightly so that she was trapped between his powerful body and the desk. The musk of his sandalwood cologne was instantly familiar and she recognised the brand of aftershave she had given him as a present soon after she had given him her virginity. Had he deliberately worn that particular brand tonight to torment