JACQUELINE BAIRD - The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

‘What can I say?’ He groaned, holding her away from him. ‘Except I’ve missed you.’ His eyes roamed hungrily over her and then, grabbing her arm, he urged her inside. ‘I have to speak to Tom.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to marry you, and I need to ask his permission.’

‘What?’

‘You heard.’ He folded her against his long body. ‘Marry me, Emily. I can’t wait any longer.’

Not the most romantic proposal in the world, but Emily’s blue eyes filled with tears of happiness. Suddenly everything made sense. Anton, wonderful Anton, the man she loved with all her heart, the man she had been worrying would never take her to bed, actually wanted to marry her. Now his behaviour made magnificent sense. She had heard the rumours of his many mistresses, but with her he had behaved with admirable restraint because he wanted more, he wanted her to be his wife, he loved her.

‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.

‘What is going on out here?’

Anton raised his eyes and looked at Tom over the top of Emily’s head. He had shocked himself by proposing marriage so precipitously. He had had it all planned, the ring in his pocket, a romantic dinner, a skilful seduction; instead he had blurted it out in the doorway like an idiot. But hell! If ever a woman looked like sex on legs and ready to bed it was Emily tonight, he reasoned, so naturally he had to get in quick. And Emily had said yes, mission accomplished. Not that he had doubted for a moment she would say yes, and he refused to admit it was the thought of Emily seeing another man that was responsible for his hasty proposal. He straightened his broad shoulders and tightened his arm around Emily’s waist.

‘I have just asked Emily to marry me, Tom, and she has agreed. But we would like your blessing,’ he said, once more in complete control.

‘Is this true, Emily? Is Anton the man for you?’ Tom asked quietly, his eyes on his sister.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘In that case you have my blessing.’ Anton met his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s eyes and saw the slight reservation in the blue depths. ‘But you are a lot older than Emily.’ For that, read You have a reputation with women, Anton understood instantly. ‘And if you hurt her in any way you will have me to answer to.’

‘I’ll guard her with my life,’ Anton declared, and he meant it, though not necessarily for the reason Tom Fairfax thought…

‘Knowing Emily and given her career choice, I don’t envy you,’ Tom teased.

‘Tom—please…’ Emily groaned. ‘You are going to put Anton off before I get the ring on my finger.’

‘Never.’ Anton glanced down at the woman by his side. ‘As your husband I will support you every which way you want, Emily.’

‘So stop making cow’s eyes at her, and come and meet the rest of the family.’ Tom grinned. ‘We can make it a double celebration and you will have some idea of what you are getting into, my friend.’

Anton knew exactly what he was getting into, he had engineered the whole thing, so he was surprised that he actually felt something suspiciously like guilt as the introductions were made. Tom and Helen, he knew of course, and James and Lisa Browning. The Brownings’ two adult sons and their wives seemed pleasant enough. Another aunt, Jane, was the younger sister of Sara Fairfax, a widow with twin sons about twenty. Then there was the birthday boy, Sir Clive Deveral, wearing a deep blue velvet dinner jacket, a ruffled yellow shirt and a brilliant scarlet waistcoat with a face to match.

Although he had seen all their names on the report his investigator had presented, meeting them in the flesh was a little disconcerting. As the dinner progressed he found it impossible to dislike them. Everyone without exception made him welcome and congratulated him on having won Emily’s hand in marriage. The conversation was lively and funny and inevitably reminiscences of other family parties were laughed over. For the first time in years he wondered if there was something to be said for a large close-knit family.

‘So what did you think of them?’ Emily asked Anton, her arm linked in his as she walked him to the door at one in the morning.

‘I think your uncle Clive is deliberately outrageous but a great character and the rest are all lovely just like you,’ he murmured as he slipped his hand in his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box.

Emily stared in wonder and a happiness so profound she could not speak.

‘I meant to do this over a romantic dinner for two.’ His lips quirked at the corners in a wry smile as he opened the box. ‘But events rather overtook us.’ And grasping her hand, he raised it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on the backs of her fingers, before sliding a magnificent sapphire and diamond ring onto her finger.

Tears of joy sparkled in Emily’s eyes as she looked up into his darkly handsome face. ‘It is beautiful. I love it and I love you,’ she declared. Anton was everything she wanted, and the fact he had said in front of Tom he would support her in her career banished the faintest doubt, and she kissed him.

They were married quietly on a Wednesday a month later in the church adjacent to her uncle Clive’s home, Deveral Hall. Uncle Clive considered Tom and Emily as close to his own children as he would ever get and was delighted to throw open his once elegant but now slightly shabby home for the occasion.

On a brilliant day in late May the old stone house glowed mellowly in the sun. Emily was a vision in white and Anton every inch the perfect groom, tall, dark and strikingly attractive. The fifty-odd guests, mostly family and friends of Emily, were all agreed it was a wonderful intimate wedding.

