Wanting His Child

Even with her uncle gone she was still unable to acknowledge the real reason for her excitement and sense of freedom, nor for her sudden decision to work in the sitting room which overlooked the part of the garden which Silas had been working on the previous day and to wear a pair of cotton shorts which showed off her long slim legs.

Silas arrived within an hour of her uncle’s departure, and from her strategic position in the sitting room Verity was able to discreetly watch him as he worked. As the day grew hotter he stopped working and stood up, stretching his back before removing his soft cotton tee shirt.

Dry-mouthed, Verity watched him, her body shaking with the most disturbing sensation she had ever experienced.

‘Lust,’ she told herself angrily now as she folded the last few pairs of briefs and put them neatly into one of the wardrobe drawers.

Lust: she had been too naive to know just what that was or how powerful it could be then. All she had known was that, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on her work and the words on the paper in front of her, all that she could really see was Silas’ image imprinted on her eyeball.

At lunch time she had gone outside to offer him a cold drink and something to eat. Gravely he had accepted, following her into the kitchen, and it had only been later that he had admitted to her that he had brought his own refreshments with him but that the opportunity to spend some time with her had been too much of a temptation for him to resist.

Over the light salad lunch she had quickly and nervously prepared for him—Verity had possessed very few domestic skills in those days; her uncle had considered that learning them was a waste of time when she was going to take over his business and they had a housekeeper who lived in, but who fortuitously was away at that time taking her annual period of leave—Verity had listened wide-eyed whilst Silas had described to her his work and his plans.

‘That’s enough about me,’ he announced gruffly when they had both finished eating. ‘What about you? What do you intend to do with your life?’

‘Me? I’m going to take over my uncle’s business,’ Verity told him gravely. ‘That’s what he’s training me for. I’m the only person he’s got to inherit it, you see. It’s his life’s work and—’

‘His life’s work, but you have your own life and the right to make your own choices, surely?’ Silas interrupted her sharply, before telling her pointedly, ‘My parents originally wanted me to train as a doctor like my father, but they would never impose that kind of decision on me, nor would I allow them to…’

‘I…my uncle…My uncle took me in when my parents were killed,’ Verity explained low-voiced to him. ‘I’ve always known that he expects me…that he wants me…I’m very lucky, really, it’s a wonderful opportunity…’

‘It’s a wonderful opportunity if it’s what you really want,’ Silas agreed, ‘otherwise it’s…Is it what you want, Verity?’

‘I…I…It’s what’s expected of me,’ Verity told him a little unsteadily. It was proving virtually impossible to concentrate on what he was saying with him sitting so close to her—close enough for her to be intensely, embarrassingly aware of his body and its evident physical masculinity, its tantalising male scent. He had asked her permission to ‘clean up’ before sitting down to lunch with her and his discarded shirt was now back on.

Every time she dared to look at him she was swept with such an intense and heightened awareness of him that she could feel her face starting to flush with hot self-consciousness.

‘What’s expected of you? Listen,’ Silas commanded her, reaching out and taking hold of her hand, keeping it between his own with an open easiness which robbed her of the ability to object or protest. ‘No one has the right to expect anything of you. You have the right to choose for yourself what you do with your life. It is your life you’re living you know, and not your uncle’s…’

Verity bit her lip.

‘I…I know,’ she responded uncertainly, ‘but…’

‘I’m having a day off tomorrow,’ Silas told her, changing the subject. ‘There’s a garden that’s open to the public twenty miles away—I was planning to go and see it. Would you like to come with me?’

Shiny-eyed and flushed with delighted happiness, Verity nodded.

‘Good,’ he told her. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine, if that’s okay.’

Once again Verity nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Silas was still holding her hand and she had to tug it before he released it, giving her a rueful smile as he did so.

Of course, she didn’t do any work for the rest of the day, nor did she sleep that night.

Three outfits were tried on and discarded before Silas arrived to pick her up, and she blushed betrayingly at the appraising look he gave her as he studied her jeans-clad figure and the neat way the denim hugged her small firm bottom.

Jeans. How long had it been since she had worn a pair of those? Verity wondered grimly now, as the rest of her underwear joined the items she had already put away.

She had acquired a couple of pairs from Charlotte, designer labelled and immaculately tailored.

‘You could have taken these with you,’ Verity had protested when Charlotte had handed them over to her.

‘What? Wear Laur

en where we’re going? Do you mind? The jeans I’ll be wearing now are a pair of sturdy 501s,’ she had told Verity, her face breaking into a wide grin as she had caught sight of the raised-eyebrowed look her friend had been giving her.

‘Oh, 501s. Poor you,’ Verity had commented dryly.