The Heiress's Secret Baby

by Jessica Gilmore

  Rolling her eyes, Polly got up and picked up her bags. ‘You have a hat to keep you dry. Honestly, Gabe, you’re not going to last five minutes in England if you can’t cope with a bit of rain.’

  ‘A bit? Not a problem. This nasty drizzle...’ his accent elongated the word contemptuously ‘...it’s not natural. I can’t understand why the Normans didn’t just turn straight around and go home as soon as they landed and saw the sky.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Polly began to walk away from the house, across the wet lawns and towards a small path covered in wood chippings that led through the cluster of trees. ‘Romans, Vikings, Normans—rainy or not we’re still quite the prize.’

  Apart from a disbelieving snort Gabe didn’t reply and they walked towards the woods in a companionable silence. After a moment Gabe reached across and took the carrier bags from her. Polly froze for a moment and then loosened her fingers and allowed him to relieve her of her load.

  They wandered along for a few more moments, the air heavy with the promise of summer rain. Polly inhaled, enjoying the freshness of the countryside; the heady scent of wet leaves mixed with the damp earth and sawdust from the path.

  They rounded a corner and the trees came to an abrupt end; in front of them a pretty ornamental lake stretched ahead, the path skirting the edge.

  ‘Okay, Mr Spontaneity, right or left?’

  ‘What is that?’ Gabe sounded startled. ‘Have we stumbled onto the set of a horror film?’

  Polly followed his disbelieving gaze and saw a dark grey stone tower perched on the edge of the lake, the jagged edge of the spire reaching up into the sky.

  ‘It’s a folly. You know...’ as he looked at her in query ‘...a couple of centuries ago it was the craze to build some kind of gothic ruin in a picturesque place. Around the time you were chopping aristocrats’ heads off.’

  ‘This is exactly why we were chopping off heads, if they squandered money on such crazy projects.’

  ‘Hence the name. Want to take a look? There might be a princess for you to rescue at the top, or a prince in need of my knightly skills.’

  It only took a few minutes to reach the base of the tower and Polly stood on tiptoe trying to get a look inside but the narrow slits that passed for ground-floor windows were set too high. ‘Where’s the door?’

  Gabe had wandered off around to the other side. ‘Here. Are you sure you want to risk it? You might disappear, never to be seen again, kidnapped to be the bride of a headless horseman.’

  Polly joined him by the heavy oak door, the hinges exaggerated iron studs. ‘Is it locked?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’ Gabe grasped the heavy iron ring and turned it and, with a creak so loud Polly jumped, the door swung open.

  ‘Ready? It looks dark in there.’

  ‘So you are scared of ghosts?’ she teased.

  ‘Non, not ghosts. Spiders and rats on the other hand I am not so keen on.’

  Rats? Polly shuddered, an involuntary movement of complete horror. She edged back. ‘You think there are rats?’

  ‘Hundreds. And cockroaches too,’ he added helpfully.

  Polly glared at him. ‘Move aside, I’m going in.’

  With an exaggerated bow Gabe stood aside, allowing her to precede him into the room.

  ‘There are no stairs, how disappointing. Definitely no stranded royalty for us to rescue.’ Polly swivelled slowly, taking in the large circular room paved in grey flagstones, the steep sides rising all the way up to the pointed tip of the tower. There were no other floors but it was mercifully dry. And free of any evidence of rat infestations.

  ‘I still don’t understand. What is it for?’ Gabe had followed her in.

  Polly flung her arms open as she turned. ‘Probably somewhere for illicit trysts.’

  ‘Ah, for the nobleman to meet the maid.’ He leant back against the wall of the tower, arms crossed, face full of amusement, the hat still tilted back on his head giving him a rakish air.

  Polly tilted her chin and stared up at the windows and considered. ‘Or for the lady of the house to meet the gamekeeper. Or maybe the stable boy.’

  She looked across at Gabe to share the joke but he had gone still, his gaze focused intently on Polly. ‘Is that what you would have done? Snuck out to meet the gamekeeper?’

