Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit: Spaniard's Seduction. Brenda Jackson
“Not this one apparently.” Phillip looked pained.
Megan came through the door like a whirlwind. “Sorry, I was with Mum and Alyssa.” She sounded out of breath, as though she’d been running.
“Here, have my seat,” Caitlyn leapt up, increasingly conscious that while she was part of the inner decision-making team of Saxon’s Folly, Rafaelo was right, this was not her business. This was family stuff. As much as she viewed the Saxons as extended family, she probably shouldn’t even be here.
“Sit,” Megan insisted. “I’ll pull up Dad’s desk chair.” Heath rose and helped her bring it over. They all shuffled around to make space for her.
“Now what’s this about?” Megan demanded.
Caitlyn squinted toward Rafaelo, interested to see how he was going to bridge the gap with his father…his siblings…to start to build the relationship that, despite his denials, she was convinced he’d come across the world to build.
“I want my share of Saxon’s Folly.” Rafaelo spoke from the window.
Caitlyn stared at Rafaelo in disbelief.
“Your share?” Heath was on his feet.
“Sit down, Heath,” Phillip ordered.
Heath sank back, dark colour rising beneath his tan. He gave Rafaelo an unfriendly glare.
“Yes, my share.” Rafaelo’s voice was very smooth, his Spanish accent very evident. But Caitlyn noticed that sparks leapt from his eyes. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared. “The birthright I was robbed of when he—” Rafaelo pointed at Phillip “—refused to acknowledge my mother’s pregnancy.”
“We’ve only got your word that my father is yours.” Heath was the first to retort.
Rafaelo looked at him as though he’d crawled out of a muddy pond. “Even your mother acknowledges that my mother once lived in the area. Even she recognised the probability that—”
“Probability?” Heath mocked.
Joshua looked from one to the other. “Heath—”
“What?” Heath swung round. “He’s scamming us—”
Joshua rested a steadying arm on his brother’s forearm. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Looking at the two of you is like looking into a slightly warped mirror. The resemblance is there, even though it’s a little off.”
Heath did a double take, then his gaze narrowed. “You’re saying he’s Dad’s son?”
“I am! He—” Rafaelo nodded in Phillip’s direction “—can confirm it.”
“Sit.” Joshua tugged Heath’s arm. Once Heath had settled down, he added, “It’s a definite possibility. He looks like us. His heritage is stamped all over his features. Given that, I don’t think there’s any point going down the prove-your-paternity road now. Although I’m sure Father will have the necessary DNA tests done.” Joshua cast his father a glance.
“So what does that mean?” Megan asked.
“It means we have a problem. Rafaelo feels entitled to a share in Saxon’s Folly. How are we going to solve this?” Joshua directed the last at Rafaelo.
“I want what I am owed.”
The dark fire in Rafaelo’s eyes that had so appealed to Caitlyn had subsided, leaving an empty void of black. No emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nothing that she could understand.
“What about your mother’s responsibility in all this? Even what—thirty-something years ago?—women knew the risks of unprotected sex. It was hardly the dark ages.” Megan shrugged. “I feel sympathy for your mother’s plight, but she was foolish enough to mess around with a married man.”
“She didn’t know he was married.” Rafaelo didn’t raise his voice, but suddenly there was a sense of danger, a very real threat in the room. “He lied to her.”
All the Saxon siblings looked to their father.
“Is that true?” It was Megan who asked the damning question that was in everyone’s eyes.
“I don’t remember—”
“Don’t compound your lie with another.” There was contempt in Rafaelo’s voice.
Phillip dropped his head in his hands. “Okay, it’s true. But later she knew I was married…and she didn’t break it off.”
“She loved you.” Rafaelo’s tone was thick with contempt. “She thought you were going to leave your wife and marry her.”
Phillip’s head reared back. “I never promised her that.”
The Spaniard shook his head in disgust. “Tell them how young she was.”
Phillip shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
The look Rafaelo gave him was loaded with disbelief. “She was eighteen. Eighteen. Little more than a child. And you took advantage of her inexperience.”
“What about Mother?” Megan nailed him. “Did she know of this affair?”
Phillip shook his head. “Not until yesterday. After Maria left she never returned.”
“But she tried to contact you.” Rafaelo’s mouth curled. “She came to New Zealand to visit the grave of her great-uncle Fernando, a monk who’d come from a Spanish monastery to follow his faith in Hawkes Bay. He’d died tragically in the earthquake of nineteen thirty-one. My mother was given the journals that he’d kept by a local historical society. She made the mistake of showing them to her lover—” he glared at Phillip “—who stole the methods Fernando had perfected.”
Journals? Caitlyn’s stomach tightened.
Phillip bent his head and stared blankly at the table in front of him. Then he murmured, “I do not have any such journals in my possession.”
Misgivings filled Caitlyn. She was acquainted with the journals that she suspected Rafaelo was ranting about. Three volumes. Bound in black leather. Penned in black ink in a stylish sloping hand. A learned man’s handwriting. Probably a monk’s writing. Possibly Rafaelo’s great-great-uncle’s handwriting.
She opened her mouth. Phillip lifted his head and caught her eye. She closed her mouth.
Right now those volumes lay in her possession. In her bedside drawer to be precise. Her stomach heaved. Why was Phillip obfuscating? Could it be true? Had Phillip Saxon stolen the works from a young, impressionable woman? Was it possible that Phillip had seduced Maria only for the diaries?
Caitlyn didn’t want to think about it. It was too awful. But Phillip’s life’s passion had been his fascination with creating a fortified wine that would win international awards and respect—it was a vision he’d ignited in Caitlyn when she’d started working at Saxon’s Folly as a raw student.
The sound of a snort of disgust roused her from her uneasy reflections.
“If this share that you claim belongs to you is based on the fortune we supposedly make from sherry, then you’re sadly misinformed,” Heath said. “With the increase in taxes on fortified wines, it’s hardly a prize worth pursuing. My father and I have had differences of opinion over his stubborn persistence in continuing down this road before.”
The sick feeling in Caitlyn’s stomach intensified. Along with guilt. Because she’d shared Phillip’s obsessive interest. They’d discussed…dreamed…of buying a tract of land in the Jerez region of Spain, of producing a blend that could be properly labelled and sold as sherry. It would be a winner.
“Or perhaps it’s nothing more than an opportunistic get-rich-quick scheme?” Heath’s voice was filled with derision.
The Spaniard