Their Secret Baby (4 page)

Because it didn’t last. It couldn’t last at this intensity and keep her here, upright, in the real world. As it was, her mind had stopped functioning and she felt as if the top of her head had been blown off. And the wooden floor seemed to be swaying under her feet, rocking her balance dreadfully.

‘Matthew…’ she choked.

Her hands went up, clutching at his shoulders, holding on tight for fear of falling.

‘Mat—’

But her thoughts had been right. It couldn’t last. As she tried to get his name past the tightness in her throat he suddenly pulled his mouth away, snatching in a deep, raw breath, and muttering something roughly.

‘What?’

She tried to focus her eyes on his face, seeing nothing but a blur inches above her.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Wrong?’

It seemed to come from a throat almost as constricted as her own.

‘Nothing’s wrong—it’s just—this can—should wait. Your father…’

‘My father?’

Slowly it dawned on her what he meant.

‘My father isn’t here.’

‘But I thought… He said…’

He had stiffened disturbingly, taking a step backwards, away from her. Her fingers loosened their hold, slid down the powerful length of his arms and rested just above his wrists.

‘He said that he was babysitting. But he doesn’t come here. He takes the baby to his flat in the main building. That way he can be on hand if anything happens—if there’s any crisis he needs to be—’

‘He’s not here? The baby’s not here?’ He fired the questions at her like bullets.

‘No. I told you.’

Had she done something wrong? What had she said that had changed his mood so completely?

‘Matthew?’

Impulsively she tightened her hold on him, feeling the strength of muscle tauten and jerk under her hand.

‘Don’t!’

Roughly he pulled away, turned towards the door. Caitlin’s heart jolted painfully in her chest in sudden fear. Was he leaving her? About to walk out? But why? Only a moment before…

Her breathing started up again on a wave of relief as he seemed to hesitate, then, grabbing hold of the door, slammed it shut with far more force than was necessary, even allowing for the rain driving into the narrow hallway.

‘So the—your father’s not here. Or the baby?’

‘No. I told you—they’re both at the main house.’

What was putting that dark edge on his voice, making it the voice of a stranger, not the charming, flatteringly attentive man who had been her companion at dinner? The man who had poured her wine with a liberal hand, answered her questions about his life and his job easily and apparently openly. Who had laughed at her jokes, agreed with her opinions, complimented her flatteringly on her appearance.

‘What—what is it?’

Slowly he turned, drawing in a deep breath as he did so, and pushing a hand roughly through his hair. But as he came to face her again she saw to her astonishment that he was smiling in a way that made a nonsense of her fears, pushed them totally aside, sending them right back to the dark, clouded corners of her brain from which she had foolishly let them creep.

‘It’s nothing,’ he responded lightly. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Quite the opposite. It’s just that I thought we would have company—your father and…the child. I never expected that we would be alone.’

The relief was so great that she sagged back against the wall, unable to do anything but smile in her turn. She had been so sure that he was about to go. That somehow she had made some mistake that would drive him away, out into the darkness of the night, just when she had admitted to herself how much she wanted him to stay.

‘So you don’t mind?’

‘Why should I mind? Haven’t I spent days working towards this?’

‘You—you have?’

‘And you haven’t noticed.’

He sounded exasperated, but she was relieved to see that his mouth still smiled, in contrast to the darkness of his eyes.

‘You—you want to be alone with me?’

His smile grew wider, and he shook his head as if in exasperation at her disbelief.

‘You make it sound as if it is the last thing you expected. Of course I want to be alone with you.’

‘But why?’

‘Why?’

It was accompanied by a scathing glance from those blue eyes. A glance that told her she could not possibly be so foolish, so appallingly naïve.

‘Do you really have to ask why? You know the answer to that. Why does a man want to be alone with a woman?’

Now was her chance to say he’d got it wrong. That the arrogant assumptions he was making were totally mistaken. That she had invited him in only out of politeness, nothing more.

But how could she tell him that when she knew that it would just not be true? And she would betray herself totally to him by saying so.

‘Why did you invite me in?’

‘For coffee?’ she ventured, knowing it had not been that at all.

