The British Billionaire's Baby

by Cristina Grenier

  He had only just begun when his new phone rang.

  Groaning, Sebastian picked it up to answer with as much civility as he could manage. “Hello, mother.”

  “Sebastian! We’re packing to come down to London now! We can’t wait to meet her!”

  He cringed. “Mother, it's hardly been two days since she arrived. Gabrielle’s exhausted. The pregnancy’s taking a lot out of her. Can’t it wait a few weeks?”

  “Darling, you can hardly keep us away! This is our new daughter-in-law! I do wish you would have mentioned something before. This shotgun marriage does have the media in a frenzy and – "

  “Mum, I told you that we wanted to keep it a secret. She doesn’t like to be in the spotlight. We kept the ceremony discreet for her comfort. She’s not like…British women of breeding.”

  “Oh, American girls. They are quite odd. We shall get her used to our lifestyle soon enough. By the way, darling, your father has been talking schools. I was thinking either Winchester or Eton. We could at the very least settle for Abington, but that’s only a worst case scenario-”

  “Mother, hold on a moment. Slow down. What on earth are you talking about?” His head was fairly spinning at the rate she spoke.

  “Why, prep schools for the baby! Those options are only for a boy, of course. I rather think Wycombe Abbey is the only acceptable option for a girl, how about you?”

  “I’ve…I’ve hardly given it thought.” He was too caught off guard to lie. They didn’t even know the sex of the child yet and already his mother was planning out its education? It was a bit much.

  “Well, darling, you absolutely must. I’ll bring the brochures with us. We’ll see you in a few days!” When the line went dead, Sebastian was still staring at the receiver, nonplussed. He could see that keeping up this charade was going to be harder than he thought. It was difficult enough handling his mother on his own – and he’d known her his entire life.

  Putting Gabby under her microscope was bound to end in disaster. The only thing he could do was dig in and hope that he could prepare her enough in time. There was a lot of work to be done.

  Tossing his phone onto his desk, he crossed his study to pour himself a drought of whiskey. He’d lost all interests in investments for the moment. What he needed was an outlet for his frustration. He reached for the intercom to buzz Amir.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Meet me in the gymnasium in ten minutes.”

  “Of course, sir. Shall I bring the body armor?”

  “Not this time.” Sebastian sighed. “I should like to go barehanded. No weapons.”

  “As you like, sir.”

  It was going to be a long, long nine months.

  **

  Duchess Amelia Hunter of Raithwithe sat at her impeccably polished parlor table, sipping her afternoon tea. As she took a delicate bite of a biscuit, she scanned the paper from that morning. The headline was, of course, about Sebastian’s mysterious new bride, along with a blurry picture captured by a bolder member of the media.

  Of course, she was darker skinned. Trust Sebastian to choose something outside of the box. As many times as she’d urged the boy to consider marriage, she had never imagined he might be rebuffing her because he was already in love. While she liked Sebastian to believe he had his share of secrets, she always found out about them one way or the other. She hadn’t heard anything about this girl until the news of their wedding had reached her.

  Gabrielle Arnold – daughter to recently deceased oil baron Don Arnold – she might have heard his name somewhere in passing. The girl was moneyed at least. That almost made up for her ethnicity and the speed with which she’d been found pregnant after marrying Amelia’s son. While the elder woman might be pushing seventy, she wasn’t stupid. She was sure the baby had been a precursor to the wedding.

  Still, she supposed it didn’t really matter, so long as Sebastian produced a viable heir to the title. In any event, she would be headed down to London the next day despite his protests to meet the girl and measure her mettle. It took a lot more than good looks to stay afloat in British society, and Amelia would accept nothing less than perfection from anyone wishing to join her family. She’d already taken the liberty of beginning to apply to some of the most exclusive schools and programs for her developing grandchild. Though he or she might have American blood, they would have British schooling and a proper British upbringing, Amelia would see to that. The last thing she needed was to see one of her relations in some ridiculous American tabloid, pumped full of the newest illegal drug or relieving themselves in a public place.

