The Blackmail Baby

“Our marriage was never annulled.”

Imogen’s face cleared. “You want an annulment?” She ignored the stab of pain biting into her heart and concentrated instead on clinging to the relief she wanted to feel. “Well, of course, I will agree and—”

“No, I don’t want an annulment.” Dracco cut across her hurried assent. “Far from it. What I want is a child.”

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Penny Jordan is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular authors. Sadly, Penny died from cancer on 31st December 2011, aged sixty-five. She leaves an outstanding legacy, having sold over a hundred million books around the world. She wrote a total of one hundred and eighty-seven novels for Mills & Boon, including the phenomenally successful A Perfect Family, To Love, Honour & Betray, The Perfect Sinner and Power Play, which hit the Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller lists. Loved for her distinctive voice, her success was in part because she continually broke boundaries and evolved her writing to keep up with readers’ changing tastes. Publishers Weekly said about Jordan ‘Women everywhere will find pieces of themselves in Jordan’s characters’ and this perhaps explains her enduring appeal.

Although Penny was born in Preston, Lancashire and spent her childhood there, she moved to Cheshire as a teenager and continued to live there for the rest of her life. Following the death of her husband, she moved to the small traditional Cheshire market town on which she based her much-loved Crighton books.

Penny was a member and supporter of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Romance Writers of America—two organisations dedicated to providing support for both published and yet-to-be-published authors. Her significant contribution to women’s fiction was recognised in 2011, when the Romantic Novelists’ Association presented Penny with a Lifetime Achievement Award.

The Blackmail Baby

Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

‘SO YOU’RE going to go through with it? You’re going to go ahead and marry Dracco, even though he doesn’t love you?’

Imogen flinched as the full venom of her stepmother Lisa’s words hit her. They were in Imogen’s bedroom, or at least the bedroom that had been Imogen’s until after her father’s death. Since then Lisa had declared her intention to sell the pretty country house where Imogen had grown up and to buy herself a modern apartment in the small market town where they lived.

‘Dracco has asked me to be on hand to help him entertain the clients,’ Lisa had said at the time of her shock announcement about the house. ‘He says he can see how much more business the company has been attracting since I became your father’s hostess. Unfortunately your mother never seemed to realise just how vitally important being a good hostess was.’

She had given the openly dismissive, almost contemptuous shrug with which Imogen had become teeth-grittingly familiar whenever Lisa spoke about her late mother. Instinctively Imogen had wanted to leap to her mother’s defence, but she had sufficient experience of Lisa to know better than to do so. Even so, she had not been able to stop herself from pointing out quietly, ‘Mummy was ill. Otherwise, I know she would have wanted to entertain Daddy’s clients for him.’

‘Oh, yes, we all know that you think your precious mother was a saint.’ Imogen had seen the furious look of hostility in Lisa’s hard blue eyes. ‘And Dracco agrees with me that you made life very difficult for your father all these years by constantly harping on about your mother, trying to make him feel guilty because he fell in love with me.’

Lisa had preened herself openly, making Imogen’s stomach churn with sickening misery and anguish. Then her stepmother had continued triumphantly, ’Dracco considers that your father was very fortunate to be married to me. In fact…’ She had stopped, giving Imogen a small, secret little smile that had made her heart thump heavily against her ribs. It hurt, unbearably, to hear Lisa speaking about Dracco as though a special closeness existed between them, especially when Imogen was so desperately in love with him herself!

Imogen had never truly been able to understand how her beloved father had fallen in love with a woman as cold and manipulative as Lisa. Granted, she was stunningly attractive: tall, blonde-haired, with a perfect and lushly curved body, totally unlike Imogen’s own. Imogen took after her mother, who had been petite and fine-boned with the same thick dark mop of untameable blackberry curls and amazingly coloured dark violet eyes. And, where Imogen remembered her mother’s eyes shining with warmth and love, Lisa’s pale blue eyes were always cold.

