The Millionaire's Baby

by Diana Hamilton

  The depth of her regret both puzzled and worried her. As did his curt, 'As soon as we've cleared up at the cottage we'll head back to London.' He had al­ready strapped the still sleeping Sophie into her car seat and was holding the passenger-side door open, waiting with barely concealed impatience for her to clamber up.

  She shot a perplexed look into his stony face, learned absolutely nothing, so shrugged, just slightly, and climbed up into her seat and stared blankly out of the windscreen until he swung up into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition.

  He didn't give what would hopefully be his future home the merest flicker of a glance as he swung the chunky vehicle in a half circle then headed off down the drive, and Caro, deciding to give it one more shot, said, 'I hadn't realised you were a single parent—I wasn't told that was your reason for wanting a nanny for Sophie. I wouldn't have mentioned your wife the way I did—' To her dismay she felt her face go pink. 'I had no idea she was dead.'

  'So I gather.' His tone was dry, cutting. 'However, on consideration, this single parent can cope. As of this evening—when we get back to the hotel—your employment is terminated. You can scurry back to your agency and get down to the paperwork, or what­ever it is you normally do when wearing your direc­tor's hat. Though, if you're as bad at that as you are at knowing one end of a baby from another, then the ignominious and early demise of the Grandes Families Agency would come as no surprise whatsoever.'

  Caro's eyes went wide. 'So you knew,' she mut­tered as soon as she could gather sufficient breath to speak.

  'Of course.'

  'And you said nothing?' There she'd been, merrily plotting her plots and scheming her schemes, stupidly thinking he didn't know her from Adam and would never connect her with Katie—oh, what a fool that made her feel!

  'I was waiting for you to tell me why you were trying to earn extra bucks by pretending to be a nanny. I take it the agency is in trouble?'

  She ignored that. It didn't seem to be important. 'You mean I'm sacked?'

  Just like that? No proper reason given, certainly not incompetence because if that had been the case she would have been fired five minutes into her employ­ment!

  She'd taken this job with one objective in mind— to make him pay for what he had done to Katie, and then walk out. But the situation had been turned on its head. She was the one who'd been made a fool of, and she wasn't walking out, she was being thrown out!

  'I've already said so. But I'll drive you back to London rather than leave you to find your own way.'

  'Big of you!' she snapped out sarcastically, then suddenly couldn't say another word; she felt too choked, tears clogging her throat and stinging behind her eyes. She turned her head, staring out of the win­dow at the tranquil rural landscape, pretending to be absorbed in it rather than let him see how much he could upset her.

  He hadn't thrown her out because he'd suddenly discovered she wasn't a clone of Mary Poppins. He'd known that all along, apparently. And he hadn't sud­denly decided she was too incompetent to be allowed anywhere near his child.

  He wanted to get rid of her because she'd had the temerity to mention his wife. And it didn't make the remotest sense! She couldn't imagine what she'd done to make him this angry.

  One minute he'd been kissing her as if the taste of her, the feel of her body beneath his hands was an essential part of his life, telling her he thought he was falling in love with her and sounding as if he really meant it. The next, he was acting as if he was her sworn enemy.

  Which meant, of course, that he'd been shooting a line when he'd spoken of love. He'd obviously be­lieved that that kind of lie would give him an easier passage into her bed.

  And the worst, the very worst part of all of it was the way she'd been starting to think about him. As if he mattered to her, as if his presence in her life was deeply important. And that, believe it or not, had been when she'd thought he was a married man!

  It didn't bear thinking about; none of it did. She couldn't condone her own folly and the only excuse she could come up with was a rush of hormones to the head, blocking out her judgement, and the only way she could understand his weird behaviour was to put it down to insanity!

  He wasn't crazy, though. Far from it. But she surely would be if she tied her brain in knots much longer, trying to work it out.

  'If you'll see to your own packing I'll look after everything else,' Finn imparted coolly as he braked outside the borrowed cottage, his comment bringing her head round, her golden eyes fastening on the cruel, sensual curve of his mouth.

