The Millionaire's Baby

by Diana Hamilton

  That did it. Caro swallowed the wine in her glass, shot to her feet and offered her arm to her grand­mother.

  She would face Finn Helliar, hear what he had to say—which, she had no doubt at all, would be some­thing about her devious nature, her incompetence, and quite possibly about his intention to sue Grandes Families for misrepresentation or whatever, and would make quite unpleasant hearing. But she would do it. No one would ever have cause to call her a coward!

  And then she would slip away from the party and go home and restart the process of putting him right out of her heart and mind and hope she found it easier second time around.

  She was aware that she and her grandmother made quite an entrance, that the family and the indoor staff—the Fairchilds and Pol—were seated and wear­ing their most expectant faces, and that Finn stood over by the windows, his back to what was left of the evening light so that she couldn't have seen his face properly even if she'd wanted to, which she didn't.

  While Elinor seated herself in an elaborately carved, high-backed chair that was suspiciously remi­niscent of a throne and regally waved aside Pol's offer of coffee, Caro stood by the door, ready to make a rapid departure as soon as she possibly could, con­scious, horribly, of Finn's eyes on her but steadfastly refusing to look his way.

  If he wanted to talk to her then he would have to approach her, not the other way around. She wasn't in the habit of going out of her way to look for heart­ache—and in this case it would be more heartache than she could handle.

  Her grandmother was talking but Caro couldn't hear what she was saying; her heart was beating such a loud, heavy tattoo, it drowned out everything else. Until the sound of Finn's name sliced through the thunderous racket. 'Finn Helliar's father helped my husband set up all these trusts many years ago and Finn himself was kind enough to agree to set about the arduous task of unravelling them.

  'Twshot to her feet and offered her arm to her grand­mother.

  She would face Finn Helliar, hear what he had to say—which, she had no doubt at all, would be some­thing about her devious nature, her incompetence, and quite possibly about his intention to sue Grandes Families for misrepresentation or whatever, and would make quite unpleasant hearing. But she would do it. No one would ever have cause to call her a coward!

  And then she would slip away from the party and go home and restart the process of putting him right out of her heart and mind and hope she found it easier second time around.

  She was aware that she and her grandmother made quite an entrance, that the family and the indoor staff—the Fairchilds and Pol—were seated and wear­ing their most expectant faces, and that Finn stood over by the windows, his back to what was left of the evening light so that she couldn't have seen his face properly even if she'd wanted to, which she didn't.

  While Elinor seated herself in an elaborately carved, high-backed chair that was suspiciously remi­niscent of a throne and regally waved aside Pol's offer of coffee, Caro stood by the door, ready to make a rapid departure as soon as she possibly could, con­scious, horribly, of Finn's eyes on her but steadfastly refusing to look his way.

  If he wanted to talk to her then he would have to approach her, not the other way around. She wasn't in the habit of going out of her way to look for heart­ache—and in this case it would be more heartache than she could handle.

  o events were instrumental in my decision. Katie almost drowned, and would have done had my future grandson-in-law not jumped in and pulled her out of the lake, and Emma could so easily have been killed or maimed for life in a road traffic accident. I realised then how much these two people really mean to me. Playing the matriarch and watching people jump when I pulled their strings became totally un­important for the first time in my very long life.'

  Elinor Farr fell silent. No one spoke. Caro was aware of Finn watching her from across the room. The intentness, the steadiness of his scrutiny made the air fizz. She wanted out, but couldn't move. She would just have to endure and wait until he decided to come out with whatever it was he felt he had to say to her. 'So...' Elinor looked into each face in turn. 'This house, this estate, is to be sold. All the family assets are to be liquidised. Dora and Bert—' she smiled at the Fairchilds '—and you too, dear Polly, will have what is due to you to enjoy without the tedium of waiting for it to appear in my will. The rest will be divided into four equal parts.'

  Murmurs of barely suppressed excitement issued from the indoor staff. They were all elderly, had served Gran well, and had earned a peaceful retirement. And Caro could hardly believe that her grand­mother was letting so much power slip through her fingers. She had held the reins so long, so tightly...

