That wasn’t completely true, Dante acknowledged silently. He had been in love with Lara and when she had told him she was pregnant with his baby he had seized the opportunity to make her his wife.
Rebekah’s legs suddenly felt as though they wouldn’t support her. ‘You were married?’ She was staggered to think that Dante—the anti-marriage, anti-commitment divorce lawyer had once been married. She wondered if he had loved his wife. Something in his voice told her that he had, and she felt an agonising stab of jealousy. She frowned as she recalled his curious statement that he had believed Ben was his son. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said wearily.
Dante saw Rebekah sway unsteadily. Her face was deathly pale and he feared she was about to faint. He cursed himself. She was pregnant but, instead of taking care of her, he had not even invited her to take her coat off.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded roughly, his frown deepening when she did not protest as he tugged her coat from her shoulders and pushed her gently down into an armchair. She rested her head against the cushions and closed her eyes so that her long lashes fanned her cheeks. While she was off her guard he studied her, roaming his eyes greedily over her firm breasts and coming to a juddering halt when he reached the rounded swell of her stomach. For the first time since she had told him she was pregnant he thought about what that actually meant. There was a strong likelihood that the child inside her was his. A strange feeling that he could not even begin to assimilate unfurled inside him. He stretched out a hand to her, compelled to touch her stomach, but snatched it back as she opened her eyes.
‘Are you keeping well? Eating properly and everything?’ he demanded awkwardly.
‘Like a horse,’ she said drily, ‘which is why I’m showing already. I’m afraid I’m not going to be one of those women who sail through pregnancy with hardly any visible sign and snap back into their skinny jeans half an hour after giving birth.’
‘What does it matter?’ It occurred to Dante that Rebekah had never looked more beautiful than she did now. He found her curvaceous figure incredibly sexy, but there was something else about her that he couldn’t explain, an air of serenity and contentment that softened her face and made her lovelier than ever.
Abruptly he moved away from her, strode over to the bar and refilled his glass. ‘You said you don’t understand about Ben, so I’ll tell you.
‘Six years ago I worked for a law firm in New York and had an affair with another lawyer at the company. Lara was a couple of years older than me. She’d been a top catwalk model but had given up modelling to concentrate on her legal career.’
So the mysterious Lara, who Nicole had mentioned in Tuscany, was beautiful and brainy, Rebekah thought dismally. She realised Dante had continued speaking, and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘I knew she had been seeing another guy before I met her, but she assured me the relationship was over.’ Dante grimaced. ‘I admit I was blown away by her. She was stunningly attractive, ambitious, sophisticated—everything I most admired. My parents’ marital problems had made me wary of marriage, but when Lara said she was expecting my baby I was keen to marry her, and although the pregnancy was unplanned I was excited at the prospect of being a father.
‘I watched our son being born and held him in my arms when he was a few minutes old. Ben stole my heart,’ he said gruffly. ‘I was besotted with him, and I took care of him a lot of the time because Lara wanted to pursue her career. Several times I even took him to visit my grandmother at the Casa di Colombe while Lara remained in New York.
‘Perlita adored him as much as I did. But during a trip to Tuscany when Ben was two years old, Lara arrived unexpectedly and announced that our marriage was over. It was a bolt from the blue. I’d had no reason to think she was unhappy with our relationship. But she admitted she had been having an affair with her ex-boyfriend for several months and intended to divorce me and marry him.’
Dante took a long swig of whisky and relished its fiery heat as it hit the back of his throat.
‘I was angry that she had cheated on me, but my main concern was for Ben and I tried to persuade her to give our marriage another try.’ His jaw clenched. ‘She then dropped the bombshell that I wasn’t Ben’s father. At the same time that she had begun an affair with me, she had slept with her ex a couple of times. When she’d realised she was pregnant she knew the other guy was the father. But he had ended his relationship with her and moved away—and he didn’t have any money. I, on the other hand, had good career prospects and a ton of money, and so she deliberately led me to believe Ben was my son—until his real father showed up again, complete with a sizeable inheritance fund and a willingness to take responsibility for his child.’