Anton stared down at his sleeping bride, a slow satisfied smile curving his firm lips, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph.

Emily Fairfax was his… His wife…Señora Diaz…or Mrs…whatever. He considered himself a citizen of the world, and it was only the Diaz that was important. He had applied for a passport weeks ago in her married name, and on production of the wedding certificate Max pulled a few strings and obtained the new passport and delivered it as they boarded the plane for Monte Carlo. Anton had accomplished what he had set out to do from the first time he had set eyes on her. He had married Charles Fairfax’s daughter, the niece of a knight of the realm. Not that he cared about titles, but Charles Fairfax certainly had.

Anton’s expression darkened. According to his mother, over twenty-six years ago Charles Fairfax had been on holiday in Greece and had seduced Anton’s eighteen-year-old sister, Suki. Anton had been eleven at the time and attending boarding school so had known nothing about it. When his sister had died a few months later in a car accident he had been devastated, but it was only after his mother had died he had pieced together the full extent of Charles Fairfax’s betrayal, from the letter addressed to Suki he had found among his mother’s things.

Charles Fairfax had left Suki pregnant and returned to London. When she had contacted him about the child he had written back saying he did not believe the child was his. Then added he was well aware that Suki was the illegitimate daughter of a Frenchman, and that her mother was the daughter of a Peruvian brothel-keeper, and was now the mistress of a wealthy Greek and had yet another illegitimate child. With such a pedigree there was no way, even if he were free, which he was not, that the proud old name of Fairfax would ever be associated with the name Diaz.

Five months after Fairfax had left her, Suki had picked up a copy of The Times newspaper and read the announcement of the wedding of Charles Fairfax to Sir Clive Thomas Deveral’s sister, Sara Deveral, and she had given up all hope and committed suicide. Killing herself and her unborn child.

Anton shook his head to dispel the dark memories. Today he had righted the wrong done to his family in a way he knew his mother would have appreciated. Emily Fairfax was now a Diaz, a very fitting revenge.

As for Emily, he glanced back at her sleeping form in the seat beside him. She really was exquisite; in fact, if he had met her without the past to consider, while he would not have married her, he would certainly have bedded her and kept her as his mistress until he tired of her. But looking at her now with her silken blonde hair falling loosely over one side of her face, her soft lips slightly pouted in sleep, he was glad he had.

Emily was intelligent, well educated with a career of sorts and she was not likely to interfere in how he ran his life. Certainly not after he told her why he had married her, and the thought made him pause. Somehow the revenge he had achieved did not give him quite as much pleasure as he had expected. The soul-corroding bitterness that had consumed him since his mother’s death had faded slightly. Probably because of Emily—she really was delightful.

Her constant avowals of love, rather than irritating him, he was beginning to find quite addictive. He had known a few women, and he was realistic enough to recognize that, great sex aside, the biggest part of his attraction was his wealth. Personally he thought love was an excuse the female of the species, Emily included, used to justify having sex with a man. Wryly he amended that thought, with the exception of the three generations of females in his family who had imagined themselves in love and suffered for it.

His grandmother had been the daughter of a wealthy Spanish Peruvian rancher, a Señor Sebastian Emanuel Diaz. Her father had disowned her after she had disgraced the family by getting pregnant and running away to Lima with a ranch hand. They never married and he left her when their daughter was barely a year old. His own mother had repeated the same mistake twice over, first by falling in love with a Frenchman who had left her with a baby girl, and then with Anton’s father, a Greek who was married, and she became his mistress. While not a complete tragedy, his mother had not made the wisest of choices. As for his sister—to kill herself for love didn’t bear thinking about.

No, if love existed then it was a destructive emotion and not one Anton was prepared to embrace. He lusted after Emily, but he had no illusions about the female of the species. He knew his wealth and power were probably just as much an aphrodisiac to Emily as they had been to the countless other women he had known.

The wedding had gone perfectly and they were now on his private jet heading for the South of France to board his yacht anchored off Monaco.

His dark eyes narrowed as they roamed over her lovely face, serene in sleep. He noted the fantastic sweep of her lashes over her eyes, the sensuously curved passionate mouth, the slight curve of her breasts revealed between the lapels of the wild blue silk suit she wore, and his body tightened.

Pity he had not been able to remove the exquisite white wedding gown. The image of her as he had turned to watch her walk down the aisle would live in his mind for ever. Beautiful was an understatement; her sparkling blue eyes had met his and for a long moment he had not been able to breathe, such was her effect on him. Even now remembering made his heart beat faster and he fought the temptation to kiss her awake. He had waited this long, he could wait a little longer until they reached the comfort of his yacht. He did not want to rush what he had promised himself would be a long night of passion.

A light flashed in the gathering darkness, and he heard the sudden change in the engine noise; they would be landing soon. Good, he was getting impatient. He could not remember the last time he had waited so long for a woman, if ever…though it had all been part of his plan.