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Claiming His Unknown Son
by Kim Lawrence
CHAPTER ONE
‘NO!’
The Madrigal Hotel’s assistant manager was a consummate professional accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the rich and famous so his practised smile stayed painted in place, despite the sudden outburst from the woman in front of him. He was rarely surprised, but at that moment, as he braced himself for a diva meltdown, he was.
He prided himself on being able to tell at first glance which of their VIP guests were going to be hard work, but he hadn’t had this beautiful guest down as one of the awkward ones.
First impressions had certainly not given him any clues, as up to this point she had lived up to her public image. Her arrival had been low-key, as befitting the rarity she was said to be, someone not in the business of promoting herself, just good causes. People spoke about how freely she gave of her time and energy and her dedication in continuing to support the charities that she said were her late husband’s legacy.
The rare unfriendly pieces that appeared in the media he had always attributed to the hack’s frustration in not being able to find a story. You could see it from their point of view—they were used to being invited into the homes of the rich and famous, and Marisa Rayner never even gave the
m a glimpse behind closed doors.
There was still no meltdown forthcoming, but what was happening was even more alarming than a hissy fit. She hadn’t moved a muscle; she was just standing there like a pale frozen statue. What if she was ill?
He experienced a sudden flurry of panic as the question entered his thoughts, realising that would also explain the other-worldly, almost unfocused expression in her wide amber eyes when she’d removed her fashionable shades earlier, as he’d walked beside her through the hotel’s famous art deco doors. At the time he had put her pallor down to the lights from the glittering chandeliers overhead.
An ill guest was never good, but then he reasoned nobody who felt really ill would make such an effort to smile at all the staff she had encountered. At least, she had up until now.
The friendly, genuinely warm smile that charmed everyone it was aimed at was now totally absent as she stood on the threshold of one of their premiere suites looking as if she had seen a ghost.
He gave a philosophical shrug and waited. The Madrigal’s reputation had been built in part on the hotel’s ability to satisfy the most difficult of guests, especially when they had the money to pay the exorbitant prices the Madrigal charged for their premier luxury suites, and the lovely Marisa Rayner was one guest who could certainly afford it.
The fact she had been the sole beneficiary of her husband’s considerable estate after his death made her a natural target of envy. The story of the rich older man married to a very much younger woman was a magnet for the scandal-loving red tops. She could have gone through her life with a ‘gold-digger’ label attached to her, but the forensic dirt-digging exercises had come up empty-handed and she was considered a scandal-free zone—aside from a little guilt by association. But even her dead father, with his colourful history of affairs and a taste for high-stakes gambling, was nothing in this day and age.
No young lovers pre-or post-marriage—just a few malicious suggestions, which was par for the course, but they had faded away too after she had not morphed as predicted into a ‘merry widow’, but had remained a dedicated, hard-working one devoted to charitable works.
The adjective mostly attached to her name was classy and for once, he decided, the press had it right.
If she had any skeletons in her closet they were deeply hidden.
‘Do you have another room?’ Marisa heard the quiver in her voice that stopped just the right side of hysteria, and bit down on her full lower lip while buying time to regain her composure by making a meal of smoothing back non-existent loose strands of shiny silver-blonde hair that was safely secured in a smooth simple knot on the nape of her swanlike neck.
She knew she had to pull herself together, but unfortunately knowing that was no help right now.
‘Another room? This is one of our—’
‘Sorry, yes, this is marvellous,’ she gushed. ‘But...something...on a lower floor, perhaps? I... I don’t have a very good head for heights.’
‘Of course, if you’ll just bear with me for a moment.’ The man pulled out a slim tablet and began to scroll through it.
Get a grip, Marisa, she told herself fiercely, if for no other reason than this poor man who was only doing his job looked as if he wanted to run for the hills—and who could blame him? Scared of heights? She was beyond feeling embarrassed, no doubt that would come later when she revisited this moment—in her nightmares!
The gut-freezing panic had hit her the moment the taxi drew up outside the hotel. The signage on the well-known art deco frontage was ultra-discreet—it didn’t need to be flashy; everyone knew the iconic façade of the Madrigal—but to Marisa those letters had seemed to be written in neon and came accompanied by a loud soundtrack of guilt and shame.…She still couldn’t remember how she had got out of the taxi, as the sheer horror of the moment had blanked her brain completely.
Of course it ought not to have been a shock, wouldn’t have if she’d been paying attention. Her delicate dark blonde brows drew together in a straight line above her heavily lashed amber eyes. Even distracted, she had managed to hide her disappointment when her assistant, Jennie, had triumphantly announced that she’d managed the impossible and secured an alternative last-minute venue after their original booking at a country-house hotel had fallen through.