His Wedding-Night Heir (Wedlocked!)

by Sara Craven

  She got to her feet. ‘One more thing. For the next few weeks, it might be as well to put marital relations on hold—just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cally said woodenly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I realise this won’t be easy, as you haven’t been married very long, but you can resume around the fourth month,’ Dr Hanson went on. Her smile had an engaging twinkle. ‘Some people find it gets even better.’

  She picked up her bag. ‘By the way, your husband was obviously concerned when, as he was bringing you home earlier, you began to cry and couldn’t stop. But I explained that hormonal changes might well make you a little weepy and grouchy at first.’

  Cally flushed. She said, with a touch of constraint, ‘I think it was more the humiliation of having him hold my head while I threw up in front of him at the side of the road.’

  ‘I think he took it all in his stride.’ The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. ‘After all, it’s his baby too. I was sick with both my boys, but it stopped in the third month, thank heaven. Unless you’re very unlucky, you’ll probably find the same.’

  Cally forced a smile. ‘I’ll just have to hope for the best.’

  She was lying back against the pillows, gazing listlessly into space, a few minutes later when Nick came in.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Much too well to be lying down like an invalid,’ she admitted stiltedly. ‘And I’m starving too.’

  ‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Does that mean you’ll be joining us for dinner?’

  ‘I think so. I still have to meet your mother.’ She played with the sash of her dressing gown. ‘I—I won’t mention Mrs Layton, I give you my word.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He was frowning a little. ‘I’m sorry to burden you with this, but Vanessa had planned to be away again next week when my mother was due to arrive.’

  Cally took a deep breath. ‘She’s the soul of discretion, isn’t she?’

  He stared at her. He said slowly, ‘You sound as if you blame her for this mess.’

  ‘I’m not out to apportion blame,’ Cally told him shortly. ‘Besides, it’s really none of my business.’

  She thought she detected a note of bitterness in his brief sigh, but all he said was, ‘Then let’s try and have a pleasant meal.’ He paused. ‘Do you need help to bathe and change?’

  She stiffened defensively. ‘No—thank you.’

  His voice slowed to the drawl she hated. ‘Don’t get paranoid, darling. I wasn’t volunteering. Margaret offered to lend a hand, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s—kind of her. But I can manage.’ Her smile was small and pinched. ‘I don’t have to be treated with kid gloves. And morning sickness is an inconvenience, not an illness. I’ll be fine.’

  He got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.’

  For a moment Cally thought he was going to bend down and kiss her, and felt the uncontrollable flutter of her pulses. But he simply walked over to the communicating door and disappeared.

  Cally stared after him, her lip caught between her teeth. She hadn’t simply been lying here on the bed feeling sorry for herself. She’d been working on a strategy designed to detach Nick from her heart and mind, and curb all the stupid, futile longings that still tormented her.

  And Dr Hanson’s comments about sex had provided her with an emergency plan, which meant that from now on that door was going to become the non-communicating sort, with Nick on one side and herself very firmly on the other.

  Because keeping him physically at a distance might be her only means of survival if she was to see the pregnancy deal through to its bitter end.

  She would, she thought later, have known Nick’s mother anywhere. Dr Tempest was a tall, slender woman, her grey-streaked dark hair drawn severely back from her face into a bun, revealing the elegant chiselling of her face. It was obvious where Nick had got his marvellous bone structure, and those amazing eyes.

  Her greeting to her new daughter-in-law, as they met over drinks in the drawing room, was friendly but not overpoweringly so. She was, Cally realised, reserving judgement.

  ‘I think pregnancy was marginally easier in the days when I was having Nick,’ she remarked. ‘There weren’t so many scares and taboos then. But there were no scans either, to tell you the baby’s sex. You had to wait for the midwife’s pronouncement.’ She accepted the martini Nick had mixed for her. ‘Do you want to know in advance, Caroline, whether it’s a boy or a girl?’

