The Cost of Her Innocence Read online

  Shackled to her enemy!

  As the prison gates close behind her, newly free Beth Lazenby vows that they are also closing on her past. Until she encounters the merciless lawyer who helped wrongfully imprison her all those years ago....

  Still convinced of her guilt, Dante Cannavaro is stunned when his anger boils over into passion! There’s no chance he’ll allow Beth to escape—especially now she’s carrying his heir!

  Faced with a proposal that is more of a command than a request, will Beth ever be able to prove her innocence? Or will she be forever beholden to her enemy?

  “You can’t help yourself—you want me,” Dante said in a deep, thickened voice.

  “No, I hate you.” Beth said hoarsely.

  His face was like carved granite, his eyes hard. Suddenly he moved and a long arm shot around her. His large hand splayed across her back whilst his other grasped the back of her head and jerked her body toward him. He dipped his head, his mouth crashing down on hers, relentlessly prizing her lips apart to the powerful thrust of his tongue.

  Shocked and furious, she tried to pull away, but his hands clamped her in position, her head so close she could not drag it from beneath his all consuming mouth. While the steel band of his arm holding her pressed her hard against his long body, she tried to struggle but he was too strong. Shamefully, instead of feeling revulsion, she was floundering in a wave of heady sensation flowing through her body.

  Her voice seemed to have deserted her, and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might burst. Her passionate hatred of him was overtaken by a passionate desire.

  All about the author…Jacqueline Baird

  JACQUELINE BAIRD was born and brought up in Northumbria, UK. She met her husband when she was eighteen. Eight years later, after many adventures around the world, she came home and married him. They still live in Northumbria and now have two grown-up sons.

  Jacqueline’s number one passion is writing. She has always been an avid reader, and she had her first success as a writer at the age of 11, when she won first prize in the Nature Diary of the Year competition at school. But she always felt a little guilty because her diary was more fiction than fact.

  She always loved romance novels, and when her sons went to school all day, she thought she would try writing one. She’s been writing for Harlequin® Presents ever since, and she still gets a thrill every time a new book is published.

  When Jacqueline is not busy writing, she likes to spend her time traveling, reading and playing cards. She was a keen sailor until a knee injury ended her sailing days, but she still enjoys swimming in the sea when the weather allows.

  With a more sedentary lifestyle, she does visit a gym three times a week and has made the surprising discovery that she gets some good ideas while doing the mind-numbingly boring exercises on the cycling and weight machines.

  Other titles by Jacqueline Baird available in ebook:

  Harlequin Presents®

  3059—RETURN OF THE MORALIS WIFE

  2955—THE SABBIDES SECRET BABY

  2911—UNTAMED ITALIAN, BLACKMAILED INNOCENT

  Jacqueline Baird

  The Cost of Her Innocence

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EXCERPT

  PROLOGUE

  ‘I REPEAT, MISS MASON, do you understand the charge brought against you by this court?’

  Jane, in a voice choked with fear, finally answered, ‘Yes.’

  She still could not quite believe she was standing in the dock, accused of being in possession of a Class A drug with intent to sell. She was in her second year of a Business Studies course and worked five evenings a week in a fast food café to help pay her way through college. This whole thing was like a nightmare and she hoped she would wake up at any second....

  But it was no nightmare. This was reality, she finally accepted as the curt tone of the judge’s voice demanded, ‘How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?’

  She gripped the handrail of the dock to steady her trembling body and, lifting her head, cried, ‘Not guilty!’

  Why would no one believe her? She glanced desperately across at Miss Sims, the lawyer the court had appointed to defend her, but her attention was on the notes in her hand, not Jane.

  * * *

  Dante Cannavaro lounged in his chair while the preliminaries were adhered to. The case was not one he would normally consider, but Henry Bewick, the head of the law firm where Dante had worked as an intern at the beginning of his career, had asked him to assist as a personal favour to him.

  At twenty-nine, Dante was now an international lawyer, specialising in commercial litigation. He had not acted in a criminal trial in years, but he had read the case, and as far as he could see it was cut and dried.

  A car had sideswiped Miss Mason’s. When the police officer attending the accident had asked to see her driving licence the girl had fumbled around in her tote bag and a suspicious-looking package had fallen out, which had proved to be full of drugs. The only passenger in her car had been a rather drunk Timothy Bewick—son of Henry. The girl had denied all knowledge of the drugs. Her defence was that someone else—she’d implied Henry Bewick’s son—must have put the drugs in her bag.

  Dante had met Timothy Bewick, and it was obvious the boy was besotted by the girl and reluctant to give evidence against her. Dante, having seen a photograph of Miss Mason, could understood why. A tall, black-haired beauty, in a skimpy top and shorts that displayed her generously curved body and long legs to perfection, Miss Mason was enough to tempt any man. A testosterone raging teenager stood no chance. Dante had agreed to take the case.

  He raised his head as she adamantly declared herself not guilty. Liar, he thought, studying her with his dark assessing eyes. Today she had played down her looks, wearing her hair scraped back into a tight knot at the back of her head, no make-up and a black suit—probably at her lawyer’s suggestion.

