Wedding-Night Baby

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘Actually, it was all very civilised. I went to London to do a business-studies course. We weren’t engaged or anything,’ she said with a detached smile, skimming sketchily over an emotional blow that had devastated her.

  ‘Everyone, including you, expected marriage,’ he observed shrewdly.

  It was peculiar, but his neutral cynicism was much easier to cope with than the understanding sympathy that had been doled out to her at the time. ‘There was an understanding,’ she agreed, switching her weight from one foot to the other and checking who was within hearing distance. It would never do to have this conversation overheard.

  She’d agreed that a ring was an extravagance when she and Alex were saving so assiduously. Strange how Harriet had managed to get a serious diamond on her finger in record time, she thought cynically. That was probably why Alex had exchanged his racy coupé for a more sedate saloon. Harriet was worth the sacrifice, it would seem.

  ‘Did you put up much of a fight? Or had you already got someone more interesting lined up? That can’t have been difficult,’ Callum said, his mind returning to this girl’s relationship with his uncle. Her rather full lips had drooped slightly. For someone who gave off such an air of wholesome sexiness her mouth was altogether more...sensual. A more accurate indication of her character? he wondered. Had her unorthodox manner of promotion been the bone of contention between lovers?

  ‘No man is worth fighting for,’ she replied, her tone ringing with grim conviction.

  Callum caught her arm and swung her out of the path of a gaggle of small pages and bridesmaids. ‘Isn’t that a rather sweeping statement?’

  ‘I prefer comprehensive and accurate.’ The arm casually draped around her waist showed no inclination to shift. Rather than make herself conspicuous, she let it stay there. She hoped her attitude showed him how totally oblivious to the near proximity she was.

  ‘After getting your fingers burnt once?’ he said incredulously. ‘Or am I to infer you have a more chequered past than that?’

  His cynical, knowing expression made her long to throttle him. ‘I know you’re bored, but I’m not about to enliven your afternoon with any juicy stories. My mother will track you down any moment and extract your vital juices,’ she said darkly and with some relish. Some people deserved her mother.

  It was irritating to have to raise her chin to look into his face. Alex was just the perfect height—especially when he’d kissed her, she recalled wistfully. What would it be like to be kissed by this man? Dry-mouthed, she allowed the thought to crystallise with clarity in her head. Swallowing with difficulty, she killed this frivolous piece of speculation and lowered her eyes, which might be less obedient than her brain.

  ‘She seems occupied at present,’ Callum observed, glancing towards the spot where Lydia stood with the middle-aged guest.

  ‘Predictably so.’ Her mother was laughing—a low, husky sound that grated on Georgina’s frayed nerves.

  ‘Do I detect criticism from the daughter? Ought you not to have grown out of the desire to view your parent as a sexless entity? I take it your father is no longer around?’

  She wriggled her hips decisively and his hands intuitively fell away from her waist. Where did he get off analysing and criticising her?

  ‘For your information my father has never been around—at least, not since I was born. He walked out on her, unable to take the strain of domesticity,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘But Mother never gives up. Her life is not complete without a man on her arm and in her bed. In a place like this the fact doesn’t pass without comment. But they all slip away eventually. Like mother, like daughter—we obviously can’t hold our men—’ Breathing hard, she stopped abruptly and bit hard on her trembling lip, appalled at what she’d just said to a total stranger.

  The unvarnished distress emanating from her was unsettling to Callum. He quashed any chivalrous instincts. He wasn’t about to let sentiment interfere with his original reason for seeking out Miss Campion. ‘Are you going to faint?’ He tried to sound unalarmed at the prospect but the violent fluctuation of her colour made him suspect the worst.

  The grin was sudden and surprising, full of self-mockery and quite unintentionally charming. ‘Throw up, more likely,’ she said frankly. ‘But don’t worry; it’s passed. I’d be grateful if you’d forget what I just said.’

