At Dante's Service

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘It’s vital with the type of mini-pill you are on that you take it at exactly the same time every day,’ the doctor explained when she pointed out that she used oral contraceptives. ‘Also, sickness or a stomach upset can stop the Pill from being effective.’

  Rebekah recalled the night Dante had taken her to the theatre—the first time she’d had sex with him. At the party she had unwittingly drunk alcohol in the fruit punch and the next morning her body had reacted badly and she had been sick for most of the day. She must have conceived Dante’s child that first time. He had almost stopped making love to her until she had assured him she was protected, she remembered.

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t have any sign that I was pregnant,’ she said to the GP, who knew her history. ‘With my first pregnancy I had dreadful morning sickness, but this time I’ve had nothing, apart from feeling a bit more tired than usual.’ She had put her lack of energy and her uncharacteristic weepiness down to the fact that she missed Dante unbearably.

  ‘Every pregnancy is different,’ the doctor told her. He gave her a kindly smile. ‘You’re fit and healthy, and there is no reason why you shouldn’t give birth to a healthy baby in seven months’ time.’

  Reassured by the doctor’s words, Rebekah walked out of his surgery feeling that her heart would burst with happiness as she imagined being a mother. Of course the situation wasn’t ideal. She had always assumed she would be married before she started a family. Her heart jerked painfully against her ribs at the prospect of telling Dante her news. But he would have to be told that he was going to be a father, she decided. The baby developing inside her had been created by two people, and she and Dante both had a responsibility towards their child.

  Dante stared unenthusiastically at the cod in white sauce on his plate. A sample mouthful had revealed that it tasted as bland as it looked. But he could not put all the blame for his lack of appetite on his new cook, he acknowledged. Mrs Hall did her best and the meals she provided were edible, if unexciting.

  A memory came into his head of Rebekah’s fish pie—succulent pieces of cod, smoked salmon and prawns in a creamy parsley sauce, with a crunchy rosti and grated cheese topping. Her wonderful food was the first thing that had impressed him about her. It had taken him a little longer to appreciate all her other qualities, he mused. But she had kept her fabulous figure hidden beneath shapeless clothes until the night he had taken her to the theatre and she had blown his mind when she had worn a stunning evening gown that had shown off her voluptuous curves.

  He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her that night, or all the nights during the month they had spent in Tuscany. An image of her slid into his mind and Dante felt a predictable stirring in his loins, followed by the dull ache of frustration that had been responsible for his foul mood over the past few months.

  He still found it hard to believe she had rejected him. She had given every impression of being happy with him when they had been in Tuscany. They had spent practically every moment together and had made love every night with a wild passion that he was convinced she had enjoyed as much as he had.

  But the stilted conversation they’d had when he had phoned her in Wales had put an end to his pleasurable anticipation of continuing their affair in London. He had felt a curious hollow sensation in his stomach when she had told him she would not be coming back to him. It had crossed his mind briefly to try and persuade her, but he’d dismissed the idea. She had made her choice and he certainly wasn’t going to let her know he was disappointed. He’d assured himself he did not care and that he could find a replacement mistress any time he liked. He had even dated a couple of women but, although they had both been beautiful, elegant blondes, he had realised halfway through dinner that they completely bored him and he had not asked either of them out a second time.

  Giving up on dinner, he carried his plate into the kitchen and tipped away the uneaten meal. It was fortunate that Mrs Hall did not live in the staff apartment. She had no idea that most of the dinners she cooked for him ended up in the recycling bin. He wandered listlessly into the sitting room and poured himself a straight Scotch, his second since he’d got home from work an hour ago. He snapped his teeth together impatiently. Not only had Rebekah unmanned him and caused his current worrying lack of libido, but he could also blame her for the damage he was doing to his liver!

  His frown deepened at the sound of the doorbell. He wasn’t expecting visitors and was half-inclined not to answer, but a second strident peal suggested that whoever was standing on his doorstep was not going to go away any time soon.