  But in fact Miss Sims had done her client no favours. From Dante’s point of view Miss Mason had played right into his hands. The severe tailoring of her suit fitted her firm breasts, narrow waist and round hips perfectly, and made her appear older than her nineteen years—which would help his case when he called Timothy Bewick to the stand. When the jury compared the two it would be obvious who was telling the truth—the young, lovestruck boy.

  He stood up and smiled cynically, deliberately holding her gaze. He saw her big eyes widen pleadingly and thought he witnessed a gleam of sensual awareness in their depths. He noted the flick of her tongue across her lush lips and wasn’t fooled for a moment—though surprisingly he felt a sudden tug of lust. God, she was good. No wonder young Bewick was crazy about her! Dante remembered all too well how that felt! Yes, he had definitely made the right decision... It would give him great pleasure to take the delectable Miss Mason apart in the dock and he proceeded to do so.

  * * *

  Jane looked at the tall, black-haired man who stood up to face her. He smiled at her and her breath caught in her throat. Her tummy churned and her heart leapt with hope. At last a friendly face! From his perfectly chiselled features to his long, lean, solidly built body he radiated confidence, concern and pure masculine power. This man would recognise she was telling the truth. She knew it instinctively....

  * * *

  How wrong she had been, Jane realised bitterly as the prison gates clanged shut behind her. Numb with fear, she look
ed up at the forbidding building that would be her home for the next three years—or, if she was lucky, half that time with good behavior, according to Miss Sims, her worse-than-useless lawyer....

  * * *

  ‘I hate to leave you here, Helen,’ Jane said, looking at the older woman with tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know how I would have survived without you these past eighteen months.’ She hugged the friend who had literally saved her life.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Helen said, kissing her cheek and stepping back with a smile on her face. But her expression grew serious. ‘Now, no more tears, Jane. Today you are a free woman. Stick to the arrangements we have made and you will be fine.’

  ‘Are you sure I can’t visit, Helen? I will miss seeing you terribly.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure. My daughter lost her life at eighteen, and a lousy lawyer and so-called friends almost ruined yours. Remember what I told you: the world isn’t fair, so never dwell on the injustice of the past—that will only consume you with bitterness. Think only of your future. Now, go—and never look back. Clive Hampton, my lawyer, will be waiting for you and you can trust him. Listen to him, and be careful, confident and proud of the successful woman I know you will become....’ She gave her a hug. ‘Good luck.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘GOODNIGHT, MARY,’ Beth Lazenby called to the receptionist as she walked out of the offices of Steel and White, the accountancy firm in the centre of London where she was a junior partner. She paused for a moment on the pavement and took a deep breath, glad to be out in the fresh air—or not-so-fresh air she thought ruefully. She enjoyed her work, but just lately, and especially when she spent time at the cottage, she questioned whether she really wanted to spend the rest of her life in the city.

  Beth watched the people hurrying past her, their day’s work finished. It was rush hour, and when she saw the length of the queue at her usual bus stop she decided to walk to the next one. The exercise would do her good, and apart from Binkie she had nothing to hurry home for. Her friend Helen had died three years ago from cancer—four months after she had been released from prison on parole.

  Dismissing the sad memory, Beth looped her bag over one shoulder and walked on. A tall, striking woman, with red hair that gleamed like fire in the evening sun, her slenderly curved body moved sinuously beneath the grey linen dress she wore as she strolled along. But Beth was oblivious to the appreciative glances of every passing male. Men did not figure large in her life. She had a successful career and was proud of what she had achieved. She was content.

  Suddenly she saw a man a head taller than most of the crowd walking towards her and she almost stumbled. Her heart started to race and she swiftly averted her gaze from the black-haired man she hated with a vengeance. A man whose dark satanic image was engraved on her mind for all time—the lawyer Cannavaro, the devil himself as far as she was concerned, and he was a mere ten feet away.

  She heard Helen’s voice in her head. Be careful, confident and proud of the successful woman I know you will become.

  Beth tilted her chin at a determined angle and carried on walking. At least Helen had lived long enough to see her success, and she would not let her down now. Cannavaro would never recognise her. The naive Jane Mason was gone for ever, and Beth Lazenby was nobody’s fool. But the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she passed him, and out of the corner of her eye she caught the look he gave her. Did he hesitate? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She simply kept on walking. But her sense of well-being faded as memories of the past flooded her mind. Her full lips tightened bitterly as she wondered how many more innocent victims the vile Cannavaro had sent to prison in the past eight years.

  She recalled the naive teenager she had been, standing in the dock, frightened out of her wits. Cannavaro had smiled at her, and the deep, sympathetic tone of his voice when he’d told her not to be nervous or afraid had given her hope. He’d said he and everyone else present only wanted to discover the real truth of the case.... Stupidly, she had believed him. He had been her knight in shining armour, her saviour. But then Timothy Bewick and his friend James Hudson had both lied on the stand, and by the time she’d realised her mistake it was too late—she’d been found guilty. Her last view of Cannavaro as she’d been led from the court had been of him and her lawyer talking and laughing together as if she didn’t exist.