  He met the direct, almost green stare squarely. ‘Your hang-ups are your business, lady,’ he drawled, his accent slightly more pronounced than usual. He touched his forehead as if saluting. The casual elegant gesture had none of the military about it.

  Her lips tightened. ‘How do you manage to make everything you say sound like a judgement? Does it ever occur to you you’re in the wrong line of work? A charming, relaxing companion was what I was promised... Instead I got the Grand Inquisitor.’

  ‘If you’re not satisfied you can always complain. I’ll probably lose my job.’ The sigh was stoical. ‘But don’t let that deter you; we live in a consumer society. There’s no place for sentiment.’

  She had to grin; he did ‘meek’ rather well. ‘Just try and look pretty and don’t say too much,’ she advised.

  ‘Sexist,’ he mumbled as they were ushered into a photo line-up.

  The top table was not where she’d hoped to find herself placed. She scented Cousin Harriet’s hand in this arrangement; she always had been less than generous in victory. A great believer in salt rubbed firmly in the wound, our dear Harriet. Still, if she sat far enough back in her seat the depth of Callum’s impressive torso gave her some defence from the sight of the happy couple. The voices were not so easy to block out.

  She’d wasted her breath telling Callum to keep his mouth in a strait-jacket. He’d been in earnest conversation with her uncle George for the past ten minutes. She couldn’t catch everything they were saying, but financial terms kept drifting in her direction. He might be a good con artist but her uncle made a very successful living as a financial advisor and it was only a matter of time before he discovered that Callum didn’t know what he was talking about.

  She picked worriedly at her fish and drank her wine faster than was advisable on an empty stomach. One ear on an elderly relative on her left, she tried to hear what Callum was saying in his rather deep voice, waiting for her uncle’s respectful expression to turn to scorn.

  Callum intercepted her sidelong glance and winked, his expression not changing as he continued to expand on his subject.

  Angrily she accepted the wine waiter’s solicitous offer of a refill and swigged it back with scant regard for an expensive vintage. He’d laugh on the other side of his face when she spoke to the agency, she thought militantly. It might be a joke to him... A lump of self-pity rose in her throat as Harriet’s laughter made her teeth clench.

  ‘Callum, dar-r-rling,’ she purred. Her nails made inroads into the hand she affectionately covered on the damask tablecloth. ‘You really mustn’t talk business. You promised,’ she added, her eyes flashing warnings. If it hurt he managed to disguise the fact remarkably well.

  With a flash of white teeth he picked up her claw-like hand and pressed it, open-palmed, to his lips. The gesture was more erotic than courtly.

  Her eyes were caught in the bold, mocking glare of his regard. The explosion of heat that flooded across her skin must have been evident to him; it was a response that appalled and disgusted her, a physical thing over which she had no control. The confusion of churning sensations in her belly was profoundly basic and instinctual and she was ashamed of being susceptible to the brazen sexuality of this man. The wine obviously had a good deal to do with this uninhibited response.

  ‘Are you feeling neglected, angel?’ The dark brows lifted, but she could see the acknowledgement in his eyes of her helpless, angry response. ‘That will never do,’ he murmured huskily, and he let his lips move once more over her hand.

  If she could have, she’d have climbed out of her skin. Her nerve-endings were on fire, screaming. Dry-mouthed, she shifted in her se
at fretfully.

  Uncle George regarded them indulgently. ‘My fault, Georgie, dear. You’ve got a sound man there,’ he said approvingly.

  This unexpected recommendation made Georgina’s fuming silence lengthen. Her uncle was not the sort of man who threw compliments around lightly. ‘You always were a sterling judge of character, Uncle George,’ she said drily. The man she loved was barely feet from her and here she was, suffering contemptible, primitive responses to a stranger. It was morally indefensible; worse still, she hadn’t had the sense to hide it.

  ‘Will you behave?’ she said in a furious undertone as she pulled her hand free.

  ‘In what particular way did you have in mind?’ he enquired with interest. He winced as girlish laughter rang out once more. ‘You know, I think you should pity that stuffed shirt of yours. He’ll have to live with that laugh for the rest of his natural. Always supposing things last that long.’

