Mistress Of His Revenge. Chantelle Shaw
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He had refused to believe Vitor would not recover even though the doctor had murmured that there was no hope. Cruz had put his face close to his father’s and struggled to understand the injured man’s incoherent mutterings.
‘Earl Bancroft showed me a map of tunnels dug many years ago. He believes there are red diamonds as big as the one I found deeper underground. Ask him, Cruz...ask him about the map...’
Even as he was dying Vitor had been obsessed with diamonds. Amongst miners it was known as diamond fever—the desperate lengths men would go to in their quest for the glittering gemstones that could make them rich.
For Cruz and Diego the dream had come true.
After his father died Cruz had become responsible for his mother and young sisters. Mining was the only job he knew and he worked in a coal mine where the filth and sweat and danger were at least repaid with good wages, which allowed him to pay for college evening classes.
Three years later, armed with a business degree, he got a job with a private bank and quickly proved his brilliance in the boardroom. Other people were surprised by his ruthless determination to succeed but they hadn’t seen the things Cruz had witnessed in the favela: the violence of the drug gangs, the drive-by shootings. They had never felt hunger in their bellies, or fear, and they had no idea that Cruz sought success and money because he knew what it was like to have nothing.
He was offered a position on the bank’s board of directors and bought his mother and sisters a house in an affluent part of the city. Cruz was on his way up and his family would never be hungry again. But he wanted more. He didn’t want to work for the bank—he wanted to be one of its millionaire clients.
He remembered the Estrela Vermelha—the Red Star diamond his father had found in the Montes Claros mine. The diamond had an estimated value of several million dollars, but it had belonged to Earl Bancroft, not to Vitor. It was mine owners who got rich, not the men who crawled through tunnels and risked their lives laying explosives to break through solid rock. So Cruz took the biggest gamble of his life and he and Diego bought the mine that had once belonged to Earl Bancroft. The prospector who sold it to them thought they were crazy—he hadn’t found diamonds of any significant value in the mine—but he understood that diamond fever could turn sane men mad.
Six months later, kimberlite rock containing diamonds estimated to be worth something in the region of four hundred million dollars was discovered in Old Betsy. Cruz became the most valued client of the bank where he had once worked, and he established a prestigious jewellery company, Delgado Diamonds. Diego invested in a gold mine as well as various other business ventures, but both men remembered what it was like to be poor and hungry and they gave financial support to a charity set up to help Brazil’s street children.
‘If Earl Bancroft had really believed there was a deeper mine, why would he have sold up? Why didn’t he open up the tunnels shown on the map?’ Diego demanded.
‘Perhaps he kept the map as a form of insurance policy in case he needed money in the future. He knew that whoever owned the mine would be likely to pay a fortune for a map of a second mine with the potential of containing more diamonds.’
Diego frowned. ‘Are you suggesting we should offer to buy the map from the earl?’
‘The hell I am,’ Cruz growled. ‘Legally the map, if it exists—and I believe it does—belongs to us. Any documents pertaining to the mine are the property of whoever owns it. Bancroft should have given the map to the prospector, and in turn it should have come to us when we became the new owners of the mine.
‘For the past five and a half years we have mined good quality diamonds, but now the supply is virtually exhausted. You’re right—to continue mining Old Betsy makes no economic sense. But if there is a second mine then I want what is rightfully ours, and I intend to go to Eversleigh Hall in England and demand that Earl Bancroft hands over the map.’
Diego gave Cruz a speculative look. ‘It’s possible you’ll meet Sabrina at Eversleigh Hall. How would you feel about seeing her again?’
Cruz gave a short laugh. ‘After ten years I might not even recognise her. She was eighteen when she came to Brazil. I imagine she is married by now—no doubt to a duke or lord, or some other peer of the realm with an aristocratic pedigree as long as her own. The honourable Lady Sabrina made it clear that she didn’t want a commoner for a husband,’ he said sardonically.
Sabrina had definitely not wanted to marry a lowly miner who scraped a living crawling through tunnels beneath the ground like a worm, Cruz brooded. She had not even wanted their child—her lack of emotion after she had suffered a miscarriage proved that she had regarded their affair and her subsequent pregnancy as a mistake.
He recalled the first time he had set eyes on Sabrina Bancroft. She had arrived from England to visit her father, and Cruz, walking out of the mining office next to the earl’s ranch house, had been arrested by the sight of her alighting from a taxi.
He had never seen a woman like her before, certainly not in the favela. With her pale, almost translucent skin and light blonde hair, she had looked ethereal, untouchable. Cruz had stared down at his blackened hands and felt conscious of the sweat stains on his shirt. But Lady Sabrina had barely glanced at him before she had turned her elegant head away. It had been as if he did not exist, as if he was so far beneath her that he simply did not register on her radar. As he’d watched her poised figure walk into the house, a hot flood of desire had swept through Cruz and he had vowed he would make the English rose notice him.
Cruz’s mouth tightened into a hard line. He had made a fool of himself over Sabrina, but in his defence he had been far less cynical at twenty-four than he was a decade later. In the intervening years when he had rapidly ascended the world’s rich list he had learned the games people played and it amused him that he could take his pick of any of the women who would once have dismissed him as worthless.
Sabrina had rejected him when he’d had nothing to offer her but his heart. It would be interesting to see her reaction to him now that he could afford to buy her precious Eversleigh Hall. Although Cruz knew it was highly unlikely that the Bancrofts’ ancestral home would ever come onto the market. Sabrina had once explained that the stately house and surrounding estate in Surrey had been owned by her family for more than five hundred years, passed down through the generations from father to son. Her brother would one day inherit the house and the earldom.
The implication was that there were some things money could not buy, but Cruz did not believe that. In his experience everything had a price. He fully expected that Earl Bancroft would be willing to sell him the map of the secret mine if he offered enough money.
As for the possibility that he would meet Sabrina again, Cruz shrugged. He had not thought about her for years and he wasn’t interested in the past. All he cared about was the future and claiming the map of the diamond mine that legally and morally belonged to him.
THROUGH THE LIBRARY window at Eversleigh Hall Cruz could see a half-naked woman dancing in the fish pond. Her gyrating body was illuminated by the lights blazing from every window in the house. Shouts of encouragement came from the group of young men standing on the lawn, swigging champagne from a bottle, before one of them jumped into the water and grabbed hold of the woman while his friends called out obscene suggestions.
Classy, Cruz thought sardonically. He had seen similar behaviour in the favela where he had spent most of his childhood, although the putas—the hookers—had been drunk on beer rather than Bollinger. For all the English aristocracy’s wealth and privilege and their education at the finest schools, some of them were no more refined than the slum-dwellers from the poorest areas of Brazil.
His lip curled as he remembered an incident that had occurred at a high-society party he had attended in London a few days ago. The hosts, Lord and Lady Porchester, were ‘old money’ but in recent years crippling death duties and some diabolical business decisions had left the