  The only way to find out why his attitude towards her had suddenly changed so drastically and incom­prehensibly was to ask. She laved her dry lips slowly, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her distress, and saw his silver eyes turn black and hard, his mouth turn down in angry, bitter contempt.

  He reached for his mobile phone and said point­edly, 'Lost the use of your legs? If not, I'd like to make a private call.'

  'Oh—go jump off a cliff!' Caro scrambled out of the car and headed up the garden path. That explosion of temper, childish as it undeniably was, actually helped. Helped a lot. It pushed all those tearful, wimp­ish notions of actually caring about the wretched man, finding him sexy as hell, and about as resistible as chilled spring water on a scorching summer day, right into limbo where they belonged. And replaced the whole bunch of idiotic illusions with good old-fashioned rage!

  It took no time at all to throw her things into a bag and strip her bed and Sophie's cot. She had no idea what the loathsome Finn intended to do about the laundry and as sure as hens laid eggs she wasn't going to ask!

  But stuffing Horn into the canvas hold-all with the rest of the baby's things brought the tears flooding back, filling her eyes and making her feel a fool.

  Despite the golden-haired charmer being the dreaded Finn's offspring, fruit of his loins, as it were, she would miss the little girl dreadfully. Sophie had burrowed her way into her incompetent nanny's heart in rather less time than it took to blink.

  Grumbling at herself for allowing an emotion that wasn't anger anywhere near her, Caro dumped the packed bags in the tiny hallway for Finn to find or fall over—she didn't care which—and went outside to sit on the garden wall and wait until he'd finished doing whatever it was he was doing and was ready to leave.

  The journey back into London was a nightmare. Bored and hot, Sophie started to grizzle. Caro did her best to amuse her, but with scant success. Finn kept a tight-lipped silence. The traffic as they neared the capital was horrendous and the afternoon got hotter and increasingly airless.

  A deep longing to be back in the open countryside again, breathing the sweet, clean air and listening to the silence, assailed her as she stood on the dusty pavement outside Finn's hotel with the ever-present roar of the traffic annoying her ears.

  Sighing, she shifted Sophie in her arms and ten­derly brushed the tendrils of soft pale hair back from her hot little forehead. She'd give anything if only she could put the clock back, back to the time when Finn was holding her, telling her he thought he was falling in love with her.

  Anything at all.

  That particular piece of knowledge didn't bring her much joy. How could it when it meant she was in danger of doing the unthinkable—falling in love with him? She was free to do that now—now she knew he was a single man. The only thing that had stopped her admitting the possibility before had been her belief that there was a wife somewhere in the background.

  But, in any case, the devious louse had been telling lies when he'd talked about falling in love. She knew that, didn't she?

  'Righto, Soph!' She made herself smile, made her­self swallow the stupid great lump in her throat. 'Why don't I take you up and pop you in the bath to cool off? Does that sound good to you?'

  Finn had given her the key to the suite of rooms, ordered her to take his daughter up, told her to wait quietly until he joined them in a couple of minutes, and zoomed away to park the car in the hotel's under­ground car park
. She poked a finger into the little fat tummy and tickled up a gale of squeals and gurgles which made a lovely change from grizzles and lasted all the way up to the suite.

  She wouldn't think about how much she would miss both the man and his child; she would concen­trate on getting her life back again. Nice and safe and sane. No Finn around to mess up her head, wreak havoc with her hormones, no puzzles to make her doubt her own sanity—and his.

  But before she left she would tell him why she had applied for the job in the first place, explain every­thing, about Katie and what his treatment of her had done to her. It would be more in sorrow than in anger, not the bitter castigation she had originally meant to lash him with.

  Apart from his being the most gorgeous, the sexi­est, most charismatic male she had ever encountered, or was ever likely to encounter, he had something else that drew her even more strongly. A basic kindness, a warmth, a lack of that arrogant male superiority that in many other successful men had made her hackles rise, made her secretly despise them.

