Mistress And Mother

‘Sholto’s in a very strange mood this evening,’ Natalie whispered well over an hour after Molly had stopped even looking in that direction. ‘And I would have to say that, although I have never seen him lose his temper, tonight may well be the night, Molly.’

Molly screened a yawn. She was exhausted. Even as Ogden closed the door on the last guest, she was proceeding like a sleepwalker towards the stairs. Sholto caught her back, slid one powerful arm behind her knees and the other round her back and swept her smoothly up into his arms.

‘Were you feeling neglected over dinner?’

Molly toyed with the idea of objecting to being carried and then measured the incredible length of the staircase and subsided. ‘Excuse me?’

‘All that frantic schoolgirlish giggling and batting of your eyelashes. It wasn’t exactly subtle.’

‘Subtle would’ve been wasted on him. And he was very taken with me,’ Molly mumbled round another huge yawn. ‘Obviously he likes frantically giggly tarts.’

‘Sharing my bed does not make you a tart!’ Sholto bit down at her, his arms tightening round her.

‘What do you call a woman who sleeps with a man for money?’

‘What the hell’s got into you?’ Sholto launched down at her rawly.

Molly gazed up at him drowsily. Dear heaven, even on the brink of a rage he looked so good he churned her up inside.

‘Dio…you’ve been behaving like a maniac ever since I left you this morning!’

‘It’s called doing my own thing. You do it all the time. But you can’t stand it when anybody else does it.’

‘I didn’t bring you back into my life to do your own thing,’ Sholto gritted with unapologetic candour.

‘Of course not.’ Molly let her limbs sink into the wonderfully comfortable mattress he had laid her down on. ‘But you misjudged your victim.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’m as stubborn as you are…I always was.’

He flipped her over with surprising gentleness and pulled down the zip on her dress. ‘It’s as if half of you wants to be here and the other half doesn’t.’

Molly froze, her drowsiness driven back by the disturbing depth of his perception.

‘It’s as if you will do and say anything to keep me at a distance. And tonight it worked,’ Sholto imparted drily. ‘Buonanotte, cara.’

Molly rolled over in astonishment and watched him stride fluidly out of the room. His ability to sidestep conflict and take her by surprise shook her. But then that aspect of Sholto had always intimidated her. The unexpected was the norm for him. And instead of feeling relieved that he was leaving her alone to sleep elsewhere Molly felt rejected and was furious with herself when she ended up tossing and turning in the giant canopied bed, unable to find the sleep that she knew she needed.

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She hadn’t even asked him about Nigel. But then she knew she didn’t need to. Sholto would keep the promises he had made. She had absolutely no doubt about that. Sholto was famous for straight dealing in the business world. Nigel and Lena and the children would be secure but they were no longer the driving force behind her turmoil. Molly was infinitely more worried about herself. And what if by some ghastly trick of fate she was pregnant?

At eight the following morning she got out of bed. She felt nauseous again but at least she wasn’t sick. Her cases had been unpacked the night before and her clothes now hung in the spacious dressing-room units but there was no male apparel beside them. This was not, as she had assumed, Sholto’s bedroom. Pulling on jeans and a shirt, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Shadowed eyes, pallid cheeks. She looked awful but she would feel infinitely better after she had purchased one of those home-testing pregnancy kits. Because it was almost certain she was worrying over nothing. In fact she was probably a classic case of a woman who had been reckless convinced that retribution in the way of an unplanned baby was coming her way. Gosh, she couldn’t even imagine being pregnant!

An hour and a half later Molly sat staring at the test kit she had rushed out to buy as if concentrated mental imaging might miraculously change the result. She pushed a shaking hand through her hair and jerkily released her breath.

Ogden knocked on the bedroom door to inform her that Sholto was waiting for her to come downstairs and have breakfast with him. Molly took fifteen minutes to gather up the strength.

Sholto was in the morning room—an only slightly cosier version of the grand dining room. As she entered he stood up and she wondered starkly if those superb manners would carry him smoothly through what she had to tell him. He was wearing close-fitting cream jodhpurs and a black sweater. Her heart banged feverishly fast behind her breastbone. Even in the grip of sick, highwire tension, just looking at Sholto turned her bones to water. Her wavering lower limbs forced her somewhat clumsily down into a chair.

‘I was in the stable yard when you drove off before nine. I was surprised to see you up that early,’ Sholto commented as Ogden served them both from the magnificent Georgian sideboard which bore a selection of breakfast dishes.

‘I had an errand to do,’ Molly muttered tautly.

To satisfy Ogden, she accepted a cup of coffee and some toast while Sholto was served with a cooked breakfast that would have killed a less healthy male specimen. Ogden departed at a stately pace and the door closed.