  No, her grandchild would remain well within her reach, thank you very much; and the sooner Ms. Arnold came to realize that Amelia’s iron hold on her family was absolute, the better things would be for them all.

  “Lady Hunter?”

  She looked up to see Matilde, the cook, extending the plates she’d selected for tonight’s dinner party. “These are the settings you requested, yes?”

  While the woman was excellent in the kitchen, Amelia did hate to repeat herself when she gave instructions. She’d told Matilde about the plates almost a week ago. “Heavens, yes, Matilde. Those are the ones, and do make sure you don’t break any of them. There are exactly twenty and we’re to have twenty guests.”

  “Of course, Ma’am.” Matilde inclined her head, her expression respectfully neutral.

  “And bring me some more biscuits, please. I’ve run out.”

  “Right away, Ma’am.” Matilde made a discreet exit from the room and immediately, Amelia’s mouth twisted into a decidedly unladylike sneer. Good help was so hard to find these days. Matilde was only a year away from getting the papers that would make her a British citizen and Amelia had no problem reminding her of it every time she crossed her.

  Smoothing out the paper on her lap, she took another look at the blurry image of her new daughter in law. She was certainly looking forward to meeting her – and discovering what trickery she had pulled to win her son’s heart.

  **

  “Gabby?”

  The shape was perfect. It needed a bit more of an edge perhaps, but she had barely begun to add all the colors she wanted. What it needed now was a bit of a flair. Some blue – some neon green, perhaps

  “Gabby!” She’d had her first appointment with the doctor yesterday, and though she’d been somewhat embarrassed to bare her body in front of Sebastian for the first time since they’d slept together, she had to keep up appearances. All of her trepidations had faded, however, the moment she’d seen the tiny, blurry blip on the ultrasound monitor. At a mere six weeks, the fetus was barely visible, but they could hear the baby’s fluttering heartbeat and the sound had taken Gabby’s breath away.

  Life.

  They had created life.

  It might not have been intentional, but there it was – something beautiful from nothing. She’d in no way, shape or form been prepared for how much the sight would move her. She’d read all the information provided by Doctor Miller in New York and was taking the vitamins she’d been prescribed, but the reality of her situation hit her for the first time when she saw that amorphous little blob.

  She was going to be a mother. And, perhaps, that wasn’t the worst thing in the cosmos.

  More amazing, even, than the warmth in her own heart had been the expression she’d caught on Sebastian’s face. While he’d seemed unsure when they’d entered the examination room – even uncomfortable– all that discomfort had faded away the moment he’d heard their child’s heartbeat.

  The awed expression on his face had said more than words could ever convey, and as he’d stared at the screen, utterly transfixed, Gabby had felt her stomach clench in a sudden, almost painful desire for him. It was easier said than done, to sleep in the same bed with the man – to hear his deep, even breathing and feel his warmth without remembering the taste of his kiss and the mastery of his hands.

  It was he who had made this deal and yes, they were only pretending to be in love,
but it was evident that they both felt something very real for the child they had created; and so it was a relief to find that it was developing perfectly healthily, even at this early stage.

  Now that she had mastered her morning sickness, the baby growing with her seemed to give her new inspiration. She’d woken this morning bursting at the seams and had hurried to her studio in a horrendous nightgown – one of her thrift store purchases. She’d purposefully bought everything in awful granny style two sizes too big. That would teach Earl Sebastian Hunter III to tell her how to dress.

  However, even with her terrible clothes, she could swore she sometimes still caught the man staring at her, desire hot in his eyes.

  “Christ, woman. I’ve been looking for you for ages.” She barely looked up when Sebastian stepped into her studio – and so she didn’t see his horrified expression. “Gabrielle, what on earth are you wearing?”

  She glanced back at him as she dipped a small brush into a bit of green paint. “It’s just an old nightgown. The paint gives it some character, at least.”

