The Consequence He Must Claim (15 page)

Cesar didn’t love her. Sorcha told herself to be content with what she had. They were closer than they’d ever been.

But this was as far as they would go. She had to come to terms with the death of hope.

Thankfully she had her mother’s settlement package to distract her.

The biggest news had been that the mansion on the hill was being procured from the actor who’d bought it. Their old home would soon belong to her mother.

They had all debated at length about whether Mum should move into it. In the end they decided it didn’t matter how anyone in the village reacted. They had all learned to live with judgment long ago. If that was the home her mother loved, she ought to live there if she wanted to.

That set the groundwork for her mother to hire a manager to keep her existing house open for lodgers and its modest income.

She kept saying that with that income, she didn’t need anything more than the settlement she’d been entitled to in the first place.

Sorcha, having worked in the cutthroat business world, understood there was a time for kindness and a time when being nice got you nothing. After all they’d endured, she was not going to let her mother be talked out of one euro less than what she deserved. She had a vision of Tom Shelby swanning in and reminding her mum so much of the man she had loved that he’d soon have her signing away her claim to everything, including the house. No way was Sorcha leaving until all the
t
’s were crossed and
i
’s dotted.

Corm, bless him, suggested they meet at the pub so they felt as though they had home-turf advantage when Tom arrived. They were all quite nervous and it turned out to be a surprisingly amiable afternoon.

Tom opened with what sounded like a heartfelt apology. He explained that his mother was still alive, but in a home with dementia. He’d been a minor when their father died and his grandfather had had power of attorney. The grandfather had orchestrated the fraud, his signature was on all the papers prepared by a now dead lawyer. Tom was leaving it to a court-appointed authority to determine a fair settlement.

He was being as decent as he could be in the circumstances and Sorcha had to allow that she might have judged him too quickly in Spain. His remorse and desire to mend fences seemed very real.

“My being here is personal. I wanted to meet you properly,” he said, explaining that his—their—sister was working in South America and unable to get away, but was hoping to meet them soon. “Given the way I met Sorcha... That was a terrible shock,” he said, patting a warm—yes, it was even brotherly—hand over hers. “I’m so sorry for that. I must have struck you as incredibly callous. I had heard a rumor my father had children in Ireland, but as you can imagine, it was never discussed. When Cesar pulled me aside and told me... I wanted to speak to you then, but he said it wasn’t the time. He was so livid I was glad to get away with my life. Honestly,” he said with an earnest nod as Sorcha’s sisters giggled. “But I— Oh, hello. Speak of the devil.”

Tom picked up his hand off Sorcha’s.

“What? Oh!” Sorcha turned in her seat to see her husband striding through the pub toward them, hair damp and tousled by the weather, cheeks lightly stubbled in that rugged way he liked to wear his beard. He wore a rain-speckled suit and his eyes had dark bruises under them.

Her heart soared in excited reaction.

He stopped at the far end of the table and Sorcha was aware of the entire establishment quieting.

Speaking of livid
, she thought as he looked at her. Was he angry she hadn’t come home? He was acting like a bloody dictator, if that’s why he was here, but honestly, what was wrong with her that she was so darned happy to see him even when he looked so grim?

She wasn’t mentally prepared to face him, though. She had married him in a state of delusion, believing she could somehow reach his heart, but she didn’t know how to resume their marriage now that the reality of his locked heart had been shown to her so bluntly.

Enrique squawked and Cesar dragged his gaze from predatory fixation on her to soften as he looked at his son. He took the boy from his auntie’s lap and gave him a little toss into the air, kissing his cheek, then winked one eye against the baby’s happy tap of his open hands against his face.

“I’m excited to see you, too. But I need to talk to your mother. Angela, would you mind?” He handed Enrique to Sorcha’s mum, who agreed to take custody of her grandson with the special adoring blink she reserved for Cesar.

Then he held out a hand in Sorcha’s direction. And because he was that arrogant and she was that obedient, she got to her feet on his wordless command.

