The Brabanti Baby

by Catherine Spencer

  “You have a point,” he said, the glimmer of a smile curling his mouth, “and you certainly seem comfortable handling Nicola.”

  “I ought to be. I’ve dealt with enough babies over the years.”

  “Ah! You have children of your own?”

  “No. I’ve never been married.”

  “The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand these days.”

  “They do for me,” she informed him flatly. “I’m the old-fashioned kind who believes in two-parent families.”

  “How refreshing!” His smile would have charmed apples off a tree, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes that made Eve wary. “Do you and Marcia have anything in common?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We both love Nicola and want what’s best for her.”

  “Well, I can hardly take issue with that, can I?” He took her hands and drew her up to stand beside him. Her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’d like to look in on my daughter before I leave. Will you come with me?”

  Together, they went through to the nursery. A lamp glowed on the dresser, filling the room with soft light. Nicola lay on her back in the crib, with her little arms spread-eagled and her tiny fists curled.

  Bracing his hands on the crib rail, Gabriel watched her, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable. “Will she sleep through until morning?”

  “No. She’ll need to be fed again around midnight, and again between two and three.”

  “Then I should be shot for keeping you up so late.” He touched her arm. “Tomorrow, you must rest. I’ll spend an hour with her after breakfast, before I leave for my office, and another in the late afternoon when I return home. Otherwise, Beryl will look after her.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’m used to shift work.”

  They were standing close together, speaking in whispers, the way parents might, and the intimacy of it all shimmered between them like a live thing. “I suspect,” he said, his gaze burning into hers, “that you’re also used to picking up the slack for others, regardless of what it might cost you.”

  “I do what has to be done, but I’m no saint.”

  “Nor am I,” he said, and the way he looked at her made her stomach turn over. “Nor am I. You’d do well to remember that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  WASHED by moonlight, the villa lay at peace. Even the faint cry of the infant upstairs had at last dwindled into sleepy silence. Only he, plagued by misgivings, paced the length of his ground floor study and watched the night slip toward morning.

  A three-quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, something he’d cultivated a taste for during his years at Harvard, stood on the desk, an empty glass beside it. Not even the bourbon could soothe his uneasiness tonight. After the evening just past, his suspicion that Marcia was up to no good had crystallized into certainty.

  Their marriage might have lasted less than a year but in that time he’d come to know her well. She was secretive and sly and selfish; a bold-faced liar unhindered by scruples, and completely dedicated to furthering her own interests. And the cousin, Eve, knew it, even though she played her part well, turning her wide-eyed gaze on him and feigning ignorance of the true state of affairs.

  She was lying, too, albeit by omission, but exposing her deception would be easy. Under that spirited front she put on, she was vulnerable—and very, very susceptible. He’d noticed how her pulse had raced, how she’d flushed, when he touched her. When they’d stood close together by the baby’s crib, he’d seen the agitated rise and fall of her breasts under her robe, and the way his gaze had held her hypnotized.

  Unlike her cousin, Eve Caldwell’s experience of men was limited. He wouldn’t have to work too hard to uncover her secrets and seduce her into becoming his ally.

  The realization should have calmed his restlessness and made sleep possible at last. Instead, it left a burning distaste in his mouth which the bourbon couldn’t begin to combat. To have to sink to his ex-wife’s contemptible level of subterfuge in order to ensure his daughter’s welfare offended his sense of decency.

  But, a man had to do what a man had to do, and casualties were inevitable in war. Too bad that, in this instance, Marcia had put her cousin directly in the line of fire, and made her the victim. It wasn’t fair. But then, the power struggle resulting from a marriage gone sour never was.

  For the next few days, Eve took Nicola to visit Gabriel at the appointed time, and he dutifully went through the routine of holding his daughter on his lap, inquiring about her welfare, and handing her back with patent relief when the hour was up.

  Eve really wondered why he even bothered with the little thing, he was so uneasy around her. She’d expected better of him. He was from Italy, a country where the “bambino” reigned supreme. For heaven’s sake, cuddle her close! she felt like scolding him. Treat her as if she’s your own flesh and blood, instead of a stray you found on your doorstep!