His laughter told her that he had caught the hint of teasing in her tone. Caught it and understood it, driving straight through the surface of her words to what she really meant underneath.

‘For coffee,’ he said softly, huskily, deep blue eyes burning into hers. ‘Well, if you insist, we’ll start with coffee. But I think we both know only too well that that’s not where it will end.’

And with the memory of that kiss still burning on her lips, the sensations it had triggered off still tingling over every inch of her body, Caitlin didn’t even try to consider arguing with herself, let alone with him.

R
HYS
prowled restlessly about the small sitting room, looking for something—anything—that would give him some clue about his baby.

He had come with Caitlin tonight in the full belief that the baby would be here, in the flat. That he would see her—his daughter—for the very first time. And the realisation that that was not going to happen had hit him like a blow to his head.

For a few dangerous moments the roar of disappointment and frustration in his mind had been like an explosion inside his skull, knocking him off balance. So much off balance that he had nearly given himself away.

He had almost let rip; almost shouted at her, yelling in his pain and frustration, making it plain that he wasn’t here for the reasons she had thought.

Don’t call me Matthew!
The words had been on the tip of his tongue and he had only managed to swallow them down with the most violent struggle, biting them off at the last minute.

The baby wasn’t here. He wouldn’t see his daughter tonight. And the frustration of that fact ate at his soul like a vicious cancer.

‘Put some music on if you want to.’

Caitlin’s voice came through to him from the tiny kitchen, where she was setting cups out on a tray, filling a jug with milk.

‘There are some CDs over in the corner. Choose whatever you like.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

It was a struggle to make it sound even remotely believable. ‘Fine’ didn’t just fail to describe the way he was feeling. He was a million miles away from ‘fine’ and the snarl of discontent in his voice revealed that only too plainly.

Or perhaps it didn’t. Certainly Caitlin didn’t appear to notice. But then perhaps his tone was muffled by the half-open door between them, the sound of the kettle beginning to boil.

All the same, he made himself go and study the rack of discs in the far corner of the room. Anything to reduce the chance of her feeling suspicious. To keep her from wondering if he had ulterior motives for being here.

‘Anything you fancy?’

If she answered, he didn’t hear. His attention was once more back on the small room he stood in. It was… He hunted for the right word.

Unrevealing.

It was the only one that fitted. The room told him little about the woman who lived in it except that she liked—he glanced down at the plastic-covered discs in his hands—folk music and classical.

The room was comfortable enough, with dove-grey armchairs and a small settee, brightened by scattered cushions in candy-coloured stripes, a huge bunch of white chrysanthemums in a green vase by the window. It was a feminine room, cool and relaxed and inviting, but had few personal touches that revealed the character of its owner. And, infuriatingly, there were no photographs. Particularly no photographs of the one tiny person he most wanted to see.

‘Did you say you’d not lived here long?’

He was sorting through the discs as he spoke, shifting cases from one hand to the other, but not really seeing what was in them.

‘That’s right. I was working in France until…’

The clatter of cups on the tray hid whatever she had said from him.

‘Then when Dad offered me the job as receptionist I came back here.’

‘Bringing your cousin’s baby with you?’

‘Amelie wasn’t really my cousin…’

The kettle whistled and Rhys heard her snatch it up from the stove, pouring the water over coffee grounds in the glass cafetière.

‘My mother and hers were the real cousins—but I forget what that made us. I usually just refer to her as my cousin because it makes explanations simpler. Did you want sugar?’

‘No, thanks.’

Realising that he had been staring unseeingly at the compact discs for the past minute, Rhys hurriedly dumped them back down on the shelf. Stacked precariously, the small bundle wobbled dangerously and the top disc overbalanced and slid off, crashing down to the floor.

With a muttered curse, Rhys bent to pick it up, then froze, blue eyes fixed on a tiny scrap of white that lay on the soft grey carpet, half hidden under the flounced cover of one armchair.

His mouth went dry, his throat seeming to close up. His heart lurched, thudding hard against his chest, and his eyes stung with the pressure of tears forcing themselves underneath his lids.

