Cristina did not know what to say to her. When you possessed the knowledge that a woman of Luis’s mother’s stature had had some wild affair beneath the very roof of her then betrothed, words just refused to come.
‘You knew Enrique well for him to leave you this money?’
The money. Cristina sucked in a deep breath as her stomach rolled again. She knew why it kept doing that. She understood exactly why she was feeling sickly instead of jumping for joy.
‘I met him only once,’ she replied. ‘He—he saved my life when I was very little…Why did Luis mention his name to me?’
‘Anton,’ his mamma corrected absently.
For some crazy reason, in this mixed-up situation, Cristina heard herself laugh. ‘I know his name, senhora,’ she said dryly. ‘I have known his name for a long time—for six years, in fact, since we first met and fell in love and then—’ Lost each other, she tagged on silently
‘You mean—you are the one?’ Maria Scott-Lee was staring at her oddly.
‘The one?’ Cristina frowned.
So did Luis’s mother. ‘Nothing.’ She looked away. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’
Silence tumbled. And, in the way that everything had been happening in its own peculiar way tonight, the silence was not tense or tight or hostile, as it should have been. It was just—silent.
‘You love my son?’ Mrs Scott-Lee asked suddenly.
I refuse to answer that, Cristina thought. ‘I will not be marrying him, if that is where this is leading.’
‘But why not? What is wrong with Anton that you turn him down not once but twice?’
‘Who said that I turned him down twice?’ Cristina asked sharply.
‘No one. My mistake.’ His mother was frowning again. ‘Why are you saying you will not marry him?’
For a million unutterable reasons, she thought hollowly—but named only one. ‘Well, he’s a womaniser, if you must know.’
‘Of course he enjoys the company of women,’ his mamma defended loyally. ‘He is young and handsome and possesses a perfectly healthy sexual appetite. However, when Anton marries he will have the good manners to stay faithful to his wife!’
The good manners? Cristina released another of those laughs. It would take more than good manners to make Luis keep the zip on his pants shut!
‘He spent the night before last in the arms of another woman.’
‘I do not believe you.’
‘His secretary informs me that she and Luis have been lovers for months.’
‘Miss Lane?’ For some reason Luis’s mother sounded thoroughly shaken. ‘I sincerely hope that you are wrong about that,’ she murmured unsteadily.
‘Well, I’m not.’
The threat of tears came then. Cristina got up, the fool inside her giving way to a heartbreaking bout of common sense.
‘Give this to Luis and show him the letter,’ she said huskily, removing the ring and dropping it gently on his mamma’s lap. ‘He will understand.’
Then she turned to leave.
‘He will not let you go,’ Mrs Scott-Lee fed after her.
‘That is no longer his choice to make!’ Cristina choked.
‘Anton does not have a choice!’ Maria stood up—letter and ring clasped in one hand, the other closing on Cristina’s arm. ‘He has to marry you, Cristina, or he will not inherit from his father.’
His father? Cristina twisted round. ‘What are you talking about? His father has been dead for six years!’
‘I don’t mean—’ Mrs Scott-Lee stopped herself, then uttered a soft, unladylike curse. ‘He will not forgive me for this,’ she whispered. ‘He is not going to forgive me for my interference anyway, but…’ She looked at Cristina. ‘Please sit down again,’ she invited unevenly. ‘I need to explain some things to you…’
Anton’s face-off with Kinsella was not a pleasant one. Having been cornered by her own machinations, his loyal secretary gave it to him hook, line and spitting venom. Then, with his two young executives standing by as witnesses, he went on to formally dismiss her from his employment on the grounds of gross misconduct.
‘Do you think you can do this to me when I’ve devoted the last six years of my life to you?’ she attacked. ‘From the day that you stepped into your dead father’s shoes I have been working hard to turn myself into everything you could possibly want!’
‘But I don’t want what you are,’ Anton denounced brutally.
‘No.’ Kinsella quivered in disgust. ‘You prefer a black-haired witch who was more than willing to fall into bed with you the first chance she was handed!’
How Anton kept his hands from closing around her throat he had no idea. ‘You see, Miss Lane,’ he responded icily, ‘the difference between you wanting to fall into my bed and my wanting any other woman there is that they are desirable and you are not.’
‘And she is so good at playing the whore, isn’t she?’ Kinsella spat back. ‘But then she is a woman who is willing to do anything to get what she wants, even marry a fat and withered old man! I wonder if she crawled all over him like I watched her crawling all over you!’
White now, knocked back on his heels by that last venomous spit, Anton glanced at the connecting door, securely shut at the moment whereas yesterday it had been left swinging wide open. An icy sensation crept down his spine as his mind replayed a sequence of events that should have been private to him and Cristina.
But Kinsella had walked into this conference room and coolly followed the trail of discarded clothing to the bedroom. His skin began to crawl as he imagined her standing in the bedroom doorway watching them and listening, like some sick bloody voyeur, before quietly walking out again to go and snoop in his private files before calling up his mother.
He felt sick. She was sick. He turned his back on her. ‘Get her out of here,’ he rasped at the two other men.
Striding into his suite five minutes later, he found his mother sitting tensely on the edge of a chair. She jumped up. ‘Anton—’
‘Where is Cristina?’ he demanded.
‘I—we need to talk first,’ his mother said, her eyes pleading with him in a way that locked up every single bone he possessed.
‘Where is she?’ he bit out, and spun towards the bedrooms. He wanted to know what was in that damn letter. He wanted to know what it was that had made her run like that!