He said to Tom in a very ominous tone, “You know, of course, that nothing said at this table has any legal bearing?”

“I do know that,” Tom said with a faint, dry smile. “Your wife said the exact same thing the moment I arrived.”

Cesar looked at her. “I’ve always taken you for a soft touch.”

“I can be cold-blooded and practical when necessary,” she said, adding in a joke that fell flat, “I learned it from the best.”

Cesar’s eyes narrowed in a look he might give a mortal adversary. “I’ve booked us into the hotel. Call if he needs us,” he said with a nod at Enrique and pulled her away without even her purse.

The hotel was down the block and across the street, just far enough to keep them from talking as they ran through the rain, trying not to get soaked. At the desk, the same woman who’d given Sorcha the dirty look last time lifted supercilious brows as Cesar told her he had a room reserved.

As he took the key, he said to the woman, “My father is Javiero Montero y Salazar,
el Excelentísimo
Señor Grandeza de España. I’m his eldest son. That means I and my wife will be the Duke and Duchess of Castellon one day. That sort of thing seems to impress your management, given that we’re in the suite you reserve for royalty and you hang photos of titled guests on the wall.” He pointed at the framed and signed snapshot of an actor who’d been knighted. “Your bad manners reflect on you, not us. Do I need to have this conversation with your employer?”

“No, sir,” the woman said, eyes wide, voice mousy.

He didn’t say another word, just tugged Sorcha up to their room.

As he pressed the door closed and threw the key on the side table, she said, “Do I finally get to ask what you’re doing here?”

She was shaking and hoped he put it down to shivers at wearing damp clothes.

“Where should I be? Sitting in our empty house, waiting for you?” He threw off his wet jacket and moved to fetch a pair of towels from the powder room, handing one to her. “I had the feeling you weren’t planning on coming back for a while. Is that true?”

She opened her mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I wanted to be sure things with Tom were okay,” she lied. “These are the first contracts and legal briefs Mum’s ever read. I want to go over them with her so I know she understands what she’s signing.”

“And then you were going to come home?” Cesar persisted.

Home. Her heartstrings plucked. This village where her family lived had always been home. That house on the hill had been home and could be again.

But home was a villa in Spain. Her heart knew that.

“Sorcha—”

“Don’t be angry with me!” she said, pressing her towel to her face, then opening it across her shoulders and hugging it around her wet shirt and over her damp hair. “I know you weren’t raised with love.
To
love. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but I hoped, okay? I hoped for three years that you would fall in love with me and you didn’t. In fact, you were going to marry someone else and I couldn’t watch it. So I tried to leave and—”

“You’ve always loved me,” he said, tossing his towel after his jacket and folding his arms. “Did you tell me that day? In Valencia?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled. “I might have whispered it after we made love and I thought you were asleep.”

He was looking at her like he always did when the topic of That Day came up. Like he wanted to drill inside her head and take possession of the memories she held just beyond his reach.

“And you haven’t said anything all this time because...?”

“Because of this!” She waved between them. “If you had ever loved anyone, Cesar, you would know how painful this is. To love someone and feel like you can’t have them is excruciating!” She threw the towel away and hugged herself, cold and miserable and feeling pitiful.

“Would it feel anything like waking in a hospital and knowing there was one person you wanted to see, only one person who could possibly ground you, one person who would act like they gave a serious damn about you almost dying, then hear that she had quit and left the country? Would it feel something like that, Sorcha?”

She eyed him. Was this a trick?

“Did you really feel like that?” she asked faintly. “Because I kept telling myself you’d call if...” She shrugged. “Diega chased me off, you know that.”

“I didn’t then. All I knew was that you were gone and I was so angry...” He shook his head as if just the memory of how incensed he had been still had the power to steal his speech.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I wanted to be there.”

He shrugged, both acceptance and dismissal in the gesture. “I didn’t think you would come because you loved me. I thought you would come because you’re Sorcha.”

