She tried to focus her attention on baby Oliver, who was swathed in a shawl of cobwebby white, and not stare at the eye-catching vision who was drawing her gaze like a magnet, but it was proving impossible. She’d seen pictures of Sharla, of course—who hadn’t? You didn’t get to command thousands of dollars a day without having a high profile, but nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing the supermodel in the flesh. Sophie had met some beautiful women in her time—indeed, her brother had dated a seemingly endless stream of them—but Sharla was in a league of her own. Sophie found herself thinking how weird it was that twin sisters with identical colouring could look so different. Molly was exceptionally pretty, with her strawberry-blonde hair, pale skin and wide green eyes—but Sharla took those same characteristics and turned them into something quite breathtaking.
Maybe it was the high maintenance of her appearance which made her so mesmerising, because she looked as perfect and as glossy as an airbrushed magazine photo. Unlike Molly, Sharla’s hair was shot with highlights of deep gold and rippled down to her waist. And unlike Molly, her endless legs were enhanced by a tiny pair of leather shorts and black thigh-length boots. This bizarre combination was topped with an iconic Chanel jacket and a kooky hat, which was an explosion of black and dark pink feathers. It should have looked ridiculous for a family christening in a small country church and in a way it did—yet the overall effect was one of beauty and originality. In her ice-blue cashmere jacket and skirt, Sophie felt strait-laced and conservative in comparison.
She risked a glance at Rafe but, judging from his cold expression, it was difficult to believe that a little while ago he’d been making love to her. Back then he had been animated and alive but he now seemed to have been carved from a block of dark and unforgiving stone. The ebony material of his overcoat hugged the broad width of his shoulders and echoed the blackness of his hair. There was stuff going on—she could tell. Stuff to do with Sharla. And much as she had been longing to ask more questions about the relationship he’d had with the supermodel, Sophie had bitten them back. She’d sensed he would tell her only as much as he wanted to. That she should be careful how far she pushed him because his defences were up and she wasn’t sure why.
She had seen the unfathomable look Sharla had slanted him when she’d sashayed into the fairy-tale church with its high grey walls and flagstone floors. Was that a normal look for a former lover to give? Sophie didn’t know. Would she, one day—in the unlikely event of ever running into Rafe Carter again—give him a similar look?
Apart from the godparents, the only other guest who had made it through the snow in time for the ceremony was Rafe’s father, Ambrose, a towering man with greying hair and piercing eyes, which were very like those of both his sons. Sophie felt as if she was being given a glimpse of what Rafe might look like one day and she was unprepared for the wistful way that made her feel. Afterwards, as they crunched their way over the salt-sprinkled path back to the house, Ambrose confided in her that he’d recently called off his engagement to a young yoga teacher.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Sophie cautiously, not quite sure about the protocol of discussing romance with your lover’s father. And people randomly confiding in her like this was something else she’d never encountered either, since normally her status kept her well away from idle chatter. It was yet another thing she was getting used to, along with sex straight after breakfast and sharing a shower with a man when you were both damp with melted snow and red-cheeked with exertion.
‘Yes,’ said Ambrose thoughtfully. ‘I decided maybe I should throw in the towel and admit that, after four failed attempts, I’m just not husband material. I always thought marriage avoidance was more Rafe’s bag than mine, but maybe I was wrong.’ He shot her a mischievous smile. ‘He hasn’t ever brought a woman to a family function before and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed that he’s turned up with a beautiful princess.’
Sophie knew this was her opportunity to make light of her relationship with Rafe and tell his father she was only there because of circumstance, but something stopped her. She told herself it was pointless to start a conversation which would only generate curiosity and more questions, but wasn’t the truth rather different?
Wasn’t she enjoying being Rafe’s lover and revelling in the fantasy while it lasted? Why end it before she needed to?
So she offered Ambrose no explanation about her role in his son’s life. She didn’t tell him that she had put her decisions about the future on hold. She simply smiled and said how pretty the house looked. And it did. The two Christmas trees glittered with rainbow fairy lights and somebody had lit tall red candles, which flickered all along a wide mantelpiece decked with garlands of greenery. Old-fashioned carols sung by a visiting group of singers provided just the right amount of nostalgia and Sophie watched Bernadette serving drinks and food—along with some young girls who must have been drafted in from the village to help.
She thought about the total lack of formality which existed here, despite the fact that Nick Carter was obviously a hugely successful man. It was nothing like her own home life back in Isolaverde. There was no procedure which had to be followed. No rigid timetable worked out to the nearest second. And best of all, she wasn’t weighed down with the family jewels she was always expected to wear. She felt light. Free. Fulfilled. And more than a little wistful.
Her gaze strayed across the room to Rafe, thinking how gorgeous he looked as he stood next to the Christmas tree, deep in conversation with his father. She was doing her best not to think about the powerful body which lay beneath his charcoal suit. Just as she was trying not to constantly hover at his side, telling herself he wouldn’t thank her for behaving like a real girlfriend. But once again she’d noticed the undeniable tension as Sharla had strutted up to him earlier, minus her hat and jacket, her perfectly toned arms glowing in the firelight. Whatever they’d said to one another had been brief but tense and there had been an angry glitter in the supermodel’s eyes as she’d marched from the room afterwards, announcing that she needed to make a phone call.
