Yes, he understood. Robert loved Samantha more than anything else in the world—more than his own friendship with Nick, more than the wealth his business partnership had brought him. More than anything. It had come as a blow to Nick to realise that Samantha felt the same way about Robert.
Had Nick ever loved her that deeply? Had Samantha ever loved him in the same way? Maybe, in the beginning—before other things had become more important, before complacency had made him take for granted the one thing that had given everything else in his life meaning. But if he had loved Samantha enough surely that wouldn’t have happened? He—
Oh, God, not now; he had been over all of this so many times in the last five years, and in the end it changed nothing. Samantha was now Robert’s wife, and the two of them loved each other—they had for a very long time.
‘The children?’ he prompted Robert abruptly, part of him envying the other man, another part of him knowing it had never been that way between himself and Samantha.
‘Their presents are all at the house, Nick, hidden in the wardrobe. If you—’
‘Robert, Christmas is still two days away,’ he interrupted agitatedly. So Samantha still hid the presents in the wardrobe… ‘Surely you’ll be able to get away by then?’
There was silence for a moment at the other end of the telephone line, and then Robert drew in a ragged breath. ‘Lord knows I love the children as if they were my own, Nick,’ Robert finally rasped. ‘I’ve had to; you’ve practically disowned them the last five years. But the truth of the matter is they are your children, Nick, and it isn’t going to kill you to give up your usual skiing holiday with the latest bimbo to spend Christmas with them!’
How well this man knew him, Nick acknowledged self-derisively. Strange, he had forgotten how well Robert did know him, with the five-year gap in their friendship. But Robert was wrong about one thing. They weren’t all his children. Jamie and Josh, yes—and he admitted he should have spent more time with them since Samantha had left him—but Samantha wouldn’t hear of him taking Jamie and Josh without Lucy, and Lucy wasn’t—
‘I’m not leaving Samantha, Nick,’ Robert told him determinedly. ‘So you’ll just have to cope. I’m sure the young lady who answered the telephone just now is more than capable of lending a hand;she sounded rather sweet. It’s quite easy; Jamie and Josh just want to watch television and fight with each other all the time, and Lucy will take to anyone who gives her jam sandwiches!’
‘The “young lady” has already given her those,’ Nick told him drily. And Jamie and Josh had done nothing but watch television and fight since they’d arrived yesterday!
‘There you are, then,’ Robert said with satisfaction. ‘More than capable.’
Maybe she was—it certainly still seemed very quiet in the kitchen—but that wasn’t the point. The point was what was he going to do with three children over Christmas? ‘Robert—’
‘I’m not leaving the hospital, Nick,’ the other man cut in with vehement determination. ‘I want to be here when Samantha wakes up. Her life is out of danger, but there are still complications.’
Nick felt his stomach contract; he and Samantha might be divorced, and Samantha with Robert now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still care what happened to her. ‘What sort of complications?’ he asked warily.
‘They’re concerned about the baby,’ the other man told him distractedly. ‘Sam has wanted another baby for so long, I can hardly believe it’s happened now,’ he continued worriedly. ‘It will break her heart if anything goes wrong.’
Nick had stopped listening, was barely aware of his own agreement to take care of the children until such time as Robert could leave Samantha, or of the other man terminating the telephone call, of replacing his own receiver.
He sat down heavily, staring at the closed kitchen door. She had known about the baby, had told him, ‘The baby is going to be fine too.’ How had she known about the baby? How—?
Nick looked down at the sandwich in his hand, which he had begun to eat without being aware of it, staring at it uncomprehendingly. Not jam at all, but smoked salmon. His favourite…
CHAPTER THREE
BETHANY was sitting at the breakfast bar chatting to the children as they ate when Nick Rafferty came thundering through the doorway. Really, the man seemed to charge into everything at an aggressive rate. Into rooms, out of them again—and into conversations too, she quickly realised!
‘I would like a private word with you, Miss—Miss—What the hell is your name?’ He scowled across the width of the room at her.
