Page 31 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

‘Perhaps we could meet again later to discuss all this?’ she offered, not prepared to be subjected to his inquisition before she’d had a chance to properly adjust to his presence in Portofino. She glanced at the water stain on the carpet where she’d dropped the bucket. ‘I need to clean up the mess I made, and then finish my shift.’

But as she attempted to walk away, he leapt up and grabbed her wrist. ‘Not so fast.’

The shock of his touch shot up her arm, before she could tug it loose. ‘Please don’t touch me.’

He frowned but released her. ‘Okay.’ He tucked his hand back into his pocket. ‘But I want answersnow. And I’m not prepared to wait.’

She scowled at him. ‘Well, tough, because I have work to do.’

He let out a bitter chuckle. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ He flicked his finger to indicate her uniform. ‘Since when do you work for a living?’

The muscles in her spine stiffened and it was her turn to glare.

He’d accused her of being a freeloader before, of having no pride or self-respect. And at the time he had been partly right. But he wasn’t right any longer, and she refused to allow him, or anyone else, to belittle or denigrate what she did for a living, or what she had achieved in the past five months. Maybe being a chambermaid wasn’t the pinnacle of human endeavour, and maybe her income was a minute fraction of his, but she had a prodigious work ethic now, and she happened to be exceptionally good at what she did.

‘Since I decided to start supporting myself,’ she replied as calmly as she could manage while her insides were tying themselves in knots. ‘So I no longer had to be at the mercy of men like you.’

She walked back into the main living area and knelt down to clean the carpet with the stiff dignity of a queen.

The mocking sound was impossible to ignore when he followed her into the room, but she didn’t look up. She needed to regroup, rethink, figure out what all of this meant. But one thing she refused to do was be judged or bullied by him again.

But then she heard him speaking into the house phone. ‘Hi, send another maid up to clean the room.’

He’d slammed the phone back down before she could object.

‘How...how dare you?’ she spluttered, getting to her feet. ‘I’m perfectly capable of finishing the job. Of all the high-handed, overbearing... You had no right to...’

‘I have every right,’ he interrupted her, slicing through her indignation with a nonchalance which was meant to enrage—and didn’t fool her for a second, because his tanned skin was flushed with temper. ‘I happen to be a paying guest. And I don’t want you cleaning my damn carpet when I’ve spent thousands of pounds trying to locate you—not to mention torpedoing an important project in the Hamptons yesterday to catch the red-eye here—with the vague hope of finding you and talking to you.’ His gaze skated over her belly again. ‘And that’s before we even get to the fact you’re gonna have my kid, and you chose to hide out here playing chambermaid instead of telling me that.’ His voice rose in anger. ‘For five solid months.’

She flinched, then hated herself for the show of weakness.

She opened her mouth to shout back at him. But had to shut it abruptly when Marta appeared at the door to the suite, looking anxious and flustered.

‘Signor Foxx, I am here to clean your room. Signor Romano wishes to know if there is a problem with Beatrice’s work,’ she said, sending Bea an apologetic look.

Marta knew what it was like to deal with difficult guests. And she had always covered for Bea, especially in the early days when her pregnancy had exhausted her far too easily. But Marta’s ‘don’t worry, I’ve totally got your back here’ look only made the tangle of nerves in Bea’s belly tie themselves into a knot.

Marta couldn’t help her with this situation.

‘There’s no problem with her work,’ Mason barked in reply. ‘But tell Romano he’s giving Beatrice the rest of the day off.’

Marta coloured but managed to hide her surprise admirably. ‘Yes,signor.’

He turned to Bea, who was momentarily speechless in the face of his arrogance.

‘You’ve got half an hour to change and meet me by the red two-seater in the forecourt. Don’t make me come and find you...again,’ he added, before stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Bea stood, shaking, her insides churning so hard now she couldn’t think, let alone move. But worse was the creeping feeling of panic and inadequacy which she’d thought she’d tamed after five months of surviving on her own.

Marta’s hand touched her shoulder. ‘Who is this man? Are you scared of him?’

Bea shook her head. She wasn’t scared of him. That much, at least, was true.

‘Is he the father of the baby?’ Marta asked, flooring Bea for a moment. How did her friend know? Was it that obvious?

But she found herself nodding again.

‘And he did not know of its existence?’ Marta added.

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