Her Secret, His Child: A Night, A Secret...A Child / One-Night Love-Child / The French Aristocrat's Baby. Miranda Lee
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everyone else: her parents, his parents, their friends.
Life in a small country town was not as simple as people sometimes thought.
No, I made the right decision, she accepted philosophically, the only decision.
Greg was a devoted husband and father and I had a good life with him, a nice, peaceful life. I still lead a nice, peaceful life.
But that peace was about to be broken. Big-time.
Fear clutched at her stomach. Fear of what might happen when she saw Nicolas again—this time without the moral protection of a husband in her life. She still hadn’t forgotten how she’d felt when she’d seen him at his mother’s funeral. That had been ten years ago, when she’d been twenty-seven and Nicolas an incredibly dashing thirty. Greg had insisted they both attend, Mrs Dupre having been a well-loved member in their small community. They’d taken Felicity with them. She’d been around two at the time. It was at the wake that Nicolas had cornered her, getting her alone after Greg had carried their daughter outside to play for a while.
Nicolas had been cold to her, as cold as ice.
She hadn’t felt cold, however. Even whilst he’d questioned her about Felicity’s birth date in the most chilling and contemptuous fashion, she’d burned with a desire that she’d found both disturbing and despicable. It still upset her to think of what might have happened if Nicolas had made any kind of pass at her.
Fortunately, he hadn’t.
But who knew what he might do now that she was a widow. Had Felicity told him Greg was dead? It seemed likely that she had.
‘Do you have a copy of the letter you sent Mr Dupre?’ she asked her daughter somewhat stiffly.
Felicity looked pained. ‘Oh, Mum, that’s private!’
‘I want to see it, Felicity. And the email he sent back to you.’
Felicity pouted and stayed right where she was.
Serina rose from her chair, her expression uncompromising. ‘Let’s go, madam.’
Serina found her daughter’s letter very touching, till she got to the part where Felicity offered Nicolas accommodation at their house.
‘He can’t stay here!’ she blurted out before she could get control of herself.
‘Why not?’ Felicity demanded to know with the indignation—and innocence—of youth.
‘Because.’
‘Because why?’ her daughter persisted.
‘Because you don’t ask virtual strangers to stay in your home,’ she answered in desperation.
‘But he’s not a stranger. He lived here in Rocky Creek for years and years. Mrs Johnson said you were very good friends. She said you dated for a while.’
‘Only very casually,’ Serina lied. ‘And, as I said, that was nearly twenty years ago. I have no idea what kind of man Nicolas Dupre might have become in the meantime. For all I know he could be a drunk, or a drug addict!’
Felicity looked at her as though she were insane. ‘Mum, I think you’ve totally lost it. But you don’t have to worry. Mr Dupre refused my offer to stay with us. Here! Why don’t you read his email and then you won’t say such silly things.’
Felicity did a couple of clicks with her mouse and brought up the email from Nicolas. Serina read it.
Dear Felicity
Thank you for your lovely letter. I was saddened to hear of the tragic death of your father and send my deepest condolences to you and your mother. I have fond memories of Rocky Creek and would be glad to help you with your fund-raising project. You sound like a very in- telligent and enterprising young lady of whom I’m sure your mother is very proud. Consequently, I would be honoured to be the judge for your talent quest.
Unfortunately, I have business engagements in NewYork and London for the next fortnight and cannot arrive in Sydney till the day before your concert. Thank you for your kind offer of a room but I would prefer to arrange my own accommodation in Port Macquarie. I will contact you by phone as soon as I arrive there, at which time you can explain where and when you want me to be the following day. Please confirm this arrangement by return email and include your home phone number. My regards to your mother and Mrs Johnson. I am looking forward to meeting up with them both once again. All the best, Nicolas Dupre.
Serina didn’t know what to say. The email was extremely polite. Too polite, in fact, and a bit pompous. It didn’t sound at all like Nicolas.
Maybe what she’d said to Felicity was right in a way. She didn’t know him anymore. The passing years might have changed him from the impassioned and rather angry young man he’d once been into something entirely different. Someone calm and mature and yes… kind. Maybe he was coming all this way out of kindness. Maybe it had nothing to do with her being a widow now, nothing to do with her at all! Nicolas was just responding to the heartfelt request of a young girl whose father had been tragically killed.
Serina tried to embrace this possibility but she simply couldn’t. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that his coming back to Rocky Creek had nothing to do with kindness. It was all about her.
Not that she believed Nicolas was still in love with her. He’d made his contempt quite clear at his mother’s funeral. But maybe he’d spotted the hunger in her eyes. Maybe his plan was to take full advantage of that hunger, to do to her what she’d once done to him: indulge in a wild one-night stand, then dump her in the morning.
A shiver ran down Serina’s spine, a highly disturbing, cruelly seductive shiver.
Please, don’t let that be his plan. Let him be coming back for something else. To visit his mother’s grave perhaps. Don’t let me be his underlying motive, or his prey. Don’t let him be looking for sexual revenge. Because this time, I have nowhere to run to, and no one to hide behind…
NICOLAS could have hired a car in Sydney and driven to Port Macquarie. But that was a five-to six-hour drive, maybe longer, given that his early morning arrival at Mascot would mean he would hit peak hour traffic going through the city. He’d done just that when he’d returned to Rocky Creek for his mother’s funeral and regretted it. He’d regretted also hiring a stupid sports car, which hadn’t coped too well with the not-so-wonderful roads up that way.
This time, he booked a connecting flight to Port Macquarie that left Sydney at 8:00 am and only took fifty-five minutes. Once there, he planned to take a taxi to his accommodation where the four-wheel-drive vehicle he’d already hired would be waiting for him. He hadn’t wanted the bother of picking it up at the airport. Experience had taught him that doing so could be a very time-consuming operation. Having made the decision to come, Nicolas knew that he couldn’t bear the thought of anything delaying his arrival in Rocky Creek. The weariness he’d been feeling the night Felicity’s letter had arrived was long gone, replaced by the kind of excitement he used to feel just before going on the stage to perform.
Everything went according to plan. The flight from London set down at Mascot only a few minutes late and the connecting flight to Port Macquarie left right on time. Nicolas stepped out onto the tarmac at Port Macquarie airport right on nine. Fifteen minutes later, he and his luggage were speeding towards the centre of town.
‘Port’s grown since I was last here,’ he remarked as he glanced around. ‘But it has been nearly twenty years.’
‘Crikey, mate,’ the taxi driver replied. ‘You’ll be lucky to recognise anything.’
Not true, however. The town centre hadn’t changed all that much, Nicolas thought as they drove down the main street. The rectangular layout was basically the same, the streets straight