A bootee. A small, finely knitted bootee in soft white wool.

A baby’s bootee.

He reached out to pick it up. Only to find that his hand was shaking so badly that he couldn’t grip it. His vision had blurred too.

‘Stop it!’ he muttered to himself with fierce reproach. ‘Stop it!’

On the second attempt he picked up the small object, grasping it in his hand and lifting it towards his face.

A baby’s bootee.

His
baby’s bootee.

His daughter’s…

This microscopic item he held in his hand, the wool slightly grubby and in need of a wash, was the first real, genuine evidence of his daughter’s existence.

His fingers closed over it, clenching tightly, and he had the sudden, desperate feeling that he could never, ever let go. This was the first, the only time since he had discovered that she existed that he had actually touched something that had also touched his daughter’s skin.

Unable to resist the impulse, he lifted the bootee to his nose and inhaled. Did it hold a lingering trace of the little person who had worn it? Was he imagining it?

‘Matthew?’

Caitlin’s questioning, faintly uncertain voice jarred him back to the present, to see her standing in the doorway, the tray in her hand.

‘What have you found?’

‘Just something that was on the floor.’

He gestured with the hand that held the bootee.

‘Oh, so that’s where that went! I’ve been hunting for it.’

‘Here, let me help you with that…’

Deliberately aiming to distract her, Rhys moved forward to take the tray from her hands, hurriedly pushing the bootee into his trouser pocket as he did so. It looked as if he was just freeing his hands to help, but right now he knew that he would kill anyone who tried to separate him from that one small item.

‘You sit down…’

In the flurry of getting Caitlin seated, pouring milk into his coffee, stirring it, he hoped that the revealing action had gone unnoticed. Or that if she had seen it she would soon get diverted and forget all about it.

‘Were you and this Amelie close?’

He knew the answer already and could only be thankful that they hadn’t been good friends. If they had, she might have been at his wedding to her cousin and then his cover would have been blown.

‘Not at all. I didn’t really know her very well until we met up again in France. The last time we’d seen each other had been well over ten years ago. I was twelve and she was fifteen. A very sophisticated, grown-up fifteen. She regarded me as little more than a child and looked down on me as a result.’

‘So why did she ask you to look after her baby?’

‘Why?’

Caitlin flinched inwardly as he put his finger unknowingly right on the spot that hurt most. For a moment she almost felt tempted to open up, tell him the truth, but just as hastily rethought. She didn’t want this stunning, sophisticated, handsome man to know how badly she had been fooled, how easily deceived, and by her own cousin and her fiancé.

‘I don’t think she had anyone else. Her parents were both dead, and she had no brothers or sisters.’

‘And the father? You didn’t think to get in touch with the husband?’

The look she threw him over her coffee-cup said all that needed saying without any need for words.

‘You know what I think about him.’

‘How do you know your cousin was telling the truth?’

It was sharp, unexpectedly hard, like the probing questioning of counsel for the prosecution, and it made Caitlin shift nervously where she sat.

‘She wouldn’t have lied to me. And besides, it’s nothing to do with him.’

It was nothing to do with him because Amelie’s husband, Rhys, had no claim at all. He wasn’t the baby’s father. Not according to Josh.

‘I promised Amelie I’d care for her child. That was all that was important.’

‘So when are you going to fetch her back here?’

‘I’m not—she’s staying with Dad tonight.’

‘All night?’

The blue eyes looked startled, almost shocked.

‘Will he know what to do?’

‘He’s done it before.’

He still looked sceptical, the indigo eyes narrowed in concentrated assessment.

‘She’ll be fine!’

She frowned her puzzlement, seeing him with new and very different eyes.

‘You surprise me. Most men wouldn’t even be interested.’

‘I’m not most men! Some of us are interested—more than interested. Some men care about children, perhaps even more than some women! You’ve said it’s nothing to do with your cousin’s husband—but what if he doesn’t think that way? What if he
wants
to look after his child?’

The bite in his voice slashed at her, leaving her feeling uneasy. She didn’t know quite where she had overstepped some line that she hadn’t even been aware of him having laid down, but it worried her. She just wanted to go back, retrace their conversational footsteps to a point where they were relaxed together again.

