The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen

Oh, damn. Dammit, she cursed beneath her breath. If they hadn’t taken another turn on the merry-go-round …

      But they had done. And it was too late for recriminations now.

      Shannay headed towards her suburban apartment and went into automatic pilot as she bathed and changed Nicki, readied herself for work, then she handed her daughter into Anna’s care and drove to the pharmacy.

      Somehow she managed to get through the evening, dispensing medications and offering advice to customers who sought it.

      Concern, fear, dread … the palpable mix heightened her tension to almost breaking point, and by closing time she’d developed a doozy of a headache.

      It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of her apartment, thank Anna, check on Nicki, then undress and slip into bed.

      But not to sleep.

      Estimating her estranged husband’s reaction on discovering she had a child … his child, didn’t bear thinking about.

      Could she insist he wasn’t Nicki’s father?

      A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.

      All Marcello had to do was insist on a DNA paternity test to shoot that one out of the water.

      And afterwards?

      A slight shiver shook her slender form.

      Marcello was a ruthless strategist, possessed of sufficient power and wealth to dispense with anyone or anything that might stand in his path.

      Shannay was the exception.

      She’d make sure of it.

      No one would be permitted to come between her and Nicki.

       No one.

      A resolve which remained uppermost when she woke next morning, and strengthened with each passing hour. Together with an increasing degree of nervous tension.

      It wasn’t a matter of if, but when Marcello would make contact. Either in person, or via legal representation.

      Marcello Martinez might not care about her. But a child, indisputably his child, would be another matter entirely.

      Given Sandro could pinpoint her location, just how difficult would it be for someone of Marcello’s calibre to discover where she lived and worked?

      A piece of cake, a silent voice assured in taunting response.

      Knowledge which didn’t sit well. She barely ate and every waking hour was spent attempting to predict any possible scenario Marcello might choose to present.

      The necessity to ensure Anna take every precaution while Nicki was in her care resulted in only one query.

      ‘Are you in trouble with the law?’

      Oh, dear God. ‘No … no, of course not,’ Shannay reiterated.

      ‘That’s all I need to know.’

      An apparently single mother and child … How difficult was it to do the maths and reach the conclusion of a looming custody battle?

      ‘Thanks,’ she expressed with genuine gratitude.

      How long would it take Marcello to plan his strategy and put it into action?

      A few days? A week?

      Meantime, she needed to consult a lawyer to spell out her legal rights in fine detail. She was aware of the basics, and sufficiently astute to realise what appeared logical and rational didn’t always hold true.

      She also intended to file for divorce.

      Given she could prove a separation of more than the legal requirement, it should only be a matter of time before she gained a dissolution of the marriage.

      Whereupon the only issue that could arise would be custody.

      An icy chill invaded her body and settled in her bones.

      Marcello couldn’t enforce custody of Nicki … surely?

      What rights would he possibly have?

      Shannay wrapped her arms tightly over her midriff, and barely prevented her body from shaking with very real fear.

      Her soon-to-be ex-husband possessed the wealth and the power to surmount any objective he set out to achieve.

      A silent scream echoed inside her brain.

      If he decided he wanted Nicki, then he’d move heaven and earth to get her.

      Over my dead body, Shannay resolved.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MARCELLO MARTINEZ moved through the international-terminal lounge with Carlo, his personal assistant and trusted bodyguard, at his side, seemingly unaware of the speculative interest in his tall, broad frame.

      The Martinez legacy had gifted him the compelling well-defined features of his forefathers, arresting, wide-set dark, almost black eyes which projected the hardness of a man well-versed in the frailty of human nature.

      There was an aura of power and intense masculinity apparent, together with a dangerous ruthlessness that boded ill for any adversary.

      He was linked to Spanish nobility, with a personal wealth that placed him high on a list of the European rich.

      And it showed … as he meant it to do, from the Armani tailoring, hand-stitched Italian shoes, to the fine Rolex at his wrist.

      The long flight had done little to ease the anger simmering beneath his control. The luxuriously fitted Gulf Stream privately owned jet offered every comfort, geared with the latest technology enabling him to have an essential office in the sky.

      Although he’d worked, studying print-outs, graphs and data, checked his BlackBerry and kept in touch with Sandro … he hadn’t been able to switch off and sleep.

      Something he usually achieved at will, given the comfortable bed situated with its own en suite at the rear of the jet.

      Instead he was plagued by a young woman’s image, startlingly vivid and recently taken via camera phone.

      Shannay Martinez … née Robbins.

      And his daughter.

      The before and after shots.

      The first serene, happy and loving. Mother and child, laughing.

      In the second image, the child’s expression remained the same. His estranged wife’s features, however, mirrored shock and something else …

      The innate knowledge life as she’d known it since leaving Spain was about to change?

      Without doubt.

      A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw as he exited the terminal’s automatic glass doors and stepped into a limousine waiting at the kerb.

      The chauffeur stowed his bags in the boot and moved up front to slide in behind the wheel.

      Marcello barely noticed the passing scene beyond the tinted windows as the limousine left the airport and began picking up speed en route to the city.

       A child.

      Anger, barely held in control since Sandro’s enlightening phone call, rose to the surface.

      How dared Shannay keep him in ignorance of the child’s existence? His initial reaction had been to instruct his pilot to ready the Gulf Stream jet for an immediate flight to Australia.

      Instead, he’d delegated with icy calm, consulted his legal team and planned his strategy.

      Tomorrow he intended to bring it into play.

      Marcello’s