‘That was a very loaded “oh”?’
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ Carrie said. She struggled for what to say next, but it seemed being newly pregnant had robbed her of cohesive thought much of the time. ‘But, but … I though Jean-Claude seemed on top of the game. And Genifer.’
‘They’re both great. But they want a family sometime, and they won’t be able to give a family and me 24/7. I couldn’t ask that of them.’
‘But it would be okay to leave your own family to work?’ Carrie clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No, perhaps you shouldn’t,’ Morgan said.
He walked slowly around the room, touching a cushion here, a newly upholstered chair there. He strolled languidly towards the window and pulled the drapes closed, before opening them again. Then he turned to face Carrie.
‘But we all say things we shouldn’t sometimes, so you’re forgiven.’ Morgan’s smile was wide – the smile reaching his eyes. ‘Now, am I right in thinking the master bedroom is also completed?’
‘You are,’ Carrie said, her heart unsteady in her breast, as she felt herself drowning in the strength of his smile. ‘But you know where it is. Go on up.’
‘Not on my own. You’re coming.’
‘I, I, I … can’t,’ Carrie stuttered. ‘I haven’t got time. I’ve got to price up another job on my way home.’
‘Carrie, what’s wrong?’ Morgan strode across the room towards her. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me? You must have only just arrived because it’s not even 9.30 a.m. yet, for heaven’s sake!’
‘You didn’t tell me you’d be here today.’
‘I don’t have to make an appointment to turn up at my own house, Carrie,’ Morgan said.
‘Well, I know that!’ Carrie said.
Morgan wrinkled his forehead in puzzlement.
‘This sounds dangerously like we’re having an argument. Shall I go out and ring you on my mobile to let you know I’m here, and come back in again?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just that you surprised me, that’s all.’ Carrie pulled herself mentally together. She was a professional for goodness’ sake, doing a job, and this man was her boss. ‘I’ll show you the master bedroom now, shall I?’
‘I can hardly wait!’
And that, Carrie thought, as she led the way up the stairs, conscious of Morgan’s eyes on her and the wobbliness of her legs, is what I’m afraid of.
‘This …’ Morgan said, the second he threw wide the master bedroom door and stepped inside, ‘is wonderful.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘And you’ve kept the old Persian rug. You could have bought new.’
‘New?’ Carrie said. She walked over to stand on the rug, and ran the point of her toe over a section of the design. ‘But this is perfect in this room. Look!’ she carried on, waving her arms around like some sort of demented windmill, afraid Morgan was now going to find fault where she, herself, could see none – this was the best bit of interior design she’d ever done, ‘I’ve picked out that wonderful faded lavender shade for the walls. And I darkened it slightly for the paint on the picture rails.’
Morgan turned full circle in the room, drinking it all in with his eyes.
‘So you have. I’m impressed.’
‘And I didn’t see the point in spending money where money didn’t need to be spent. Not that, you know, I’m telling you how to spend your own money or anything.’
She was turning into a gibbering idiot now, wasn’t she – she’d come over all self-defensive when she didn’t have to be.
‘I like a woman capable of making an executive decision,’ Morgan said, smiling warmly at her. ‘That rug’s over a hundred and fifty years old. I remember playing on it as a small boy. Thank you, Carrie for bringing that memory back for me. And for making such a good job of this room.’
‘Not too girlie?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Good. You did say to make it the sort of room I would want to sleep in.’
‘And do you?’
‘It was a hypothetical request at the time,’ Carrie said. ‘Oh, and I’ve taken the liberty of buying a new mattress. The other one was like a board.’
‘Good idea.’ He walked to the bed and sat on the edge. ‘I don’t like the idea of you sleeping on a board.’
Carrie gulped – with him, did he mean?
‘Come and sit down, Carrie.’
‘I’ve already tested it, thank you,’ she said, walking in the opposite direction from the bed towards the window and folding her arms across her chest, staring out over the garden.
‘You think of everything,’ Morgan said, standing up – and his voice was rather clipped, Carrie thought. ‘Can you show me your plans for the nursery now?’
He strode towards the door.
‘What name shall I make the invoice out to?’ Carrie said.
She’d shown Morgan the mood board for the nursery but he hadn’t expressed the interest in it she’d expected him to. And now they were sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table, a fresh cafétière of coffee between them and a pile of toast she’d made for Morgan. Carrie had been buttering it before she realised he hadn’t asked her to make it – for some reason she’d simply gone and done it. Wanted to do it.
‘My name. Who else’s?’
‘I mean Morgan Harrington, or Sir Morgan Harrington?’
She heard the sharp intake of Morgan’s breath at the question.
‘Who told you about my title?’ His eyes darkened as he spoke. He looked angry. ‘Was it Genifer?’
‘No!’
‘Mrs Dawkins then?’
‘Not her either.’
‘Then who?’
‘No one. I arrived early one morning and picked up your post off the mat.’
‘That’s Mrs Dawkins’ job. It’s what I pay her for, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Well, she wasn’t here. She had a tummy bug that day, actually. So, I did what any normal person would do and picked it up and put it on the hall table. I couldn’t help noticing.’