  ‘I wish them all the best,’ she observed primly.

  ‘Lying little hypocrite,’ he said conversationally. He swirled the liquid in his glass around but didn’t lift it to his lips. ‘Like all females you’re a vindictive little beast who can’t wait to see the man grovel at your feet.’

  ‘I can well believe the females in your life feel that way,’ she responded tartly. She had rehearsed the tender scene of Alex turning up begging her forgiveness once too often to look him directly in the eye. ‘I don’t find the role of plucky little victim to my taste; that’s the only reason you’re here. I have no wish to make Alex jealous, which, considering what I got for my money, is just as well.’

  The deep blue eyes narrowed to slits and his lips twisted with scornful amusement. ‘You’re comparing me unfavourably to that?’ he said with a scornful lift of his shoulders and a flickering glance in Alex’s direction.

  ‘You really do think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘My self-esteem was fairly healthy last time I looked,’ he agreed.

  ‘If I had a large pin I’d like to deflate it,’ she murmured longingly. ‘Only I’d call it ego.’

  ‘Your nose was never constructed to be looked down, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’m well aware of my physical deficiencies, thank you!’ she replied tartly. With a mother who was an acknowledged beauty she couldn’t help but be. Her nose was unremarkable, her mouth too big. She gave a small sigh. People who were obsessed with their appearance often neglected their personality, or so she often found—if they had any at all. She wasn’t about to fall into that trap.

  ‘I wouldn’t say it’s a deficiency. I’d call it kind of cute.’ The blue eyes which examined the sudden rush of colour that stained her cheeks looked remarkably guileless. ‘Say, I know today’s a real traumatic experience for you, so why don’t we forget the rotten mongrel who humiliated you and relax? The food’s good, the wine could be better but it’s plentiful, and I won’t blow your cover. Lighten up, eat, drink and dance a little. Enjoy the charming company you’ve paid for.’

  ‘Charming?’ She couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘I have a reputation to uphold,’ he told her solemnly. ‘Is it a deal?’

  The smile bordered on the irresistible, so recklessly she raised her glass and found herself agreeing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘GEORGIE, he’s absolutely gorgeous, darling. Where did you find him?’

  ‘Yellow Pages, Alice,’ she told her drooling school-friend with a grin. Callum was dancing with the bride, displaying remarkable grace and co-ordination for such a large man.

  ‘You never used to be so enigmatic,’ her friend grumbled, her eyes on Callum’s progress across the floor. ‘You even look different.’ Her eyes moved critically over her old friend’s slender figure.

  Georgina hardly heard. The man might be abominably conceited, she reflected, her eyes too on the tall figure, but he did have some reason. Controlled power, languid grace and an ability to make everyone present hang on his every word were all attributes that she privately thought could be put to better use in some other capacity than that of hired escort. He had something indefinable but potent; she had given up trying to classify him into any category she had ever come across.

  He still remained something of an enigma. Although he had, true to his word, been charming and amusing over the remainder of the meal, he had managed to learn quite a lot about her life, her work and friends whilst unobtrusively redirecting any questions about himself. Why the mystery? she wondered.

  He looked up suddenly, his dark features turning intuitively in her direction. Rather than avert her gaze and look elsewhere, she kept her eyes level and her chin square. There was enquiry, a challenge in his bold stare, transmuted as he held her eyes to stark and unadulterated desire.

  No man had ever, as far as she could recall, looked at her so brazenly before. The message in his stare was a blatant admission of desire. She had certainly never experienced this flash fire of wildly conflicting sensations. She stood stock-still, caught in the current that passed between them. She recognised that she was a victim of her own primitive cravings, but felt powerless to resist.

  With a soft word Callum extricated himself from his partner, who showed an inclination to pout, and moved purposefully across the room.

  ‘This is Alice,’ Georgina said nervously as he reached her side.