  Polly felt a jolt of heat hit the pit of her stomach as their eyes snagged and held, a flash of that first, unacknowledged attraction zipping between them.

  ‘Or the stable boy.’ Was that her voice? So husky.

  ‘Of course. What would you have done with the stable boy in this room far away from everyone and everything?’ His eyes were so dark, so intense it was hard to look into them, not to be swallowed up in their depths. Polly dropped her gaze to his mouth. Remembered how sure it had been. How demanding.

  The heat spread.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she lied, her mind filled with irresistible images of Gabe, those long legs clad in breeches, a shirt open at the neck. Her mouth dried. She could feel the heat of his gaze, scorching her where she stood, her whole body burning where it fell upon her.

  But she couldn’t move, desire humming deep in her veins, thrilling to the caress of his eyes.

  ‘Non?’ He pushed off the wall, walking towards her with sure, graceful strides. ‘You came here to talk? To touch?’ He raised one hand to her face, sliding a finger down her cheek, the lightest of embraces.

  ‘Maybe,’ she whispered.

  The memory of their earlier kiss was throbbing through her. She could taste him, feel his arms around hers, the lean strength in his hold, the deftness of his touch. He was so close. She only had to step forward, lean against him, raise her face to his.

  The desire pounded harder, her heart beating an insistent drum, every pulse point throbbing with her need to close in. To take the kiss further, explore him.

  Just one step.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Cool, it’s a castle!’

  Excitable voices outside as sudden, as shocking as the cold water she had poured on Gabe just a few days ago. As shocking, as sobering. Polly took a step back.

  ‘I think...’ She took a breath, tried to get her ragged breathing under control. ‘I’m tired. Maybe it’s time to go home.’

  Home. Sanity. Sense. There might be an undeniable attraction between them but now was not the time to act on it. Not while everything was changing, not while she was so vulnerable.

  Polly walked across the room and picked up the bags Gabe had left by the wall. Without looking back she left the tower, and left the moment behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘DO YOU WANT to go over these papers before the meeting?’

  Polly sat back in her chair and frowned as Gabe folded his long, lean frame into the chair opposite her desk. ‘Now you have your own office it would be polite if you knocked.’

  ‘Of course.’ Not that he looked in the slightest bit put out, more amused. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Want to go over the papers, of course. The board meeting is this afternoon.’

  Oh, yes. That. In just a couple of hours her grandfather, Raff and the rest of the board would be sitting in Rafferty’s renowned tearooms being suitably feasted before the meeting began.

  She was expected to attend. Polly repressed a sigh. Normally she looked forward to these occasions, the buttering-up of contacts, starting to get her case across to the more swayable board members before the official business began, working out whose vote she could count on.

  But today the usual thrill was missing; there was so much at stake; her return, Raff on the Board. Consolidating her position before she announced her news.

  ‘We could have gone over the papers last night,’ she pointed out, trying to prevent a waspis
h note from creeping into her voice.

  Of course Gabe was free to do whatever he liked; she wasn’t his landlady or wife. But surely it was plain good manners to let her know that he wasn’t going to be back that night—or even that week.

  Not that it was any of her business where he slept. As long as he looked refreshed, smart and in control for the meeting and was well prepared that was all that mattered. Whatever else he got up to—and who he got up to it with—was of no interest to Polly.

  It wasn’t jealousy that twisted her stomach as she watched him lean in that inch too close to Cordelia from Lingerie or to Amy from Accounts, those liquid brown eyes fixed soulfully on his unwitting victim, the way he murmured low and sweet. No, it was worry about an HR nightmare begging to happen. It was morning sickness.

  ‘I was working late last night,’ he said mildly. ‘Some of my best contacts are in the U.S. West Coast so it was long past closing by the time I finished getting the information I needed. It was easier to stay here—sleeping in my own office, you’ll be glad to hear.’ His smile was fleeting but intimate and Polly’s breath hitched in her throat.

