LITMIR.BIZ

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blurred her vision and she angrily swiped them away. He hadn’t visited her at the hospital once. How could he abandon her and the baby? How could he just walk away?

      Because she was Edouard Bellamy’s daughter.

      He hated her—he hated their child as well.

      A hollow ache expanded in her chest, her heart grieving for what would never be.

      She should be thankful the ugly truth was revealed. That he’d left her in peace. That she’d likely never see him again. For if she did it would be a tense, unpleasant meeting.

      She should be happy. But she’d never been so heartbroken.

      On the morning of the third day something roused her from a restless sleep, snapping her awake and wary. Kira scanned her room, her heart accelerating as her gaze fell on the tall man standing at the window, his back to her.

      She stared at those incredibly broad shoulders and blinked. Was she dreaming?

      No. This was real. André had come at last, and her foolish heart was rejoicing even as her brain tried to warn her to move with caution around him.

      Everything about him pulsed with raw intensity—his potent masculinity, his arrogant bearing, his brooding indifference, all more sharply defined as he stared out the window.

      “How long have you been here?” she asked.

      “Not long. The doctor says you and the baby are well.”

      “We were lucky,” she said, detecting no rancor in his voice.

      But there was no emotion either. Or rather no more than one might bestow on a stranger in the wake of an accident. Simply a comment in the face of a near tragedy—an acknowledgement of survival—something to fill the tense silence.

      She sighed, unable to be that detached even now. “Thank you for getting us here so quickly.”

      One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “Don’t. I should never have confronted you with such—” He waved a hand, as if trying to snatch a word from thin air, as if annoyed that he couldn’t grasp a title for their situation.

      “Animosity?” she supplied.

      “Venom,” he said. “My behavior was inexcusable.”

      “Yes,” she said, unwilling to forgive him so easily for setting her up for a verbal attack from which she couldn’t defend herself, unwilling to forgive them both for not putting their child’s needs first.

      It would not happen again. No matter what he said. No matter what happened in the future. If they had a future. At this moment she could not guess what was going through André’s mind.

      “We have unfinished business between us,” he said.

      “Business? Are you talking about the Chateau?”

      “No, personal business.”

      Surely he didn’t mean—? “We have a child between us.”

      “I am aware of my obligations, ma chérie.”

      She flinched, angry and hurt that he chose to regard the tiny life they’d created as an obligation. Hurt that he thought so little of their precious child, and angry at herself for deluding herself about André Gauthier.

      He didn’t want her, and he certainly didn’t want their child. He was just like her father—cold, calculating, ruthless.

      André had returned for one reason—to bestow a settlement on her. To shuffle her out of his life. He’d likely want her to sign a document agreeing to his denouncing any obligation to her or their child.

      “Fine. State your business,” she said, her fingers bunching the sheet in a tight knot that rivaled the hard ache in her stomach.

      “I have confronted Peter Bellamy.”

      She released a bitter laugh, more saddened than surprised that André still believed the worst of her. “Did he deny there was a conspiracy? Or did he perhaps swear I’d concocted some devilish scheme alone?”

      “Neither. Peter laughed, pleased by the turmoil he’d wrought. He hates you.”

      She’d known her half-brother resented her. She’d deduced he’d been the one who set out to ruin her. But she’d not considered that he’d be so pleased by her downfall. That he hated her so much.

      Her insides felt raw, scraped of emotion, of feeling. She’d been a fool, longing for family, doing as asked by her mother for that brief time she’d known her, and by her father, who had been little more than a name throughout her life. She’d not asked for more, for it had been drummed into her that what she had was all she’d get.

      She’d abided by her father’s rules, and in the end her family had betrayed her. Family she hadn’t even known.

      But it crushed her spirit, her heart, that André had shut her out of his life after all they’d shared. Even now he stared out the window, as if unable to tolerate looking at her.

      “Yet you still believe the worst of me,” she said.

      His shoulders snapped a bit straighter. “You were innocent of his machinations.”

      That admission failed to tell her how he felt about her, only that he believed her claim of innocence long after the fact.

      “Is that the business you came here to attend to, then?” she asked.

      “Not entirely.” André strode toward her, his broad shoulders straight, his jaw resolute, his arrogantly handsome face—

      “My God!” She leaned forward, her heart hammering as she took in the bruises, the cut lip, the swollen eye. “What happened to you?”

      His fierce scowl made him look more ravaged, more dangerous, despite the custom-tailored suit that screamed sophistication. “Peter and I fought as our ancestors did when pirating ships collided.”

      Her mouth dropped open. She was shocked that the billionaire who was famed for his rapier-sharp verbal sparring had engaged in a physical fight on her behalf. That he seemed proud of it. What was she to make of that?

      “You attacked him?”

      “Oui. I could have killed him for his underhand dealings involving you, but I didn’t,” he said, looking away from her as if the admission pained him.

      A tiny bud of hope unfurled inside her. He’d stood up for her.

      But that didn’t mean he cared for her.

      André was a complicated man. His reasons for fighting Peter could have nothing to do with her at all. It could all center around defending his honor.

      “Why, André? Why did you do it?”

      He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and stared down on her, his bearing so rigid she felt it snap the air with electricity like an approaching thunderstorm. “I have no tolerance for a man who endeavors to ruin his sister.”

      “Illegitimate half-sister,” she said, unable to feel anything but pity for the half-brother who’d attacked her with such hatred.

      “The same Bellamy blood flows in you and in him.”

      She laughed at that, for even her father hadn’t welcomed her into his legitimate family. He’d sequestered her from them all her life, and made it clear she was never to admit her paternity to anyone. He’d stressed that if she ever directly contacted his family there’d be severe consequences to bear.

      She’d abided by his wishes because she’d learned to be happy on her own. Because she’d had no wish to cause more scandal. Yet Peter obviously hadn’t felt the same.

      “In this case water is thicker than blood,” she said.

      He stared at her a long, uncomfortable moment. “Oui. You became the target of familial

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