  ‘Hello, Alice. I haven’t danced with Georgina yet. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you?’ His eyes only left her face for a second. She was drawn onto the dance floor without even realising she’d relinquished her role as wallflower. ‘This day is not turning out at all as I’d expected, Miss Campion.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ she said thickly. The numbness that had hit her seconds before was slipping away to be replaced by a swamping awareness of her body and its reactions and this man, this stranger who held her, his body. She’d drunk too much. She’d been building up to this day for weeks; it was the stress, the entire cocktail of emotional havoc that was responsible for the sexual awareness that had sprung to life.

  ‘You were described to me as very efficient. I wasn’t expecting hair like glossy autumn leaves, soft, buttermilk skin and sultry lips like ripe strawberries.’

  She swallowed, frighteningly aware of how much a captive she was of the deep, resonant voice and the glittering eyes. Excitement and a totally alien exhilaration were swirling in her veins. Common sense, with which she knew she was amply endowed, told her that her bruised ego was lapping up this attention because of its traumatised state. But it was difficult to reconcile common sense with the feverish clamour of her blood. She was aware of trembling—a fact he too couldn’t have failed to notice.

  ‘Very poetic,’ she replied, injecting scorn into her voice and pulling her eyes from the magnetic tug of his gaze. ‘This really wasn’t in the job description, you know.’ She swallowed. How wrong had she been when she’d thought this man was ill-equipped to act as an escort! She’d almost disastrously forgotten that that was what he was. It was the height of stupidity to fall for a look of desire. Do I need to be wanted that much? she thought bitterly. It must be genetic!

  ’And I’m certain you made that quite clear at the outset.’ His voice held a degree of almost amused affection which made her glance up.

  ’Perhaps that’s why the agency described me as efficient.’

  ‘The agency...?’ he murmured sharply. ‘Oh, yes, the agency. I never mix business with pleasure.’ Perhaps this occasion called for a little flexibility, he told himself.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said uncertainly. God, how could she be such a fool as to fall for a slick chat-up line and blue eyes? This was superficial attraction, basic. She wished hard that she hadn’t addled her senses with all the free wine.

  ‘I’d be more than happy to be your escort on an unpaid basis.’

  She was almost sure he was teasing her and the mockery helped her fight the spell that the music, the atmosphere... and Callum were weaving. ‘I’m flattered, but you’re not the sort of
man I’d go out with.’

  Callum neatly avoided a collision with a couple who were both much the worse for the champagne. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of staying in,’ he admitted with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  The breathless sensation could not be solely attributed to the neat manoeuvre that had swung her around one hundred and eighty degrees. ‘I hardly think we’re compatible.’ She couldn’t recall ever being propositioned before so the correct response was difficult to gauge. She was almost sure he was joking and it would make her appear ridiculous if she made too much of the incident.

  ‘Strange. I’ve been getting quite different messages,’ he murmured. One hand slid down her hair, letting the heavy, silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘Could it be you’re afflicted with the great British disease of being unwilling to mingle outside your own class? Would I be a social embarrassment for an upwardly mobile career woman?’ Mild but damning contempt liberally coated his words.

  ‘Are you insinuating I’m a snob?’ she replied, registering that his scornful words identified him as probably not being British. ‘I take it from your smug, egalitarian tone that you don’t hail from these shores?’

  The slight friction of his hand against the nape of her neck was sending flurries of warmth tingling through her body. His other hand had pulled her body close enough against his own for her to be aware of how taut and muscular his spare frame was. The effort to keep her head from flopping forward against the invitation of his solidly muscled chest made tiny beads of perspiration break out along her upper lip.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that if I was an eminently respectable professional like your stuffed dummy you’d still be fighting against this attraction?’ His eyes gleamed with disdain.

  To compare this temporary insanity with what she had felt for Alex might have made her smile under less stressful circumstances. She might have worshipped Alex uncritically and, in retrospect, pathetically, but she had never felt anything nearly so insidiously primitive in his arms. Sometimes she thought her self-restraint had had a lot to do with his seeking comfort elsewhere.