by Sara Craven
He looked up at her, the turquoise eyes pleading. ‘Is it too much to ask? Does your life in Chelsea mean too much to you?’
She slid off the chair and knelt beside him, her arms going round his neck. She said, ‘I’ve sold my house. I was going away somewhere—anywhere—because I couldn’t bear being without you. And I’d love a house in Yorkshire, with children—and a view. As long as you’re there.’
For a moment he held her closely. He whispered, “‘Live with me and be my love”,’ then he began to kiss her, his warm, questing mouth banishing the chill of loneliness for ever. And Ros surrendered gladly, her body aglow with a happiness she had not dreamed was possible.
When she could speak, she said, ‘But there isn’t going to be a baby, Sam. Not yet. I know that definitely now.’
He lifted her to her feet. He said softly, ‘Then let’s go home and practise.’ And kissed her again.
Ros removed the final page from the printer and put it neatly with the rest of the manuscript. She moved her shoulders, putting a testing hand to the small of her back.
She was glad that she’d finished the new book before the baby came, although she suspected it was going to be a closer finish than she’d realised.
Vivien, she thought happily, had better start packing her godmother’s outfit.
She went over to the window and looked out. The small first-floor room she’d commandeered as a study at the back of the house overlooked the vegetable patch where Sam was digging, vigorously assisted by their golden retriever puppy.
As if he sensed her presence at the window, Sam looked up, shading his eyes, and blew her a kiss.
Ros smiled, resting her fingertips lightly against the glass, feeling her love for him open like a flower within her.
Her case was packed and waiting in the freshly decorated nursery next door. But she wouldn’t tell Sam about the slight contractions she was having. Not quite yet. In case he panicked and started phoning their respective parents, and insisting she go into hospital immediately.
Because she’d rather spend her waiting time here, quietly, with him, in this home they’d made together.
In the end they’d combined their cheques from Life Today to provide the deposit, while, at Sam’s suggestion, the money from the Chelsea house had been set aside as a trust fund for their children.
She’d go downstairs, she thought, and make some coffee, and they would sit on their verandah and drink it, and look at their view with a contentment that went too deep for words.
Sam was walking up the path towards the house, his spade on his shoulder, the dog leaping excitedly beside him.
My family, she thought, placing an exultant hand on her abdomen. My life.
Then, moving slowly, with the dignity befitting a heavily pregnant lady, Rosamund Hunter went down to join her husband.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0459-1
MARRIAGE BY DECEPTION
First North American Publication 2001.
Copyright © 2000 by Sara Craven.
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