Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child. Annie West
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sound came. Then she spun and blindly forced her way through the crowd.
Wearily Carys tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The last of the guests had finally gone and the vast ballroom was empty but for the staff tidying up and moving furniture.
The chirrup of a house phone snagged her attention. She found herself crossing her fingers that there were no more problems. Not tonight, correction, this morning. She was running on empty.
She was still unsettled by the memory of the stranger. The man who’d seemed so familiar yet couldn’t be.
‘Hello?’
‘Carys? Glad I caught you.’ She recognised the new guy on night duty at reception. ‘You’ve got an urgent call. I’ll connect you.’
Instantly all weariness vanished at the sound of those dreaded words ‘urgent call’. Carys’ stomach dropped and fear filled the void. Was it Leo? An illness? An accident?
She twisted a button on her jacket, waiting breathlessly for bad news as her nerves stretched taut.
It would be tonight of all nights that something went wrong. She should have found a way to get home earlier.
The click of the new connection was loud in her ears. As was the silence that followed, a waiting silence.
‘Sarah? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
There was a pause in which she heard the echo of her own breathing.
Then a voice like black velvet emerged.
‘Carys.’
Just one word and every hair on her body rose. It was the voice that haunted her dreams. A voice that, despite everything, still had the power to thicken her blood, turning it to warm treacle.
Her knees buckled and she found herself sitting on the edge of a table that had been moved up against the wall.
Her fingers splayed over her throat in a desperate gesture of vulnerability.
It couldn’t be!
Her mouth opened and her throat worked, but no sound emerged.
‘We need to meet,’ said the voice of her past. ‘Now.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHO is this?’ Carys’ voice emerged as a raw croak.
It couldn’t be.
Not here. Not now.
Not after she’d finally convinced herself she never wanted to see him again. Fate couldn’t be so cruel.
Yet some wayward self-destructive impulse sent a buzz of excitement skimming along her nerves. Once she’d longed for him to make contact, to come after her, tell her he’d been wrong. Tell her…no, she wasn’t so credulous as to believe in such fantasies any more.
What did he want? Her hand tightened like a claw at her throat. A premonition of danger filled her, icing her blood.
‘You know who it is, Carys.’ Just the way he pronounced her name with that sexy Italian accent turned the word into a caress that melted her insides.
He’d always threatened her self-control. Carys remembered murmured enticements in that dark coffee voice and how he’d persuaded her to give up everything she’d worked for just for the privilege of being with him.
Fool!
She shivered and sat up straighter, berating herself.
‘Please identify yourself,’ she said tersely.
It couldn’t be him. He’d never follow her to Australia. He’d made that clear when she’d left with her tail between her legs.
But the memory of the stranger tonight at the ball, the masked man who’d made her think of him, battered at her disbelief. Wildly she shook her head, trying to clear a brain overloaded by exhaustion and stress.
Was she going mad? Seeing him, even hearing him, when she knew perfectly well he was ensconced in his oh-so-exclusive world of rich, elegant, aristocratic friends. Of high-flying business deals and blue blood and glamour.
Where people like her only provided brief amusement.
‘Don’t pretend not to know me, Carys. I have no time for puerile games.’ He paused as if waiting for her to rush into speech. ‘It’s Alessandro Mattani.’
Silence throbbed as she clutched the receiver. Her heart crashed against her ribs. She would have slid to the floor if she hadn’t already been sitting.
‘Alessandro…’
‘Mattani. I’m sure you recognise the name.’ His voice was sharp as a razor.
Recognise the name! Once she’d even hoped to share it with him.
A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to explode from her stiff lips. Carys slapped her palm across her mouth, concentrating on deep breaths. She needed oxygen.
The room spun crazily and dark spots whirled in her vision.
A clatter jerked her back to full awareness, and she looked down as if from an enormous distance to see the phone had slipped from her nerveless fingers onto the table.
Alessandro Mattani.
The man she’d loved.
The man who’d broken her heart.
A sound caught her attention and Carys looked up, suddenly aware again of her surroundings. The last of the staff were leaving and waving goodnight.
Belatedly she lifted a hand in acknowledgement.
Dazedly she looked around. The stage was set for tomorrow’s fashion show. Enormous jardinières with arrangements of exotic orchids and jungle greenery had been strategically positioned as she’d instructed. The lights were dimmed and she was alone.
But for the voice on the other end of the line. The voice of her dreams.
Tentatively, as if reaching out to touch an untamed animal, Carys stretched her fingers to the phone. She lifted it, and a deep voice barked in her ear.
‘Carys?’
‘I’m here.’
Silence, but for the impatient hiss of indrawn breath.
‘No more games. I want to see you.’
Well, bully for him. She was past the stage of worrying what Alessandro Mattani wanted.
Besides, she wasn’t foolish enough to go near him again. Even now she didn’t trust her hard-won defences against the man who’d only had to smile and crook his finger to get what he wanted from her. She’d surrendered her job, all her plans, even her self-respect to be with him.
Carys stiffened her spine and braced her palm on the table beside her.
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Of course it’s possible,’ he bit out. ‘I’m just twelve floors away.’
Twelve floors? Her heart galloped faster. Here, in Melbourne? At the Landford?
Her gaze swerved to the edge of the dance floor, instinct and disbelief warring.
‘That was you tonight? At the ball?’ If she’d been less stunned, she might have cared about how much her strained voice revealed. But she was battling shock. She had no thought to spare for pride.
He didn’t answer.
Heat sparked low in her abdomen and washed through her like a flood tide. It had been him. He’d held her in his arms.
How often had she yearned for his embrace? Despite what she’d told herself about forgetting the past.
He’d