  Unbidden, a memory of her first sight of him flashed through her mind, the strength in that lean body, the tattoo whose lines and curves haunted her dreams.

  ‘I don’t think our insurance covers overnight stays. You should stay in a hotel or get the town car home.’ She knew she sounded prim. That was fine; prim was good.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Another amused look, as if they were sharing a joke only known to the two of them.

  Polly inhaled, long and painful. Her heart wasn’t picking up speed. For goodness’ sake, one night of being held, of having her back rubbed and her hair stroked and she was a mushy wreck. It must be the hormones; the same ones that had her tearing up at life insurance adverts.

  ‘So, are you ready now?’ Gabe pulled out his smartphone and a USB stick.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘To go over the papers,’ he said patiently.

  ‘Oh, yes. The papers.’

  Yep. Hormones. Mush. And apparently turning her into Echo, which, she thought, looking over at the nonchalant man lounging opposite, made him Narcissus. Her eyes flickered over long legs outstretched, shirt collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up and day-old stubble; he looked more like an aftershave model than a Vice CEO.

  Well, if the Greek allegory fitted...

  Regardless, she was no sappy nymph, wafting around in hope of a smile.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ She summoned up as much poise as she could. ‘Let’s get on with this. We don’t have much time.’

  He looked at her critically, concern etched onto his face. ‘Is it the baby? Do you need to lie down?’

  ‘I’m pregnant, Gabe.’ No, the ground didn’t open up as she said the words out loud, nor did her grandfather appear in an accusatory puff of smoke. ‘I’m not ill.’

  If he heard the stiffness in her voice he didn’t react, firing more questions at her like tiny, yet intensely irritating arrows pricking away at her conscience. ‘Are you eating properly? Have you made a doctor’s appointment yet?’

  Oh, my goodness. It was like being stuck at a baby shower with no easy way of escape—only this time she hadn’t primed Rachel to call her with a prefabricated crisis after twenty minutes as she did every time she couldn’t get out of the sickly sweet events. If he even mentioned stretch marks or yoga or stitches then one of them would be headed straight out of the window. And she didn’t much care which one it was.

  ‘Look, I really appreciate what you did for me last weekend.’ There, she said it quite normally despite her urge to grind the words out through gritted teeth. ‘But this really isn’t any of your business and I would appreciate it if you just...’ She searched for a polite way to tell him to butt out. ‘Just don’t discuss it any more,’ she said a little lamely.

  He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You seem very stressed, Polly. Have you considered yoga?’

  Breathe, breathe again and again. It was no good. ‘Butt out, Gabe!’

  He put his hands up in surrender but his eyes were laughing. ‘I’m sorry. Business first. Of course.’

  ‘Good.’ But she was unsettled. What if he was right? Should she see a doctor? It was probably the first thing most women did.

  What if her independence hurt the baby? Polly clenched her fists; she wanted to reach down again, to cradle her stomach and make a silent vow to the baby that, unorthodox as its beginnings were, as much of a shock the whole thing was, she would do her best to keep it safe. Do her best to love it. But with those mocking eyes fixed on her she wouldn’t allow herself to show any signs of softening.

  ‘Hang on.’ She couldn’t look at Gabe. It felt like giving in. ‘I’m just going to call my GP. I’ll be with you as soon as I can’

  * * *

  She looked tired. Pale, drawn and thin. And vulnerable. It was a good thing he was hardened against vulnerable women.

  ‘Thanks, yes. I will.’ Her conversation at an end, Polly put down the phone and leant forward until her head touched the desk, her hands clasped in front of her. He could see the breaths shuddering through her. Slowly she straightened, pulling at the pins that held her hair in place, running her hands through the freed strands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gabe, but I need to go in right now.’ She smiled, a brief perfunctory smile that didn’t go anywhere near her eyes. ‘Perils of being a Rafferty. They like to see us early.’

  ‘Sounds like a benefit to me.’ It never ceased to amaze Gabe how those with good health took it for granted. He’d been like that once, heedless of his body and strength, unknowing what a miracle every breath, every step, every sensation was.