Carrie felt irritated with herself that she was explaining her actions to Morgan, but there was also the aspect that she needed to stand up for herself.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Would it have made any difference if I had?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh yes, you do,’ Morgan said. ‘I knew there was a change in how you thought of me the second I walked in the door earlier. There was a massive shift in our relationship. The girl who’d offered herself to me so warmly, so lovingly, so willingly …’
‘I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not how I normally behave.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. But please let me finish. The girl you were then had been replaced by an ice-maiden. My previous experience with women has been exactly the opposite. Once a woman knows I’m titled, they can’t wait to get into my bed, get the ring on their finger, get those four little letters in front of their name.’
‘I’ve already got four letters in front of mine – M I S S,’ Carrie said.
Morgan groaned and put his head in his hands.
Carrie left him to his thoughts. She began to cut a slice of toast into fingers simply for something to do. There was something troubling Morgan deeply but she would wait for him to tell her.
‘I wasn’t the heir,’ he said, taking his hands from his face. ‘Talbot was. I made a point of not telling Georgina my family history. And I kept her apart from Talbot and my father as long as I could. Genifer and Jean-Claude, of course, honoured their promise not to give my personal details to anyone. But she was pushing for an engagement and I did love her – then. Or thought I did …’
Morgan’s voice trailed away again as though it was painful remembering, never mind saying the words. Carrie offered him a piece of toast which he took and chewed slowly.
‘So, once the ring was on her finger I had to introduce
her to my family. The day she realised Talbot was the heir and she could be Lady Harrington if she married him and not me, was the day she …’
‘Changed sides?’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Morgan took a long slug of coffee. ‘I should have learned from that, but I didn’t.’
‘In what way?’
‘I’d like a £50 note for every woman who’s told me she was carrying my child expecting me to suggest instant marriage, only to decide they weren’t actually pregnant in the first place when I declined to do so.’
Morgan almost spat the words out.
‘Because they wanted a title?’ Carrie’s voice was a whisper. How could she tell him about the baby now?
‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘No,’ Carrie said. ‘For one thing this is the twenty-first century we are living in and women can bring up children on their own. And secondly, I think it’s a dirty trick to lie like that. But presumably you have someone in mind who doesn’t sink to such base behaviour to get her hands on a title if you’ve asked me to prepare all this?’
She swept an arm across the mood board and the fabric samples she’d laid out on the table to show Morgan.
‘I have. But I’m not sure she feels the same way about me now. Which is a bit of a shame because I thought – knew actually – she might be the one. I thought I was a step closer to meeting my father’s wishes.’
‘You would go ahead and marry someone just so you can provide an heir, carry on the family name?’
Carrie knew her voice had risen at least an octave; one minute she’d been feeling so sorry for Morgan and the next she was outraged at his words.
‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Carrie, please.’ Morgan re-filled his mug with coffee then did the same for Carrie and slid her mug back across the table towards her. ‘Our coffee’s going cold.’
Carrie picked up the drink and held it to her mouth, but she was overcome by a wave of nausea. That had been happening a lot recently with certain food and drinks. But she needed to drink something because her mouth had gone dry with nerves. She sipped on the liquid cautiously, but it tasted bitter.
‘I think I’m going to have to go home,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m going down with something.’
A something that’s going to turn into about seven pounds of baby – an heir, or heiress, to Oakenbury Hall and an awful lot more in the south of France. Did she have the right to deny her child that? She couldn’t begin to ponder that now – she just had to get out of this kitchen and her nearness to Morgan.
She stood up and pushed back her chair, the legs scraping on the tiled floor. She put her hands over her ears because the sound was so loud – and that was another thing since her body had changed … sounds were louder, smells more pungent.
But as she turned to go a jolt of dizziness made her grab for the chair back, but she missed and stumbled. Morgan raced to her side.
‘Carrie, what’s wrong?’
Morgan put one arm around Carrie’s back and placed his free hand under her elbow. Carrie knew she should insist on going home, but she felt terrible. Unnerved by Morgan’s return, yes, but her mind was in turmoil about her future too.
‘Perhaps if I rest on the couch for a while I’ll be fine again soon.’
‘For as long as you like,’ Morgan said.
And he led her into the drawing room and helped her onto the couch, and Carrie let herself be led. It felt so good to be looked after if only for a little while.
Before she left she’d have to tell Morgan she wouldn’t be accepting his commission to re-design his villa at La Bocca, wouldn’t she? Because if she did he’d soon find out about the baby. And there was no way she was going to let him think she was tricking him into marriage.
As soon as she felt less dizzy and less sick, she’d drive home.
Chapter Eleven
‘What?’
It couldn’t be – Morgan must have made a mistake. Carrie had the cheque he’d given her but there was an extra nought on the amount to what she’d written on her invoice.
Damn, she was going to have to ring him and tell him, wasn’t she? She grabbed her phone from the table and scrolled down to Morgan’s number.