Imogen had loved her father far too much, though, to say anything to him. Her mother had died when she was seven, and when he’d decided to remarry when she was fourteen Imogen had made up her mind to accept her new stepmother for his sake. She had adored her father and been fiercely protective of him, in her little-girl way, after her mother’s death, but she had been ready to welcome into their lives anyone who could make him happy.

Lisa, though, had quickly made it plain that she was not prepared to be equally generous. She had been thirty-two when she married Imogen’s father, with no particular fondness for children and even less for other members of her own sex. Right from the start of their relationship she had treated the young girl as an adversary, a rival for Imogen’s father’s affections and loyalty.

Lisa had been in their lives less than three months when she had told Imogen coolly that she considered it would be far better for her to go to boarding school than live at home and attend the local private school her mother had chosen before succumbing to the degenerative illness which had ultimately killed her. It had been Dracco who had stepped in then, reminding Imogen’s father that his first wife had hand-picked her daughter’s secondary school even when she knew she would not be alive to see Imogen attend it. It had been Dracco too who had come to that same school to break the news of her father’s fatal accident to Imogen, tears sheening the normally composed and unreadable jade depths of his eyes.

That had been nearly twelve months ago. Imogen had been seventeen then, now she was eighteen, and in less than an hour’s time she would be Dracco’s wife.

The car that was to take her to the same small church where her parents had been married and her mother was buried was waiting outside. Inside it was her father’s elderly solicitor, who was to give her away. It was to be a quiet wedding. She had pleaded fervently with Dracco for that.

So you’re going to go through with it? You’re going to go ahead and marry Dracco, even though he doesn’t love you? Imogen’s mind returned to her stepmother’s deliberately painful question.

‘Dracco says it’s…it’s for my own good…and that it’s what my father would have wanted,’ she answered.

“’Dracco says,’” Lisa Atkins mimicked cruelly. ‘You are such a fool, Imogen. There is only one reason Dracco is marrying you and that’s because of who you are. Because he wants to gain full control of the business.’

‘No, that isn’t true!’ Imogen protested frantically. ’Dracco already runs the business,’ she reminded her stepmother. ‘He knows I would never try to change that.’

‘You might not,’ Lisa agreed coolly. ‘But what about the man you may one day marry if Dracco doesn’t step in? He may have other plans. Your father’s will leaves your share in trust for you until you are thirty unless you marry before then. Oh, come on, Imogen. Surely you don’t actually think that Dracco wants you?’ One elegant eyebrow arched mockingly before Lisa went on, ’Dracco is a man! To him you are just a child, less than that, in fact… Dracco wants what you can give him. He has told me himself that if it wasn’t for the business there is no way he’d be marrying you.’

Although she tried to stop herself, Imogen could not quite prevent the sharp gasp of pain escaping. She could see Lisa’s triumphant smile, and hated herself for letting the older woman break through her defences.

In an effort to recover the ground she had lost, she began unsteadily, ’Dracco wouldn’t—’

But she wasn’t allowed to go any further; Lisa stopped her, saying softly, ’Dracco wouldn’t what, Imogen? Dracco wouldn’t confide in me? Oh, my dear, I’m afraid you are way behind the times. Dracco and I…’ She paused and examined her perfectly manicured fingernails. ‘Well, it should be for Dracco to tell you this and not me, but let us just say that Dracco and I have a relationship which is very special—to both of us.’

Imogen could hardly take in what she was being told. She felt sick with a numbing disbelief that this could be happening on her wedding day; the day that should have been one of the happiest of her life, but which now, thanks to Lisa’s shocking revelations, was fast turning into one of the worst.

So far she had not given very much thought to the complexities of her father’s will. She had been too grief-stricken by his loss to consider how his death would affect her financially. She knew, though, of course, that he had been an extremely successful and wealthy man. As an acclaimed financial adviser, John Atkins had been held in high esteem by both his clients and those he did business with. Imogen could still remember how enthusiastic and pleased he had been when he had first taken Dracco under his wing as a raw university graduate.

