The Blackmail Baby (2 page)

She pulled her faux fur hat tight onto her head to completely cover her light blonde hair and obscure her face as much as she could. Then she turned up the collar of her long coat and slipped out into the corridor, heading towards the side staircase that led to the
palazzo
’s water gate.

She knew there’d be many boats at the Grand Canal entrance, waiting to ferry the wedding guests back to their hotels after the reception, and she needed transportation to get across the lagoon to the airport as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much time before the last plane left the city that night.

Disguised in bulky winter layers, she didn’t look anything like the petite blonde bride who had arrived that day, radiant with happiness and fresh from her wedding ceremony—and she desperately hoped that no one would recognise her. She couldn’t bear it if one of Lorenzo’s security staff dragged her back inside—back to Lorenzo.

She shivered as she climbed into a water taxi and gave directions for Marco Polo Airport. An icy wind that felt as if it had blown straight from the frozen spires of the Dolomites sliced right through her and started her shivering deep inside.

That afternoon the sparkling flurries of snow had seemed beautiful and romantic. Now the weather seemed unrelenting and cruel.

But at least she’d got away from the
palazzo
unchallenged, and was on her way across the dark lagoon to the airport. The windows of the boat were completely misted over so that she couldn’t see anything, and the movement of the water was making her feel sick.

Suddenly the night seemed impenetrable—a swirling black and white uncertainty, with no visible landmarks. And her heart was breaking into a million tiny fragments that were no different from the icy shards of snow blowing down from the mountain peaks, to be swallowed up by the ink-black water of the lagoon.

Lorenzo stood outside on the balcony, staring into the snowstorm in a temper that was as foul as the night. The snow was falling so thickly that the lights shining from the buildings on the other side of the Grand Canal were just a dim glow, and there was no way to see any distance across the open water.

Not that there was anything to see. Chloe was gone.

She had boarded the final commercial plane to leave the city that night, and now the weather made it impossible for him to follow—even in his private jet.

He swore bitterly, gripping the balustrade with
fingers that were as cold and hard as the stone beneath them.

He knew where she was almost certainly heading—to the home of her best friend, Liz, in a small village south of London. But as a precaution he had people waiting at Gatwick Airport to track her onward journey and to confirm her final destination.

It was not a long flight. In fact she was probably nearly there by now. He lifted his arm automatically to check his wristwatch, and cursed again as he saw that the face of his watch and his dark wedding suit were covered with icy white snow.

He turned abruptly and stepped into the bedroom, dashing the snow away with rough, impatient sweeps of his hands. But it was already melting with the heat of his body, so he shrugged his wet jacket off and tossed it aside.

Suddenly he froze—staring down at the wedding dress Chloe had abandoned on the bed. His heart thudded violently in his chest and he felt his blood surge angrily through his veins.

How dared she walk out on him like this?

How dared she turn tail and run away into the night?

The end of their marriage was not
her
decision to make on a whim, simply because he had quashed her sentimental outburst.

But that was immaterial now. He did not know
or care whether her declaration of love had been a calculated ploy. Or if it had been a simple misguided notion brought about by the grandeur of the occasion. It made no difference now. By running away she had sealed her fate. Their marriage was over.

He picked up the dress and found himself picturing how sexy Chloe had looked wearing it. He’d spent most of the afternoon imagining peeling it slowly off her delectable body.

He had truly believed that she would be a good wife. That she would make a good mother for his heirs.

But their union had been short-lived—finished before it had even begun.

A sudden, unwelcome memory flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists, unaware that he was crushing the delicate fabric in his hands. This was not the first time someone had walked away from him at the
palazzo.
But no one would ever get away with it again.

He looked down at the soft silk dress. Then, with an abrupt, violent movement, he threw it savagely out onto the balcony.

He stood, staring at it for a moment, forcing himself to breathe slowly and consciously bringing his pounding heartbeat back under his control. In the eerie light of the storm the dress already looked indistinguishable from the snow that had settled on the
stone balcony. If the weather didn’t let up, it would soon be covered.

He slammed the glass door shut. Then he turned his back and walked away.

Three months later.

I
T WAS
a beautiful day in early May. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. And Chloe stood at the graveside of her best friend, holding an orphaned baby in her arms.

It was almost impossible to believe—but it was true. Liz, baby Emma’s mother, had really gone. Chloe had had three months to come to terms with the fact that her dear friend was losing her battle against cancer, but somehow her death had still come as a shock.

She’d flown from Venice on that bitter night in February and travelled straight to Liz’s country village home. She’d been desperate to see her friend—partly to talk about what had happened with Lorenzo. But mostly just to seek the comfort of her company.

But when Liz had opened the door of her cottage
and beckoned her inside, Chloe had known at once that something was wrong. The cancer that they’d hoped and prayed would stay in remission had come back.

Liz had delayed telling Chloe because she didn’t want to spoil what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—her wedding day. And even more heartbreaking was the news that the disease had progressed too far for the doctors to save her.