‘I—I know that. Why do you think I told you about my cousin in the first place? I have to be pretty wary. I mean, I know that Amelie told me her husband didn’t want children—but I’ve always been scared that he might just turn up. Demand that I hand her over.’

‘Ah, so that’s it? That’s why you reacted to the suggestion of a simple date as if I’d asked you to sell your soul.’

Embarrassed colour washed Caitlin’s face. Leaning forward to put her cup down on the coffee-table, she twisted in her seat so that she was facing him, one leg curled up under her on the settee.

‘I think I owe you an apology.’

He swallowed down his coffee in something of a rush and once more studied her intently over the top of his cup.

‘You do?’

Caitlin nodded firmly, sending her hair flying so that it distracted him, his dark blue gaze following the movement. With nervous fingers she smoothed it behind her ears once again and switched on a flashing smile.

‘When you first arrived, I wasn’t exactly polite. It’s just I was thrown off balance. I—I haven’t been asked out for a long time.’

This time the look he slanted at her from beneath thick black lashes was one of frank disbelief.

‘You don’t have to fish for compliments…’

‘I’m not! I mean—that isn’t what I meant. People don’t ask you out when you’re in a long-term relationship.’

‘You have someone in your life?’

Caitlin thought of the space that Josh had left in her life. A space that his daughter now filled for her.

‘Very much so.’

‘I see.’

She couldn’t mistake the message in the way that Rhys stiffened, moved away slightly, setting down his half-drunk coffee with the obvious intention of getting to his feet—and walking right out the door.

‘I don’t get involved with anyone already in a relationship—there are too many complications there.’

‘No!’

Impulsively Caitlin reached out, caught hold of his arm to still him when he would have got to his feet.

‘I mean we
were
together—once. We’re not now.’

For a second he tensed as if about to shake her hand off, then he subsided back down amongst the cushions.

‘Go on,’ he said, though his tone had nothing encouraging in it.

‘He—he met someone else. In fact he was seeing her—sleeping with her—while we were still together.’

She stumbled over the words, the bitterness burning on her tongue, making it almost impossible to force the words out. She didn’t want to remember. But she had to explain.

‘He—was unfaithful to me for months before I even suspected.’

‘I see.’

It was cold, flat, unemotional.

‘And your fiancé…’

‘Joshua…’

‘This Joshua—is he with this woman now?’

‘Oh, yes…’

Cruel tears pushed at the backs of Caitlin’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. Joshua and Amelie had died in the same accident. They couldn’t be much more
together
than that.

‘Yes. He’s very much with her now.’

‘But he’s still a part of your life.’

It was only when the man beside her drew in a deep breath and pushed both his hands through the gleaming darkness of his hair that she realised how she had been staring into the distance, her unfocused eyes seeing nothing, trapped in the bitterness of her memories. His sudden movement made her jump slightly, turning her wide, startled gaze on his shuttered face.

‘It’s a permanent thing,’ she managed with brittle cynicism.

But he wasn’t listening.

‘Caitlin,’ he said, something dark and secret roughening his tone, ‘there are some things I have to tell you. We have to talk.’

‘No!’

It spilled from her instinctively, without a hope of being held back. It was an instant, uncontrollable impulse, created by the pain of the memories she wanted to forget.

‘No talking.’

Josh had said, ‘We have to talk.’ It was the way he had prefaced telling her the truth.

We
have to talk, he had said, but the fact was that Caitlin had hardly said a word. She had been too shocked, too devastated to open her mouth. And her tongue seemed to have frozen solid, incapable of movement.

‘Josh said we had to talk—and he
talked
all right! Oh, yes, he poured it all out—didn’t seem able to stop. How he had never meant to hurt me, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. How he’d just seen her and fallen head over heels—how he wanted to be with her…’

She broke off abruptly as Rhys leaned forward, putting one hand over hers to stop the bitter flow of her words.

‘That’s talking,’ he said quietly.

‘So it is.’

Her mouth twisted into a wry grimace.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

‘I think I’ve already said more than enough.’