They had met when her father went to debate an issue at Dracco’s university. Dracco had been on the opposing side and her father had been impressed not just by his debating skills but by his grasp of the whole subject, and what he had described as Dracco’s raw energy and hunger to succeed.

Dracco had had a stormy childhood, abandoned by his own father and brought up by a succession of relatives after his mother had remarried and her second husband had refused to take him on. He had worked to pay his own way through university, and when he had first come to work for Imogen’s father he had for a time lived with them.

It had been Dracco who had chauffeured her to school when her father was away on business; Dracco who had taught her to ride her new bike; Dracco the Dragon, as she had nicknamed him teasingly. And when her father had made him a junior partner in his business it had been Imogen Dracco had taken out to celebrate his promotion—to an ice-cream parlour in the local town.

Quite when her acceptance of him as Dracco, her father’s partner and her own friend had changed, and she had begun to see him as Dracco, the man, Imogen wasn’t sure.

She could remember coming out of school one day to find him waiting for her in the little scarlet sports car he had bought for himself. It had been a hot, sunny afternoon, the hood had been down, the sunlight glinting on the thick night-darkness of his hair. He had turned his head to look at her, as though sensing her presence even before she had reached him, and studied her with the intense dark greenness of his gaze.

Suddenly it had been as though she was seeing him for the first time. As though she had been struck by a thunderbolt. Her heart had started to race and then thud heavily.

She had felt sick, excited, filled with a dangerous, heady exuberance and a shocked self-consciousness. Without knowing why, she had found that she wanted to look at his mouth. Somewhere deep inside her body an unfamiliar sensation had begun to uncurl itself; a sensation that had made her face blush bright red and her legs turn to jelly. She had felt as though she couldn’t bear to be near him in case he guessed how she felt, but at the same time she couldn’t bear him not to be there.

‘Only a child as naïve and inexperienced as you could possibly think that Dracco wants you. A woman, a real woman, would know immediately that there was already someone else in his life. He hasn’t even tried to take you to bed, has he?’ Lisa challenged, before adding cruelly, ‘And don’t bother trying to pretend that you haven’t wanted him to. That crush you have on him is painfully obvious.’

The sharp interruption of Lisa’s goading voice broke into Imogen’s thoughts. Instinctively she turned away from her stepmother to guard her expression, catching sight of her own reflection in the mirror as she did so. It had been Dracco who had insisted that she should wear a traditional wedding dress.

‘Your father would have wanted you to,’ had been his winning argument.

If there was one thing she and Dracco did share it was their mutual love for her father.

‘Dracco doesn’t love you. Not as a man loves a woman.’

Once again Imogen couldn’t prevent a small sound of anguish escaping her lips.

Narrowing her eyes, Lisa dropped her voice to a soft, sensual purr. ‘Surely even someone as sexless as you must have thought it odd that he hasn’t taken you to bed? Any normal woman would guess immediately what that meant. Especially where an obviously red-blooded man like Dracco is concerned.’ Lisa smiled unkindly at her. ‘If you’re determined to be an unwanted wife you will have to learn to conceal your feelings a little better. Surely you couldn’t have imagined that there haven’t been women in Dracco’s life? He is, after all, a very potent man.’

Imogen prayed that she wouldn’t be sick and that she wouldn’t give in to her desire to run out of the room and away from Lisa’s hateful, mocking voice. Of course she knew there had been other women in Dracco’s life and she knew too what it felt like to be agonisingly jealous of them—after all, she had had enough practice.