‘Carrie!’ Morgan said, not giving her a chance to speak when he answered her call. ‘How are you? There’s nothing wrong is there?’
‘Um, well …’
‘Make my day – tell me you’ve changed your mind about taking on the job at my villa.’
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘But it’s something?’
‘Yes. You’ve made a mistake with the amount on the cheque you gave me.’
‘No mistake,’ Morgan said cheerily.
‘Well, I can’t accept it.’
‘Reasons – at least three. Starting … now!’
‘Stop it, Morgan. It’s not funny. I need …’
‘… the money? There you are then, accept my cheque. Pay it in, pay for your mother’s conservatory, buy a new car. Get some new clothes.’
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’
‘Nothing wrong with your clothes exactly …’ he began, but Carrie stopped him.
‘Could you put a cheque for the correct amount in the post, and I’ll tear this one up?’
‘No. I want you to have the money.’
‘But not this much,’ Carrie said.
She ripped the cheque into tiny squares.
‘Was that the sound of what I think it was?’
‘Yes. Your cheque is now confetti.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Morgan said.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I’ll just have to write another then, won’t I?’
And then Morgan killed the call.
‘I don’t want a drink, thank you,’ Carrie said as Morgan stepped into her hallway clutching a bottle of champagne to his oh-so-sexy chest, and looking impossibly handsome and desirable, and kissable.
‘I haven’t offered you one yet.’
Morgan tilted his head on one side and smiled at Carrie.
‘I know, but look what happened last time.’
Instinctively, Carrie placed a hand on her stomach, and then quickly took it away again in case Morgan noticed and was that rare thing for a man – intuitive – and began asking awkward questions.
‘I thought what happened last time was rather lovely.’
And so do I in my heart of hearts, Carrie thought. Oh God, no – she was coming over all teary again. It must be the hormones. She’d been feeling rather weepy lately, and now she didn’t trust herself to speak in case those tears fell, so she simply shrugged.
‘The number of zeros doesn’t mean much to me, Carrie. I’d consider it money well spent.’
‘For sex?’ Carrie yelled – goodness, she’d found her voice then, and suddenly her tears seemed to have turned to ice. If Morgan Harrington thought this was a pay-off for sex ... well, he had another think coming.
‘For services rendered then?’
‘Isn’t that what …’
No, Carrie couldn’t say it, even if she was thinking it.
‘You, little lady,’ Morgan said, pushing the door shut behind him, and taking Carrie’s hand, ‘are a class act at putting words in my mouth. Words I would never use about a lady.’
‘I’m not your lady!’ Carrie said, her hand snug in Morgan’s as he walked towards her sitting room.
‘Well, we’ll have to see if we can change that, won’t we?’ Morgan said.
He leaned towards Carrie as though to kiss her. But she jumped back.
‘I don’t think so,’ Carrie said, disentangling her hand from Morgan’s. ‘You told me yourself that after Georgina …’
‘Georgina is history. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.’
‘As in thinking about finding someone to have your baby to honour your father’s wishes?’
Carrie knew it was a spiteful thing to say, but she couldn’t help herself. Common sense told her tha
t the further she pushed him away from her emotionally the better it would be, although her heart was saying differently.
‘Heir is the word you’re looking for, Carrie.’
‘But what if it’s an heiress?’
‘Then we’d just have to try again, wouldn’t we?’
We? Did he really mean her and him? And what would his reaction be if she told him right now that she was pregnant with his child? She had a feeling she would see his onyx eyes darken, bore into her, hate her for trying to trap him – before walking out and slamming the door behind him. Having a baby together should always be a joint decision, to Carrie’s mind.
‘But not with someone who tries to trick you into marriage?’ she said quietly.
‘Definitely not,’ Morgan said. ‘Most definitely not.’
And that was precisely the answer I expected, Carrie thought – she’d have been a fool to imagine he’d think otherwise.
‘You what?’ Carrie said. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
The contractor on the end of the line was saying he was pulling out of the job at Oakenbury Hall. Something bigger had come up, and she could sue him through the small courts if she wanted to, but he wasn’t bothered. The job he had now would more than pay her costs.
‘You heard, sweetheart,’ the man said.
‘I’m not your sweetheart!’
Honestly! He just didn’t give a damn about letting her down, did he?
‘Glad to hear it with a temper on you like that,’ the man said. ‘Now I’ll leave you to get on and find someone else …’
But Carrie didn’t hear any more as she slammed down the phone. She began to rifle through her list of contractors but no one could fit her in at such short notice. She tried the Yellow Pages, but with the same result. No decorator worth his salt would be free to start a job the same day of asking, she knew that – anyone really good would be booked up months in advance.
There was nothing for it. She’d just have to start the work on the nursery at Oakenbury Hall herself, wouldn’t she? And the irony of it wasn’t lost on her either.
Much to Carrie’s amazement, she began to feel at peace – a sense of calmness – as she worked. Instead of rushing the work through as she’d thought she might, she worked slowly – each brushstroke perfect, each piece of wallpaper she hung smoothed of bubbles at the first attempt.
Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit) Page 36
