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

prints and spread them out on the desk. ‘Look at them carefully.’

      There was no mistaking the first three prints. They featured herself and Luc sharing lunch. The second three prints were something else entirely.

      Miguel and Camille seated at a table together. Worse, they were looking into each other’s eyes with an expression only lovers shared.

      Hannah felt sick, and it was all she could do to regulate her breathing. Dear heaven. Miguel and Camille?

      ‘Look at them very carefully, querida,’ Miguel prompted gently. He was almost afraid to touch her for fear she might shatter. A silent rage reasserted itself, and he consciously held it in check. ‘They are not quite what they seem.’

      ‘They look real enough to me.’

      ‘As they are meant to.’ He picked up one print and pointed to Camille. ‘If you look very carefully, you will see there is a slight difference in the reflection of light.’ He picked up a pen and pointed its tip to the print. ‘Here. Do you see?’

      The texture wasn’t quite the same, the shade of light reflecting from one set of features compared to the other was fractionally different.

      ‘The original photograph has been digitally enhanced on a computer. In this particular print your image has been removed, and Camille’s image superimposed. I had it checked out.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to her. ‘This report confirms it.’

      Hannah was silent as she examined the prints again, then she read the in-depth report noting the technical irregularities.

      ‘What do you think Camille’s next step will be?’ she queried slowly, trying to dispel the ache that had settled round her heart.

      ‘At a guess, Camille will ensure you receive the second set of prints some time tomorrow.’

      ‘Delivered personally, with verbal embellishment.’ Hannah predicted. ‘Will she take it further, do you think?’

      Miguel arched one eyebrow. ‘The media? She may try. However, these prints will never be used.’ He had influence, and a copy of the technician’s report had already been faxed to various sources.

      ‘I owe you an apology.’

      He took the prints and the report from her hand and locked them in his briefcase.

      ‘For what, precisely?’

      ‘Accusing you of overreacting,’ Hannah said simply. ‘And I want to thank you for ensuring I saw those—’ she indicated his briefcase ‘—before Camille dredged every ounce of shock value from them tomorrow.’

      She died a thousand deaths just thinking about it.

      Miguel lifted a hand and trailed his fingers down her cheek. ‘Camille is about to learn I will not tolerate any form of invasion.’

      She looked at him, taking in his strength, the power he exuded, and felt infinitely relieved she wasn’t his enemy. ‘I see.’

      His mouth curved slightly. ‘Do you?’

      ‘Yes.’ It was all about preserving the image, professionally and personally. She told herself she understood. Hadn’t she been reared to be aware of image? The private-school education, extra-curricular activities, the social niceties? Luc had been her only transgression…if believing the false words of a cad could be termed a transgression.

      ‘I doubt that you do,’ Miguel denied silkily. ‘Verbal abuse is difficult to prove without an independent witness. So is slander.’ His expression hardened. ‘However, these prints and the report prove Camille’s intent to defame.’

      ‘You intend to confront her?’

      ‘Not personally.’ His voice was clipped, he was watching her expressive features. ‘In the only way she will understand.’

      ‘Legal action?’

      ‘Yes.’

      There was a ruthlessness apparent that boded ill for anyone daring to cross him, and Hannah shivered, caught up in a mix of complex emotions.

      He wanted it done. Camille and her obsessive behaviour out of their lives. As to Luc… It would be as well if he never caught sight of him again. To do so would incite the possibility of physical assault, he decided grimly.

      Hannah took in a deep breath, then released it. ‘What do you want me to do?’

      ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, do you understand? We must wait for her next move.’ His gaze speared hers, dark and incredibly formidable. ‘No heroics, Hannah. Rodney Spears will be close at all times.’

      Miguel reached forward and caught hold of her shoulders, sliding his hands down her back as he pressed her body close in against his own. He angled his head and nuzzled her earlobe, then feathered a trail of kisses down the edge of her neck. ‘Miss me?’

      Dear heaven, yes. She didn’t like sleeping alone in their bed. She’d turn over in her sleep, subconsciously searching for the warmth of his body, seeking the touch of his hands, the reassuring brush of his lips…only to discover a cool empty space.

      ‘Uh-huh.’ His mouth was playing havoc with her senses. The blood sang in her veins, heating all the pleasure pulses and creating a fast-pacing tempo that demanded more, much more than the touch of his lips.

      Hannah gave a faint gasp as an arm skimmed beneath her knees and Miguel lifted her against his chest. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own as he carried her into the foyer and began ascending the stairs.

      She saw the passion smouldering in those dark depths and felt the thrill of anticipated pleasure as he gained the gallery and strode towards their bedroom.

      When he lowered her down to her feet she simply wound her arms round his neck and brought his mouth down to her own.

      She was hardly aware of him divesting her of her clothes, or that her fingers dispensed with shirt buttons, took care of his belt and the zip on his trousers.

      There was only the need to feel skin on skin, the ecstasy of their joined bodies moving in perfect harmony as they created the ultimate pleasure.

      Something they sought and achieved again in the early dawn hours before sleep claimed them for a brief hour.

      The need to rise and face the new day saw them shower, dress, share breakfast and depart the house in separate cars en route to their respective places of business.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      HOW long would it take Camille to stage her confrontation?

      It had to be today, Hannah estimated, for if the Frenchwoman had gone to such pains to discover Miguel’s plans, she’d be aware he was due to return home tonight.

      Anticipating the time and place made her edgy, and by midday she was fast becoming a nervous wreck. It made sense that Camille would choose a time when Hannah was alone, which meant the hour Elaine went on lunch break, or immediately afterwards when Hannah visited the café.

      Knowing Rodney Spears remained unobtrusively on duty provided reassurance.

      Hannah checked her watch, and indicated Elaine should go to lunch, during which the phone rang three times, three clients called in to collect orders, two people opted to browse, and Camille was a no-show.

      The nervous tension mounted with every passing minute as she ordered a Caesar salad and carrot juice at the café counter, paid, then selected one of three empty tables and took a seat.

      The salad was delectable, she knew, because she frequently ordered the dish. However, today she could have been eating chalk, and her appetite was nonexistent.

      Hannah sat there for more than half an hour, then she ordered bottled water and slowly sipped it over the next