Dracco with other girls; girls that he found attractive and desirable in all the ways he obviously did not view her; girls that he wanted in all the ways he did not want her, in his arms, in his bed, beneath the fierce male hardness of his body, naked, skin to skin, whilst he…

To Dracco she was nothing more than a baby, the daughter of his partner and closest friend, someone to be treated with amusement and paternalism as though twenty-odd years separated them and not a mere ten… Ten…a full decade… But soon they would be equals; soon now she would be Dracco’s wife. Imogen gave a small shiver. All through her teenage years she had dreamed of her private fantasy coming true and of Dracco returning her love, telling her that he could not live without her, demanding passionately that she give herself to him and become his wife.

Of course, a tiny part of her, a voice she had refused out of fear and anguish to listen to, urged her to be cautious, to wonder why in all the things that Dracco had said to her since her father’s death there had been no mention of love.

And somehow until now she had managed to ignore what that omission could mean. Until now.

There was, Imogen recognised through her shocked pain, an odd air of almost driven determination in her stepmother’s manner, an air that bordered on furious desperation, but Imogen felt too weakened by her own anguish to consider why that might be.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she told Lisa with quiet dignity, ’Dracco is marrying me—’

‘No,’ Lisa told her furiously, ’Dracco is marrying your inheritance. Have you no pride, you little fool? Any woman worthy of the name would walk away now before it’s too late, find herself a man who really wants her instead of crawling after one who doesn’t; one who already has in his life the woman he really wants!’

Imogen felt as though she was inhabiting a nightmare. What further cruelty was Lisa trying to inflict on her? Whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it. She did not want to allow herself to hear it.

It was time for her to leave. Imogen started to walk past her stepmother but Lisa grabbed hold of her arm, stopping her, hissing viciously to her, ‘I know what you’re hoping but you’re wasting your time; Dracco will never love you. He loves someone else. If you don’t believe me, ask him! Ask him today, now, before he marries you, if there is someone; a woman in his life whom he loves. And ask him, if you dare, just who she is.’

A woman in Dracco’s life whom he loved. Imogen’s head was swimming with pain and fear as she started to walk down the aisle. She could see the back of Dracco’s dark head as he waited for her to reach him. The scent of the lilies filling the church was so heady that it was making Imogen feel slightly sick and faint. How could that be true? How could he possibly even consider marrying her if he loved someone else?

Lisa had been lying… Lying, as she had done so often in the past, trying to cause trouble for Imogen; to hurt and upset her.

And as for her final comment, it had to be impossible, surely, as Lisa had been implying that she herself was the woman Dracco loved.

Totally, completely, unbearably impossible, at least so far as Imogen was concerned.

‘Dearly beloved…’

Imogen felt herself start to sway. Immediately Dracco’s fingers curled supportively around her arm.

Pain and longing filled her in equal measures. This should have been the happiest day of her life. She was, after all, marrying the man she loved. The man she had loved since she had first realised what love was.

‘Imogen. Are you all right? For a moment in there I thought you were going to faint.’

Imogen tried to force a smile as she met the frowning concern in Dracco’s gaze. Her husband’s gaze. She could feel her knees threatening to buckle. She felt so odd. So…so alone and afraid.

‘Dracco, there’s something I want to ask you.’ They were standing outside the church whilst the bells pealed and their wedding guests chattered happily.

‘Mmmm…’

Dracco was barely even looking at her, Imogen recognised miserably. They didn’t seem like a newly married couple at all…like husband and wife, a pair of lovers. A sharp pain seemed to pierce her to her heart. Before she could lose her courage she demanded unevenly, ‘Have you…? Is there…is there someone…a woman you love?’

He was looking at her now, Imogen recognised bitterly, concentrating all his attention on her, but not in the way she had longed for. He was frowning forbiddingly in the tense silence her nervous question had created.

Imogen could hardly bear to continue looking at him. She saw the flash of emotion glitter in the jade depths of his eyes; heard the furious anger in his voice as he demanded curtly, ‘Who told you about that?’

Her heart felt as though it was breaking. It was true.

