LITMIR.BIZ

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belatedly came to her rescue, and she angrily pushed his hand away. ‘That night was a mistake, and I regret that it ever happened,’ she said shakily.

      ‘Really?’ he drawled sardonically.

      Following his gaze, Lauren saw that her nipples were jutting provocatively against the sheer silk nightdress. Blushing furiously, she yanked the sheet up to her neck. She still felt horribly weak from her illness, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Ramon had been relying on that to bulldoze her into doing what he wanted. But she wasn’t an immature girl, in awe of him, she was a confident career woman and it was vital she took control of the situation.

      ‘I won’t allow you to intimidate me,’ she told him fiercely, ‘and I am certainly not going to marry you.’

      ‘Then I hope you are prepared for a custody battle.’

      Taking her by surprise, Ramon stood up and strode across the room. He glanced back at her from the doorway.

      ‘And I hope you are prepared to lose—because I will never give up my son,’ he said grimly, leaving her staring after him, her heart pounding with fear.

      After Ramon had gone Lauren leapt out of bed—and then had to steady herself for a few moments as her head swam. The weakness in her limbs was infuriating, and made her realise how unwell she must have been. She had to get Matty away from the castle, she thought frantically. It would be necessary to borrow some of the clothes Ramon had bought her, but she would return them to him the minute she got back to England.

      The dresses hanging in the wardrobe were exquisite creations, from a top design house. Lauren made a quick search for her jeans and sweatshirt, feeling reluctant to wear any of the clothes Ramon had provided, but there was no sign of any of her belongings. At last she chose a simple wrap-dress in dove-grey silk, and kitten heel shoes in a matching shade. A drawer in the dresser revealed several sets of beautiful underwear. She had a weakness for pretty knickers and bras, and she slipped them on with guilty pleasure, assuring herself that she would send Ramon a cheque to cover their cost.

      Her plan was to find Matty and then call a taxi to take them to the airport. She was sure Ramon would assume that she was resting in her room, and with luck she could escape from the castle before he realised she had gone. But when she stepped out into the long corridor she had no idea which way to go. To her relief, a maid appeared around a corner.

      ‘Where is Señor Velaquez?’ she asked the young woman, thankful that she spoke Spanish reasonably well. She had picked it up as a child, when her parents had taken her on holiday to Spain every summer, and she had opted to study Spanish rather than French at school.

      She had a sudden flashback to her first dinner-date with Ramon, when she had surprised him by speaking to him in his own language. Sherry-brown eyes gleaming wickedly, he had proceeded to teach her several Spanish words and phrases that had definitely not been part of the school curriculum. The sexual chemistry between them had sizzled, and when he had suggested going back to his apartment for a drink she had willingly agreed, knowing that he would make love to her, and impatient to experience the passion his sensual smile promised.

      They had shared so many good times during their affair, she thought, her heart aching as memories flooded her mind. It hadn’t just been the amazing sex; they had talked and laughed, visited art galleries, and walked for miles around the London parks. He had made love to her under a weeping willow tree in the middle of a heavy rain shower, and once they had got so carried away while out in a rowing boat on the Serpentine in Hyde Park that they had nearly capsized.

      Her steps slowed. Ramon had said he believed they were adult enough to work things out for the sake of their child—but how could she possibly marry him knowing that he would never love her? It was a pathway to certain heartbreak, but so too was a legal battle over Matty—a battle she was not at all sure she would win, she thought bleakly.

      ‘I want to find my son,’ she told the maid urgently. ‘Do you know where he is?’

      ‘Sí.’ The maid nodded. ‘Follow me and I will take you to him.’

      Under different circumstances Lauren would have liked to linger and study the dozens of rooms the maid took her past—rooms with stunning murals on the ceilings and exquisite tapestries on the walls, filled with beautiful antique furniture and even ancient suits of armour. And yet, despite being stuffed with historical artefacts, many of which were undoubtedly very valuable, the castle still felt like a home rather than a museum.

      This was Matty’s heritage, she thought as she followed the maid down a magnificent sweeping staircase and across a vast oak-panelled hall hung with portraits of dark, proud looking men whom she guessed were Ramon’s ancestors. The castle and its ancient history were her son’s birthright.

      At the far end of the hall stood a set of doors, one of which was slightly ajar, revealing a modern addition to the castle: a beautiful glass conservatory that overlooked the extensive gardens beyond. Sunshine streamed through the windows onto the women and children who were sitting on the sofas or, in the children’s case, sprawled on the floor around a laughing baby boy.

      Mateo seemed completely at home amongst all these strangers, Lauren thought bleakly. She guessed that the older, rather regal-looking woman was Ramon’s mother, and the three younger women—one of whom was heavily pregnant—must be his sisters.

      She stood behind the half-open door and watched Matty. He was sitting on a rug, surrounded by a group of little girls and boys. The children were teaching him to clap his hands, laughing and chattering in Spanish, and to Lauren’s amazement Matty already seemed to understand them and was grinning happily.

      He belonged here. The thought struck her like an arrow through her heart. With his jet black curls and light olive skin he was the image of his cousins, but he shared more than a physical resemblance with them. Matty was a Velaquez—a member of the Spanish nobility. This castle was his rightful home, and these people were his family. How could she take him away, back to her undeniably small flat, to a lifestyle that was far from ideal? She hated leaving him at the nursery all day, but she had believed that she had no choice.

      Her choices now were not great, she thought dismally. She could agree to a loveless marriage, give up her job and her independence, and be tolerated here at the castle for no reason other than that she was Matty’s mother. Or she could risk a court battle with Ramon, the outcome of which would at best only give her shared custody of her son, and might conceivably result in Ramon being allowed to keep Matty in Spain while she was awarded the right to visit him only a few times a year.

      There was no choice, she acknowledged dully. She would rather die than be separated from her baby.

      Five minutes later Ramon found her in the great hall, standing as cold and white as if she had been carved from marble as she watched Mateo and his cousins in the conservatory beyond.

      ‘You look like death,’ he said sharply when he came up to her. ‘You shouldn’t have come downstairs.’

      At last she turned her head to him, and the glisten of tears clinging to her lashes evoked a curious pain in his gut. ‘Lauren…?’

      ‘You win,’ she said, in a voice as brittle as glass. ‘I can’t take Matty away from here—from his family. But I can’t live without him.’ She swallowed and then went on quickly, before her courage deserted her, ‘And so, for him, I’ll marry you.’

      She made it sound as though she was offering herself as a human sacrifice, Ramon thought irritably. Dios, he was a billionaire duque, and from now on she would live a life of luxury. ‘Had you considered that marriage to me might not be the ordeal you seem to think it will?’ he asked curtly. ‘As my wife, you will want for nothing.’

      ‘How do you know what I want?’ Lauren said quietly. His words tore at her heart, for she would always long for the one thing he could never give her.

      Muttering an imprecation, Ramon steered her into his study, strode over to his desk and took something from a drawer. ‘Now that we are formally engaged you will wear this,’ he told her,

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