The letter had been dated six months earlier, and though he knew he would have to go to the UK and investigate for himself the legitimacy of the girl’s claims, Cristiano had also realised it must fall to him to convey the news that Ramón was dead—and that could not wait. But he had not had the opportunity to speak to Dominique herself. Instead, when he had called the telephone number she’d included in her letter, the girl’s mother had answered. Upon his revealing to her who he was and why he was calling the woman had not held back.
His ‘heartless, good-for-nothing cousin’ had wrecked her daughter’s life, Cristiano had been told in no uncertain terms, and his family had better do something about it. Dominique had only had a year to go before she finished her degree, and had had a bright future to look forward to. Now, instead, she was weighed down with the responsibilities of a baby!
When Jean Sanderson had calmed down sufficiently for him to get a word in edgeways Cristiano had soothingly but authoritatively told her that if it were true that her daughter’s baby was Ramón’s then he would of course take steps to ensure their future prospects were comfortable and to her liking. Certainly Dominique would not be denied the opportunity to finish her education. The Cordova family took their responsibilities seriously and would not turn their backs on one of their own. Slightly placated, Mrs Sanderson had then volunteered Dominique’s new address—she had apparently moved out since her letter to Ramón—and was living in a ‘grubby little bedsit’ in one of London’s least attractive boroughs.
The accusations had come hard and fast. Dominique’s mother’s anger and resentment were glaringly evident. Even in death it seemed that Ramón’s reckless and thoughtless behaviour was still having massive repercussions on people’s lives…
Yet again it had been left to Cristiano to smooth the troubled waters his cousin had left in his wake.
Releasing a troubled sigh, he pulled his gaze away from the spectacular view offered by the small window beside him and concerned himself instead with thoughts of his family. A family whose sorrow at losing a beloved son had been unexpectedly eased by the revelation that he’d fathered a child…a child they hoped and prayed Cristiano would be bringing back with him on his return—back where they were convinced she belonged…
There was a knock at the door, and in the same instant the milk she’d been heating on the stove for hot chocolate boiled over. Cursing softly, Dominique turned off the gas, surveyed the burnt sticky mess clinging to the side of the saucepan, and unhappily mourned the diminishing ability of her once sharp brain to concentrate for even two seconds flat. The trouble was Matilde was teething, and they had both had a horrendously sleepless night. Now fed, and finally asleep, the baby lay cosily wrapped up against the cold in her cot, and Dominique had been looking forward to the comfort of a hot drink for herself.
No doubt the person knocking on the door at that inopportune moment was Katie—the ballet student who lived in the bedsit opposite. Frequently out of milk, sugar, tea, coffee…food—anything you cared to name—she often walked across the landing to see if Dominique could help out. Leaving the cramped space that laughingly masqueraded as a kitchen and padding across the thin, worn carpet in her stockinged feet, Dominique opened the door with a resigned smile already in place—and a swift, silent prayer of thanks that she had done her shopping yesterday, before Matilde’s teething problem had kept them both awake for half the night…
‘Dominique Sanderson?’
She stared up at the imposing male on the other side of the door with her heart racing a mile a minute. He was obviously foreign—even if his accent hadn’t alerted her to the fact, his dark and striking looks strongly confirmed it—and Dominique half closed the door again, feeling sick with dread. ‘Who wants to know?’ she answered, the smile she had automatically summoned for Katie firmly banished.
‘I am Cristiano Cordova…Ramón Cordova’s cousin. May I come in and speak with you?’ he enquired formally.
‘No, you can’t!’ In a panic, Dominique glanced over at the tattered Chinese screen behind which her infant daughter’s cot was positioned—grateful that at this angle it was completely hidden from view. ‘It was very wrong of my mother to give you my address, and I told her so! I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to turn around and go back to wherever you came from. Because although you want to speak to me, I do not want to speak to you!’
She went to shut the door, but he was too quick for her and grabbed the edge with a grip like steel. Dominique gasped.
‘If you shut the door in my face I promise you I will wait outside all night if I have to!’ the man warned. ‘And I do not make idle promises. So, if you want to avoid the embarrassment of explaining the reason for my presence to your neighbours, I suggest you simply let me come in and talk quietly to you in private.’
Seeing by his steely-eyed, hard-jawed expression that he was more than capable of carrying out an all-night vigil if she went back inside and closed the door, Dominique reluctantly moved away to allow him entrance. Her legs had gone to jelly, and she wondered how she even managed that small feat.
As the tall Spaniard came in through the door she couldn’t help glaring at him. From the moment her mother had announced she’d given him her address—and implied that he and his family were now responsible for her predicament—Dominique had been quite prepared to dislike him and all he stood for intensely. After all, hadn’t she already had a bitter example of how his family could behave in Ramón? Why should this man be any less heartless?
Even though her first view of him was through a red mist of anger, she saw nothing in the striking bronzed face with its sleek, taut lines to change her mind in any way. All she saw was another unwanted authority figure who believed it was his God-given right to try and take control of her and her baby’s life, and she wanted to physically push him out the door and yell at him never to come back.
‘What do you want to talk to me about?’ she demanded, folding her arms to try and still the tremors that had seized her.
‘The baby, of course…and the fact that her father was my cousin, who is now dead. There are things to discuss relating to both these matters.’
‘Well, I don’t want you here. Can’t you see that? Ramón and I broke up several months ago, and he couldn’t have cared less when I told him I was pregnant! I’m really sorry if you’ve had a wasted journey, but I didn’t ask you to come in the first place!’
‘No…you did not ask me to come,’ Cristiano Cordova replied, his voice smooth but with a rich undertone that made Dominique’s senses snap to attention. ‘But I would very much be failing in my duty to Ramón if I had elected to stay in Spain and ignore his baby’s existence. I found your letter, and I am aware of all that has happened. Now I am here to help alleviate some of the considerable stress and worry you must undoubtedly be under in such a difficult situation.’
‘You’re not going to take Matilde away from me, so don’t even think it!’
Stepping boldly in front of the six feet plus frame that exuded a bearing nothing less than regal—even here, in her deplorably shabby little bedsit with its threadbare floor covering and faded ancient wallpaper—Dominique was enraged at even the mere thought of such a possibility. She might only be twenty-one, but she still had rights—even if nobody else seemed to think so!
‘I think you need to calm yourself, Dominique. How can we discuss anything if you are in such a state of agitation? Perhaps we should start over again?’ The Spaniard considered her gravely for a moment, before extending his hand and letting his previously solemn mouth curve briefly into a smile. ‘It is unfortunate that our paths should only cross after such a