Chloe looked down at the baby snuggled in her arms, feeling cold and empty. The May sunshine did nothing to take the chill away, and at that moment she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She recognised the concerned voice of Gladys, Liz’s kindly neighbour. The old lady had been an incredible support during the past weeks. She’d helped to keep up her spirit at the bleakest of times, and offered to look after the baby, enabling Chloe to spend as much time as possible with Liz at the hospital, and then later on at the hospice.

Chloe turned and tried to make her smile convincing, although she knew Gladys was unlikely to be fooled.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

‘It was a lovely service,’ Gladys said. ‘The readings Liz asked for were beautiful.’

Chloe nodded, swallowing against the hard lump of sorrow that was constricting her throat. She had
found the funeral almost unbearable. The pain of losing her best friend was still too raw. Liz had been too young to die. And baby Emma was too young to lose her mother.

‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get back to the cottage,’ Gladys said gently. ‘They’ll all be waiting for me by now.’

‘Thank you for inviting everyone back for tea,’ Chloe said gratefully. It had been thoughtful of the old lady to offer to host a small gathering after the funeral, and something Chloe just didn’t feel up to.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ Gladys brushed her thanks aside. ‘You’ve got your hands full with little Emma. And you’ve already done so much.’

‘I only did what anyone would have done,’ Chloe said.

‘No, not anyone,’ Gladys said stoutly. ‘You took good care of your friend during a difficult time. And now you are doing a wonderful thing—taking on her baby as your own. Liz was truly blessed to have a friend like you.’

Chloe pressed her trembling lips together and tried to smile at her. She knew Gladys meant well, but at that moment it was hard to think of Liz as blessed. She’d suffered so much, only to have her life snatched away by cancer.

‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village,
she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.

She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.

‘We’ll be all right,’ Chloe whispered, and kissed Emma’s soft cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’

But as she pressed her face against Emma’s wispy baby hair, she suddenly felt very alone.

She found herself thinking about Lorenzo. Three months ago she’d thought she was about to embark on the most wonderful journey of her life—marriage and children with her gorgeous Italian husband. Now everything was so different.

She had not heard a word from him since the night she left Venice, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d known it was unrealistic to hope that he would follow her, saying that he’d got it wrong, and that he did love her after all.

But still, that was what she’d wished for.

She had not contacted him either. She’d been too involved with caring for Liz and Emma. And,
if she was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to face him.

Deep down she knew she’d behaved badly by running away without talking to him—but she’d simply reacted instinctively to the discovery that Lorenzo viewed their marriage as a loveless practicality. An overpowering need for self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d known that to protect her broken heart she had to get away from him.

But now she
had
to contact Lorenzo.

Firstly about her intention to adopt Emma. They were still officially married, and that might cause complications with the legal procedures. And secondly, about some money she’d been forced to use a couple of days earlier, from an account he’d set up in both their names before the wedding. The amount she’d taken would be nothing to a man as rich as Lorenzo, but she knew him well enough to be aware that no detail—no matter how small—ever escaped his notice.

She wanted him to know that she would pay him back as soon as she could. She had no wish to take anything from him. And the sooner she set things straight, the sooner she could put that heartbreaking episode of her life behind her, and get on with building a life for herself and Emma.

A tremble ran through her at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again, but she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Emma’s head.

‘I’m not going to think about that now,’ she said
to the baby. She’d promised Liz that she’d think happy thoughts, but at that moment it was a hard promise to keep.

She walked across to a wooden bench under a flowering cherry tree. The soft grass was scattered with the delicate pink blossom and it reminded Chloe of confetti.

Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. It was the most beautiful day. But her best friend was not there to share it with her. And she never would be again.

Lorenzo Valente handled the convertible with a natural ease, shifting gears smoothly as he approached a tight bend in the winding country lane. It was a fine afternoon in May and the sun felt surprisingly warm on his shoulders as he sped along the leafy green road in rural England.

He usually enjoyed driving, but the expression on his face was far from one of pleasure—he was thinking about the latest stunt Chloe had pulled.

Very little shocked Lorenzo. He accepted the fact that being born into a wealthy family, and then multiplying that fortune by several orders of magnitude, had made him a target for various types of gold-digging parasites.

However, he’d never thought
Chloe
would steal from him. But it was just one more thing to make her pay for.

His strong fingers tightened on the steering wheel
and his eyes narrowed dangerously. A minute later he reached a tiny village. He slowed the car, and took the turning that led to the church. He drove a short distance along the narrow lane and then pulled up onto the grass verge, waiting for the crowd of pedestrians leaving the church to pass.

He knew that it was the day of her friend’s funeral. He’d seen to it that he had been kept very well-informed about Chloe’s actions since she walked out on him.

Suddenly he caught sight of a small figure dressed in dark grey walking unsteadily across the churchyard.

It was Chloe.

A strange sensation lodged in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart start to beat faster. He was out of the car in an instant, ignoring the curious looks he was drawing from some of the villagers. He only had eyes for Chloe.