  Except for his unfathomable reaction to hearing her talk about his dead wife and the reprehensible mas­culine trait of telling a girl what he thought she wanted to hear, Finn Helliar had now come to seem pretty well perfect.

  It was difficult to imagine him knowingly hurting anyone. Maybe he hadn't realised how very much in love with him Katie had been. Or maybe—and this was the more likely supposition—Katie herself had blown everything up out of all proportion. She had always tended to over-dramatise herself.

  As she opened the door to Finn's suite of rooms the telephone began to ring and, anchoring Sophie to her knee with one hand, she sat on a sofa to answer it.

  'Gran?' Winged brows drew together over golden eyes. 'Is anything wrong?'

  'Of course there is! Why else should I be phoning? I've been trying to get you since midday. That woman who works for you gave me Helliar's number, though why— Oh, never mind that now. You have to come immediately. Your mother had an accident; her car's a write-off and she's in Intensive Care. Stanning General—the prognosis is not at all good. You need to come at once.'

  Caro tried to speak but couldn't. She wanted to tell her grandmother she'd be there as soon as she pos­sibly could but couldn't get the words out. There was an unbearable tightness in her chest and the room was swaying, misty and dark, and Finn walked through the mist, closing the door behind him.

  'Caroline? Are you still there?'

  Her grandmother's imperious tone helped her to pull herself together and she answered thinly, 'I'll be with you as soon as I can.' She frowned up at Finn wanted to hear, Finn Helliar had now come to seem pretty well perfect.

  It was difficult to imagine him knowingly hurting anyone. Maybe he hadn't realised how very much in love with him Katie had been. Or maybe—and this was the more likely supposition—Katie herself had blown everything up out of all proportion. She had always tended to over-dramatise herself.

  As she opened the door to Finn's suite of rooms the telephone began to ring and, anchoring Sophie to her knee with one hand, she sat on a sofa to answer it.

  'Gran?' Winged brows drew together over golden eyes. 'Is anything wrong?'

  'Of course there is! Why else should I be phoning? I've been trying to get you since midday. That woman who works for you gave me Helliar's number, though why— Oh, never mind that now. You have to come immediately. Your mother had an accident; her car's a write-off and she's in Intensive Care. Stanning General—the prognosis is not at all good. You need to come at once.'

  Caro tried to speak but couldn't. She wanted to tell her grandmother she'd be there as soon as she pos­sibly could but couldn't get the words out. There was an unbearable tightness in her chest and the room was swaying, misty and dark, and Finn walked through the mist, closing the door behind him.

  'Caroline? Are you still there?' Her grandmother's imperious tone helped her to pull herself together and she answered thinly, 'I'll be with you as soon as I can.' She frowned up at Finn as he took the baby from her, hovering over her, his dark brows peaked in query.

  'Good. And is young Helliar there? If so, I need to speak to him, too.'

  She couldn't imagine why and felt too numb to ask, simply handed the receiver over and stood up, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers, wondering whether it would be quicker to phone for a cab or make the time to go and collect her own car.

  Finn put the receiver down a few moments later and Caro turned and held her hand out.

  'May I call a cab? I need one to take me to the hospital. When I've seen Mum I'll arrange to collect my own car.'

  'In a moment.' He put Sophie on the floor and stood up, his concerned eyes raking her pale face. 'Five minutes, that's all. There are a couple of calls I have to make and then I'll see you get to the hospital.'

  How selfish could a man get? 'I don't believe this!'

  'Trust me.' He began to punch numbers and Caro, grinding her teeth, turned away. Revising her former opinion of his 'kindness and warmth', she collected Sophie and Horn and took them both to the bedroom. At least she could use the time to freshen up and change into something more suitable for a sickbed vigil. She wondered if Katie was coping, if she was sitting at their mother's bedside or if she'd taken fright, hiding herself in a corner back at home, crying her eyes out.

  Fuming at the unnecessary delay forced on her by that inconsiderate beast, Caro sluiced her hands and face with cold water, changed her shorts and T-shirt for a wrap-around cotton skirt and sleeveless blouse and dragged a comb through her hair.