The children took absolutely no notice of the aggression in his tone, continuing to munch quite happily on their sandwiches. Which didn’t seem right to Bethany either; it couldn’t be healthy for the children actually to be used to Nick Rafferty’s constant abruptness.
‘Her name is Beth, Daddy Nick,’ Lucy was the one to inform him, with traces of strawberry jam about her rosebud mouth. ‘Isn’t that nice?’ She grinned happily, obviously pleased that her lisp was totally irrelevant when she said ‘the angel’s’ name.
Bethany was glad that her name pleased the little girl, but this wasn’t the first time she had heard Lucy call Nick Rafferty Daddy Nick; it seemed rather a strange thing to call her father. Of course, the three children were growing up with a stepfather, which must be confusing for children so young if they were fond of him, but even so…
‘Very nice.’ Nick Rafferty agreed with the little girl with a distinct lack of conviction. ‘Would you come through to the sitting-room, Miss—Beth?’ He sounded impatient with the lack of a surname. ‘We need to talk,’ he added grimly.
‘Of course.’ She nodded smoothly, smiling reassuringly at the children. ‘When you’ve finished eating put your plates on the side and then go and wash your faces and hands, so that you don’t get sticky fingers all over your daddy’s furniture,’ she advised ruefully, sure that that wouldn’t go down too well at all. The apartment was beautifully furnished and decorated, and expensively so—not at all suitable for young and active children. ‘As soon as I’ve finished talking to your father we’ll all wrap up warm and go for a walk—’
‘A walk?’ Nick Rafferty interrupted incredulously. ‘My dear Miss—young woman.’ He scowled. ‘I’m sure it can’t have escaped your notice; it’s been snowing for almost twenty-four hours!’
Of course it hadn’t ‘escaped her notice’. Silly man, that was the reason she was here. If it hadn’t been snowing, Samantha Fairfax’s car wouldn’t have skidded on the ice and snow and then driven down the side of an embankment. If it hadn’t been snowing so heavily then the accident wouldn’t have happened that way. Besides, she loved the snow. Always had. At least, she presumed she had…
‘Children love to be out in the snow, Mr Rafferty,’ she explained over the excited shouts of Jamie, Josh and Lucy.
‘Obviously.’ He glowered darkly at the din her suggestion had created. ‘The sitting-room,’ he bit out harshly. ‘Now.’ He turned on his heel and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bethany to follow him.
She calmed the children and repeated her instructions before following him, frowning a little as she watched him pour himself half a tumblerful of whisky before throwing the fiery liquid to the back of his throat and swallowing it in one gulp. She had tried whisky once; it had made her eyes water, her nose run and her throat burn!
Nick Rafferty turned and saw her watching him, and those dark brows met fiercely again over icy grey eyes.
She moved further into the room, quietly closing the door behind her, noticing with pleasure the empty plate on the table; the whisky shouldn’t have too much of an effect when he had eaten first. ‘Tell me, Mr Rafferty—’ she smiled at him ‘—do you have a dog?’
He looked taken aback by the question, as if it was the last thing he had expected her to say. Which it probably was… ‘A dog?’ he repeated blankly. ‘No, of course I don’t have a dog,’ he snapped. ‘What would I do with a dog up here?’
‘A cat, then?’ she suggested smoothly.
‘A cat would be no more happy in a penthouse apartment than a dog would,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘Why do you ask?’ He looked at her warily.
Bethany gave a dismissive shrug, her expression bland. ‘You seem to be in the habit of issuing orders without the customary “please” and “thank you”. I could only assume that came from dealing with a pet,’ she explained evenly, tidying his cup and saucer and plate into a neat pile.
Grey eyes narrowed to steely slits as he watched her economy of movement. ‘Point taken, Beth,’ he finally rasped abruptly. ‘I apologise for my lack of “customary” politeness,’ his voice grated harshly, as if it weren’t ‘customary’ for him to apologise for his behaviour too often either.
