The Millionaire's Baby

'Someone from the village comes up once or twice a week and does the necessary, I believe,' he told her, his gaze drifting down to her mouth, lingering, and back to hold her eyes again. 'But I wasn't talking about our surroundings, or the glorious weather. I meant I could get used to the three of us being to­gether.'

And what about your wife—you adulterous louse?

Caro swallowed the seething words with a mouthful of coffee. That reminder would come later, hopefully when he'd got to the point of believing the new nanny was his for the taking. Until then she had to smile sweetly and console herself with the knowledge that before either of them was very much older he too would know the pain and humiliation of being dumped!

She passed him the toast, wondering how a guy who looked so good on the outside could be rotten where it really mattered. He was a deceiver, a philan­derer, and that made him ugly.

She ignored his hateful comment and managed to ask him smoothly, 'Are you viewing both the remain­ing properties today? Are we all going? And, if so, should I pack a picnic, or won't that be necessary?' Tilting her head on one side, she looked at him through lowered lashes, hoping to give him the im­pression that last night's 'too soon' could be today's 'maybe'.

The look he gave her was intense. His mouth tight­ened momentarily, as if he was about to say some­thing of great significance, and then his wide shoul­ders visibly relaxed beneath the soft black cotton as he said, merely, 'Of course we're all going. I'll value your opinion. I'll pack some soft drinks and fruit in the cool-box if you'll get Sophie's things together.'

* * *

'I'm not going to have to look any further!'

The house named, strangely, Mytton Wells, was perfect. Finn knew he could search for a hundred years and still not find anything better as a home for Sophie to grow up in. And the strips of woodland and the flower-filled meadows that enclosed the house and more formal garden areas would be paradise for a growing child.

They had just finished exploring the extent of the grounds and from here, as they were exiting the yew-hedge-enclosed rose garden and joining a broad grass path that wound its way up to the house through dou­ble herbacious borders, Mytton Wells was revealed in all its eighteenth-century charm.

'Like our new house, Sophie?' He set his baby daughter down on her feet then straightened, draping an arm round Caro's slim shoulders. The casual inti­macy seemed like the right, the only thing to do as he enquired softly, 'And what about you? What do you think of the place, Caro?'

Her opinion was important. She was important— crazy though that might seem in view of the short time he'd known her, a

nd her seeming reluctance to trust him with the truth about herself.

'It's fantastic' What else could she say? Mytton Wells was fantastic, as was the day, the time they'd spent excitedly exploring all the rooms together, pok­ing their noses into every nook and cranny, exclaim­ing over the few bits and pieces of junk the previous inhabitants had left behind.

Fantastic. A fantasy. Something that couldn't be real or true. No matter how strong the feeling, there was nothing real about the feeling of joy and contentment, of coming home and belonging to each other, belonging to this place. Merely a fantasy.

And standing here with him, on this perfect, golden day, his body close, his arm around her as they watched the bright-haired child toddle along the wide grass path then sit down with a bump, her squeal of laughter like a silver bell, made tears spring scaldingly to her eyes because it was all a lie.

'Exactly.' The desire to haul her close against the length of his body and kiss her until they were both reeling, the ravenous hunger for her that clawed at him every time he saw her, touched her, or merely thought about her, was getting to be well-nigh un­manageable. He was going to have to do something about it, and soon.

He moved away from her, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his lightweight trousers. 'I'll fetch the things from the car; we might as well have our picnic here. And while I'm doing that I'll use the mo­bile to contact the owners of the place we were due to view this afternoon. Now we've seen Mytton Wells there's no point in looking at anything else.'

He'd been moving away from her, little by little, as he spoke, distancing himself physically because he found he couldn't trust himself when they were close. And Caro tore her eyes from him and fixed them on . his child, now crawling across the path towards the flowery borders like a steam train.

'Fine. We'll find somewhere out of the sun. That big cedar at the side of the house, for instance?' She didn't wait for his reply, just scooped up Sophie and held the adorable scrap close to her heart and made her way to the end of the path, making a right-angle turn to take her to the side of the house, in the op­posite direction to the one he was taking.

Unlike the house they'd been shown over yesterday and the one they had been due to inspect this after­noon, Mytton Wells was unoccupied. The estate agent had met them here this morning. Finn had accepted the keys, promised to return them later and suggested the agent leave them to it. Caro wished he hadn't.

The sensation of intimacy, the unreal feeling of be­longing, had been growing all morning. Talk, laugh­ter, exclamations over the views from the latticed win­dows, getting lost in the rambly attic rooms, discovering that their tastes in domestic architecture dovetailed perfectly—everything about the day so far had contrived to throw a golden, glowing veil over everything that was unpleasant. Unpleasant as in adul­terer, deceiver, liar...

'Want down!' Sophie demanded, and Caro set the little girl on her feet and accepted the clasp of the tiny hand so trustingly held up to her. She knew she would miss this adorable child far more than she would ever have dreamed possible. Already she loved her and would deeply miss seeing her sunny smile each day.

Finn might be doing everything he could to give his daughter the ideal home, idyllic surroundings to grow up in, and he might love her devotedly, but she suspected that his relaxed attitude to his wedding vows had to be responsible for his wife's absence. He was effectively depriving his child of her mother for what he had admitted would be significant periods of time. Apart from those silver-framed photographs she might as well not exist.

The progress she and Sophie were making was so slow, Finn caught up with them before they'd reached the shade-giving cedar. 'That's fixed.' He strode briefly ahead, tossing a rug down on the shaded grass. 'The estate agent will cancel this afternoon's appoint­ment, and I've told him he'll be hearing from my solicitor regarding the sale of this place in the very near future. And we'll drop the keys off on our way back later this afternoon.'

He had flopped down on the soft green grass, was opening the cool-box. 'Get a move on, slowcoaches.' His eyes smiled up at them. 'I'm ravenous, so let's eat and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. And I'd like to take another look around inside before we make tracks.'

'Why?' Caroline settled Sophie down on the rug and sat beside her, her legs curled beneath her. 'You want to measure for curtains already?' She smiled at him, making a joke of it, keeping everything light because she knew she couldn't handle anything at all if things got heavy.

'No.' He grinned at her. 'I'll leave that sort of stuff to the experts. In the absence of a friendly, knowl­edgeable female I'll probably hire a firm of interior designers—but the job's yours, if you want it!'

Caro didn't rise to the bait. She took the buttered roll he handed her, broke it in half and handed a piece to Sophie. He had as good as told her that he and his wife lived more or less separate lives, that what he did had nothing to do with the absent Fleur, and she guessed he was going to use the rest of this lazy, lovely afternoon to try to coax his daughter's nanny

into his bed!