  Muttering an oath, he strode down the hall, flung open the door—and froze.

  ‘Hello, Dante.’

  Rebekah had to force the greeting past the sudden tightness in her throat and her voice sounded annoyingly husky rather than bright and brisk, as she had been aiming for. She hadn’t forgotten how good-looking Dante was, but seeing him in the flesh made her catch her breath. Dark trousers hugged his lean hips and his pale blue shirt was open at the throat so that she could see a few black chest hairs. Lifting her eyes to his face, she was struck by the masculine beauty of his features. His cheekbones looked more defined than she remembered and his olive skin was stretched taut over them. The firm line of his jaw was hard and uncompromising but his mouth evoked memories of him kissing her, and she wished with all her heart that he would sweep her into his arms and claim her lips with hungry passion.

  For a split second Dante wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. It seemed an incredible coincidence that just as he had been thinking about Rebekah she appeared, like the fairy godmother in a children’s story book. But he would bet no fairy godmother ever looked as gorgeous as the woman who was hovering—somewhat nervously, he noted—in front of him. She looked achingly beautiful, with her long chocolate-brown hair falling around her shoulders and her incredible violet eyes staring at him from beneath the sweep of her long lashes.

  Dragging his gaze from her face, he saw that she was wearing a cherry-red wool coat that brightened the gloom of the misty October evening. She looked wholesome and sexy and he was unbearably tempted to pull her into his arms and crush her soft mouth beneath his until she returned his kiss with sensual passion, the memory of which kept him awake at nights. Pride stopped him from reaching for her, and that same damnable pride demanded that he should not make it too easy for her. Did she think she could simply walk back into his life?

  ‘Rebekah—this is a surprise,’ he said coolly. ‘I didn’t know you were in London. Have you moved down from Wales, or are you visiting?’

  ‘I …’ Rebekah was completely thrown by Dante’s nonchalant greeting. This was the man who had been a passionate lover and someone she had thought of as a friend when she had spent a month with him at his home in Tuscany. From his careless tone, anyone would think they had been no more than casual acquaintances. But that was probably how he regarded her, she thought bleakly. He had enjoyed a brief sexual fling with her but now she was just another ex-mistress and it was likely that her replacement was waiting for him in his bed.

  Feeling sick at the idea, she almost lost her nerve and half-turned to walk away from him.

  ‘So, how are you?’ He pulled the door open a little wider, and Rebekah glanced into the hall, half-expecting to see some gorgeous leggy blonde.

  ‘I …’ Running away wasn’t an option, she reminded herself. She needed to tell Dante he was the father of her child, but so far she hadn’t managed to string more than two words together. ‘I’m fine, but I need to talk to you—if you’re not … entertaining anyone tonight,’ she choked.

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘No, I happen to be free tonight. You’d better come in.’

  The house was achingly familiar. Glancing round the elegant sitting room, she noticed that the potted ferns she had bought to give the room a more homely feel were thriving, as if someone had been taking care of them.

  It was warm inside. She unbuttoned her coat but kept it on wh
en she realised he might notice her slightly rounded stomach—which was silly when she was about to tell him about the baby, she thought wryly. Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry and she licked her lips nervously. His reaction to the news she was about to give him couldn’t be worse than Gareth’s had been. She suddenly realised how much she wanted him to be pleased about the baby. Was she being a fool to hope he would want his child?

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,’ she said in a rush.

  Dante shrugged. ‘Actually, I can guess your reason.’

  She was flummoxed. ‘You … you can?’

  ‘Sure.’ He put down the glass he was holding and strolled over to her but, although he moved with his usual easy grace, the predatory gleam in his eyes caused Rebekah’s heart to miss a beat. ‘You miss what we had in Tuscany and you’re hoping I’ll take you back. And you know what, cara?’ he murmured as he halted in front of her and dipped his head so that his mouth was tantalisingly close to hers. ‘You’re in luck. I still want you too.’