Probably not because it wasn’t ever applicable, Bethany decided as she met his gaze unwaveringly, more likely a case of him just not being a man who usually felt the need to apologise for anything.
‘But it must be apparent to you that this situation isn’t “customary” either!’ He ran an agitated hand through his already ruffled hair. ‘Robert dumped the children on me last night, their mother is critically ill in hospital, Christmas is only two days away and then you turn up here claiming to be an angel!’ He shook his head, staring down at the bottom of his empty whisky glass. ‘Is it any wonder I felt the need of a drink?’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘But to answer your initial question.’ He straightened. ‘No, I don’t have a dog any longer. I did have. It died five years ago.’
Bethany watched him as he paced the carpeted floor. He was such a man alone. He had three children, was obviously rich, and yet he seemed such a solitary figure—as if part of him was missing. It must be through choice, Bethany decided. A man of his means, a man with his handsome good looks, could have had such a different sort of life. She wondered why he didn’t…
‘How sad,’ she sympathised. The undemanding love of a pet might have softened him slightly, might have removed those lines of cynicism from the ruggedly handsome face.
‘Very,’ he acknowledged harshly. ‘It was the day my ex-wife decided she couldn’t stand the sight of me!’ he added self-disgustedly.
Bethany gasped at his vehemence. Samantha Fairfax was obviously a lovely woman; she had to be to have evoked such love in two such powerfully attractive men as Nick Rafferty and Robert Fairfax. And then there were the children—sweet, adorable children, with a well-balanced outlook towards life and their own family situation, which meant that Samantha Fairfax was a good mother too. And yet she now hated this man she must once have loved…
Nick’s mouth twisted self-derisively as he saw Bethany’s shocked expression. ‘Someone else died that day five years ago, Beth.’ He spoke aggressively, the words seeming to be dragged out of him, as if he didn’t really want to talk about it even now.
And yet, Bethany could see, something compelled him to do so. Probably the shock of Samantha Fairfax’s accident; tragedies of that kind tended to bring to the fore the past regrets of the people around them. And Nick Rafferty was obviously no exception; his strain was evident from the lines about his eyes and the grimly set mouth. He was a man in emotional torment. And not in the least happy about it!
Nick drew in a ragged breath. ‘It was a young woman,’ he stated abruptly. ‘She was coming to the house to be nanny to the children. It was my fault,’ he added, looking at her with hard challenge.
Bethany returned his gaze with dawning comprehension, at last beginning to understand exactly what she was doing here. She had believed she was here for the children, but, apart from being con-cerned about their mother, they were well-adjusted children obviously being brought up in a loving, caring family. And the marriage of Robert and Samantha Fairfax, judging by Robert’s concerned behaviour towards his wife, was a deep and loving one.
No, it was becoming more and more apparent to her that Nick Rafferty was the real reason she was here.
Someone had slipped up very badly this time; if she had failed on her other assignments, how on earth did they expect her to succeed with a man as hardened to all human warmth—let alone a heavenly one!—as Nicholas Rafferty?
CHAPTER FOUR
NICK poured himself another drink, lost in the dark thoughts of a time long gone, only dragged back to the present when he sensed that Beth was quietly watching him. There was such a stillness about this young woman—almost unnerving.
He mentally shook himself. ‘You see, I didn’t want Samantha to have a nanny for the children,’ he explained hardily. ‘She had never felt the need before, when we just had the two boys. But she claimed she wouldn’t be able to cope with everything that needed to be done once the new baby was born—’
‘Lucy?’ Beth put in softly.
‘Lucy,’ he acknowledged harshly, scowling darkly as he thought back to the time when Lucy had been born. ‘The two boys were going to be palmed off on some stranger now that Samantha was to have the daughter she had always craved. At least, that’s the way I saw it at the time.’ He shook his head self-disgustedly. ‘I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on my attitude the last five years.’
He grimaced. ‘Even more so during the last twenty-four hours; if I’m finding it difficult to cope with an eleven, eight and a five-year-old, how the hell did I expect Samantha to cope with a new baby and two active boys of six and three? Samantha had a rough time of it when Lucy was born, and was told she could probably never have any more children.’