In numb despair she watched as he cursed grimly under his breath and then said more gently, ‘Yes. Yes, there is. But…’

Dracco loved another woman. He loved another woman but he had still married her.

Imogen felt as though her whole world had come crashing down around her. Where was the man she had put on a pedestal; adored, trusted, loved? He didn’t exist…

With a low cry of torment she turned on her heel and started to run, desperate to escape from her pain, from her stepmother’s knowing triumph, but most of all from Dracco himself, who had betrayed her and everything she had believed about him. Behind her she could hear Dracco calling her name, but that only made her run even faster. In the street beyond the church a taxi was pulling up to disgorge its passenger, and without stopping to think what she was doing Imogen ran up to it and jumped in. At any other time the way the taxi driver was goggling at her would have made her giggle, but laughing was the last thing she felt like doing right now…

‘Quick,’ she instructed the driver, her voice trembling. ‘Please hurry.’

As she spoke she darted a quick backward glance towards the church, half expecting to see Dracco coming in pursuit of her, but the street behind her was empty.

‘Don’t tell me,’ the taxi driver quipped jovially as he took in both his passenger’s bridal array and her breathless anxiety, ’you’re in a hurry to get to a wedding—right?’ Laughing at his own joke, he started to negotiate the traffic.

‘Wrong,’ Imogen corrected him fiercely. ’I’m actually in a hurry to get away from one.’

As he swung round to stare at her, ignoring the busy traffic, Imogen could see the bemusement in his eyes.

‘What?’ he protested. ‘A runaway bride? I never thought.’

Quickly Imogen gave him her home address, adding tersely, ‘And please hurry.’

So far there was no evidence of any pursuit—no sign of either Dracco’s sleek Daimler or her stepmother’s Rolls-Royce.

Never had a drive seemed to last so long, nor caused her to sit on the edge of her seat, her fingers clenched into the upholstery in anxiety as she checked constantly to see if they were being followed. But at last the taxi driver was setting her down outside her home, waiting whilst she hurried inside to get the money to pay him—as a bride, there had been no need for her to have any cash with her.

Once she had paid him and soothed his unexpectedly paternal concern for her, she ran back upstairs to her room, dragging off her wedding dress with such force that the fragile fabric ripped. Just as her stepmother and Dracco between them had ripped apart her foolish dreams.

Feverishly she pulled on jeans and a top, hastily emptying the suitcase packed for the honeymoon she and Dracco were to have been taking and refilling it with clothes wrenched blindly off hangers and out of drawers.

She still hadn’t really taken in what she had done; all she knew was that she had to get as far away from Dracco as she could and as fast as she could. If, as her stepmother had warned her, he had only been marrying her to gain control of the business then he would not be satisfied until he had that control. She knew how determined he could be. How focused and… A small shudder shook her body. Dracco! Dracco! How could he have done this to her? How could he have humiliated and hurt her so? Tears burning her eyes, Imogen picked up her new cream leather handbag—bought especially for her honeymoon. Inside it was her passport, and the wallet of traveller’s cheques Dracco had given her earlier in the week.

‘Spending-money,’ he had told her with a small smile. The same smile that always made her heart lift and then beat frantically fast, whilst her insides melted and her body longed…

She had counted them after he had gone, her eyes widening as she realised just how much he had given her.

Well, that money would be put to good use now, she reflected bitterly as she allowed herself to enjoy the irony of her using the money Dracco had given her to spend on their honeymoon on funding her escape from him.

She would use it to buy herself a ticket to fly just as far away from him as she could!

‘Well, there are seats left on the flight due to leave for Rio de Janeiro in half an hour,’ the clerk responded in answer to Imogen’s anxious enquiry.

Even whilst she listened to the clerk she couldn’t stop herself from glancing nervously over her shoulder, still half expecting to see Dracco’s familiar figure bearing down on her, and was chagrined to discover that there was a part of her that was almost desperately hoping that he would be.