to pacify him. But the baby was beside himself with temper, and wriggled so violently when she picked him up that she almost dropped him.
‘Give him to me,’ Ramon said grimly from the doorway. ‘You don’t have the strength to hold him.’ He moved towards Lauren, his eyes focused on the hysterical baby.
His son had certainly inherited the Velaquez temper, he thought ruefully. Even at less than a year old it was clear that Mateo was a strong-willed little boy, who would need guidance from his father as well as his mother as he grew up.
‘Mateo.’ Ramon spoke gently yet firmly, and to Lauren’s chagrin Matty stopped screaming and stared in fascination at the tall man who held out his hands. ‘Come to your papito, mi precioso.’
Come to your daddy! Lauren caught her breath when Matty suddenly grinned and leaned towards Ramon. Every instinct inside her fought against the idea of handing her baby over, but Matty wanted to go, and she felt so weak that her knees sagged when Ramon took his son from her.
‘Ramon…’ she called him desperately.
He paused on his way out of the tiny nursery and flicked cold eyes over her. ‘Get your coat,’ he ordered harshly. ‘The car will be here in five minutes.’
There was a picture of a cherub above her head. Lauren opened her eyes wider and saw that the cherub was part of an exquisite mural painted on the ceiling. She frowned, puzzling over how the mural had got there, and what had happened to her plain white bedroom ceiling.
‘Ah, you’re awake.’
The voice came from over by the window. Lauren squinted against the sunlight filtering through the blinds to see a pleasant-faced woman walking towards the bed.
‘Hello, Lauren. I’m Cathy Morris,’ the woman said gently. ‘I’m an English nurse, and I’ve been helping Señor Velaquez to look after you.’
Ramon! Snatches of memory flooded Lauren’s mind— blurred images of him carrying her up the steps of a plane. And then later she had opened her eyes briefly to find herself in a car, speeding towards a huge castle, ominous and forbidding in the moonlight, surrounded by jagged-edged mountains.
She struggled to sit up, shocked to discover that she had no strength. But Ramon had Matty. She had to get up and find him.
‘I don’t think you’re ready to get out of bed just yet,’ the nurse said, in a kind but firm tone. She eased Lauren back against the pillows and straightened the bedcovers. ‘You’ve been very ill for the past four days, with a particularly nasty flu virus. Señor Velaquez has barely left your side. He has even been sleeping in the chair next to your bed so that he could see to you during the night. He’s giving your son his breakfast at the moment, but I expect he’ll be back here before long.’
When Cathy finally paused for breath Lauren mumbled weakly, ‘So I’m in Spain? At Ramon’s castle?’
‘At the Castillo del Toro,’ the nurse confirmed. ‘It’s a wonderful place—built in the thirteenth century, apparently, and oozing with all the history of the Velaquez family. The English translation is the Castle of the Bull—named after one Señor Velaquez’s ancestors, who was renowned for his fighting skills on the battlefield as well as his prowess with the ladies.’ Cathy grinned. ‘I get the impression from the local villagers that the current Duque is as revered as his famous forefather.’ She walked over to the door. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea—and then I’ll help you into the bathroom so that you can freshen up.’
In the nursery, along the hall from Lauren’s room, Ramon strapped his son into a highchair and surveyed the baby’s immaculate clothes, scrubbed face and shining, silky black curls with a sense of achievement. Not that bathing and dressing Mateo had been without its difficulties, he thought ruefully as he glanced down at his damp trousers and shirt. He hadn’t realised that a wet, wriggling ten-month-old was as slippery as an eel, and after towelling Mateo dry and struggling to fasten the fiddly buttons of his romper suit Ramon felt he deserved a medal.
‘How did your madre do this every day before going off to work?’ he asked the baby, feeling a begrudging sense of admiration for Lauren.
His first four days of fatherhood had been an eye-opener, he admitted. Of course he could have simply handed Mateo over to the nurse, Cathy Morris, whom he had also employed as a nanny, but he was fascinated by this little human being who was his son, and he wanted to get to know him better.
All his life he had known that he had a duty to provide an heir and ensure the continuation of the Velaquez name, but he had never actually considered what it would be like to have a child, Ramon reflected. For one thing he had assumed that it would not happen for several years. He had accepted that he would eventually have to choose a suitable bride, but he had been in no hurry to sacrifice his freedom. Now the privilege of choice had been taken from him. He had a child, and he would never be free again. But as he stared into Mateo’s sherry-brown eyes it struck him that his freedom to jet off around the world whenever he felt like it was a small price to pay for his son.
‘Breakfast time,’ he announced to Mateo, when a maid entered the nursery bearing a tray.
He picked up the bowl of milky cereal, filled a spoon, and offered it to the baby—who stubbornly refused to open his mouth.
‘Come on, chiquito, it’s good,’ Ramon said persuasively. ‘Try it for Papà, hmm?’ Instead, Mateo tried to grab the spoon. ‘Okay, you want to be independent and feed yourself?’
Maybe his son was a child genius? he mused as he handed the baby the spoon and set the bowl down on the highchair’s tray.
‘You do it, then. No, Mateo—with the spoon…’ In disbelief Ramon watched Mateo pick up the bowl and upend its contents on top of his head, completely covering his mop of curls.
‘Now I’ll have to bath you all over again!’ Ramon raked his hand through his hair.
He stared at Mateo, and the baby stared solemnly back at him, his rosebud mouth suddenly curving into an angelic smile. And in that moment Ramon fell utterly and irrevocably in love.
He threw back his head and laughed until he ached. ‘You’re a monster—you know that?’ He lifted Mateo out of the highchair, his laughter dying as he hugged the baby to him. ‘You are my son, and I will never be apart from you again,’ he vowed fiercely.
A faint sound made him swing round, and he stiffened when he saw Lauren standing in the doorway. She looked pale and fragile, but it was the gleam of tears in her eyes that caused Ramon to frown.
‘Why are you out of bed?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Cathy told me you were awake, but not strong enough to get up yet.’
Lauren swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of her son sitting contentedly in his father’s arms. ‘I wanted to find Matty,’ she said huskily. ‘The nurse said that you were giving him his breakfast.’ She could not disguise her surprise that Ramon had wanted to take care of the baby rather than allow the nanny to see to him. He even looked different, she noticed. In faded jeans and a black polo shirt, rather than one of the designer suits that she was used to seeing him wear, he looked relaxed and somehow more human than the coldly arrogant, aristocratic duque who had stormed into her flat and threatened to fight her for their child.
Ramon glanced at the cereal plastering Matty’s hair and gave a rueful grimace. ‘As you can see, giving him his breakfast has not been a resounding success.’
Lauren gave him a faint smile. ‘I can’t count the number of times he has done that at home—usually on a morning when I’ve been running late for work. But he doesn’t like to be fed. Even at this age he’s very determined and wants to do everything for himself.’
‘Rather like his mother,’ Ramon commented dryly. ‘It can’t have been easy, caring for him on your own and holding down your job, but you never considered asking for my help—did you, Lauren?’
She heard the latent anger in