The Secret Wife

‘If you are pregnant...then and only then could I understand Anton’s motivation,’ Constantine conceded grudgingly, and yet he was perceptibly devastated by what his own imagination had suggested.

And only now had that possibility even occurred to him, Rosie registered, and boy, did the idea make him sick! That naturally golden skin had assumed an unhealthy pallor as presumably the implications of such a development sank in. This was how Constantine Voulos would have looked had she revealed her true relationship to Anton, Rosie realised with a sudden stab of satisfaction.

Few would deny that Anton’s child, illegitimate or otherwise, might have some sort of claim on his estate. Had she chosen to tell the truth, Constantine would not have dared to insult her. She was Anton’s daughter, his only child, the very last of the Estrada bloodline... and certainly not some calculating little gold-digger!

‘You don’t answer me.’ Abruptly Constantine swung away and then he spun just as swiftly back, his strong features clenched and taut. ‘If I have stumbled on the truth, my opinion of you is unchanged, but I should apologise for having approached you in such anger.’

Morbid amusement touched Rosie. He was backtracking fast on his offensive. Was he afraid of her now, afraid of the power she might have to disturb the smoothly planned future he no doubt envisaged for himself as sole controller of Anton’s various business enterprises? The idea that she might be carrying Anton’s child was a threat that shattered Constantine Voulos.

‘But be assured,’ he drawled flatly. ‘Should there be a child, every possible test would be required to prove your claim.’

Rosie was helplessly entertained by the knots he was tying round himself. Having come up with his own worst-case scenario, he was forgetting the boundary lines he had mentioned earlier. ‘But wouldn’t that be terribly upsetting for Thespina?’

His breath escaped in a startled hiss, his eyes flashing ferocious gold. ‘Your malice is indefensible...’

The instant Rosie had voiced the words she had wished to retrieve them, had realised too late how she would sound. For a moment she had longed to strike back at Thespina and Constantine and now she was bitterly ashamed of that spiteful prompting. She dropped her head, closed the case and tugged it down off the bed. ‘I’m not pregnant. Go in peace, Constantine. I am not a threat to either you or Thespina,’ she muttered heavily.

Downstairs the doorbell shrilled, breaking the pulsing tension within the bedroom.

‘That’ll be my cab.’ Rosie moved past him with relief. Her knees felt wobbly but she was bolstered by a feeling of innate superiority. Her father had been wrong about Constantine, his ward and son in all but name. Constantine was not, after all, Mr Perfect—well, that was hardly a surprise, was it?

Anton had been naive to imagine that Constantine would generously open his arms to his own natural child. Rosie had never paid much heed to her father’s oftrepeated assurances that if Constantine was ever given the chance he would fall over himself to be welcoming to the sudden advent of a little sister... not that Anton had ever referred to her and Constantine in such gruesome terms as brother and sister!

No, instead Anton had talked with immense warmth and approval about ‘family obligations...family support...family honour’, blithely ignoring the fact that Rosie would sooner have put an end to her existence than become anyone’s obligation! Furthermore she had been born a dyed-in-the-wool cynic.

Constantine had reacted exactly as she had expected to the idea that Anton might have fathered a child—with shock, horror and dismay as he foresaw what an expensive dent such a child might conceivably make in his own financial expectations. Feeling that she was a better person than Constantine Voulos because monetary greed had no hold on her, Rosie held her head high.

‘Don’t open that door!’ Constantine suddenly bit out from behind her.

Rosie’s head spun. He was halfway down the stairs, his diamond-bright gaze centred on her with ferocious intensity. ‘What the—?’

‘Quiet!’ he whispered rawly, slashing an overpoweringly arrogant brown hand through the air in emphatic command.

With an exasperation she did not even seek to conceal, Rosie simply ignored his demand and yanked open the front door. Disorientatingly, however, it was not a cab driver who stood on the doorstep. Rosie blinked, gulped and froze.

A small, slim woman in a black suit stared at her in wide-eyed distress, every scrap of colour slowly fading from her olive skin. She took a hesitant step back and then stilled, a look of complete bewilderment drawing her brows together as Constantine’s large dark frame appeared behind Rosie.

Faced with her late father’s wife in the flesh, Rosie had stopped breathing. Not a muscle moved on her paralysed face as she struggled not to let her horror show. A heavy hand came down on her shoulder like an imprisoning chain of restraint. Constantine said something soft in Greek but Rosie could feel the savage tension holding his big, powerful body in tautly unnatural proximity to hers.

Without warning the older woman lifted her hand and gently caught Rosie’s fingers, raising them to study the emerald which trapped the sunlight in its opulent green depths. ‘The Estrada betrothal ring,’ she whispered unevenly, and then she slowly shook her head in comprehension. ‘Of course... Anton gave you the ring for her! Constantine, how foolish I have been; I should have guessed ... but why didn’t you tell me?’

In receipt of that bemused appeal, Constantine inhaled sharply and Rosie felt his rigidity. ‘It did not seem an appropriate time to make an announcement—’

‘Only a man could believe that...as if the news that you are to marry would not bring me joy at any time!’ Her face wreathed in a delighted smile, all her uncertainty and anxiety vanished, Thespina beamed appreciatively at Rosie. ‘Exactly how long have you been engaged to my son?’

‘Engaged?’ Rosie echoed in a daze of disbelief, the pink tip of her tongue snaking out to moisten her dry lower lip.

‘It is very recent,’ Constantine drawled flatly.

‘But you should have told me,’ Thespina scolded in a troubled but tender undertone. ‘How could you have believed that I would be distressed by your happiness? If you only knew what madness was in my thoughts as I came to this door—’

A taxi filtered noisily into the driveway. ‘My cab,’ Rosie muttered in stricken relief.

‘You are leaving? But I have only just met you,’ the older woman protested in surprise and disappointment.

‘I’m afraid that Rosalie has a plane to catch and she’s already running late,’ Constantine slotted in inventively, closing a lean hand round Rosie’s case before she could reach for it again and carrying it swiftly from the house, presumably to enable her to make a faster exit.

‘Rosalie... that is a very... a very pretty name,’ Thespina mused after an odd moment of hesitation, her eyes swiftly veiling before she glanced up again and continued with apparent warmth. ‘Forgive me for arriving without an invitation but I shall look forward to spending time with you very soon.’