The Brabanti Baby

by Catherine Spencer

  “What sort of question is that?” she croaked. “You know very well who I am. Marcia wrote and told you.”

  But even as she spoke, she knew her words were meaningless, and she knew why. Because, of course, her cousin had done no such thing. Instead Marcia had behaved just as she always did when faced with a sticky situation: she’d lied, then run for cover. It was a habit of such long-standing that the shame was Eve’s for having expected anything else.

  “What I know,” Gabriel Brabanti replied stonily, “is that unless she has undergone extensive cosmetic surgery, you are not my ex-wife. As for her having written to me, apart from a brief note advising me that she would be arriving today, I’ve had no contact with Marcia since her equally brief message informing me of my daughter’s birth.”

  Still stunned by his appearance and feeling like an utter fool because of it, Eve said, “She’s never been much of a letter writer.”

  His mouth thinned scornfully and she could hardly blame him. Such a lame excuse deserved nothing but contempt. “She appears to possess few commendable qualities. That, however, does not answer my question. Who are you?”

  “Her cousin, Eve Caldwell.” She deposited the infant seat on the floor, fumbled to shift the heavy diaper bag from her right arm to her left and thrust out her hand. Discomfited when he ignored it, she rushed to explain, “I’m Nicola’s aunt. Sort of—well, not really. Technically I suppose she’s really my first cousin once removed. But Marcia and I are like sisters—twins, even. Our fathers are brothers, and she and I share the same birthday, you see. So it seemed the natural thing for me to assume the role of aunt to her baby.”

  “Do you always babble like this in reply to a simple question, Signorina Caldwell?” he inquired, his gaze never once wavering. “Or is it something you resort to only when you’re nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous,” she said. But that she had to swallow twice and run the tip of her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry made a mockery of her answer.

  “You should be. Within minutes of your arrival, you discover your cousin has betrayed your trust. Only a complete simpleton would assume her store of unpleasant surprises ends there.”

  His marriage to Marcia might have been brief, Eve decided glumly, but clearly it had lasted long enough for him to get to know her altogether too well. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to confront him again. “I can deal with anything Marcia dishes out.”

  “And so,” he said, “can I. I suggest you remember that, Signorina Caldwell, should you ever feel tempted to aid and abet her in any schemes she might be hatching. I’m sure she’s regaled you with tales of how miserable and intolerant a husband she found me, but she hasn’t the first idea of how formidable an enemy I can be when I really put my mind to it.” He stepped closer and made a move toward the infant seat. “Now, having made my position clear, I would like to meet my daughter.”

  Acting purely on instinct, Eve beat him to it and hauled Nicola out of reach. “She’s sleeping.”

  “So I see. But since I don’t expect her to engage in conversation with me, it hardly signifies. Hand her over, per favor!”

  “Here?” Eve glanced around the vast hall. Impressive and magnificent though it might be from an architectural viewpoint, as a cosy setting for father and daughter to become acquainted, it left a lot to be desired. “Haven’t you prepared a nursery?”

  “An entire suite, signorina,” he assured, his exasperation tinted with amusement. “And all of it well equipped to serve your every need. Don’t look so suspicious. I merely wish to hold my daughter, not feed her to the wolves.”

  Her glance fell from his face to his hands. They looked capable enough, but, “Have you ever held a baby before? It’s not the same as handling a parcel, you know. You have to support her head.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “And keep a firm grip. Babies have an inborn fear of being dropped.”

  “I have no intention of dropping her, nor do I intend to take her from you by force. I am, however, rapidly running out of patience. So for the last time, signorina, hand her over.”

  Reluctantly, she did so. He grasped the handle of the infant seat and raised it level with his chest in one smooth swing. “So,” he said quietly, his eyes tracking Nicola’s tiny features with somber intensity, “this is the child I fathered. She’s small.”