  In the flesh, Rebekah was even more gorgeous than his memory of her, Dante thought. He had missed her. He finally acknowledged the truth that he had tried to deny to himself for the past weeks. It was not just her gorgeous body and the passion they had shared that he had missed; it was her lovely smile and her beautiful eyes, the soft, lilting way she spoke, the sound of her laughter and just the pleasure of her company. Unable to resist the lure of her soft lips, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

  Rebekah was so surprised that she responded to him unthinkingly. Oh, she’d missed him, she thought, as he deepened the kiss to something so deeply sensual that she began to tremble, and when he pulled her close she melted in his arms.

  ‘I recall the sofa was a very comfortable place to make love,’ he murmured. ‘Or shall we attempt to make it to my bedroom this time?’

  ‘No … I mean … neither. I’m not here for that,’ Rebekah gasped. The sound of Dante’s voice shattered the sensual web he had woven around her and, with a little cry of despair that she had succumbed to him so weakly, she pulled out of his arms.

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ he said drily. Why was she playing hard to get? Dante wondered impatiently. He grabbed his glass and strode over to the bar. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked roughly, pouring himself another Scotch. ‘I forgot—you can’t drink alcohol. I can offer you a soft drink.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Rebekah took a deep breath. ‘Actually, my strange allergy to alcohol is sort of the reason why I’m here.’

  Dante lifted his brows but made no comment. On the train journey from Wales Rebekah had rehearsed what she was going to say to him, but the kiss had thrown her. She hadn’t expected him to still desire her. Perhaps it was a good thing, she thought shakily. It gave her hope that they might be able to make something of their relationship. But first she had to tell him, and the longer she hesitated the harder it was becoming.

  ‘I … I’m going to have a baby,’ she blurted out.

  He went very still and for a second his shock showed on his face. His silence simmered with tension. Lifting his glass, he took a swig of his drink.

  ‘Congratulations. I assume that’s what you want me to say?’ His jaw tightened. ‘You didn’t waste much time, did you? I assume the father is someone you met when you went back to Wales.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  REBEKAH had tried a hundred times over the past weeks to imagine what Dante’s reaction would be, but it had never occurred to her that he would jump to the conclusion that she was pregnant with another man’s child.

  ‘The baby is yours,’ she said quietly. ‘I conceived the first night we slept together after the party.’

  For what seemed like a lifetime he made no response. ‘You assured me you were on the Pill,’ he said eventually. His expression was unreadable. ‘I trusted you.’

  His words seemed to echo around the silent room. Dante felt as though a lump of ice had formed inside him and his blood ran cold as he remembered the other occasion when he had been told by a woman that she was pregnant with his child. Like a fool, he had believed Lara. This time he would not be so gullible or so trusting, he thought grimly.

  How could Dante’s eyes that a few moments ago had blazed with fiery passion have turned to hard steel? She hadn’t expected him to be thrilled to learn of his impending fatherhood, Rebekah acknowledged, but his coldness felt like a knife in her heart.

  ‘I certainly didn’t lie to you,’ she told him with quiet dignity. ‘I was on the Pill but, because there is a history of high blood pressure in my family, I was taking the mini-pill, which isn’t quite as effective as the more common type. I didn’t know there was alcohol in the fruit punch at the ball, and if I had I wouldn’t have touched it. When I was sick after we spent the night together I didn’t realise I wasn’t protected against falling pregnant.’

  He stared at her speculatively. ‘You must admit it sounds convenient,’ he said at last, in a curiously emotionless voice. ‘If the child you are carrying is really mine, why did you wait so long to tell me? It’s the end of October, yet you say you conceived at the end of June. That’s four months.’

  He strode back over to her and jerked the edges of her coat open, seeing the slight but distinct mound of her belly, and shock jolted through him. There was no doubt she was pregnant, but he was struggling with the idea that it could be his child.