  Sebastian groaned loudly, drawing his hands down his face. “I could give a damn about the bloody nightgown. My mother will be here within the hour and you’re…well, look at you!”

  Immediately, Gabby’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

  She’d been so excited about her new piece that she’d forgotten that she was supposed to be meeting the Duke and Duchess of Raithwithe today. It was only the event Sebastian had painstakingly coached her on for a week – and though she’d fought him all the way, she wasn’t stubborn enough to take for granted that in order to keep up their little ruse, they had to fool his parents.

  And she in a paint-splattered nightgown with her hair in disarray wasn’t exactly going to cut it. She immediately tossed her brush and palette onto the table, rushing for the stairs. ‘Where on earth are you going?” Sebastian shouted after her.

  “Shower!”

  She wove her way through the manor, bypassing several servants to streak into the master suite. Dropping her nightgown on the floor as she went, she made it to the immense tiled bathroom to turn on the shower, waiting impatiently for it to warm. The moment it did, she dove inside, frantically scrubbing to remove the paint from her hair.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” The epithet left her in a low litany as she scrubbed her scalp raw. Now she was begging to realize the silly vindictiveness of her ridiculous thrift-store buying spree. She should have used what little money she had to buy a few tasteful, versatile pieces. Instead, all she had now was a closet full of sweats and mid-life crisis wear. There was nothing at all suitable to meet a Duchess in – unless you counted her Estelle’s exhibition dress, and she was willing to bet the few pregnancy pounds she’d put on excluded that as a viable option.

  She was utterly screwed.

  It took her about twenty minutes to properly remove the paint from all her cracks and crevasses, and she merely had a heart attack when she stepped from the tower to be greeted by the sight of Sebastian waiting patiently for her. A high sound of surprised escaped her as she grabbed for a towel, her face flaming. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Relax.” She would have had to have been blind not to see the few seconds heat that rose to his gaze before he extended to her an elegant black garment bag dangling from a hanger. She didn’t recognize the name brand, but she knew it was expensive. It smelled ever so faintly of rich perfume and velvet. “I’ve only brought this for you. It was a bit last moment, but they were the only shop that would deliver on such short notice.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes fairly popped from her head. “They delivered? A dress?”

  “Go ahead and try it on. I believe I got the size right but I can’t be sure.” His gaze became slightly accusing as it slid over her towel clad form. “After all, I’m hardly familiar with your body.”

  Gabby snatched the bag from him, storming into the closet to slam the door behind her. As always, she was momentarily awed by a room the size of her apartment in Harlem – and just for clothes. One side was supposed to be hers, but it stood near empty, while the opposite was filled with Prada suits and tailor made coats.

  Skeptically, Gabrielle unzipped the bag and inhaled sharply. Inside it was a cream colored peplum dress that she could immediately tell was her exact size. The fabric was soft wool and it was exquisitely cut. One look at the price tag had her eyes the size of saucers. She couldn’t possibly accept this.

  However…if she came out wearing one of her atrocious thrift store concoctions, Sebastian would likely strip her bare and force her into the damn thing. It was hard to admit how tempting the idea was…even weeks after their first and only encounter, she sometimes woke up with her thighs slick from the intensity of the memories.

  Quickly, she shimmied into the dress, lamenting that in a few months it would almost certainly be too small. The garment fit her beautifully, and when she zipped it up, she found she felt almost as regal as she supposedly was. Her hair still hung lank and damp about her shoulders, and she had no idea where she was going to find shoes, but at least now she didn’t look totally out of place.

  When she stepped from the closet, a cry of delight tore from her throat. Standing at Sebastian’s side was none other than Tristan, clutching an unmarked black paper bag. Though it had only been a week since she’d seen him, it felt like an eternity. She never felt more alone than when she was curled up next to Sebastian in his immense four poster bed. “Tristan!”

  She rushed into his arms, laughing happily as he lifted her from her feet with an affectionate squeeze. “It’s lovely to see you too, sweetheart. Please tell me you’ve been enjoying yourself just the slightest bit? London is so very fabulous.”