  She must have had all this in mind that day when she'd phoned with the news of Mum's accident. She'd insisted on speaking to Finn, on seeing him...

  'Emma and I have decided to travel,' Elinor said, to Caro's total amazement. 'When we find somewhere we really like we'll settle.' And to Katie, who was still looking shell-shocked, she added, 'You and David must do as you see fit with your share, dear. But I have it on good authority that the old Travers' place—the market garden—will shortly be going to auction...'

  Caro slipped out of the room. In the excitement, the rapid-fire discussions that were now going on, she wouldn't be missed. She really and truly had meant to stay and hear whatever it was that Finn wanted to say to her but now knew she simply couldn't face it.

  So she was a coward after all, but there was pre­cious little she could do about it. It was much too soon after she'd confessed her feelings for him, told him she loved him, then suffered the hurt and hu­miliation of having him throw her out.

  Tears flooded her eyes and thickened her throat as she stumbled blindly across the hall. Call her a cow­ard, but she'd have to be a darn sight stronger emo­tionally than she was at the moment before she could do as much as stay in the same room with him, never mind hold a one-to-one conversation with him and emerge from the probably acrimonious encounter with any dignity left at all.

  'Caro—stop.' The manacle of his hand trapped her arm. She looked around her wildly. Everywhere was still and silent, apart from the ragged sound of her breathing, the manic thumping of her heart. But very soon now the party guests would begin to arrive and her immediate escape route would be blocked.

  She tried to tug her arm away. 'Please let me go. I'm leaving. We can talk some other time. Or,' she tacked on bitterly, 'write me a letter.'

  'We talk now.' He was wearing a lightweight pale grey tailored jacket over a black silk polo shirt. He looked powerful and menacing and her poor heart shook. 'But not here.' He strode towards the open front door and Caro, still manacled, tottered behind him. 'We're leaving. And before you get any ideas you're leaving with me, not running away from me.' His eyes were hooded, hiding his expression as they fastened on her mouth. His mouth was curved in that lazy, effortlessly sensual smile that made her feel as if she was being very thoroughly ravished.

  She turned her head swiftly, before he could recog­nise the yearning in her eyes for what it was. A yearn­ing to be kissed. And the abrupt movement made the tears that had been giving her eyes a glittering sheen trickle down her face, and he muttered gruffly, 'Caro—don't!' and swung her up into his arms and carried her out, popping her in the passenger seat of the off-roader, which was neatly parked behind her car, hemming her in so that she couldn't have es­caped, not without his say-so.

  He was beside her, in the driver's seat, before she could gather her wits, or the will, to jump straight back out.

  He turned to her, rubbing the traces of moisture from her cheeks with the ball of his thumb. His touch transfixed her; she could have stayed where she was for ever, letting him touch her. It was as if he had cast a spell over her, robbed her of her will, the power to think for herself. He could turn her into his sex slave—no trouble at all!

  Self-destructive madness!

  She would have twisted her head away but he moved before she was able to shake herself out of
the trance, fastening his seat belt and starting the engine.

  'What are you doing?' Was that her voice, that fee­ble wail?

  'Taking you to where we can have some privacy. Fasten your seat belt.'

  She did, but only to stop him doing it for her. The lodge came in sight around the bend and she gabbled, 'Stop here. All the privacy you need—they won't be home before midnight!'

  He drove on as if she hadn't spoken and she gath­ered up what was left of her pride and the bits of her spirit that hadn't been crushed and said crossly, 'Look, I know you've got every reason to be annoyed with me, but isn't this taking things a tad too far?'

  Being cooped up with him in a moving vehicle was having a disastrous effect on her hormones. Much more of this close proximity and she'd start acting like a fool. Again. She'd done quite enough of that when she'd crawled all over him and told him she loved him! 'Why don't you pull over, say what's bothering you, and be on your way?'