  ‘My dad was seriously injured in an accident on the farm. The tractor he was driving rolled over and he was crushed beneath it.’ Rebekah’s voice shook at the memory of seeing her father’s body trapped beneath the tractor’s wheels. Her mother, usually so calm, had looked terrified, and her older brother Owen had been grim-faced as he had called the emergency services. Ifan Evans was a giant of a man who had never suffered a day’s illness in his life. His near-fatal accident had shaken the whole family, and for several weeks while he remained in intensive care Rebekah had simply pushed her pregnancy to the back of her mind and concentrated on supporting her parents through their ordeal. It was only now her father was back home at the farm and making a good recovery that she was able to focus on the new life growing inside her.

  ‘I understand you must be shocked about the baby,’ she told Dante. ‘I was too at first. But we’re both intelligent adults and we have to accept that no form of contraception is one hundred per cent safe.’

  ‘I’ll want proof that the child is mine.’

  She bit her lip and tasted blood. ‘And once you have your proof, will you demand I have an abortion?’ Her voice shook as she fought to control her emotions. ‘If so, you’ll waste your breath because I am going to have this child, with or without your support.’

  He was visibly shocked. ‘Of course I would not want you to …’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence and he cursed himself for his insensitivity when he remembered how her ex-fiancé had reacted when she had told him she was pregnant. Had Rebekah hoped he would be pleased to hear she was expecting his child? If so, then he had cruelly disappointed her, he accepted, gripped by guilt as he stared at her tense face. She deserved so much more than he had given her. But he was reeling from shock and all he could think of was how he’d felt as if his heart had been ripped out when Lara had taken Ben.

  When Rebekah had told him she was pregnant he had experienced a feeling of déjà vu. It seemed unbelievable that history was repeating itself. The hurt expression in her violet eyes made him wince.

  ‘How do you feel about the pregnancy?’ he asked her gruffly.

  ‘Happy,’ she said instantly. Her voice wobbled. ‘And scared.’

  Dante turned away from her and sloshed more whisky into his glass, vaguely surprised to find that his hands were shaking. It was his fault that Rebekah was in this situation, he thought grimly. She had suffered the agony of her first child being stillborn and understandably this second pregnancy must bring back terrible memories and make her afraid of what lay ahead. She needed his reassurance and support, not his an
ger. But he could not reach out to her. It shamed him to admit that he was scared too, afraid of being hurt like he had been once before.

  Rebekah felt sick with despair. Once again she was carrying a child inside her who was not wanted by its father. Blazing anger replaced her misery. Fatherhood might not appeal to Dante but he had a responsibility to his baby. How dared he try and wriggle out of that responsibility by suggesting that the baby wasn’t his?

  ‘I am carrying your child, no one else’s.’ She placed a hand on her stomach and her eyes blazed with maternal pride and protectiveness. ‘In five months’ time we are going to be parents, so you’d better get used to the idea.’

  She took a steadying breath, afraid that her thudding heartbeat couldn’t be good for the baby. And the baby was all that mattered. The welfare of the tiny scrap of life inside her was her only concern and it should be Dante’s too. ‘If you insist on proof, I’m willing for a paternity test to be done.’ She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that suddenly blinded her. ‘How could you think I would try and con you into fatherhood if I knew the child wasn’t yours?’

  Dante gulped down the rest of the whisky in his glass, aware that he owed Rebekah an explanation. In fact the explanation was long overdue, he thought heavily, when he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

  ‘Because it has happened to me once before,’ he said harshly.

  ‘I … I don’t understand.’ For some reason, a memory slid into Rebekah’s mind of the box she had found in Dante’s grandmother’s bedroom at the house in Tuscany. She recalled his strange reaction when she had opened the box and found a child’s clothes and toys. ‘It has something to do with Ben, doesn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I believed he was my son. And for that reason I married his mother.’