  Cally shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think I mind.’

  ‘Well, I want a girl.’ Nick brought her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and smiled at her. ‘But only if she looks like her mother.’

  Cally flushed, and was aware that Dr Tempest’s brows had lifted slightly.

  Rather overdoing it there, Nick, she told him silently. I’m no one’s idea of a beauty. And if, as you claim, this is your one chance, then you’ll require a son and heir.

  Over dinner, she learned that Dr Tempest would not be spending all her leave with them. She intended to use the Hall as a base, certainly, but her lecture tour would take her all round the British Isles.

  She was a wonderful talker, with a droll sense of humour, keeping them endlessly entertained during the meal and the coffee that followed with descriptions of life on the dig, and the various personalities—most of them diametrically opposed to each other—that she had to deal with—and often reconcile.

  But Cally was aware at the same time that she was being watched and assessed by that shrewd silvery gaze, and it made her feel uneasy.

  She also realised that, however deep in the Guatemalan jungle Dr Tempest had been, she was still au fait with what was happening at Wylstone, which meant that she and Nick were in much more regular correspondence than Cally had suspected.

  ‘I hope,’ she said at one point, ‘that Ranald’s abominable widow won’t feel obliged to pay a visit while I’m here.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ Nick said expressionlessly. ‘I gather she’s off to the South of France very shortly. I imagine her time up to then will be occupied by shopping and packing.’

  Cally looked up, startled. My God, she thought, is there anything he can’t manipulate? First Vanessa was due to disappear. Now, more crucially, it’s Adele’s turn. Because she’s the one he needs to keep quiet, and I told him so.

  She said steadily, ‘Isn’t that a rather sudden decision on Adele’s part?’

  ‘Not really. She often goes down there.’ His mouth curled slightly. ‘Regards St Tropez as some kind of spiritual home.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ his mother said drily, ‘she’s still physically occupying the Dower House, which is unfortunate.’

  ‘Not for much longer, I hope,’ Nick said. ‘Once I make it clear I have my own plans for the place.’ For a brief moment Cally felt his gaze resting on her.

  She swallowed some of the coffee she didn’t really want, her mind working furiously. Was that part of his ultimate plan for her? she wondered bleakly. That she should move into the Dower House? Access to the baby strictly on his terms—and while she lived under his supervision? If so, it was an appalling prospect, for all kinds of reasons.

  But then, what other options were open to her? Because her original plan—to walk away from the life that had been so summarily imposed on her—was now unthinkable—impossible.

  She had realised immediately, even when she’d only suspected that she had conceived, that pregnancy in theory and practice were going to be light years apart. That simply being some kind of surrogate—Nick’s temporary breeding machine—was never going to work.

  The baby was hers, growing inside her, dependent on her for everything, and giving it up in order to establish a separate life for herself was never going to happen, however bravely she still spoke about the future.

  She’d never suspected she could feel like this. That a few weeks could alter her entire way of thinking. She only knew that she could not ever let her baby go—s
ee it brought up by strangers. Especially if one of the strangers turned out to be Vanessa Layton.

  Would Nick be cruel enough to do that? she asked herself. Could he? Yet she’d just had proof of how ruthlessly he was prepared to move the pieces round the board in his own private chess game. And soon it would be her turn.

  I thought marriage was the trap, she told herself. But I knew nothing. And now I’m caught and helpless.

  ‘You’re looking tired, Caroline,’ her mother-in-law said quietly. ‘Nick, why don’t you take your wife up to bed? I think we could all do with an early night.’

  ‘An excellent idea.’ Nick held out his hand to Cally, who reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Her heart was thudding awkwardly against her ribcage, protesting over the confrontation that was bound to come.

  Unless Nick had read the runes, and decided to stay away of his own accord. But that didn’t seem likely.

  She said a shy goodnight to Dr Tempest, and was received briefly into a lavender silk embrace spiced with some dry, sophisticated scent she hadn’t encountered before.