  Small? She was beautiful! Perfect from the top of her downy head to the tips of her dainty little feet! If small was the best he could come up with, he didn’t deserve her, and Eve would gladly have informed him of the fact if it weren’t that alienating him would serve no useful purpose.

  “Most babies are, Signor Brabanti,” she said, with as much restraint as she could muster.

  “I suppose.” Continuing to hold the carrier at chest height as easily as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread, he made his way slowly across the hall and through a doorway on the left.

  Following, Eve found herself in a reception room so exquisitely furnished that she couldn’t contain a small gasp of pleasure. She’d visited enough museums to recognize that the gorgeous ceiling and wall moldings, the beautiful faded rugs, the inlaid cabinets, and silk-covered sofas were priceless. But it was the combination of color and texture, as much as the antiques themselves, which lent the room such extraordinary distinction.

  “There is a problem, Signorina Caldwell?” Elegant eyebrows raised in question, Gabriel paused before the fireplace. “You’re perhaps thinking that this isn’t a house where a child could roam freely, and play without fear of breaking something irreplaceable?”

  She ran a self-conscious hand down her travel-worn suit. A stain marked the lapel of the jacket, where Nicola had spat up during the flight from Amsterdam, and the full skirt was woefully creased. “Actually I’m thinking that, to be in a room like this, I should be wearing formal evening dress—something in heavy slipper satin with a train, and diamonds and pearls.”

  “The opportunity will arise in due course,” he remarked ambiguously, “but for tonight, what you have on will serve well enough. You will have noticed, I’m sure, that I’m not dressed for a night at the opera, either.”

  Of course she’d noticed! What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have, when confronted by such a splendid male specimen? His blue jeans clung to his long legs and molded themselves to his hips like a jealous lover. His shirt, unbuttoned halfway to his waist, ebbed and flowed over the breadth of his chest, allowing tantalizing glimpses of bronze skin and a smattering of dark hair.

  With cavalier disregard, he set the infant seat in the middle of an elaborate gilt occasional table, and it was all Eve could do not to utter a protest. “How do I unfasten these restraints?”

  “There’s a release button here.” She hurried forward, unsnapped the buckles holding the safety belts in place, then lifted Nicola out of the seat before it did irreparable damage to the table’s delicate surface, and handed her to her father.

  He held her with his elbows pressed to his sides, his forearms extended, his hands too inexperienced to know how to scoop up so tiny a burden, and he too unaware to know she’d feel more secure cuddled up against his chest. Instead he stared down at her, the doubtful look on his face speaking volumes. Picking up on his uncertainty, Nicola stretched and let out an annoyed squawk.

  He froze. “Per carita! She wriggles like an eel!”

  “Hold her upright,” Eve suggested. “You’ll both feel safer that way.”

  “Like so?” Tentatively he hoisted Nicola so that she rested solidly against his chest, with her head on his shoulder. As if she sensed she’d come home, she turned and burrowed her face against the smooth, tanned skin of his neck, her mouth seeking.

  Unexpectedly moved by the sight of the baby, so pink and delicate, nestled trustingly against the man, so dark and strong, Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Exactly like that.”

  He made a face. “Why is she’s slobbering on me?”

  “Because she’s hungry.” She nodded
to where she’d left the diaper bag in the hall. “I’ve got a bottle of formula out there. If you’ll tell me where the kitchen is, I’ll go warm it up, then feed her.”

  He indicated a velvet rope hanging beside the fireplace. “Ring for my housekeeper. She’ll heat the bottle. And I,” he said flatly, “will feed my daughter. You’ve done your part by bringing her to me, signorina. I’ll take over now.”

  She hadn’t been so summarily dismissed since her student nurse days when she’d accidentally stepped on the hospital chief of staff’s toe. “Fine,” she said, smarting at his high-handed tone, and yanked the bell pull with rather more force than was warranted. “Then you can change her diaper as well. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s leaking all over your shirt. In fact, give her a bath while you’re at it. She could use one, after spending most of the day either in airports or on a jet.”