But Samantha was expecting another baby now, he realised, and this young woman had known about it! And here he was pouring his whole damn life story out to her, a complete stranger, who had just walked in off the street into their lives. He, who rarely told people even his name if he could avoid it—the name Rafferty was synonymous with the wealth and power he had built up over the years. And he was talking to this young woman, Beth, about things he had tried not even to think about the last five years, let alone talk about. He was losing his mind!
He straightened. ‘Robert says that Samantha is off the danger list, but that there are still some fears for the baby.’ He looked at the woman challengingly. ‘So now I want to know who you are, where you came from—and how the hell you know so damn much about my family!’
Never mind the fact that he had been in the process himself of telling her totally private things about his own life; there was something not quite right about this situation. And he wanted to know exactly what it was. He certainly didn’t buy the ‘angel’ story!
But she looked so damned angelic, he acknowledged impatiently, sitting there on the edge of the armchair, her hands neatly folded together, green eyes looking up at him so candidly.
‘And don’t give me that story about angels again,’ he rasped impatiently. ‘It may have impressed the children, but I’m way past believing in Father Christmas, the Tooth Fairy—and angels!’
‘How sad,’ she said again, looking as genuinely concerned as she had when he’d told her about the death of his dog. The reason for that was quickly explained! ‘Did you know that an angel falls to earth every time someone makes that statement—?’
‘I did,’ Josh put in eagerly as the three children passed through the room on their way to get their coats. ‘I saw this film once where—’
‘I don’t believe the remark was directed at you, Josh.’ Nick spoke sternly to his youngest son.
‘Sorry,’ Josh returned brightly, completely undeterred. ‘Will we be going out soon, Beth?’ His young face was alight with excitement. ‘I haven’t got my sledge here with me, but I suppose we could—’
‘Josh!’ Nick thundered impatiently. ‘None of you are going anywhere, with or without a sledge, until Miss—Beth and I have finished our conversation. So the sooner the three of you leave the room, the sooner we can do exactly that,’ he added as Josh looked ready to come back with yet another retort.
He watched with raised brows as the three children filed off, their expressions disappointed, into the bedrooms they ha
d been allocated for their stay, knowing that he had once again made himself unpopular. Oh, well, it was far from the first time, he acknowledged ruefully.
He turned back to Beth as soon as they were alone again. ‘And the first thing we have to get straight is that if you do stay on here to look after the children, I do not want you adding to this nonsense about angels. As far as I can tell, Jamie and Josh seem to have filled their heads with rubbish they’ve seen on one television programme or another, and an adult adding to that is unacceptable.’
He shook his head disgustedly, knowing that he was probably only impatient with the situation because he knew he should have played a more active role in the boys’ lives these last few years than he had. ‘So any further talk about angels and—What’s this?’ He frowned as Beth held out a card she seemed to have produced from one of the pockets in her denims—denims which clung to the shapely bottom he had taken such an interest in earlier.
He took the card from her hand, looking down at it uncomprehendingly. It read simply ‘Heavenly Angels’, with an accompanying telephone number underneath. What the hell—?
‘Mr Fairfax was the one to ask for help, Mr Rafferty,’ the young woman supplied. ‘He was worried about his wife and the children, and obviously yourself, and he called Heavenly Angels for help—’
‘You’re an agency,’ Nick suddenly realised with satisfaction, his expression lightening as he tapped the card in his hand. ‘An agency sent you,’ he added with some relief. Somehow, he realised, amongst all the other worries that had beset him the last twenty-four hours, Robert had found the time to contact an agency to get someone to come and help him with the children.
He wasn’t losing his mind after all. He had known there had to be some sensible explanation for this situation. Good God—angels! Ridiculous!
CHAPTER FIVE
BETHANY watched him as the differing emotions flickered across his face. She had seen the self-doubt, the puzzlement, then the relief as he’d read the card she had given him. And then she saw the self-derision.
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