Sophie saw Molly go over to Rafe and hold out his nephew towards him. But although Rafe gave an emphatic shake of his head, Molly wasn’t having any of it and laughingly placed the baby in his arms. And it was as if someone had turned him to stone. The sudden tautness of his face and tension in his body sent a chill of apprehension down Sophie’s spine. She looked at him uneasily. What was the matter with him? Did he really dislike babies so much that he couldn’t even bear to hold one for a couple of minutes?
On the other side of the room, Rafe felt the baby wriggling against his chest and a dagger of pure pain lanced through his heart. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he felt an overwhelming desire to escape—even though on one level he could acknowledge the undeniable cuteness of his young nephew. But that didn’t take away the complicated feelings of regret and guilt which still raged inside him. It was the reason why he never held babies. Because it hurt. Because it made him remember and think, what if? Because, because, because...
Did Oliver sense his tension? Was that why the infant suddenly screwed up his little face, as if he was about to cry?
‘Bounce him up and down a bit,’ advised Ambrose, and Rafe shot him a silent look over the top of Oliver’s curly hair.
‘What do you know about dealing with babies?’ he questioned, as he tried to replicate what he’d seen Sophie doing that morning. ‘You certainly weren’t around for any of your own. Do you remember the time you turned up unexpectedly and Chase thought you were the postman?’
‘I know. I know. I hold my hands up to all accusations of being a bad father,’ said Ambrose, with a sigh. ‘I married too young and too often and behaved like a fool. But at least you’ve taken your time choosing a wife, which might mean you’ve got a better chance than I had.’ He looked across the room. ‘And she’s very beautiful.’
Raf
e froze as the door swung open, and as Sharla reappeared he thought about the things she’d said to him earlier. ‘Sharla?’ he demanded, his mouth twisting.
‘No, not Sharla.’ Ambrose snorted. ‘Sharla’s like one of those hothouse plants you see—requires constant maintenance and remains as unpredictable as hell. I’m talking about your blue-eyed princess, who, for all her upbringing, seems surprisingly normal.’
Rafe opened his mouth to say that Sophie wasn’t ‘his’ anything, but something stopped him. He certainly wasn’t in any position to be able to offer any definitive judgement of the Princess, but privately he found himself agreeing with Ambrose. She was surprising, that was for sure, and not just because she hadn’t pulled rank—not once. Or because she’d amazed them all by shovelling her way through an icy bank of snow, wearing some of Molly’s old ski clothes and an unflattering woollen hat. Or even because she was fast proving the most enthusiastic lover he’d ever known as her acrobatic feats in the shower a while back had proved. One who had, despite her inexperience, chipped away at his habitual cynicism and reawakened a sexual appetite which had been in danger of becoming jaded.
Oliver began to wriggle in his arms and as Rafe lifted him up in the air again the baby gave a gurgle of pleasure. Grey eyes not unlike his own met his and Rafe felt a powerful pang of something inexplicable as he stared at the newest member of the Carter family.
‘Ever thought about having children of your own?’ questioned Ambrose, with a sideways look.
‘No,’ said Rafe as Oliver’s chubby little fingers strayed towards his face, seemingly fascinated by the tiny cleft in his chin which all the Carter men carried.
‘Or thought about who you’re going to leave your fortune to if you don’t have children of your own?’ Ambrose continued.
Rafe stared down into the baby’s trusting eyes, trying to ignore the sudden ache in his heart. ‘There are countless charities who will be glad to benefit from my wealth.’
‘But that isn’t the same thing,’ said Ambrose. ‘Believe me when I tell you that it all boils down to flesh and blood. And that, in the end, nothing else matters.’
The sudden reedy quality in his father’s voice made Rafe realise that the old man was thinking about the end of his own life and it was a sobering thought. He reflected on Ambrose’s words during the champagne toast and the cutting of the cake afterwards. It had never particularly bothered him to think that he would not pass on his own genes, but suddenly a wave of emptiness and futility swept over him. Would he one day stand in a room like this, as his father was doing? Only the difference would be that he wouldn’t have adult children of his own. He would be standing there protected by the icy shell he had constructed—a lonely old man with nobody to leave his vast fortune to.
The walls seemed to be closing in on him and he found himself walking across the room to where Sophie stood, chatting to one of the godparents. Sliding his arm round her waist, he manoeuvred her away from the conversation, wanting the oblivion-giving warmth of her body to chase away some of these damned demons.
‘Come upstairs,’ he said, his lips close against her scented hair.
She drew back, eyebrows raised. ‘Won’t people miss you?’
‘Now.’
Sophie hesitated, thinking how autocratic he sounded—and wondering if he always got his own way. But why refuse to accompany him just to make a point? She’d had enough of meeting the occasional baleful stare from Sharla, even though the model had been nothing but steely politeness when they’d been introduced.