  By the end of the first week, however, she noticed he was growing more comfortable around his infant daughter. Once or twice, she caught a hint of real affection in his eyes, of real pleasure in the smile he bestowed on Nicola.

  Apart from those times, Eve rarely saw him. She took breakfast and lunch alone in her suite, and when a business crisis of some kind kept him away from home four evenings in a row, she dined alone, too.

  Yet whenever she and Gabriel did happen to be in the same room together, the atmosphere between them crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with hostility. Even though the context of their conversations revolved entirely around Nicola and was entirely appropriate, Eve read a different kind of message when his glance happened to collide with hers. The promise in his blue eyes made her forget to be cautious; his smile made her dizzy.

  Sometimes, in passing the baby back and forth, their hands would touch. He made such contact seem meaningless, accidental, nonthreatening. But it left her feeling exposed, hungry, breathless. She was filled with a sense of anticipation; of something thrilling about to happen.

  All that changed on Tuesday, at the beginning of her second week there. At seven-thirty, Beryl showed up with a pot of coffee and insisted on taking over in the nursery.

  “After the time you’ve had, you’ll be needing this,” she told Eve, swirling cream into a china mug, and topping it up with the rich, aromatic brew. “I heard the baby crying again around two this morning. She sounded colicky, poor little mite.”

  “I’m sorry she kept you awake, as well,” Eve said. “You must be wishing you’d put me in another part of the house where sound doesn’t travel so easily.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who walked the floor with her half the night. Take your coffee outside and get a breath of fresh air, why don’t you?”

  Stepping out onto her bedroom balcony, Eve breathed in a sigh of sheer pleasure. Except for the lacy black projection of the oriole windows, the limestone walls of the villa rose up, tinted vanilla by the sun. The garden, lush with tropical flowers and trees, sloped down to a crescent of pale sand beyond which lay the deep blue sweep of the Mediterranean.

  High overhead, too high for it to disturb the birdsong from a large aviary of finches built into the face of a rock wall, a silver jet streaked across the clear sky, leaving behind a narrow vapor trail. Closer at hand, in the suite behind her, she could hear Beryl crooning to Nicola.

  A moment later, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway, with Nicola swaddled in a towel. “By the way, I forgot to tell you that Signor Brabanti asked me to hold off serving breakfast until nine o’clock, and wants you and Nicola to join him.”

  Ignoring the little leap of her pulse, Eve said, “He’s leaving for the office later than usual, then?”

  “He’s not going to the office at all. He’s taking the day off to be with you.”

  There was no ignoring her body’s reaction to that piece of news. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest. “But can he do that? I thought there were problems at work, and he was needed there.”

>   “He can do whatever he likes, love. He’s the boss.”

  Well, of course he was! The idea that he’d be anyone’s underling was laughable—and the prospect of spending the day with him, little short of alarming!

  Bad enough that the memory of his face and touch kept her awake at night, every bit as much as Nicola’s crying. Eve didn’t relish the thought of trying to put on a poised front in public, for hours at a stretch, when the very mention of his name was enough to send her into a state of utter disarray.

  What had prompted his sudden interest in spending time with her, she wondered, cradling her coffee mug between both hands and leaning on the balcony railing.

  As if allowing him into her thoughts was enough to conjure him up in the flesh, a movement in the cove below caught her eye. Glancing down, she saw him emerging from the shallow waves, the water cascading down his body in sun-splintered streaks. He reminded her of some mythical, magnificent sea god—except such creatures usually camouflaged their nakedness with strategically placed garlands, whereas he wore the briefest pair of swimming trunks ever designed by man.

  Blithely unaware of his fascinated audience, he sauntered across the beach to retrieve a towel hidden behind a chunk of rock thrusting up through the sand. Afraid her slightest movement would attract his attention, Eve shrank against the sun-warmed stone wall, helpless to tear her gaze away as he dried off his dripping hair, mopped at his broad chest, and last, swabbed the towel up his legs and between his thighs.

  And then, to her utter horror, he suddenly straightened and lifted his gaze directly to the balcony where she stood rooted to the spot, her eyes glued to his body as if she’d never before seen how the male of the species was put together. It was all she could not to squeak with embarrassment.

