The Secret Sanchez Heir. Cathy Williams

he thought, that a high-maintenance, spoiled diva should exit on a cloud of over-the-top drama.

      It was a little after six in the evening and the last of the trucks that only that morning had delivered food, decorations—including a ridiculous ice sculpture for display in his hall—and several dozen staff was now departing. The specially bought Chinese-style lanterns that lined the long, private avenue leading up to his estate twinkled and glittered in the lightly falling snow and illuminated the dark shapes of the vehicles slowly wending their way away from his estate.

      Sensual mouth compressed into a thin line of distaste, Leandro replayed in his mind the events of the last three hours. He had returned from his business trip to New York, fresh off the red eye, to pick up a barrage of text messages from Rosalind that he was to come immediately to his country house where he would find a surprise waiting for him.

      Leandro loathed surprises. He was especially put out because, during the past week while he had been in New York, he had decided that his relationship with the very eligible Lady Rosalind Duval had reached the end of its course.

      On paper, she had ticked all the boxes. She was beautiful, well-bred and independently wealthy. Her parents, whilst not nearly on the same level as him financially, formed the bedrock of that dying breed known as the British aristocracy. As a bonus, she was friendly with his sister Cecilia, who, indeed, had engineered the initial meeting between them.

      Leandro was not in the market for love but he had been...restless and Rosalind had stepped into that uncustomary void with the promise of something different. It was not to be.

      Her background had filled her with high expectations that every single one of her demands would be met with complete subservience. As a privileged only child, she was accustomed to getting her own way, and the fact that she was in her early thirties proved no barrier to her stamping her feet and throwing temper tantrums if things didn’t go as she decreed. She had always been the centre of attention and had seen no reason why he, Leandro, shouldn’t fall in line and continue the tradition.

      She’d demanded his constant attention, phoning him sometimes several times a day and, having had full use of his credit card, had seen absolutely nothing wrong with buying whatever she’d happened to fancy on a whim. From jewellery, to clothes, to an outrageously expensive sports car, finally to an engagement ring which, he had discovered to his horror, had been the surprise waiting for him when he had returned from New York.

      ‘Special delivery!’ She had beamed as hordes of people came and went, fetching, carrying and getting everything in place for the accompanying engagement party which had been arranged for the following day. ‘It should arrive at just the right time for us to pop a cork and celebrate before dinner. It’s time we made this official, Leandro. Mummy and Daddy are simply desperate for a grandchild and I don’t see the point of delaying any longer. We’re both in our thirties and it’s time to take the next step. Darling, I know you’re a typical man and wouldn’t dream of doing anything about it, so I thought I’d do the necessary!’

      He watched the tail end of the last van disappear from view then, flexing his lean muscles, he strolled out towards the kitchen, taking in the detritus left behind in the wake of everyone’s hasty departure.

      In the hall, the ridiculous ice sculpture of a couple entwined was still perfectly intact and would require removal the following day. He would have to enlist a team of cleaners to return his country house to its ‘before’ state.

      Right now, all he wanted was something strong to drink. The wretched engagement ring was on its way. Another hasty departure would have to be effected, although he was debating whether he would keep the ring or not. It had cost a small fortune. Quite a flawless diamond, he had seen from the receipt that had been flung at him by an incandescent Rosalind. Maybe he would gift it to her. She had, after all, been responsible for sourcing the priceless gem even if it had been purchased on his credit card.

      He grimaced and thought that there was a better than even chance that the gesture would not be met with warm approval.

      For once, his thoughts assumed an introspective nature. In the kitchen, Julie, his housekeeper, was busy trying to eradicate all evidence of the blighted party preparations. He dismissed her while he poured himself a drink.

      ‘One more delivery due,’ he said absently, swirling the amber liquid in the glass and staring down at it for a few seconds before glancing across to the middle-aged woman who had been responsible for looking after his country mansion for the past five years, ever since he had bought it. ‘I will need to dispatch this one personally. I’ll be in my office. When the courier arrives, let me know, Julie. They shouldn’t be on the premises for longer than ten minutes and then you can leave for the evening. You’ll need the usual team here in the morning to finish clearing up this...mess.’

      It annoyed him that he was still unable to rein in his wandering mind, because he was a man who had little or no time for pointless raking over the past. Yet now, as he strolled back towards his office, closing his curtains against a view of snow that was falling thicker and faster, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

      Thinking about Rosalind and the chain of events that had brought her into his life and contrived to keep her there, even though, almost from the very start, he had seen the cracks begin to appear.

      His sister, Cecilia, had been instrumental in bringing about their meeting and he knew, in a vague way, she’d been instrumental in making him hesitate before doing what had to be done. He sighed, already predicting what his sister’s reaction would be when she received the inevitable phone call from Rosalind, who would surely speak to Cecilia before he had had time to fill her in himself.

      He swallowed back the remainder of the whisky in his glass, sat down, pushing the chair away from the big, old-fashioned mahogany desk, and thought back...back to events of eighteen months previously and to another woman who had swept into his life for a matter of weeks and wreaked havoc.

      Gold-digger...liar...thief...

      He had had a narrow escape, had walked away from her without looking back, and it infuriated him to know that, however far and fast he walked, she was still there like a thorn in his side, making itself felt at the slightest opportunity. He hadn’t been able to escape her and, in ways he couldn’t put his finger on but knew existed, she had been responsible for that lethal restlessness that had made him question the direction his life had been taking. Questions which had subsequently lowered his defences when it had come to contemplating something of a more permanent nature with a woman who’d actually appeared to fit the bill.

      His jaw clenched and he swung back to his computer, blanking out his memories of the golden-haired, green-eyed witch who had made him take his eye off the ball. There was no point in resurrecting the past. It was over and done with. Once he had sent the courier delivering the ring on his way back down to London, his chapter with Rosalind would be at an end and life, as always, would carry on.

      On that note, he did what he did best—buried himself in work—and, within ten minutes, thoughts of the past were where they should be: locked away and incapable of jumping out at him, at least for the moment.

      * * *

      Abigail Christie was running late. The driver, a trusted employee of Vanessa—Abigail’s boss, who had saved her, in a manner of speaking, and who owned the exquisite, upmarket jeweller’s from which Lady Rosalind Duval had purchased the diamond—had been under strict instructions to make it to Greyling Manor no later than five, under penalty of death. Unfortunately, those instructions had allowed no leeway for the twin assault of vile weather and the accompanying stop-start traffic. They had left an overcast London bang on time but had run into problems the second they had hit Oxford and, from there on, it had been a frustrating race against the clock.

      Abigail had not been able to contact Lady Rosalind to advise her of the delay because she hadn’t been picking up.

      The only silver lining was the fact that, although they were now over two hours behind schedule, they had finally left most of the traffic behind and, whilst the country lanes leading to Greyling Manor might be dark, twisty and frankly treacherous given the weather