She had to smile at that, thinking there was a compliment buried in there even though she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

“You’re right about love being foreign to me. My parents are...the way they are. Mother came from a title without money. She had to marry well and bring her family back into the class she thought she belonged in. My father? Honestly, I suspect he’s one of those genius savants who doesn’t feel emotions like the average person. The one time I let myself grow fond of someone, to trust in friendship—not love, but friendship—I was kicked in the face. Do you know when I finally began to understand what love looked like? What it was?”

She shook her head.

“The day your niece went missing. You were upset beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. I get it now, of course. If Enrique somehow disappeared... I can’t even say the words without my heart rate climbing. But that day I understood that you loved that little girl and I could see what it would cost you if she didn’t turn up. It was not a good advertisement for love. It was a terrifying caution against it.”

“But you love Enrique, don’t you?” she asked anxiously. That much she needed to hear.

“So much.” His breath left him and his shoulders slumped in a kind of bemused defeat. “I can’t imagine if the baby swap had happened and we didn’t have him. Or if it hadn’t happened and I didn’t know about him at all. I should have said this sooner, Sorcha, but thank you. Thank you for having my son and bringing him into my life. He is, well, Rico said it best the other day. Enrique is the most important thing I have ever made. Thank you for making him with me.”

A rush of emotion filled her eyes and made her sniff. At the same time, she had to wonder, if he loved his son... What about her? Could he not love her
a little
?

“I feel that way about him, too,” she began, voice tight. “And I can’t deny him his father or his birthright, but I don’t know what to do about us. I’ll come back to Spain, I will, but I’m going to need time.”

“Sorcha.” He came forward to take her hands. His were warm and hers chilly. He frowned at her cool fingers and pressed her hands between his own. “I’ll never know what I said to Diega or why I crashed, but I am convinced that I went to tell her I couldn’t marry her. I think I realized that day that I loved you, too.”

“You don’t have to say that,” she said in a husky voice. “I already said I’d come back.”

“No.” He squeezed her hands. “What I’m feeling right now? It isn’t easy to articulate, but it’s
right
. I woke up from that crash and I was angry. Angry that I couldn’t remember, angry that you were gone. Angry that I was marrying a woman I didn’t want. Then the London hospital called and a million feelings hit me. Confusion and shock and—”

“More anger,” she said.

“Relief,” he said after a shrug of acceptance. “That I didn’t have to marry Diega. That I would see you again. Lust,” he said wryly and adjusted his grip so he held each of her hands cradled in each of his, thumbs drawing circles in her palms. “I don’t do well in any sort of weakened position, you know that. I won’t let anyone take advantage of me and since my crash, I’ve had this giant vulnerability of lost time. But once you were back in my life I began to feel I was coming back onto an even keel. I didn’t see how much you meant to me. I admit that. There’s been a lot to adjust to. Fatherhood, for one.”

She nodded, unable to argue with that.

“But when you said you loved me, I was happy, Sorcha. I haven’t been happy since...” He narrowed his eyes. “Since before my mother started pushing me to formalize my engagement. Do you know why I worked such late hours when you were at the office with me? Because
you were at the office with me
. Now I want to be home. Because that’s where you are. Actually, now you’re in Ireland and guess where I am?”

She pressed her lips to keep them from trembling. His face was blurring and she sniffed. “You’re not just saying that?”

“When have you ever known me to be sentimental for the sake of it? Sorcha, I
love
you.”

She sniffed again and threw her arms around him. “I love you, too.”

“Finally,”
he groaned, tightening his arms around her.

“I love you
so much
.” She started to cry.

“No,
mi amor
,” he murmured, catching her up then sitting her in his lap as he lowered to the sofa. “Please don’t cry.”

“Happy tears,” she assured him, arms around his neck. Kissing his throat. “Happy, happy, happy.”

He cradled the side of her face and covered her mouth, kissing her sweetly. Lovingly. Then he looked into her eyes. “I’m happy, too. I didn’t know love could feel like this. So beautiful. So right. I adore you,
mi amor
. Stay with me always.”