  'I am on my way, sweetheart. And you're coming with me. We've got a lot to talk about, and Ma's looking after Sophie in London, and the decorators have moved out of Mytton Wells. There's not much there in the way of home comforts as yet. A bed, a couple of chairs—'

  'If you're suggesting what I think you're suggest­ing—'

  'That we spend the night at Mytton getting straight­ened out. That's about the size of it, yes.' He turned his head, his silver eyes laughing at her. 'And before you start getting righteously indignant, or coming up with a thousand and one reasons for not spending the night with me, just think on.'

  The very idea of them spending the night together made her feel like a gutted rag doll. She couldn't think why he'd want to, why he'd go to the trouble of vir­tually kidnapping her. Unless, of course, he was bored.

  He'd had business with her grandmother and had in any case intended to go cross country to his new home, perhaps to check on the decorators' work. So why not take her with him? She'd made it perfectly plain on the afternoon of the thunderstorm that she was very ready and rather more than willing!

  So she'd do. Provided, of course, she kept her mouth shut and didn't mention his former wife, be­cause that, as if she didn't know it, was a sackable offence!

  The idea of it kept her speechless. Speechless with trying to ignore the lure of the forbidden, the out-of-the-question, the ultimate in temptation—

  'When I followed you out of the room back there I had a quick word with your grandmother. I said I was taking you to Mytton, to expect you back when she saw you, and not to worry. You don't have to be in work tomorrow. It's Sunday. So that's sorted. Which leaves us free to sort out what we feel about each other.'

  And just how would they do that? In that bed he'd mentioned? She didn't need to be over-endowed in the imagination department to picture it.

  What with loving him so madly, her total lack of will-power when he was around with that sexy, sinful smile, those wicked, glinting eyes, she knew exactly what would happen. Knew she'd rapturously consum­mate her love for him, give him all her loving and then some, and then get thrown off his property if she so much as opened her mouth and said something she shouldn't.

  Thanks, but no, thanks.

  'We've a way to go,' he said, and whether he meant it in cross-country miles or in reaching some kind of mutual understanding Caro didn't know, and gave up wondering as he told her, 'Ma's happy to look after Sophie in London while I arrange furnishing and part-time staff for Mytton Wells. She'll be in England until the autumn, which is when I'd planned to take up the reins at the bank again, so that gives me time to or­ganise everything this end. I'll work mainly from home, I've decided, so that I can spend as much time as possible around Sophie and whoever's being sur­rogate mum.'

  He meant Sophie's future nanny, of course. It cer­tainly would not be her. That dratted lump clogged up her throat again and she said hoarsely, 'It all sounds quite perfect. But I'm sure you didn't kidnap me to talk about your domestic arrangements.'

  'Too right I didn't. And be honest—I didn't kidnap you, Caro. Instinct tells me you want to be with me; all you needed was a little persuading.'

  His instinct was right on the mark, she decided glumly, knotting her fingers together in her lap and wishing he didn't have the ability to look deep into the secrets of her heart.

  Of course she could have resisted, told him she re­fused to go anywhere with him, much less spend the night with him at Mytton. If she'd said it loudly enough, firmly enough, he would have listened. He wasn't a criminal and he wasn't a brute.

  He would be remembering her confession of love. She wondered miserably how much mileage he in­tended to make out of that!

  They'd left the motorway and the major roads were behind them and the sturdy vehicle had slowed down in the narrow tangle of lanes. It wouldn't be long be­fore they reached his new home and that would test her emotional strength to the very limit.

  Mytton Wells. Twice the scene of her humiliation and pain. Yet it was where she most longed to be. With him. With Sophie. For always.

  'I've got a shrewd idea what this is all about. Punishment,' she said gruffly. 'So bawl me out as much as you like—for the stunt I pulled, I fully de­serve it. I'd prefer it if you didn't publicly humiliate the agency, but I'll understand if you feel you must. Passing myself off as a competent, trained nanny was unforgivable, unprofessional and immature. I apolo­gise unreservedly.'

  It was the nearest she could get to grovelling and did not merit his roar of laughter. 'You find me amus­ing?' she said frigidly.

