CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘HOWABOUT SEBASTIAN? Or Luca? I’ve always liked Luca,’ Katie offered, excited as the chauffeur-driven car stopped in front of the ornate redbrick façade of the Drapers’ Hall where the charity ball they were attending was being held.
Jack sent her a quelling look. ‘We’re here.’
She grinned back at him, refusing to be put off by his usual reserve when it came to talking about the baby. Talking about their son. The giddy hope had her beaming smiles and even waving at the barrage of press photographers as Jack escorted her into the hall. The smile didn’t even dim as Jack led her into an imposing marble-columned ballroom, the gold leaf glimmering in the light of the chandeliers.
For once she didn’t feel like a complete fraud as Jack introduced her to the array of VIP guests and business people who always gravitated towards her husband when they arrived at these sorts of events.
My husband.
Funny that tonight she actually felt like Jack’s wife. And the mother of his child. Obviously this was still an arrangement, a bargain, a marriage with a sell-by date stamped on it. But they’d taken a huge step forward tonight. Not just when Jack had told her he cared about her, but when he had kissed her hand with such tenderness, such reverence, in her dressing room. She felt closer to him now than she ever had before.
She cupped her belly absently, excited about the pregnancy in a way she had never been before. What if they could do this together? What if she didn’t have to do this alone?
She felt as if she were floating—with only Jack’s stalwart presence by her side to anchor her to earth—as the evening sped past. She chatted enthusiastically about everything from how to bake the perfect brownie, with the French ambassador, to the wonder of Wolfe Maldives with an award-winning actress who was heading to the resort next month after her current film finished shooting. For once the small talk wasn’t a chore and she didn’t feel as if she was lying when she talked about her honeymoon or her husband.
But, after two hours on her feet, Katie began to flag.
‘You look tired. Would you like to return home?’ Jack asked but, just as she placed her fingers on his forearm for some much-needed support, about to give him a resounding yes, his muscles became rigid. His face hardened as his gaze locked on something over her shoulder.
She turned to see a tall, elegant, older man walking through the crowd straight towards them.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked, concerned at the cold light that had entered Jack’s eyes.
‘No one,’ he said, the bite in his tone chilling.
But, before she could say more, the man reached them. ‘Mr Wolfe, I presume,’ he said, the quirk of his lips doing nothing to dispel the hostile tone.
The man had a patrician handsomeness, the few lines on his tanned face making it hard to tell how old he was—probably in his mid-sixties, with his carefully styled hair more salt than pepper. There was something, though—about the line of his jaw, the powerful way he moved, the brilliant blue of his eyes—which looked familiar.
Who was he? Katie was sure she had never met him, but she instinctively didn’t like him, any more than her husband seemed to.
‘I understand you are now our majority shareholder...’ The man paused dramatically, the cold gleam in his eyes becoming laser-sharp, then murmured, ‘Son.’
Jack jolted as if he’d been shot.
‘I see you thought I didn’t know,’ the man continued, when Jack remained silent, the enmity thick in the air. Katie’s skin chilled and her stomach jumped as realisation dawned—the physical similarities between them glaringly obvious now.
Was this man Jack’s biological father?
The thought stunned her on one level, but horrified her on another, because there was no joy in the meeting—on either side.
The man gave a grim chuckle, both superior and condescending. ‘My dear boy, did you really believe I would allow an upstart like you to own Smyth-Brown if I didn’t want you to?’
Katie hated him, whoever he was, for treating Jack with such obvious contempt. She could feel the muscles in Jack’s forearm flexing beneath her fingertips as he struggled to control his reaction.
‘It won’t make a difference,’ Jack said, the words ground out on a husk of breath. ‘I intend to destroy your legacy,’ he added. ‘For what you did to my mother.’
Katie’s heart broke at the pain she could hear in Jack’s voice, and the bone-deep regret she could see etched in the rigid line of his jaw.
But, instead of being cowed by the threat, the man—Jack’s father—simply smiled, the tight line of his lips devoid of humour. ‘Hmm, I see. Interesting you would blame me for her idiotic decision to marry that oaf,’ he said as if he were having a conversation about the weather rather than an event that had robbed Jack of his childhood. ‘Although it is a pity the brute maimed you.’
‘You son of a...’ Jack launched forward, his anger exploding as he grabbed the older man by his lapels.
Katie grasped his arm. ‘Jack, don’t. He’s not worth it,’ she pleaded, suddenly desperate to get him away from here. To protect him from the prying eyes of the growing crowd, riveted to the developing altercation.
She knew how much Jack valued his emotional control and his standing in the business community. Something he’d worked his whole life to gain. And she suspected a public fight was just what this bastard wanted—to expose Jack as a brute, an oaf, like the man who had scarred him.
What gave him the right to do that? When he had no part in Jack’s life—or the phenomenal success he had made of it?
Jack’s gaze met hers and she saw the flicker of confusion beneath the fury before the anger was downgraded enough for him to release his captive so abruptly, the man stumbled backwards.
‘We should leave,’ Katie said gently, touching his cheek, forcing him to look at her. Her heart yearned to tell him the words she realised she should have told him weeks ago. But she couldn’t say them here, so she tried to convey them telepathically.
I love you. You matter to me. Whatever he did to you doesn’t. Not any more.
He nodded, but as he gripped her hand, intending to lead them both out of the ballroom, the bastard stepped into her path.
‘So this is the delightful Mrs Wolfe,’ the man said, offering her his hand as if he hadn’t just tried to emotionally destroy her husband. Katie ignored it.
‘Daniel Smyth at your service, my dear,’ he added.
Daniel.
Before she had a chance to register the name and what it might mean, his cold gaze skimmed over her belly then lifted back to her face, the satisfied smile even more chilling. ‘Did you know, my dear, I required my son marry as part of the deal for him to acquire Smyth-Brown. I needed an heir, but I really didn’t think he would be quite so accommodating as to provide me with two heirs for the price of one so soon.’
What?
‘Get out of our way,’ Jack snarled, shoving Smyth back as he strode past him and led her out of the ballroom, the click of camera phones and the man’s cruel laughter following in their wake.
‘Do you really believe you can destroy my legacy, boy?’ he shouted after them, sounding vaguely mad. ‘When you are my legacy?’
Katie felt stunned, shaky, disorientated, her mind a mass of confusing emotions as Jack led her to the waiting car and helped her inside.
‘Jack... Why—?’ she began as the car pulled away from the kerb, suddenly desperate to contain the fear contracting around her ribs and making it hard to breathe.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he cut her off, the tone rigid with barely leashed fury as the car drove down Piccadilly towards home.