His Forbidden Passion. Anne Mather
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tasted his coffee and then pulled a face. ‘When will the English learn to brew a decent cup?’ he demanded, shaking his head. He intercepted the look she cast him and gave a rueful grin. ‘I bet you could do better than this.’
‘I doubt it.’ Cleo wasn’t prepared to be cajoled into an invitation. She put down her cup. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you think the Novaks aren’t my real parents?’
‘IN OTHER words, why don’t I cut to the chase?’ suggested Dominic drily, and Cleo nodded.
Serena had been right, he thought resignedly. Ms Novak was one tough lady. And she wasn’t going to be distracted by a few compliments, even if her face had betrayed a very different reaction when she’d discovered they weren’t related after all.
Dominic wasn’t a conceited man, but he hadn’t lived for thirty years without becoming aware that women liked him. And Cleo Novak liked him as a man—if not as her nemesis. He’d bet his life on it.
But that didn’t even figure in the present situation. There were enough women in his life already, and he had no intention of doing to her what his father had done to her mother. Lily Montoya was going to find this very hard as it was without him showing a quite inappropriate interest in the girl.
Nevertheless, she was very attractive…
He expelled an impatient breath and said crisply, ‘OK, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Before we get into the heavy stuff, I’d like to hear about your life with the Novaks.’
‘With my parents, you mean?’
Cleo was stubborn, but he already knew that.
‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘With your parents.’ He paused. ‘What did Henry—what did your father do for a living?’
Cleo hesitated. ‘He did a lot of jobs. He was a taxi driver for a time, and a postman. When he and my mother died, they were working for an old lady in Islington. She let them occupy the basement of her house in exchange for gardening and—well, household duties.’
‘Really?’
Dominic frowned. So what had happened to the not inconsiderable sum of money his father had given them? Evidently Cleo had had a good education, so that was something. But it sounded as if her adoptive father hadn’t stuck at any job for very long.
Still, that wasn’t his concern. ‘But you didn’t live with them?’ he prompted and, after a moment, Cleo fixed him with a defiant look.
‘Is this important?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you want to know so much about me? I thought you had all the answers.’
‘Hardly.’ Dominic’s tone was rueful. ‘Well, OK, we’ll leave it there for now—’
‘For now?’
‘Yeah, for now,’ he said, his tone hardening. He paused. ‘I suppose I should tell you how you came to be living with the Novaks, shouldn’t I?’
Cleo gave a dismissive shrug. ‘If you must.’
‘Oh, I must,’ he told her a little harshly. ‘Because whatever spin you choose to put upon it, you are Robert Montoya’s daughter, and I can prove it.’
‘How?’
Cleo sounded suspicious now and Dominic decided that was better than indifferent. She was regarding him with dark, enquiring eyes and, for the first time, he saw a trace of his father in her cold defiance.
Putting a hand into his inner pocket, he pulled out a folded sheet of worn parchment and handed it to her. Half guessing what it might be, Cleo opened it out with trembling fingers.
And found herself looking at a birth certificate, with Robert Montoya’s name securely in the place where a father’s name should be.
Without bothering to check the mother’s name, or the identity of the infant concerned, she thrust the sheet back at him. ‘This isn’t mine,’ she declared tremulously. ‘My birth certificate is with the papers my parents left.’
‘Your second birth certificate,’ Dominic amended flatly. ‘My father bribed the authorities in San Clemente to produce another certificate with the Novaks’ name on it.’ He patted the paper he was holding with the back of his hand. ‘But this is the original, believe me.’
Cleo felt as if she couldn’t breathe. ‘You’re lying!’
‘I don’t lie,’ said Dominic bleakly. ‘Unlike your father, I’m afraid.’
Cleo shook her head. ‘How do I know that’s not the so-called second certificate?’ she protested. ‘Perhaps your father lied to you, too.’
Dominic didn’t argue with her. He just looked at her from beneath lowered lids, thick black lashes providing a stunning frame for his clear green eyes.
And for the first time, Cleo began to worry about the consequences of her actions. What if he and his aunt were telling the truth? If they were, it followed that the Novaks had lied to her all these years. And that scenario was very hard to stomach.
Then he said quietly, ‘There is such a thing as DNA, you know.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she muttered at last, and saw a trace of compassion in his face.
‘Why don’t you take a proper look at this?’ Dominic suggested, handing her the birth certificate again. ‘Celeste insisted on having you registered before she died.’
Cleo swallowed and reluctantly looked at the sheet of parchment he’d given her. There was Robert Montoya’s name, and her own, Cleopatra. She had been born in San Clemente, but her birth had been registered in Nassau, New Providence, both islands in the Bahamas.
Smoothing the sheet with quivering fingers, she said, ‘If this is real, why did your father send me away?’
‘It’s—complicated.’ Dominic sighed. ‘Initially, I don’t suppose he intended to. Celeste would never have let him take you away. But…’ He paused. ‘Celeste died, and that changed everything. And there was no way Robert Montoya could have claimed you as his when his own wife was incapable of having children.’
‘But she adopted you,’ protested Cleo painfully, and Dominic felt a useless pang of anger towards the man who’d raised him.
‘I was—different.’
‘Not black, you mean?’
Cleo was very touchy and Dominic couldn’t say he blamed her.
‘No,’ he said at last, although her mother’s identity had played an important part in Robert’s decision. He sighed. ‘Celeste Dubois had worked for my father. She was an extremely efficient housekeeper and when she discovered she was pregnant—’
‘Yes, I get the picture.’ Cleo’s lips were trembling now. She made a gesture of contempt. ‘It wouldn’t do for the household staff to get above themselves. What a delightful family you have, Mr Montoya.’
‘They’re your family, too,’ he said wryly. ‘And my name is Dominic. It’s a little foolish to call me Mr Montoya in the circumstances, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Cleo wearily. ‘I just wish—’ She shook her head. ‘I just wish it would all go away.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’
‘Why? Because my grandfather is dying?’ She sniffed back a sob. ‘Why should I do anything for a man who didn’t even acknowledge my existence for the first twenty-two years of my life?’
‘You don’t actually know how he felt.’ Dominic had noticed the way she’d said ‘my’ grandfather and not ‘your’. ‘It