‘Oh, Dante.’
It was incredible how two words could hold such a depth of compassion, Dante thought, feeling that strange sensation of something unfurling inside him again when he saw the gentle expression in Rebekah’s eyes.
She stood up and walked over to him, and unbelievably she reached out and touched his arm, as if she hoped the physical contact would show that she understood how devastated he had been by Lara’s deception. He swallowed, thinking that he had treated her shamefully, yet she had not hesitated to show her sympathy for him.
The bleak expression in Dante’s eyes told Rebekah that he had not come to terms with his wife’s terrible deception or the pain of losing the child he had loved. She sensed that even after he had learned that Ben was not his son he had still cared for the little boy.
‘What happened to Ben?’ she asked quietly.
‘Lara took him and I never saw him again. I understand she married Ben’s father, and as far as I know they’re still together.’
Rebekah did not know what to say that wouldn’t sound trite. ‘What happened to you was terrible,’ she murmured. ‘But this situation is different. I swear the baby is yours and I’ve agreed to a paternity test.’
Perhaps when he’d had a chance to get over his shock about her pregnancy he would see that his baby needed its father. She suddenly felt bone-weary, probably the result of anti-climax and a surfeit of emotions, she told herself. She felt a desperate need to be alone while she assimilated everything Dante had told her about his past. It was little wonder he had reacted with such suspicion to her claim that she was expecting his baby after the way his wife had lied to him.
‘How soon can we have the paternity test?’ she asked flatly.
‘I’ll arrange for us to give blood samples tomorrow. It usually takes a week to ten days before the results come back.’ He had dealt with enough paternity issues during his clients’ divorce cases to be sure of his facts. Dante’s eyes narrowed as he watched Rebekah slip on her coat. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m staying at my friend Charlie’s overnight. Where shall I meet you for the blood test?’
‘I think you should stay here tonight.’ He was surprised at how strongly he hated the idea of her leaving. It was slowly sinking in that if the baby was his they would have to discuss what they were going to do, how they were both going to bring up their child.
Dio, was he being a fool to believe the baby was his? His instincts told him he could trust Rebekah. He would swear she was honest and truthful. But he had trusted Lara once, taunted a bitter voice inside his head. After his divorce, he had vowed he would never trust a woman again.
‘You can stay in your old room,’ he told her. ‘The clothes you left behind are still there. In the morning I’ll drive you to the clinic in Harley Street.’
‘No, thanks.’ Rebekah could not face the idea of sleeping in the same house as Dante. Not because she was worried he would try to persuade her into his bed, but because she knew he wouldn’t. Seeing him again had made her realise just how much she had missed him. She must be even more of a fool than she’d thought because even though he was demanding proof that the baby was his she still ached for him to take her in his arms and stroke her hair, as he had often done during their heartbreaki
ngly brief affair.
‘Charlie is expecting me. If you wouldn’t mind calling me a taxi, I’d like to go now.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Dante said roughly when he realised he could not force her to stay. ‘I’ll take you to your friend’s.’
‘You can’t; you’ve been drinking.’
She was right—the amount of whisky he’d downed meant that he could not get behind the wheel of a car. He controlled his impatience and fought the urge to pull her into his arms and tell her he believed the baby was his. His brain told him to wait for proof, and so he ignored what his heart was telling him.
‘My chauffeur will drive you to where you are staying,’ he said curtly, ‘and I’ll collect you in the morning.’
Rebekah’s parents’ farm was in Snowdonia National Park. If Dante had not had other things on his mind he would no doubt have admired the dramatic landscape of lush green valleys and rugged mountain peaks, the highest of which bore the first snowfall of the winter. But he was concentrating on driving along the tortuously twisting lanes and whenever his mind wandered it returned inevitably to Rebekah and the baby she was carrying.
