Mistress Of His Revenge. Chantelle Shaw

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       CHAPTER TWO

      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 family fortune dwindling and they were desperately seeking investors to save their manufacturing company.

      Cruz had been under no illusions about why he was an honoured guest. Porchester had sucked up to him all evening, but when Cruz had stepped outside onto the terrace for some fresh air he had been hidden in the shadows and had overheard his host discussing him with another guest.

      ‘Delgado’s a self-made millionaire from South America. Apparently he bought a diamond mine and struck lucky. Of course you can always pick out the nouveau riche by their lack of breeding.’

      The two men had laughed and Cruz had gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he would have the last laugh because money was money at the end of the day, and Porchester needed a loan. But Lord Porchester’s meaning had been clear. It did not matter how many millions Cruz had in the bank, he would never be accepted by the social elite. Not that he gave a damn about other people’s opinion of him, Cruz brooded. But he was determined to establish Delgado Diamonds as one of Europe’s most exclusive jewellers and being regarded as an outsider by the aristocracy was a disadvantage.

      Perhaps he should have accepted Porchester’s daughter’s unsubtle hints that she hoped he would take her to bed, he mused. If he was seen to be dating a lord’s daughter it could open doors for him. Business relied on networking and making useful contacts. Unfortunately, the half an hour he had spent listening to Lisette Porchester gossiping about her ‘Chelsea Set’ friends had bored him rigid.

      But there were plenty of other upper-class women he could choose from. Cruz knew it was not just his millionaire status that the opposite sex found attractive. Women were drawn to the sensual promise in his eyes and the athleticism of his muscular body. They called him a stud and he was happy to prove it. Since he was a youth, women had thrown themselves at him. Maybe that was why he found the cut and thrust of business so exciting—there was an element of risk and the possibility of failure that was never present in his numerous sex-without-strings affairs.

      He turned away from the window, bored by the scene of drunken debauchery taking place on the lawn, and glanced around the library. Eversleigh Hall deserved its reputation as one of England’s finest stately homes. From the outside the house was a gracious manor house, predominantly Georgian in style, although some of the original sixteenth-century building still remained. Inside, the impressive entrance hall and the library had a rather faded elegance about them—as if the house had been trapped in a time warp when grand country houses were run by dozens of staff.

      The only member of staff Cruz had seen was the elderly butler who had admitted him into the house. He frowned. Had he imagined an odd expression had crossed the butler’s face when he’d asked to see Earl Bancroft?

      He wondered why the earl was hosting a party for guests who seemed to be barely out of high school. Perhaps the party was for Sabrina’s younger brother, he mused. Tristan Bancroft must be in his early twenties now. Ten years ago Sabrina had used the excuse that she wanted to return to Eversleigh Hall because her kid brother needed her. The real reason, Cruz knew, was because she’d felt trapped in Brazil when she had been expecting his child. After she’d lost the baby she had rushed back to England and the privileged lifestyle she was used to.

      His mind snapped back to the present as he noticed the door handle turn, and his jaw hardened at the prospect of meeting Earl Bancroft—the man he held responsible for his father’s death.

      The door opened and Cruz stiffened.

      * * *

      ‘It is you.’ Shock stole Sabrina’s breath and her voice emerged as a thread of sound. Cruz was instantly recognisable and yet he looked different from the man she had known ten years ago. Of course he was older, and the boyishly handsome features she remembered were harder, his face leaner, with slashing cheekbones and a chiselled jaw that gave him an uncompromising air of power and authority combined with devastating sensuality.

      The curve of his lips was achingly familiar and memories of the feel of his mouth on hers flooded back. How could she remember his kiss so vividly after all this time? she wondered, dismayed by her reaction to him. She unconsciously flicked her tongue across her lower lip and saw his eyes narrow on the betraying gesture.

      Cruz had always been able to decimate her equilibrium with one glittering glance from his olive-green eyes, Sabrina thought ruefully. She recalled the first time she had seen him in Brazil. Even as a young man, his body had been honed and muscular from working in the diamond mine. His jeans and shirt had been filthy, and when he’d taken his hat off, she had noticed that his black hair curling onto his brow was damp with sweat.

      She had never met a man so overwhelmingly male before. The sheltered life she had led at Eversleigh Hall and at an all-girls boarding school had not prepared her for Cruz’s smouldering sensuality. She’d taken one look at him and scorching heat had swept through her body. Disconcerted by her reaction, she had behaved with an uncharacteristic lack of manners and ignored him. But a few days later she had met him while she was out walking and he had told her that his name was Cruz Delgado before he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a blazing passion that had set the pattern of their relationship.

      For a moment Sabrina felt like a shy, unworldly eighteen-year-old again and she was tempted to run out of the library away from Cruz’s brooding stare. She was twenty-eight, had a PhD and was highly regarded in her field of expertise in antique furniture restoration, she reminded herself. His unexpected appearance at Eversleigh Hall was undeniably a shock, but she assured herself that she was immune to his simmering sexual chemistry.

      ‘Why are you here?’

      She was thankful her voice sounded normal. But seeing him again brought back memories of her miscarriage just four and a half months into her pregnancy. She wondered if Cruz ever imagined what their son would be like if her pregnancy СКАЧАТЬ