Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит

trying to stick up for her.

      Better for her to just leave quietly. Better for both of them.

      After lingering as long as she could in the cool quiet of the empty, marble bathroom, with the old-fashioned elegance of a more genteel era, she went out into the hallway.

      She found Darius waiting for her, smolderingly handsome in his tuxedo, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his jaw tight.

      “Are you all right?”

      He was angry. She could hear it in his voice. She stopped, barely holding back her tears. “Have you seen enough?” she choked out. “You’re surely not enough of an idiot to marry me.”

      He came closer in the empty hallway, with its plush carpets and gold light fixtures. She tensed, waiting for him to tell her he’d obviously made a mistake, bringing her to his ball, and that there was no way he would marry her now or in fact ever wanted to see her again. She waited for him to give her what she’d wanted and set her free.

      Except in this moment the thought didn’t make her as happy as it once did.

      He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t realize how bad it was for you.”

      She’d successfully fought back tears all night. But she could do it no longer. Not now, when the illusion of having a protector—even for a night—was coming to an end.

      Letty took a deep breath, trying to ignore the lump in her throat, wiping her eyes before he’d see the tears. She tried to smile. “But now you know. So tomorrow I’ll go to Rochester with my father. You can continue to be rich and famous and popular here. You can visit our baby anytime you want…” Something in his eyes made her voice trail off uncertainly. “If you even want to see our baby anymore,” she whispered.

      His eyes suddenly blazed with cold fury. “No.”

      “What?”

      He gripped her arm. “I said no.”

      She tried to pull away, but couldn’t. “What are you doing?”

      “What I should have done the moment we arrived here.”

      He pulled her grimly down the hall, back toward the ballroom.

      “No,” she choked out, struggling. “Please. I can’t go back in there. Don’t make me…”

      Darius was merciless. He dragged her back into the enormous ballroom, with its high ceiling and crystal chandeliers. He gripped her wrist as she limped behind him in the tight stiletto shoes and pink dress, going past all the big round tables, where a thousand people were now drinking after-dinner brandies and coffees and the men, at least, were eating desserts. Letty felt each ten-person table fall silent as they went by. She felt everyone’s judgment. Their blame. Their hatred.

      Ruthlessly, Darius pulled her through the ballroom, leaving people silent in their wake. As he walked past their own table, he grabbed his glass of champagne. Crossing the small dance floor, he dragged her up the stairs to the stage, where, still holding her wrist, he took the microphone at the podium. He cleared his throat.

      Letty’s knees were trembling with fear. She wished she’d never come here—wished she’d never taken a single risk—would have given twenty years of her life to be back at her tiny apartment, snug on the sofa with a blanket over her head!

      “Good evening,” Darius said into the microphone. His husky, commanding voice rang over the ballroom. A spotlight fell on him. “For those of you I haven’t yet met personally, I’m Darius Kyrillos. Thank you for coming to my party, the event kicking off the New York fall social season, and thank you for supporting scholarships for kids in need. It’s because of you that many deserving youngsters will be able to go to college or learn a trade.”

      A smattering of applause ensued; much less enthusiastic than it would have been if Letty hadn’t been standing with him on stage. She was ruining everything, she thought unhappily. Even for those kids who needed help. She hated herself. Almost as much as she hated him.

      Darius deliberately turned away from the microphone to give her a searching glance, and her stomach fell to the floor. Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to announce that he brought me here as a joke and have me thrown me out. She was social poison, so he really had no choice but to distance himself. This was exactly what she’d expected.

      She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when it happened.

      Darius’s lips twisted. He turned back to the microphone. “Most of you know this beautiful woman on stage with me. Miss Letitia Spencer.” There was a low hiss across the ballroom, a rumble of muffled booing. He responded with a charming smile. “Since we’re all friends, I wanted you to be the first to know… I just asked her to marry me.”

      Letty’s eyes went wide. What? Why would he say that? Was he insane?

      “And she has accepted,” he finished calmly. “So I want you all to be the first to wish us joy.”

      This time, the gasp came from Letty. Forget insane. Was he suicidal?

      The low hisses and boos changed to ugly muttering across the ballroom, angry, obscene words that made Letty squirm. Instinctively, she covered her belly with her arms to protect her unborn baby from the cruel words.

      But Darius’s smile only widened as he put his large hand over hers, on her belly.

      “We’re expecting a baby, too. All of this has left me so overwhelmed with joy, I want to share it with all of you. Now. Some of you might know of her father’s troubles…”

      A white-haired man, unable to contain himself any longer, sprang up from his table. “Howard Spencer defrauded my company of millions of dollars!” he cried, shaking his fist. “We were only repaid a fraction of what we lost!”

      A low buzz of rage hummed around him.

      “Letty’s father is a criminal,” Darius agreed. “He abused your trust, and I know over half of what he stole is still unaccounted for. But Letty did nothing wrong. Her only crime was loving a father who didn’t deserve it. That’s why I’ve decided, in my future bride’s honor, to make amends.”

      Suddenly, it was dead quiet across the tables.

      Darius held his champagne glass high. “I will personally pay back every penny her father stole.”

      A collective gasp ripped through the ballroom.

      The white-haired man staggered back. “But that’s…five billion dollars!”

      “So it is,” Darius said mildly. He looked over the crowd. “So if your family is still owed money by Howard Spencer, I personally guarantee repayment. All in honor of my beautiful…innocent…unfairly hounded…bride.” Turning back toward Letty on stage, he held up his champagne glass and said into the microphone, “To Letitia Spencer!”

      As photographers rushed forward, Letty felt faint. Camera flashes lit up everywhere. There was a rumble of noise, of shouts and gasps and chairs hastily pushed aside as a thousand people scrambled to their feet and lifted their champagne glasses into the air.

      “Letitia Spencer!” they cried joyfully.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      IT WASN’T EVERY day a man spent five billion dollars on a whim.

      Darius hadn’t intended to do it. He’d had a different surprise in mind for Letty tonight: a black velvet box hidden in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, which he’d planned to spring on her as soon as the evening was over and all her overblown fears had proved unfounded.

      Instead, he’d realized how much she’d endured over the last ten years. Alone. While he’d been happily free to live an anonymous life and make his fortune.

      Standing in the