  He took his eyes off the road for a second and flicked her a wicked glance. 'Amusing, exasperating, sexy, appealing, adorable. And I've no intention of bawling you out, as you put it. And the only damage I'm likely to do to your precious agency is to deprive them of your presence. If I can do the lion's share of my work from an office at home, then so can you.'

  Caro stared at his profile. He looked normal. He didn't look like someone who'd suddenly lost it, gone off his trolley.

  So it must be her. She must be so emotionally man­gled that she was dreaming up impossible scenarios, putting imaginary words into his mouth.

  There was only one explanation and that was totally unlikely, and completely out of the question, but she voiced it, just in case. 'Am I to take it that you would like me to continue as Sophie's nanny?'

  'Certainly not. I couldn't stand the strain! You said earlier that you thought the set-up at Mytton sounded perfect. You were wrong. But you could make it per­fect. Share it with us. Be there with us, as Sophie's mum, as my wife, as mother of my children—if you want them.'

  Caro swallowed. Hard. She was dreaming. She had to be. Dusk had deepened into darkness. The head­lights carved a tunnel between the high hedgerows. Dreaming, or died and gone to heaven!

  'Caro! Say something!' His voice was raw round the edges. 'Dammit, woman! This is impossible!' Frustration growled in his tone. 'I didn't intend pro­posing at a time when I have to keep both eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel! You dragged it out of me! There's champagne in the fridge at Mytton, and a bed, and—'

  'Are you proposing marriage, Finn?' That proved it. She was dreaming. She put out a tentative, explora­tory hand and rested it on his thigh. The heat of his flesh burned her through the soft, lightweight fabric and felt solidly, sexily real.

  'Don't do that!' he muttered hoarsely, and knocked her hand away.

  'Do what?' She put her hand on his knee. That, too, felt reassuringly real.

  'Touch me,' he growled through his teeth. 'We are a good ten minutes away from Mytton and there are no lay-bys along this lane. And even if there were I do not want to make love with you on a car seat in a lay-by. But if you keep touching me I will not be held responsible.'

  How could she believe him?

  How could she not believe him and deny herself a taste of heaven? Could hearts break in dreams as well as in reality?

  She folded her hands primly in her lap. He had made it sound as if something cataclysmic would hap
­pen if she touched him one more time. And he was right. Heat of the wicked, wanton kind was building up right inside her, coiling sweetly, hotly through her, making her ache with longing.

  'But you don't like me.' She sounded as puzzled as she was. 'You threw me out.'

  'So?' He sounded as if he hurled half-clothed fe­males off his property every day of his life. 'You made me angry. You'd hurt me. I couldn't resist you, and I didn't want to entrust my happiness to the type of woman who would make love with a man she be­lieved to be married, to get revenge for something he hadn't done.'

  'I did try to explain about all that, and I have apolo­gised. And before we went to Mytton that first time I'd decided I wouldn't go through with the revenge thing. I was just going to tell you what I thought of what I then believed you'd done to Katie...'

  She pushed her hands shakily through her hair. All this was getting weirder by the second. Why would he propose marriage to a woman he didn't like? 'But you touched me, kissed me, and things just got out of hand, and I wasn't thinking about anything but the way it felt to be in your arms and—'

  'Don't I know it!' Briefly, emotionally, his hand covered hers in her lap. 'After you'd gone I spent days thinking about it. About us.' He transferred his hand back to the steering wheel. 'I ended up despising my­self. I'd blamed you for believing the worst of me without hearing my side of things or going to the trou­ble to get at the truth.

  'Yet there I was doing the same to you, and I had heard your side of the story. Of course you wanted to pay me back for hurting your sister. Of course you believed her story. Why wouldn't you? You'd been standing up for her for most of your life, you loved her, you didn't know me from Adam. So naturally you took up the cudgels on her behalf.

  'And once I'd seen that particular light, and come to terms with the way you'd said you'd intended to get revenge, I knew that you weren't the sort of woman to make love with a married man. You stopped me well before we got to the point of no return.'