She didn’t say another word until they were back in their room and she pulled the pashmina from her neck, letting it flutter into a pale blue heap on a nearby chair. ‘So why the sudden masterful display of bringing me up here before the party’s properly ended?’ she questioned. ‘Was that all for Sharla’s benefit?’
‘For Sharla’s benefit?’ He frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Sophie stared out of the window, at the black snake of the newly shovelled driveway she’d helped clear, before meeting Rafe’s shuttered gaze. ‘I don’t have any ex-lovers to base my hunch on but I’ve been observing people for as long as I can remember.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘And for someone you split up with such a long time ago, there seemed a lot of underlying stuff going on between you both. What did she say to you downstairs?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I thought you might say that. What’s the matter, Rafe—are you still in love with her?’
He clenched his fists. ‘In love with Sharla?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘What, then?’ she persisted. ‘Because there’s something there.’
‘Something? Yeah, you could say that.’ He took a step towards her. ‘You want to know what she said? Do you? Would it make you feel better if I told you that she made it very clear she’d like to be back in my bed again?’
She flinched. ‘And that’s all?’
How many more questions was she going to ask? Rafe wanted to tell her to mind her own damned business or maybe silence her with a kiss. But Ambrose’s words and the memory of the baby who’d been wriggling in his arms had loosened the floodgates he’d kept in place for so long. Too long. He gave a bitter laugh as he removed his tie with a violent tug and slung it at a nearby chair. ‘You want the truth about my relationship with her?’
He saw the faint concern which clouded her eyes before she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I think I do.’
She sank down on one of the armchairs by the blazing fire and looked up into his face. And although the idea of sharing confidences was alien to him, something told him he could trust Sophie. He sensed she could be properly discreet as her upbringing had taught her to be, but it was more than that. Something strong and sure was shining from her blue eyes to cut through his usual icy reserve. But as that reserve melted, he could feel the heaviness in his heart—so painful and tight in his chest that it was hurting him just to breathe. If he’d thought the years might have lessened the sorrow then he’d been wrong. So maybe it really was time he talked about it, instead of letting it gnaw away inside him, like some dark cancer.
He drew in a ragged breath. ‘My brother Nick was going out with Molly for years before they married, and I first met Sharla at a party when we were in our early twenties. I’d left university and was a couple of years into my telecommunications business and she’d already done several magazine covers. My career was taking off and so was hers. In many ways it was a very satisfactory relationship.’
‘Satisfactory?’ she echoed cautiously. ‘That’s an odd word to use.’
‘I can’t think of a better one. I was young and horny and she was hot. I thought we were both giving the other what they most needed.’
‘You mean sex?’ she questioned baldly.
‘I mean sex,’ he echoed as he stared at her. ‘Sorry if that offends your sensibilities, Sophie—but that’s the truth.’
He watched her teeth digging into her bottom lip, as if she might be having second thoughts about hearing this, and maybe this was his opportunity to stop and change the subject. But he was on a roll now and the words were streaming out of that dark place inside him, where he’d buried them all those years ago. ‘Right from the start I was honest with her. I said that if she was looking for permanence—for babies and wedding bells—then she should look elsewhere,’ he said. ‘We both had worlds to conquer and we were both so young. I remember she laughed when I told her the door was open any time she chose to walk away. But she didn’t.’
There was silence as he stared at her, but she didn’t break it—she just carried on looking at him with those bright blue eyes. And now the flood of dark memories were swamping him in a foul tide.
‘One day she came to me and asked whether I’d ever consider changing my mind. Whether I thought I cou
ld love her or think about marrying her. To be honest, I was confused. I thought we understood one another. I asked why she was saying all this stuff and I remember the look on her face. The way she said, A woman needs to know these things, Rafe. And because I thought she was being practical and because I knew the rock star was pursuing her, I told her no, and that if she wanted commitment, she was free to go and find it with someone else. And then...’
His voice faltered. With shock? Or surprise? That he, who had always tried to distance himself from the conflict of relationships, had become an unwilling victim of one and as a consequence was plagued by a guilt and bitter regret which wouldn’t seem to go away?
‘What, Rafe?’ she whispered, her soft voice carrying across the room towards him. ‘What happened?’
He swallowed and it felt as if a ball of barbed wire were trying to force its way down his throat. ‘She was carrying my baby,’ he said. ‘But she never told me that. She didn’t give me the chance to change my mind, or come to some mutual agreement which would have worked for us all. I didn’t know and I didn’t find out. At least, not until afterwards, when she told me what she’d done.’
‘Oh, no.’ Her face blanched as the true meaning of his words sank in. ‘Oh, Rafe.’
‘Yes.’ He looked at her quite calmly and then his voice broke. ‘She killed my baby.’
Sophie’s heart squeezed painfully as she heard the rawness in his voice and she wanted to jump up from the chair and wrap her arms tightly around him. To stroke his ravaged face with all the tenderness she possessed until some of his unbearable grief had subsided. But something held her back, some bone-deep instinct which told her to go easy around this damaged man. He had confided in her. Had told her the dark secret it was clear still haunted him. Wasn’t it enough to be understanding and kind and calm? Not go over the top with an emotional response which would help no one, least of all him.
A Royal Vow of Convenience Page 10
