Lottie peered at him. ‘You sound like my papa.’
‘Yes, your papa is my friend. We knew each other when we were small, like you.’
Liberty balanced Lottie on her hip as she opened the fridge. ‘Lottie couldn’t sleep so we’re going to make hot milk and read another story, then go back to bed.’
‘Here, let me help,’ said Alex, and took the milk bottle from her. ‘Lottie, which cup should we use?’
Under the child’s instructions, he poured the milk into her favourite cup and heated it. They carried it through to the lounge and Liberty and Alex exchanged a secret smile while she drank. Liberty read her a short story, then took her back to bed.
But Lottie began to cry. ‘I want Papa, I want Mummy!’
‘They’ll be home soon, honey. Go to sleep and when you wake up they might be home.’
‘I want them home now!’
The little girl became more and more agitated, so Liberty picked her up and rocked her. She paced up and down the landing, trying to soothe her. Lottie had never been upset like this before, and Liberty hated to see her in such a state. She didn’t want to let Natasha and Luc down, either. Natasha had enough on her plate without coming home to an exhausted child.
‘Let me help.’
She turned. Alex was standing in the doorway. He held his arms out to take the little girl, and spoke to her in French. ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est qu’ça? Je croyais que t’étais une grande fille.’
Lottie nodded and sniffed. ‘I am a big girl.’
‘Alors, si on s’arrêtait de pleurer, hein?’ He began to sing quietly in French, and her eyes became so round with astonishment that Liberty couldn’t help but smile. Lottie stared at him for a long while, then stuck her thumb into her mouth and leaned her head against his shoulder.
He winked at Liberty, and as he carried Lottie back to her bed, where he sat and cradled her, Liberty tiptoed away. From downstairs she heard him talking quietly to her for a long while, then the baby monitor became silent and the stairs creaked as he came back down.
‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ she said, when he came into the lounge. She put her sewing down.
‘We’ll see if it lasts.’
‘She sounded so surprised when you spoke French to her.’
‘Yes. Most girls like that.’ His eyes gleamed in the low lighting.
Her heart skipped a beat and she looked away quickly. He sat down on the sofa beside her. Natasha’s lounge was smaller than her own at Damselfly Cottage, and it felt intimate. Or maybe that was her imagination. She picked up her sewing again and tried to turn her attention away from him. But it wasn’t easy. She was aware of how his white shirt was stretched across his solid shoulders, aware of his masculine scent. He jabbed a hand through his hair and leaned back, one foot casually rested on his knee.
‘Any news about the baby?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. I hope Nat’s okay.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
She shivered despite the throw she’d draped around her shoulders.
‘Shall I light the fire?’ he asked.
‘It’s okay.’ She finished a row of stitching and snipped the thread. But she couldn’t muster the energy to pick up another strip, so she laid the sewing aside and hugged the throw tighter. ‘You can go if you like. You’ve done your good deed for the day. Lottie and I will be fine now.’
‘She might wake again.’
‘I can handle it. Not as well as you, obviously – I can’t sing lullabies in French – but I’ll manage.’
‘I’ll stay.’ He got up and began to stack wood in the hearth.
Silence filled the room, and she wondered why he’d come to the ball when he’d been so adamant he wouldn’t. What had made him change his mind? Her eyelids felt so heavy. The late hour was catching up with her and she was desperate to close her eyes and go to sleep.
Once the fire was lit, he sat down again.
‘So how did you get so good at dealing with a screaming child?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t know I was.’ He threw her a crooked smile. ‘I think speaking French just made her think of Luc. She was probably exhausted to start with so anything would have soothed her.’
Liberty picked a loose thread off her lap and rolled it into a tiny ball. The sound of logs crackling made her feel warmer already, but she couldn’t relax. Not with Alex around, their angry words from earlier still going round in her head.