  As he set her down, Gabby frowned, shooting Sebastian a dirty look. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been inside all week studying my Ps and Qs to meet the Duchess.”

  “Who I might remind you, will be here in-” Sebastian checked his Cartier watch obtrusively. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Well, thank God you called me.” Tristan spared the man a long-suffering glance. “This dress is gorgeous but there’s still a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Here.” He extended his black bag to her. “Put these on. We’ve got to do something about this hair – and please tell me you brought some makeup.”

  The shoes in the bag turned out to be nude silk pumps, and though Gabby grimaced at the height of the heel, she put them on without complaint. This was for the baby, she reminded herself, the baby.

  Somehow, Tristan managed to work his magic with her hair, sweeping the lank locks into a neat chignon at the base of her neck before applying the slightest bit of mascara and lipstick. “No need to overdo it,” He cited. “Let your natural beauty shine through.”

  By the time he was finished, Gabby was shaking her head as she stared at herself in the mirror. To strangers, she would doubt look the perfect part of a moneyed countess. Her dress was elegantly cut and oozed class, with the absence of a single paint splotch lent her a tidiness she thought she’d never see again.

  No sooner had the man finished than the front bell rang and Gabby’s heart began to pound. “I’ll just slip out the back door, shall I?” Tristan gave her another brief squeeze. “You look lovely, darling, you’ll do fine.” With that, he slipped discreetly from the room, leaving her alone with Sebastian.

  The earl was gazing down at her with no small amount of appreciation and after a moment, he extended his hand to her. “Are you ready?”

  Gabrielle took a deep breath before taking his offered fingers. The effect was electric, zinging through her the moment they touched. Sebastian tugged her closer to him before taking a liberty that surprised her - rubbing the palm of his free hand over her belly gently, almost reverently. “Well, then…it’s time to put on a show.”

  CHAPTER 6 – Lady Amelia

  “Sebastian, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

  The Duchess of Raithswithe was everything Gabby had imagined she’d
be and more. The woman had to be close to seventy but she didn’t look a day over fifty, filling out the flattering navy shift she wore well. A large straw sunhat accompanied the ensemble, and she wore a Burberry bag and sunglasses. The very air around her exuded poise and power, and on her arm she carried a very tiny and pissed-off looking poodle.

  Compared to her, her husband, the Duke, was fairly boring. Balding and milk-eyed, the man leaned on a cane as he followed in his wife’s footsteps, clad in a brown wool suit. He stood a head taller than the Duchess in her heels and followed her like a dutiful puppy.

  “How was New York?” The Duchess continued to gush as she folded her son into a stiff hug around her growling dog. “Oh, you don’t even need to tell me you had a good time. You’ve gotten married! And let me take a look at my new daughter!”

  When the woman turned to her, Gabrielle felt distinctly like a minnow in the last moment before it was devoured by a barracuda. Though Amelia Hunter’s tone was warm, her gaze was like ice – cold, calculating, and sharp.

  She took Gabby into her firm grip, air-kissing either of her cheeks with stiff formality. Behind her, a string of servants carried in a bevy of trunks, and Gabby’s heart sank even further. Exactly how long were these people planning on staying? “I-I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Raithwithe.” She managed to remember the greeting Sebastian had drilled into her and even dipped a passable curtsy.

  “So polite!” Amelia tittered in a high and utterly false tone. “You hardly need to be shy! You’re family now, dear. She is a lovely thing, Sebastian.” Amelia pinched Gabrielle’s arm in a manner that had her biting back a pained whimper. “So robust and…exotic.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but Gabby thought that might be the British High society equivalent of a racial slur. The woman obviously wasn’t too thrilled to have a daughter in law of color, and even all her fancy breeding couldn’t hide the fact. Gabrielle was relieved when the woman flitted away from her and back towards her son, who had a plastic smile fixed on his place.