  ‘It’s called Moi-Meme,’ Nick told her in answer to her halting query, as they went upstairs together. ‘And I have to send regular supplies of it to whatever far-flung hellhole Ma finds herself in.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘She reckons it keeps the snakes at bay. I’ve sometimes wished I was in advertising. Wouldn’t that make the basis of a great campaign?’

  Cally had thought she was beyond being amused, yet found herself surprised into laughter. ‘Only if there’s an outbreak of cobras in Knightsbridge.’

  And they arrived at her door in better accord than they’d been for weeks, she thought, with sudden wistfulness. But she couldn’t let herself weaken now. It was a case of self-preservation.

  She’d expected him to leave her there, and go along to his own quarters, but to her dismay he accompanied her into the lamplit bedroom.

  As always, everything was in readiness there, even down to the fresh nightgown laid out across the bed.

  Nick picked it up. ‘I don’t know why Margaret persists with this charade,’ he remarked. ‘She must know by now that you never wear any of them.’

  Cally made herself shrug. ‘But then what’s one more charade among so many? And she’s offering me a choice, which I intend to make in future.’ She held out a hand. ‘So, may I have it—please?’

  He gave her a surprised glance. ‘If that’s what you want.’ His smile was coaxing. Almost tender. ‘Don’t tell me you’re feeling self-conscious,’ he added, as he discarded his jacket and began unknotting his tie.

  Cally stood beside the bed, clutching the drift of ivory voile against her body.

  She took a deep breath. ‘What—what are you doing?’

  The dark brows lifted. ‘Getting undressed. I usually do at bedtime, as you must have noticed by now.’

  She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘Didn’t Dr Hanson—talk to you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nick was unbuttoning his shirt. ‘She suggested a spot of abstinence on my part. Although I suspect it’s a little late to worry about that,’ he added ruefully. ‘However, I won’t put the baby in any more jeopardy, I promise.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ She spoke more sharply than she’d planned, and saw him pause, his attention entirely arrested.

  He said quietly, ‘You’re my wife, Cally. This is our bed. Where else should I be?’

  ‘You mean to ignore the doctor?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he said wearily. ‘I was planning a cuddle, not an orgy.’

  ‘And I was counting on a little peace and quiet.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded breathless. ‘Now that you—you’ve achieved your objective, you’ve no real reason to be here. And I’d hoped my—my privacy might be restored to me.’

  He was frighteningly still. He said slowly, ‘So—for abstinence, substitute total banishment? Is that it?’

  Somehow she lifted her chin. ‘Unless you have any objections.’

  ‘So many that it would probably take something like the Domesday Book to list them all,’ Nick said icily. ‘But I doubt that any of them would do any good, and I’m damned if I’ll plead for the right to sleep with you, Cally.’

  He picked up his clothing and walked across to the communicating door. ‘Would you like me to have a bolt fitted—in case I should forget and stray on to forbidden ground?’

  She shook her head, her mouth so dry she felt as if she’d been chewing ashes. ‘I’m sure that—won’t be necessary.’

  His sudden smile seemed to scrape her skin. ‘Good guess,’ he said softly. ‘And now—goodnight, my little ice angel. Enjoy your dreams—if you can.’

  The door closed behind him. Cally sank down on the edge of the bed, staring at the panels, wishing she didn’t feel so lost.

  It was just the first step, she tried to tell herself. The initial move towards the inevitable, irrevocable separation between them once the baby was born.

  Just one of so many difficult decisions ahead of her, she thought achingly.

  And the most important of those was to try and find some way, even now, to stop loving him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CALLY gave her pillows a last ineffectual punch, then sat bolt upright, glaring into the darkness. She said aloud, ‘Oh, this is ridiculous.’

  She was tired to the bone, so why, then, couldn’t she sleep? At one moment she’d felt too hot, so she’d kicked off the covers. The next she was dragging them back because she was cold, which was ludicrous on a warm summer night.