‘I remember now,’ said Alex. ‘My mother used to rock me to sleep. She’d sing the lullaby I just sang for Lottie.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘And when my brothers came along she had her hands full so I used to help with them. I guess that’s why I still know the words.’
‘Are you close?’
‘What?’
‘You, your mum and your brothers.’
He tilted his head to consider this. ‘Yes. I suppose we are.’
The baby monitor stayed silent, but Liberty kept her voice low for fear of disturbing Lottie. ‘When I was little I used to be jealous of families like yours.’
He turned to look at her. ‘Why?’
‘Because I was an only child. It was just me and Mum. I would have loved to have lots of siblings like you.’
‘We all want what we don’t have. I wanted a boring father with a dull office job. Someone who wasn’t famous or rich and was always home.’
His rueful smile made his eyes crease, and it was disarming. Heat pooled in her middle.
She laughed softly and pulled the throw tighter, as if it could protect her against what she was feeling. But she knew it couldn’t. The slow wind of desire was only growing stronger.
Chapter Sixteen
Alex wanted to kiss her.
His gaze slid to her long legs, slender ankles. She’d slipped her heels off and was barefoot, her toenails painted a deep plum. He watched as she hugged the throw tighter. She was still cold, and he wanted to draw her to him, hold her close, share body heat.
But he mustn’t. Knowing all he did about her, it wouldn’t be fair, and his conscience wouldn’t let him. Still, desire held him in its grip.
‘How old are your brothers?’ she asked.
‘Thirty-two and thirty.’
‘Do they like motorcycle racing too?’
‘They hate it – both of them. One is a teacher and the other works with computers.’
‘Do you see them often?’
‘When I can.’ He’d be able to see them more now, he thought, remembering what Jake had told him about focusing on what he had, rather than what he’d lost, and his spirits lifted at the prospect of spending more time with his baby nephew.
The cottage was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire. They both watched the flames dance and arch against each other. The warm lighting made Liberty’s hair glow, and her skin looked even softer than normal. Silence stretched. Their conversation at the ball had unravelled so badly. He wished he’d stayed at home tonight, like he’d said he would.
Liberty yawned. It was getting late and the fact that she didn’t even have the energy to sew told him she was tired. But their angry words hung over him, so he decided to say what was really on his mind. ‘How was your evening with Mr Bland?’
‘Don’t call him that!’ Her brows knitted together in an angry scowl. ‘His name’s Ethan. And he’s fine.’
‘Did he enjoy the ball?’
‘Yes. I think so.’ Her tone was defiant. Fiery.
‘He left early.’
She was clearly surprised he’d noticed. ‘He has something on in the morning. A hike.’ She rubbed one foot with the other.
He asked gently, ‘You’re disappointed?’
‘What?’
‘That he didn’t stay. Were you hoping he’d go home with you?’ He was careful not to sound combative, but as her cheeks bloomed the colour of cranberries he half expected her to tell him to mind his own business again. He shifted uncomfortably, irritated that she was hung up on Mr Bland. He wished she’d see that she
could do better.
He also wished he’d stop interfering in her life.
Why didn’t he?
Because living together made it difficult not to observe at close hand the mistake she was making. At least, that was what he told himself.
But to his surprise, she admitted quietly, ‘No.’
He stared at her. A log hissed and cracked. A flame leaped, then shrank back.
‘You were right,’ she went on. ‘Earlier.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t feel anything for Ethan.’
A wave of euphoria rushed through him. But he checked it immediately. It was simply relief, he told himself, because she was being honest with herself at last.
‘But I wanted to,’ she went on. ‘I really wanted to.’ A weak smile pulled at her lips, and her eyes were dark with sadness.
He felt a tug. ‘Be patient. The right man will come along eventually.’
‘No, he won’t. Not in Willowbrook, anyway. No one new ever comes here – well, apart from you, obviously.’
The baby monitor lit up as Lottie stirred. She murmured something unintelligible and made a snuffling noise, then it went quiet again.
