The Unexpected Baby

Although the hope of finally getting through to him had been slender almost to the point of invisibility, it hurt like hell now she’d lost it. She pushed past him, out of the room, before he could see the desolation on her face, went to her room and closed the door.

Sleepless hours later she heard him go into the second guest room, and something hard and dark clawed at her heart. Not even for the look of things where Catherine was concerned could he bring himself to share the air she breathed, let alone this bed.

Finally she’d been able to tell him the truth about her baby’s conception. But he didn’t believe her.

She turned her face to the pillow. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, did it?

CHAPTER SIX

‘CONGRATULATIONS, Elena! What a clever little duck you are!’ Catherine cried as Elena ventured out onto the terrace at ten-thirty the next morning. ‘Jed’s been telling me all about it.’

Elena pushed her hands into the deep pockets of her common or garden cotton skirt and tried to look as if she knew what her mother-in-law was talking about. She’d overslept, woken feeling queasy as usual, and dressed down, dowdily even.

She glanced across the terrace to where Jed was sprawled out on a lounger, yesterday’s newspaper over his face to protect it from the fierce rays of the sun, wearing frayed denim shorts and nothing else.

Elena swallowed a constriction in her throat. He had a beautiful body, tanned all over, a smooth, slick skin, not too hairy, and not bulging with muscles, either, but honed and hard, superbly fit.

Almost as if he’d sensed her eyes on him, Jed explained lazily, ‘I was telling her about the frantic faxes from your agent about the awards ceremony and your latest book being short-listed.’ He plucked the paper from his face and swung his bare feet to the floor, pushing a hand through his hair, making it stick up in soft spikes which invited the touch of her fingers.

Firmly, she pulled her dark glasses from a capacious skirt pocket and put them on. She didn’t dare let him look at her eyes because he’d surely see the starkness of unwilling need there. She wouldn’t let him know that every time she looked at the man who thought she was a deceitful little liar, totally devoid of morals, her body stirred with that desperate, consuming need. She still had her pride, if little else in the way of selfdefence. She’d do her damnedest to hang onto it.

‘And as we’ll have to return to London to attend, I’ve booked us on the same flight back as Ma. Luckily there were spare seats.’

Catherine was saying something about enjoying the flight home so much more if she wasn’t going to be on her own. Elena wasn’t listening properly. She wasn’t in the mood to concentrate on the older woman’s happy chatter.

He was doing it again, mapping her life out for her, telling her what to do and when to do it, regardless of her feelings, not even asking her what she wanted. No doubt he’d decided she didn’t merit that courtesy.

And possibly the worst thing—the almost unbearably frustrating thing—was her complete inability to do anything about it. Not in front of Catherine, anyway.

She swung away, her shoulders tight with tension, walking to the edge of the terrace, feeling the hot Andalucian breeze mould her cotton top to her body, lifting her head to inhale the spiritually healing scent of her garden flowers, the more astringent perfume of mountain herbs.

Life had been so uncomplicated once. She’d had it all—her home in a country she’d come to love for its vibrancy and passion, this spectacular view, a highly successful career. The only thing to mar it had been the growing and savagely compelling need to hold her own child in her arms.

It was ironic that the child that was now growing inside her was the reason for her present ejection from the paradise she’d found in Jed’s love.

‘Why don’t you finalise the details with your agent, darling?’ He’d come to stand beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder. His touch branded her. She wanted to swipe his hand away, tell him not to call her darling because he didn’t mean it, tell him to stop torturing her!

She turned her head sharply, her breath catching explosively in her throat, her hair flying around her shoulders. His slight warning frown told her Not in front of Catherine, but he sounded totally laid back when he added, ‘We’ve only a couple more days here, so Ma and I will get out from under your feet. We’ll go and explore the village, potter around, give you time to pack and make arrangements for closing the house up.’

He was giving her a breathing space. That, at least, was something to be grateful for. Somehow she managed to make all the right noises, to smile, even, telling them about another village, further down the valley, where there were the ruins of a castle and a thirteenth-century church, expressing rather vague and insincere regrets that she was unable to accompany them, escaping at last to the privacy of her study, feeling the blessed silence of her home settle around her.

She sat at her desk and sank her head into her hands. She had a few precious hours alone, no need to play-act for Catherine’s benefit. Thoughtfully, Jed had given her that time. But probably not for her benefit, she decided with a shuddery sigh. He must have realised the strain she was under and hadn’t wanted her to explode in front of his mother and ruin the poor woman’s illusions.

And he could escape, too, just for a few hours. Get away from the woman he’d once loved and now regarded with contempt and distrust.

She lifted her head, pushed her hair away from her face with one hand, reached for the phone with the other and began to dial her agent’s London number.

Netherhaye was as lovely as Elena remembered it. A sprawling edifice of golden stone, drowsing in the late afternoon sun, the lovely house managed to insert a sharp finger of sadness into her heart. Had her marriage still been strong, beautiful and true, she would have looked forward to their sharing their time between here and Las Rocas.

But she mustn’t think like that, she told herself. And made herself concentrate on the housekeeper’s effusive greetings. Edith Simms was a fixture, Catherine had told her. Efficient, willing, very likeable—almost part of the family.

She pushed the unwelcome feeling of sadness out of the way. She’d coped well these last few days, but only because she’d known she had to, and the hundred and one things she’d had to do—and a few dozen more that had been pure invention—before she could leave Las Rocas had helped more than anyone would ever know.

But she wouldn’t be away from Spain for too long, she assured herself. The only way into the future was to smother all her emotions and go forward, get on with her life. But that would have to wait until after the ceremony.

‘I’ve made the master suite ready for you and Mrs Nolan,’ Edith said to Jed, smiling comfortably, convinced she’d done the right thing. Elena wondered what she’d think if she knew the truth, that Jed couldn’t bear the sight of his new bride, that the thought of sharing a bedroom with her made him shudder.

‘Thank you, Edith.’ Jed’s features were impassive. ‘I’ll take the cases up—no need to get your husband in from the gardens. Is he still managing?’