He strode across the churchyard towards her, the soft grass muffling his footsteps. She did not see or hear him approach, and sat completely motionless on the bench beneath the flowering cherry tree, engulfed in a private moment of sorrow.

He was about to speak but he hesitated, feeling an unaccustomed stab of uncertainty. Her eyes were closed as she wept, tears sliding silently down her white cheeks as she held a baby nestled in her arms. Her grief for her friend was so personal—he knew that his presence was an intrusion.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared up at him. A flash of surprise passed across her features.

‘Lorenzo.’ Her wide green eyes were luminous with tears in the warm afternoon sunshine, and her pale skin looked almost translucent. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re here.’

Hearing her say his name with such feeling sent an unexpected surge of emotion powering through his veins. He wanted to reach out and smooth the moisture from her cheeks, but instead he clamped his arms stiffly by his sides.

‘Really?’ he said, knowing his tone was harsh, especially after witnessing the depth of her grief. But the intensity of his reaction to her had caught him off guard. He wasn’t accustomed to being affected by other people’s emotional displays. ‘I thought that, by stealing my money, it was your intention to draw me out.’

‘The money…that’s why you’re here?’

Chloe looked up at him, her pulse still racing from the shock of opening her eyes and seeing Lorenzo standing there. He looked so strong and vibrant—and, despite everything, he was the most welcome sight in the world.

For a moment she let herself believe that maybe he was there because he knew she needed him—knew how sad and alone she felt. She had no doubt that he was aware of everything that had happened
to her since she’d left Venice. Information was another essential currency to Lorenzo.

‘What other reason could there be?’ he said, his piercing blue eyes boring into her.

She drew in a breath, suppressing the irrational surge of disappointment that rose up within her. But really she’d known that, if Lorenzo cared for her at all, he would have come before this.

‘I’m going to pay the money back,’ she said. ‘I needed it urgently.’

‘For what?’ Lorenzo demanded. ‘What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait until you found some other way of paying? That you needed to take my money immediately and without permission?’

‘I had to pay for this,’ Chloe said, sweeping her arm around with a distracted gesture, unable to believe how cold and unfeeling he seemed. ‘My savings are gone, my credit card is maxed out. I’ve had no income for months, but I’ve been looking after Liz and…’

She stopped abruptly, suddenly wishing she hadn’t said so much. The state of her finances was none of Lorenzo’s business.

It was a shock to find herself face to face with him again, and one heartbreaking thought kept going round in her head: he had no interest in
her—
only in what he thought she’d taken from him. Could he really have come all this way to berate her over the comparatively small amount of money she’d spent?

‘I used the money to pay for the funeral,’ she stated bluntly. Surely even Lorenzo wasn’t so hardhearted that he would begrudge that.

‘You should have asked me,’ he said coldly.

‘I didn’t need to ask,’ she said. ‘The account is in both our names. I never wanted to use a penny of that money, but I’m not going to apologise for it, because I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Liz deserved a proper funeral.’

Lorenzo stared down at Chloe, registering an undercurrent of uncertainty showing through her expression despite her continued defence of her actions. He knew she was still emotional, and he felt unwelcome feelings churn in his own stomach in response.

This was not what he had expected when he’d married Chloe—that three months after their wedding they would be meeting for the first time in an English churchyard and arguing over a stranger’s funeral expenses.

He’d chosen her to be his wife because he thought she’d be reliable and stable, the way she’d been as his PA. He wanted his marriage to be straightforward and uncomplicated, not like the often hysterical and unpleasant scenarios he’d witnessed growing up as his father worked his way through a string of unsuitable wives.

But nothing had worked out the way he intended. Chloe had walked out on him. Then she’d chosen not
to get in touch—even when she was in financial trouble.

‘You were too proud to ask for help,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You’d sooner steal my money than talk to me.’

Chloe let out her breath with a resigned sigh and looked straight up into his eyes.

‘I didn’t think you’d let me use the money. I thought you’d freeze the account or something,’ Chloe said. ‘You didn’t really know Liz. You only met her a couple of times.’

Lorenzo swore with sudden violence. Then frowned at the baby as she started to grizzle and fuss in Chloe’s arms.

‘What kind of man do you think I am?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You truly think I’m so petty I would not pay for a funeral?’

Chloe stared up at him with wide eyes that seemed huge in her pale face, looking as startled as the baby by his loud outburst.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice sounding shaky and uncertain. ‘We might be married but it seems I don’t know you at all.’

Then she looked away, down at the baby in her arms.

‘I can’t do this now.’ She rocked Emma gently and murmured soothing words to her. ‘She’s probably hungry. It’s been a long afternoon and I need to get her back to the cottage.’

She looked small and awkward standing there, wearing an ill-fitting charcoal-grey suit that swamped her tiny frame and was pulled out of line by the baby in her arms. The unforgiving colour drained any speck of warmth from her fair complexion and her light blonde hair hung down in a shapeless curtain nearly to her shoulders.

Next to the fresh green grass and colourful pink blossom she looked starkly monochrome, almost as if she’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie—some old-fashioned, overblown melodrama.