‘And I’m tired of waiting anyway,’ Liberty went on. ‘I’m so envious of Natasha and Luc. I can’t wait to have a family of my own.’
He admired her honesty. How could she say she wasn’t brave when she was so open about her feelings? He hated discussing – or even thinking about – emotions. Analysing race times, bends and overtakes was much more his thing.
And yet this evening had been all about emotion.
When she’d come into the kitchen, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, his breath had caught. When he’d arrived at the ball and spotted her with the blond guy, heads bent in intimate conversation. When he’d confronted her and she’d flashed fire at him. When he’d heard her sing, and the room applauded her and she was visibly astonished and delighted. And then here at Poppy Cottage, the closeness of being alone together now. The emotion had been building all night and now he sensed he’d reached a journey’s end, a destination he’d been searching for.
But he didn’t do intimacy with anyone – especially not Liberty McKenzie.
‘I wish I could be more patient,’ she went on. ‘I wish I could just wait, like you say, for the right man to come along, but it’s as if someone set a timer when I turned thirty and now I can hear it ticking, counting down every day.’ She sighed. ‘You probably think I’m mad, don’t you?’
The throw had slipped while she’d been talking and his gaze dipped to the creamy skin of her throat, pale and flawless. He found it difficult to concentrate. ‘I don’t think that. My brother couldn’t wait to have children either. I’m the one who’s unusual.’
‘You don’t want a family at all? Ever?’
He shook his head.
‘Why not? You won’t be travelling so much now you’re not racing.’
Solange’s stricken expression flashed up in his mind. ‘I’m not the settling type.’
‘What about when you get older? Won’t you be lonely?’
A tiny shiver touched the back of his neck. Alone was how he’d chosen to live. It was better this way.
Yet it had been a lot easier when he’d had a career. Alone on a bike or on a podium or celebrating with his team was very different from being alone with no career, no future, no purpose. But he’d have to get used to it, because he refused to let anyone get close to him. Memories of his father’s infidelities splashed across the tabloids flashed up in his mind, like a red flag. His mother’s pain and humiliation.
‘I might,’ he said. ‘But I’m willing to take that risk.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Why? You might find someone who enjoys travelling as much as you do.’
In the fireplace a piece of charred wood broke off, and ash crumbled down into the grate. Alex stared at the flames. ‘It’s not just about the travelling.’
She waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she asked, ‘What is it about, then?’
He sighed, wishing he’d kept quiet. She didn’t need to know any of this. He didn’t want to tell her. He was a private person, not given to reflecting on these matters, never mind discussing them with others. Yet, for some reason, he felt he owed her an explanation.
‘I’ve told you about my father, haven’t I?’
‘A little.’
‘How he was unfaithful, never around for us. He made my mother suffer.’
She frowned. ‘What does that have to do with you dating?’
‘I am a lot like him.’
In the golden glow of the fire her lips looked full and dark. She paused before asking, ‘What do you mean?’
‘My appearance, my love of racing, of speed. There are many similarities.’
He felt her study him for a long moment. Then, ‘I don’t understand. So you both loved racing – what does that have to do with not wanting to settle down?’
He breathed in and realised he’d never spoken the words aloud. ‘I’m scared I’m like him in other ways too. That if I was in a relationship I’d behave like him – get bored, leave. I have no desire to hurt someone the way he hurt my mother.’
Like Alex had hurt Solange.
‘But that’s ridiculous. Just because you like racing doesn’t mean you’re—’
‘I did it already.’
She stared at him, puzzled. ‘You did what?’
‘I hurt someone. She didn’t deserve it.’
Silence stretched for what seemed like minutes. The house held its breath.
‘You were unfaithful?’
Guilt clung to him. What he’d done was just as bad. ‘No. I … let her down.’
Memories filled his mind of all the excited plans Solange had made and the mounting pressure that had piled on him. The fear. Dread. Until one day he couldn’t carry on and he’d ended it. The pain in her face would always stay with him.