  His horrified expression would have been comical if Eve had been in any mood to laugh. But all she could think of was Marcia’s warning. Establish your rights from the start…because given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive…!

  “Perhaps,” he murmured grudgingly, “I’ll allow you take care of her needs this one time, after all.”

  Allow? Oh, the man had gall to spare! “You’ll allow me to look after my own niece? How big of you!”

  For a second too long, they glared at one another, and in that time a turbulent sense of recognition swarmed through the air; a sense that beneath the surface of resentment and rivalry, something much less antagonistic and much more disturbingly erotic, was struggling to emerge.

  Even he felt it. “Forgive me, signorina,” he said, almost pushing Nicola at her, then backing out of range of that sudden, strange, high-voltage jolt of electricity. “I didn’t intend to come across as quite so overbearing. Please attend to my daughter’s needs as you see fit. There’ll be time enough in the coming weeks for me to become better acquainted with her.”

  “As you wish,” Eve said, feeling oddly disoriented herself. Just as well a pleasant-faced, motherly woman appeared in the doorway and took charge.

  Appearing equally relieved by her arrival, Gabriel said, “This is Beryl, my housekeeper. Beryl, my daughter’s mother won’t be staying with us, after all. Instead Signorina Caldwell is taking her place.”

  If the housekeeper was surprised by the change in guest arrangements, she was too well-schooled to let it show. “Si, signor.”

  He glanced again at Nicola who’d begun to howl in earnest. Raising his voice over the din, he asked, “How long do you expect it will take to settle her for the night, Signorina Caldwell?”

  “An hour, at least.”

  Eyeing the large gilt pendulum clock on the wall, he said, “Then we’ll sit down to dinner at nine-thirty.”

  “I’d prefer to have a snack in my room.”

  “Don’t push your luck, signorina! I’ve made enough concessions for one night.”

  “And I’ve been traveling for the better part of two days.”

  For a moment, from the way his mouth tightened, she thought they were in for another confrontation. Then, on a long, controlled exhalation, he said, “Indeed you have. How remiss of me to have overlooked that fact. Beryl, show Signorina Caldwell to the suite you’ve prepared, will you, and make sure she has everything she needs?”

  “Certainly, signor. And shall I order a light supper while I’m at it?”

  “I’ll speak to Fabroni on your behalf.” He glanced again with some alarm at his daughter. “It would seem you’re going to have your hands full, dealing with…that.”

  “All right, then.” She smiled at Eve. “Come with me, signorina, and let’s get the little one looked after.”

  He watched her follow Beryl out of the room, his brow knit in thought. That his ex-wife was up to something he had no doubt. Unless there was some pressing reason to do so, no normal mother entrusted a young baby to the care of someone else, on a journey taking her halfway around the world, no matter how impeccably trustworthy and capable that person might be.

  The question was, what part did the cousin play in all this? Was she merely a pawn in Marcia’s latest scheme, or did her big, innocent gray eyes and softly curved mouth serve to disguise yet another devious mind?

  He smiled grimly. The day had yet to dawn that Marcia succeeded in manipulating him, and this time was no exception. One way or another, he’d ferret out her true motives, and if either woman thought they’d use a helpless infant to further their own ends, they were in for a very rude awakening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BERYL led the way up the marble staircase and along a wide hall to a set of double doors at the end. “Here we are, signorina. You’re in the tower suite. It’s got one of the best views in the whole house, and is very comfortable. Signor Brabanti’s given me a free hand setting up the nursery, and I believe you’ll find all the supplies you’re likely to need, but it’s been a long time since I’ve shopped for a baby. I’d no idea the things you can buy for them, these days.” She flung open the doors and stood back. “After you, love.”

  Stepping over the threshold, Eve found herself in a sitting room furnished in restful shades of aquamarine and cream. Speechless, she gazed around, Marcia’s prediction that Gabriel Brabanti spared no expense in making his guests comfortable coming home to roost with a vengeance. The room was beautifully appointed, and large enough that her entire Chicago apartment could have fit in it, with space to spare.