Was it only two days since she had turned up at his house in London and told him she was pregnant? It felt like a lifetime ago. He frowned at the memory of how pale and fragile she had looked when he had collected her from her friend’s house where she had spent the night, and driven her to the clinic for the prenatal paternity test to be done.
He had felt worried about her, especially as the dark circles beneath her eyes had been evidence that she had not slept.
‘Come and stay at the house for a few days while we wait for the results,’ he had urged her. But she had shaken her head.
‘I bought a return train ticket to Wales. I want to go home,’ she’d told him when he had started to argue. ‘I need to be with people who care about me. My family have been brilliant and I know that whatever happens I can count on their love and support.’
Had she been making a dig at him for his lack of support? She had been perfectly within her rights to, Dante acknowledged grimly. For the past two days he had thought about her constantly and he’d come to the conclusion that he should be shot for the appalling way he had treated her.
Yesterday he had phoned her, not really knowing what he wanted to say but aware that he needed to apologise. She had answered his queries about how she was feeling with a coolness that had been infuriating and worrying.
‘Obviously we will have to decide what will happen if the test proves the baby is mine,’ he had said and had frowned when he realised how stilted he sounded. Her silence had rattled him. ‘There will be things to discuss—financial matters and so on.’ Once again his words hadn’t reflected what he really wanted to say. And he’d realised as he wiped beads of sweat from his brow that he was the biggest fool on the planet.
He forced himself to concentrate as the road narrowed to a muddy track, and a few moments later he swung the car through some iron gates and came to a halt outside a rather tired-looking grey stone farmhouse. The farmyard appeared deserted apart from a few chickens pecking in the mud. As he approached the house a dog began to bark. The front door looked as though it hadn’t been opened for years, but at the side of the house a door stood ajar and led into the kitchen.
No one came when he knocked, but he could hear voices talking in a language he had never heard before, which he presumed was Welsh. He supposed he should have phoned Rebekah to tell her he was coming, but he hadn’t because he wanted to catch her off guard, before she had a chance to erect the barriers he had sensed she’d put in place when he had spoken to her yesterday.
A cat wound through his legs as he walked across the kitchen. He hesitated for a second and then pushed open the door in front of him and stepped into a crowded room. At least a dozen people were sitting at a long dining table, and numerous children were seated around a smaller table. At the head of the main table sat a giant of a man, grey-haired with a weathered face, who he guessed was Rebekah’s father. Dante glanced at her brothers, all as huge as their father, but his eyes moved swiftly to Rebekah and he felt a sudden pain in his chest, as if an arrow had pierced between his ribs.
She was smiling, and for some reason that hurt him. He hadn’t felt like smiling since … since Tuscany, when she had made him laugh with her dry wit and atrociously bad jokes.
The sound of chatter slowly died as the people in the room became aware of a stranger in their midst. The suspicious stares from the army of Welshmen and their wives emphasised that he was an outsider.
Dante had a sudden flashback to when he had been ten years old, at boarding school. It had been the end of term and most of the boys were gathered in the quadrangle, waiting for their parents to collect them to take them home for the holidays. But his parents weren’t coming. His father had arranged for him to stay with the headmaster and his family for the Easter break. Staring out of a classroom window, he had felt detached from the other boys’ excitement. All his life he had never felt that he belonged anywhere.
He certainly did not belong here in this Welsh farmhouse. But Rebekah did. He could almost sense the invisible bonds that tied her closely to her family—a family that at this moment were unified in protecting her.
Her father made to stand up, but the younger man sitting beside him got to his feet first, saying, ‘I’ll deal with this, Tada.’
Rebekah’s smile had died on her lips and she was staring at him as if he had two heads. She scraped back her chair and, as she stood up, Dante felt a surge of emotion as his eyes were drawn to her rounded stomach. His child was growing inside her, his flesh and blood. He looked around the sea of faces all gazing warily at him and he no longer cared if they regarded him as an outsider. Rebekah was carrying his baby and he was determined to convince her that he wanted to be a father.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘SIT down, Beka,’ her brother ordered.