Liberty waited expectantly for him to continue, but he clamped his lips together. He didn’t want to go there.
‘So because you had one bad experience, you’re never going to have another relationship? Maybe she simply wasn’t the right woman for you.’
He threw her a dark look. ‘I’m not cut out for commitment, so I don’t make promises I can’t keep.’
‘But how can you know if you don’t try?’
‘You asked why I don’t do relationships and I told you,’ he said impatiently.
‘But it sounds like—’
‘Can we change the subject?’ There was a pounding in his temple.
Hurt flickered in her eyes.
‘Lib, I’m sorry.’ He sighed, annoyed with himself for snapping. He didn’t like talking about his emotional life. Let’s face it, he wasn’t used to it because he hadn’t had an emotional life for so long.
‘You don’t like to talk about your own life, yet you interfere in mine. Why?’ Her beautiful eyes held his gaze.
Good question. He frowned. ‘Because I … I care.’ There was a pause. ‘About you.’
Since they’d been snowed in together things had changed. Now he saw her vulnerabilities as clearly as her flaws and her strengths. And he felt protective. He wanted to look out for her. He didn’t know why, he couldn’t understand it, but that was how he felt.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t need you to care for me, Alex. I’ve looked after myself perfectly well for the last thirty years.’
He thought of her best friend in hospital, her cottage alone in the woods, and her rigid, solitary routine of dog-walking and sewing, and he opened his mouth to speak – but she got up.
‘I’m going to try to get some sleep now,’ she said briskly. ‘Natasha told me Lottie’s always up with the lark so I’ll need to be ready.’
She delved into the bag he’d brought, pulling out her pyjamas and dressing-gown. He glanced at his watch. It was three a.m.
‘Where are you sleeping?’ he asked.
‘Here. On the sofa.�
�
He nodded and slipped quietly upstairs, returning with a couple of blankets.
‘Thanks,’ she said, as he handed her one.
‘I checked on Lottie and she’s sound asleep,’ he assured her, and laid the other blanket on the floor with a cushion for a pillow.
Liberty frowned. ‘What are you doing? Aren’t you going home?’
‘I thought I’d stay here, if that’s okay? It’s late, and you might need a hand in the morning. How are you going to shower, for example, with Lottie around? I can help you.’
She bit her lip as if that hadn’t occurred to her. She glanced up at the ceiling and he read her mind: she was wondering if she could sleep on Natasha’s bed without actually getting into it.
‘If Luc comes home in the night he’ll need to sleep. I expect he’ll be exhausted. Best if we stay down here.’
‘What about Charlie?’
‘I took him out before I came to the ball. I can nip back to Dragonfly Cottage in the morning, if necessary.’
‘Damselfly,’ she corrected. There was a long silence. Then she nodded. ‘Okay.’
She left the room and came back a few minutes later wearing pyjamas and pulling the belt of her dressing-gown tight. When she saw he’d stripped down to his jeans her cheeks flushed but she didn’t comment. He pulled the blanket over himself and told her, ‘Bonne nuit.’
She switched off the light in the lounge and they settled down to sleep.
In the darkness he listened to her quiet breathing and smiled to himself as he thought about her confession that she didn’t feel anything for Mr Bland. It made him sing inside.
Yet he knew he was not the man for her. Her body clock was ticking so loudly it was deafening. He turned onto his side with his back to her. Be honest, Ricard. You want her. You want to hold her, run your hands over her milk-white skin, bury your face in her hair and lose yourself in—
He sighed, despairing at himself. Every conversation with her only emphasised how wrong for each other they were.
Yet his body wouldn’t listen to reason, and the more time he spent with her, the closer he wanted to be to her. The closer he felt.
Liberty woke with a sharp intake of breath and it took her a few seconds to work out why she was curled up on a sofa with the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of a man’s steady breathing.
A Winter's Dream Page 23