  * * *

  Dante Cannavaro was feeling good. He had just won a deal for his client—a multinational company—for substantially more money than they had expected. Dismissing his waiting driver, he’d decided to walk to his apartment, where the customised Ferrari he had ordered was due to be delivered in an hour. A satisfied smile curved his lips.

  Striding along the pavement he found his dark eyes caught by the flaming red hair of a beautiful woman walking towards him and he lingered, the car suddenly forgotten. She was tall—about five-nine, he guessed—and wearing a conservative grey dress that ended an inch or so above her knees. The dress would have looked bland on most females, but on her it looked stunning, and his captivated gaze roamed over her slender but shapely body and long legs in primitive male appreciation.

  He paused, his head automatically turning as she passed him. The gentle sway of her hips was enough to give a weaker man a coronary. In Dante’s case it was not a hardening of the arteries in the heart that troubled him, but the hardening of a different part, much lower down. It wasn’t surprising he had such a reaction to her, he thought. She was beautiful and sexy and he had been celibate for a month, he reasoned. Before reminding himself that he was engaged to Ellen.

  As an international lawyer, Dante had offices in London, New York and Rome. He kept an apartment in all three cities, but considered his real home to be the estate in Tuscany where he’d been born, which had been in his family for generations.

  Dante’s Uncle Aldo—his father’s younger brother and head of Cannavaro Associates in Rome—had died last March, and it had been pointed out to him at the funeral that he was now the last remaining male Cannavaro. It was time he stopped indulging his preference for international law, concentrated on the long-established family firm and settled down and had a son or two—before the Cannavaro name died out completely.

  Dante had assumed he would marry and have children some day, but now, at the age of thirty-seven, he had suddenly been made to face his duty. He wanted children, hopefully a male heir, while he was still fit enough to be an active father. And so he had chosen Ellen, because he had known and respected her in a professional capacity for a couple of years and she ticked all the boxes. She was intelligent, attractive, and she liked children—plus, as a lawyer, she understood the demands of his work. And the sex between them was fine. It was a perfect partnership, and once Dante made a decision he never changed his mind. Other women were off the agenda for good.

  But the redhead was a stunner, and it was in the male psyche to look...he consoled himself.

  * * *

  An hour later Beth smiled as she walked down the Edwardian-style terraced street. Unlocking the door of her one-bedroom ground-floor apartment, she entered the hall and kicked off her shoes, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers. She grinned as the only male in her life strolled over and rubbed against her ankle.

  ‘Hi, Binkie.’ She bent down and picked up the ginger cat and nuzzled his neck. She walked down the hall, past her bedroom, the living room and the bathroom, to the rear of the building, and entered the largest room—the kitchen-diner.

  She put Binkie down, switched on the kettle and opened the cupboard, taking out a can of cat food.

  ‘You must be starving,’ she said, filling his bowl with the tuna flavour he loved before placing it on the floor. In seconds his head was in it. With a wry smile at the foolishness of talking to her cat, she made a cup of coffee and, taking a sip, crossed to the back door that was set in the side wall of the kitchen. Opening it, she stepped out onto the patio.

  The garden was Beth’s pride and joy, and the flowers she had pla
nted in a few tubs on the patio were a blaze of colour. Strolling past them, she admired her handiwork with a sense of satisfaction, and then walked on to the lawn that was framed by a four-feet-high brick wall, with a gate opening into the garden of the two-bedroom apartment above her.

  On the other side of her garden a high trellis had been fixed to the wall, and was completely covered by scented jasmine intertwined with clematis. She took another sip of coffee and looked around her with pleasure, dismissing the sighting of Cannavaro from her mind. He wasn’t worth a second thought. She walked back to the patio and sat down on one of the wooden chairs that circled the matching table to drink her coffee and admire her handiwork in peace.

  But just as she began to relax Beth’s neighbour, Tony, appeared, leaning on the gate. Tony was sturdily built, with short fair hair and a round, cheeky face and had just turned twenty-three. Beth felt a lot more than four years older than him and his flatmate, Mike. The boys worked at the same City bank, and were a pair of fun-loving young men without a care in the world.

  ‘Hi, Beth. I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Mind if I join you?’

  Not waiting for an answer, Tony strolled through the gate.

  ‘What is it this time? Sugar, milk or are you begging a meal?’ she asked dryly, watching as he straddled a chair and propped his elbows on the back.

  ‘For once, none of the above.’ He grinned. ‘But I wouldn’t mind sex, if you’re offering,’ he declared with a mock-salacious grin.

  Beth couldn’t help it. She laughed and shook her head. ‘Not in a million years, Tony Hetherington.’

  ‘I thought not. But you can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he said, his blue eyes sparkling with humour. ‘But, to get down to business, are you at home this weekend or are you going to the cottage again?’

  ‘No, I’ll be here for the next two weeks and then I’m taking three weeks’ holiday to go down and do some much-needed decorating—and with luck get in some surfing. I’m hoping you’ll keep a check on this place, as usual. You do still have the spare key?’

 
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