  “This is your private soggiorno,” Beryl informed her, misinterpreting her stunned silence. “What you’d call a sitting room.”

  “So I see.” Eve blinked, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

  “A bit taken aback, are you?”

  “More than a bit! This is all quite…palatial.”

  “Why don’t I take the baby for a minute, while you have a look around?”

  “Yes. All right.”

  Beryl cradled Nicola in the crook of her arm. “The bedroom’s down the hall, through that door over there, with a bathroom between it and the nursery, and a little kitchenette beyond that. Let me know if there’s something I’ve overlooked that you’d like to have.”

  “I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten a thing.” Still bemused, Eve wandered about the sitting room, noting the elaborate wall and ceiling moldings, and richly carved door panels. An eighteenth-century ladies’ writing desk and bustle chair stood next to a glass and wrought-iron door opening onto a balcony. Beautifully framed antique prints, flanked by Venetian crystal sconces, hung on the wall between two tall oriel windows.

  But there were modern touches, too: a telephone on the desk; a brass floor lamp for reading; fresh flowers in a Lalique vase on the low table before the sofa; a stack of paperback novels on a bookshelf next to the small marble fireplace; a remote control for the television set and stereo system housed in a rosewood cabinet.

  The bedroom was no less impressive, a vast area of cool oyster-white walls, the same ornate oriel windows as the living room, a carved armoire that surely belonged in a museum, and a similarly carved bed standing so high from the floor that she’d have to climb on the matching footstool beside it to reach the mattress.

  But if the chief ambience conveyed by these two rooms was that of an earlier era, the marble bathroom was pure twenty-first century. A steam shower filled one corner. The deep, jetted tub could have accommodated a pair of sumo wrestlers with ease. Even the toilet and bidet went beyond the merely functional in their sleekly elegant lines. As for the gold faucets, thick, velvety towels and profusion of bath oils, powders and lotions…well, they might not have merited notice from European royalty, but they were all a bit overwhelming for a plain little nurse from Chicago.

  “There’s a portable baby bath in that corner cupboard. It’ll fit right next to the wash basin and make it a bit easier on your back when you’re bathing the baby,” Beryl said, coming to stand in the doorway. “You’d need arms a mile long to lean over that contraption of a tub. A body could drown in it
, it’s that deep!”

  “You’re right.” Eve laughed and looked at her through the mirror above the long vanity. “Beryl, may I ask you a personal question?”

  “Anything you like, as long as it’s not how much I weigh,” the housekeeper said cheerfully.

  “It’s just that, although you obviously speak Italian fluently, you don’t sound Italian.”

  “That’s because I’m not. I’m originally from Manchester, in England.”

  “How did you end up in Malta?”

  “My husband brought me here for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and we both fell in love with the island. He died not long after, and there was nothing left in England for me after that, so I brought his ashes back to the place that held so many happy memories for us, and made a new life for myself. That was eleven years ago, and I haven’t regretted it for a second.”

  “It sounds as if your marriage was a true love match.”

  “Oh, it was! Nothing like that terrible business with the signor’s. That wife of his…well, excuse me for saying so, Miss Caldwell, seeing that she’s your cousin and all, but there was no pleasing her.”

  “Marcia can be difficult.”

  The way Beryl’s lips clamped together suggested she could have come up with a more choice description, but she made do with a curt, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. The real pity, though, is that there had to be a baby thrown into the mess.” Her voice softened. “Not that this little mite isn’t lovely, because she is. A real little beauty, in fact—but a bit small for four months, if you ask me. Do you think she’s getting enough to eat?”

  “It’s hard to say. I’ve known her only a couple of days, myself, and most of that time, we’ve been on the move, so I don’t have much of a handle on her eating schedule yet. Compared to some of the babies I see every day, though, she’s the picture of health.”