She threw him a sharp glance, her eyes flashing fire. ‘It’s my problem, Owen, and I’ll deal with it.’ Turning back to face Dante, she lifted her head proudly and shook back her long silky hair. ‘Why are you here?’
Since when had she viewed him as a problem? He felt a sudden fierce blaze of anger. How dared she speak to him in that coolly polite voice, as if he were a casual acquaintance rather than the man whose child’s heart beat within her? With great effort he swallowed his temper and said quietly, ‘We need to talk.’
One of the women seated at the table stood up. Rebekah’s mother was short and plump, her dark hair was threaded with silver strands but her violet-coloured eyes were sharp and bright. It occurred to Dante that the Evans women were formidable and he suspected that, for all their huge size, the men of the family would think twice about arguing with them.
‘You must be Mr Jarrell. I am Rowena Evans. This is my husband, Ifan—’ she waved a hand towards the other end of the table ‘—and our sons and their families. Our daughter you already know, of course,’ she said calmly. ‘Rebekah will take you into the parlour so that you can talk in private.’
Rebekah knew better than to argue with her mother but her legs felt unsteady as she walked out of the room, and she was desperately conscious of Dante following closely behind her. He was the second shock she had received today, but not the worst, she thought, feeling a stab of fear as she remembered her hospital appointment earlier in the day. She ushered him into the parlour and closed the door, taking a deep breath before she turned to face him.
He was wearing a soft oatmeal-coloured sweater and faded jeans that hugged his lean hips. His dark Mediterranean looks seemed even more exotic here in Wales. He would certainly attract attention in the village, she thought wryly. But it was unlikely he had come to sample the delights of Rhoslaenau, which boasted a population of four hundred, a post office and a pub.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ She offered him the armchair by the fire, but when he shook his head she crossed her arms defensively in front of her. ‘Why are
you here? I wasn’t expecting you.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Have you had the results of the paternity test already? I thought we wouldn’t hear for a week.’
‘No, I haven’t had the results.’ Dante hesitated, uncharacteristically struggling to find the right words. ‘But I don’t need a test to confirm I am the baby’s father.’
Rebekah stared at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I believe you, cara. I know the child you are carrying is mine.’
She bit her lip. ‘I understand why you would want proof. Anyone who had been deceived as you were by your wife would feel the same way. I know you must find it hard to trust.’
He held her gaze steadily. ‘I trust you, Rebekah, and I’m here to discuss what we’re going to do now. How we can do the best for our child.’
His child—Dante felt a weird feeling inside: disbelief that he was going to be a father, but as the realisation sank in he felt awed and excited.
Rebekah’s words sent a chill down his spine.
‘You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to discuss financial matters. Please don’t feel obliged to give me money,’ she said with excruciating politeness. ‘My parents have been wonderful and have offered to support me and the baby until I can move to St Lucia to work at Gaspard Clavier’s new restaurant.’
Dante could not hide his shock. ‘You intend to take the baby to live in the Caribbean?’
‘Not immediately after it’s born. But Gaspard assures me it’s a wonderful place to live and bring up a child.’
On the way to Rebekah’s parents’ farm he had rehearsed what he planned to say to her but now he was groping for a response. He felt as if a rug had been pulled from beneath his feet. ‘And where do I feature in this wonderful new life you’re planning?’ he said harshly. ‘Do you expect me to allow you to take my child to the other side of the world where I can have no part in its life?’
‘Allow?’ She gave an angry laugh. ‘You have no right to tell me where I can or can’t live. To be frank, I hadn’t anticipated you would want anything to do with our child. That’s the impression you gave when I told you of my pregnancy. But if you insist on some sort of contact I imagine you know more about access rights than I do.’
At Dante's Service Page 14