  She’d turned so restlessly and so constantly from one side to the other that her nightgown had become twisted around her, imprisoning her like a straitjacket, and the damned pillows felt as if they were filled with lead instead of feathers.

  She’d closed her eyes so tightly that they ached, but it was useless. She was still wide awake, and she knew why.

  Because with Nick gone, the big bed seemed a vast empty wasteland. Subconsciously, she realised, she was reaching for him, and finding only loneliness. And it was no good telling herself that it was something she had to get accustomed to, when she might as well be lying on razorblades.

  I can’t go on like this, she told herself, wriggling to the edge of the tumbled bed. She freed herself with difficulty from the stranglehold of her nightdress, shaking out its folds, then reached into the drawer of the night table for the torch that was kept there in case of power cuts. After all, she didn’t want to attract too much attention by putting on main lights, she thought as she trod silently across the room to the communicating door.

  She paused in the passageway, listening, but there was no sound from the room at the far end, and it seemed safe to slip into the bathroom.

  She hadn’t investigated all the mirrored cupboards too minutely, but she knew one of them held first aid materials, so surely there had to be some kind of medication that might help her. Somehow she had to get some rest, she told herself through gritted teeth as she switched on the torch and began her search. But, apart from some basic painkillers, there was nothing. Not even a cold remedy.

  Nick, it seemed, didn’t suffer from the ordinary human ailments—and certainly not insomnia.

  Cursing under her breath, she pushed the tubes of antiseptic and packets of plasters to one side, so that she could reach the back of the glass shelf, only to find them spilling out on to the tiled surface beneath, knocking over various jars and bottles on their way and sending Nick’s aftershave crashing into the basin.

  In the stillness of the night, the noise seemed like a thunderclap, Cally thought frantically. She made a grab to stop other containers rolling on to the floor and dropped the torch, which promptly went out.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she wailed under her breath, as she went down on her knees, feeling for it in the darkness.

  Only to find, almost before she could draw another breath, the bathroom flooded with sudden light and Nick’s astonished voice saying, ‘What the hell…?’

 
; She looked round defensively as she retrieved the torch. ‘I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.’

  ‘Heaven forbid you ever try to be noisy.’ His tone was caustic. He walked forward, tightening the sash of his robe, and inspected the broken bottle of aftershave in the basin. ‘Pretty drastic measures,’ he commented. ‘I didn’t realise you disliked it so much. I can’t say I care for it much at this strength.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ she muttered, scrambling to her feet. ‘I was just looking for something to help me sleep.’

  ‘Were you indeed?’ Nick said, too pleasantly. ‘I’m afraid you won’t find it, and even if you did you’re taking nothing that hasn’t been prescribed for you, because I won’t let you. Do I make myself clear?’ He waited while she nodded reluctantly. ‘Now, go back to bed,’ he directed, ‘while I clean up this mess.’ He walked past her and opened the bathroom window.

  ‘What’s the point of going to bed when I can’t sleep?’ Cally said rebelliously.

  Nick looked at her, sighing faintly. ‘Maybe you should keep off coffee after dinner,’ he said. ‘Would hot milk help? Shall I fetch some for you?’

  ‘I—I don’t know.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve already caused you enough trouble.’

  He said curtly, ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ He came over to her, and before she could stop him picked her up in his arms and started back with her to her room.

  ‘My God,’ he said, halting as he surveyed the rumpled bed. ‘It looks like a disaster area.’ He put her into a chair and began straightening the sheets with brisk efficiency. She watched him as he plumped the pillows and folded back the tangled cover into inviting neatness.

  Treating her like a child, she thought, when she needed so desperately to be a woman. His woman.

  ‘There you are, Lady Tempest.’ He glanced at her with faint mockery when he’d finished. ‘Your chaste couch awaits you. Now I’ll get your milk.’