  ‘Daddy was so young when he had his stroke, they worry about blood pressure.’ She was gathering her papers and phone together to put into her bag. ‘I tried to put them off until tomorrow but it was easier just to agree to go in. I know we need to talk about the papers. We’ll just have to skip the board lunch.’

  ‘I could come with you. We can talk on the way, better use of both our time.’ His suggestion had nothing to do with seeing her reluctance to go, knowing how tough it must be to face so many changes alone.

  She stopped dead and stared at him. ‘You want to come to the doctor’s with me? Why ever would you want to do that? I would have thought you of all people would have had enough of anything medical.’

  ‘I’m not planning to come in with you and hold your hand, just to discuss business on the way.’

  ‘I’m walking,’ she said, almost defiantly. ‘It’s only a mile away and the sun’s out. I could do with some fresh air.’

  ‘Air sounds good,’ he agreed. ‘I missed out on a run yesterday. If you’re good I might even buy you a frozen yogurt on the way back.’

  * * *

  Rafferty’s was situated in the heart of London, not far from the bustle of Oxford Street, close to the rarefied boutiques of Bond Street. Tourists, commuters, shoppers and workers pounded the pavements in an endless throng of busy chatter and purposeful movement. There were times when Gabe would catch the scent of car exhausts, cigarettes, fried food and perfume and feel such a longing for the flower-filled air of Provence it almost choked him.

  And there were times when these crowded streets felt like home. When knowing the shortcuts, the local shops, the alleyways, the cafés and bars off the tourist track, which tube stop was next, when it was quicker to walk was instinct. It gave him a certain satisfaction, a sense of belonging.

  But Polly didn’t need to belong. She might have moved to a quiet town miles from the capital but London ran through her veins, was in her blood. It was evident in her confidence, the way she moved through the crowd, never putting a foot out of place, seamlessly blending in.

  And yet she’d chosen to leave. The city girl living in a sle
epy rural town. The defiantly single woman living in a house made for an old-fashioned family with several children and a large golden dog. What was real? Did she even know?

  ‘Do you miss London?’

  ‘I’m here every day.’

  ‘To work, not to play.’ He grinned at her, but there was no responsive smile.

  She didn’t answer for a while. ‘Everyone thought I was crazy when I moved to Hopeford—even though I bought my five-bedroom cottage for the same price as my two-bedroom flat,’ she said eventually. ‘People in their twenties come to London, they don’t leave it—they only move out when they have children, or if they want to totally reinvent themselves.’

  ‘People come to London for the same reason,’ he said, but so quietly he wasn’t sure whether or not she heard him.

  ‘I went to Hopeford on a whim,’ she said. She still wasn’t looking at him, almost talking to herself. ‘It was Sunday. I was working as usual. I lived around here, in a beautiful flat, walking distance to Rafferty’s. I worked all the time.’

  ‘You still do.’ Not that he could talk. But at least he had his training to break up the days, refresh his brain. Polly lived with her laptop switched on.

  ‘That Sunday I was in by six a.m. I couldn’t sleep. And by eleven I was done. No emails to send, no reports to read or write, no plans to check. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had all this time and no way to fill it. It was terrifying.

  ‘So I went for a walk. I was heading towards Regent’s Park, I think, planning to go to the zoo. It’s what we did as kids for a treat. Raff was already gone. Maybe I was missing him. Anyway I ended up at Marylebone. There was a train to Hopeford and I liked the name—hope. So I jumped on.’ She shook her head. ‘It felt so daring, just travelling to a strange place on a whim. And then I got there and it was like another world.’

  ‘It’s very pretty.’

  ‘And very quiet. I couldn’t believe it. No shops were open, nobody was working, people were just walking, or gardening or cooking. When you live and work in London you forget that people live like that. We sell the tools, you know, the sheets and the candles and the saucepans and the garden furniture but it feels a little like make-believe. I didn’t want it to be make-believe any more. I wanted it to be real.