  She should be there, at the hospital, sitting with her mum, giving Katie the support she would need, allow­ing her sister to lean on her strength. It wasn't that Katie was mentally feeble—she was insecure, unsure of herself; she needed constant reassurances.

  That was why she should be on her way to her right now, not waiting while Finn concluded his vital phone calls—probably to his solicitor about getting the ball rolling towards the purchase of Mytton Wells, and to the sultry Sandra, telling her to get herself over here to keep him company.

  It would only have taken her one minute, if that, to phone for a cab—

  'Everything's going to be fine—'

  'Why the hell can't you learn to knock?' she spat out at him, goaded beyond endurance. He'd forced her to delay that call for a cab, was mouthing meaningless platitudes about everything being all right—of all the facile... And yet, dammit all, her heart soared and swelled at the sight of him and she wanted him to take her in his arms and comfort her. She wanted to lean on someone for a change, instead of being leant upon.

  Not any old someone. Only him.

  'Caro—it's OK, I promise.' The reassurance of his voice and his smile would have soothed an elephant with tusk-ache. Her eyes glimmered at him suspi­ciously between dark and tangled lashes. 'I phoned the hospital to get the facts straight,' he told her. 'Elinor had more or less said that there was little or no hope for your mother's recovery and because I imagine she said the same thing to you I needed to check.'

  He searched her face with narrowed eyes. 'The ac­cident happened early this morning. She had been un­conscious ever since, but is now awake and doing fine—apart from cracked ribs, an acre or so of bruising, and the remnants of concussion. She's al­ready out of Intensive Care and in a side ward— Hey—'

  His arms steadied her as she swayed on her feet, relief weakening her. He half carried her into the sit­ting room and led her to the sofa. 'It's not a life and death situation, I promise you, so relax for half an hour. My mother will be with us by then—that was the second call I had to make. She'll stay here with Sophie and I'll drive you to the hospital'

  Tears washed her eyes and spangled her lashes. Again she had misjudged him. Horribly. He had taken charge, sorted everything out, made everything so very much better.

  She gave him a wobbly smile. 'I should have ques­tioned everything Gran said myself instead of leaping at a tangent. I know her a lot better than you do and should have remembered
how she unfailingly drama­tises each and every situation.'

  A tendency Katie had inherited, but whereas the old lady dramatised for effect and to make herself appear even tougher than she undoubtedly was Katie created dramas so that she could lie down under them and wail!

  'And you really don't have to drive me. I am ca­pable of sitting in the back of a cab—I know you say Mum's going to be fine—and I'm grateful to you for finding out—' She got to her feet, annoyed to find herself swaying, not knowing why she was feeling so light-headed, doing her best to make her voice sound firm as she told him, 'I could be on my way now, not sitting here—'

  'Stay where you are.' The lightest pressure from his hands on her shoulders eased her back amongst the cushions. 'Your grandmother appeared to be in quite a state. I think your mother's accident brought home the fact of her own mortality. She wants advice on all those trust funds—my father helped set them up, remember? He and your grandfather were old friends.' He stood back, hands on hips, watching her closely as if to satisfy himself she wasn't about to pop back to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. 'So I might as well kill two birds with one stone—get to the bottom of what she wants to do about the trusts and deliver you to the hospital. You've had a shock, don't forget, so do yourself a favour and relax. I'll get Room Service to bring up some tea.'

  Satisfied she was staying put, he used the phone to order up Sophie's milk and Caroline's tea. A frowning glance at his watch told him his mother should arrive in less than an hour. Until then he would have to keep a firm grip on his tongue and a firmer one on his emotions.

  On the way back from the cottage he had been practically counting the minutes until she would be right out of his life. He had been on the point of making a fool of himself, had actually believed he'd fallen in love with the minx.

  How could his judgement have been so way off the mark? How could he have imagined himself in love with the type of woman who would fall into the arms of a married man—at least a man she fully believed to be married, with a young child into the bargain? Not only fall into his arms but respond to his kisses, revel in his caresses, and give every impression of being ready for very much more!