  He, on the other hand, wasn’t the least perturbed. As casually as any other man might have buttoned up his shirt, he draped the towel around his hips, tucked the ends in place, then raised a hand in greeting. “Come down for a swim before the day grows too hot,” he called out.

  As if, for her, it could possibly grow any hotter! Already, she was burning up as if she had a fever! Every part of her, from her face to the soles of her feet, had erupted in a fiery blush. How in the world could she ever look him in the eye again?

  With extreme difficulty, as she found out soon enough.

  “If you’re thinking of bathing before breakfast, better not wait too much longer, love,” Beryl announced, reappearing with Nicola, now bathed and fed, in her arms.

  Eve was tempted to invent a headache—anything to avoid having to confront Gabriel again so soon—except what was the point? She could delay matters all she liked, but since she couldn’t avoid him indefinitely, there was nothing to be gained be putting off the inevitable.

  And what, after all, did she have to feel so self-conscious about? She wasn’t the one who’d strutted around practically naked before him. If anyone should be red-faced with embarrassment, he should!

  Fine talk, and it bolstered her throughout the time it took her to shower and dress. But when, at last, she stood on the threshold of the breakfast room and found him already seated at the table with his nose buried in the morning paper, her composure seeped away like water in a leaky bathtub.

  Stop dithering and get it over with! the down-to-earth self she prided herself on being, scolded. He’s just a man, no different from the hundreds of others you’ve seen. Keep your wild imagination in check, and think of him as just another patient!

  From behind his newspaper, Gabriel spoke. “Avanti, prego, signorina! It’s quite safe for you to come in. I don’t bite.”

  Feeling as big a fool as she no doubt looked—though how he could see her through several pages of newsprint, defied explanation—she tottered toward the table. “I’ve brought the baby,” she said, for want of a more scintillating reply. “I expect you’re ready for her morning visit.”

  He folded the paper and, setting it aside, rose to his feet. “Assolutamente!” he said, taking the infant seat from her and propping it up on the chair next to his so that Nicola faced him. His thick black lashes swept down, as if to hide the sudden tenderness in his eyes as he regarded his daughter. Then, looking up, he bathed Eve in a smile that could only be described as blatantly invitational. “Mostly, though, I wish to apologize to you.”

  “Me? Why?” It was as well he came around to draw out a chair for her, because her legs were suddenly weak as water and it was all she could do to remain upright. No man had the right to be so distractingly gorgeous.

  “Because you are my guest and I’ve been a most neglectful host. It’s time I made up for that.”

  “You’re under no such obligation,” she replied hastily. “I’m here only as Nicola’s…nanny.”

  “A servant? I think not!” He rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them a little squeeze before returning to his own seat. “My daughter continues to keep you up at night, I’m told.”

  “A little, yes. She’s still very young, and I’m not sure she tolerates her formula as well as she should.”

  “Probably because she should be receiving mother’s milk.” His eyes drifted from Eve’s face to the bodice of her sundress and remained there. “Is it not common in America for women to breast-feed their infants?”

  “Yes,” she replied, defying her nipples to acknowledge his scrutiny. “In fact, it’s recommended, and the preferred choice of most mothers.”

  “But not Marcia.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I really don’t know. Perhaps you should ask her.”

  “I’d gladly do so, if she’d return my calls. I’ve tried several times to contact her since you got here.”

  “Why?” she said, not about to admit she’d done the same, with singular lack of success. “To verify that I am who I say I am?”

  “No, my dear signorina,” he said mildly. “To let her know that you and Nicola arrived safely, and keep her informed of our daughter’s doings. It strikes me as something any normal mother would want to know. But although I’ve left messages with her assistant at the agency, I’ve yet to hear directly from Marcia herself.”

  “Probably because she’s away. I already told you, as soon as she’d seen us off at Kennedy airport, she joined her husband on tour.”

  “So you did. But that hardly renders her incommunicado with the rest of the world—unless he’s touring the polar ice cap.”

  “There’s also the time difference to take into account. New York’s six hours behind Malta.”

  “I have enough business interests worldwide to be well aware of international time changes, Eve,” he reminded her, offering his finger to Nicola, who immediately grasped it in her tiny fist and favored him with a solemn, large-eyed stare.

  “Look at that, will you?” he said. “Even though I’m her father, I’m a complete stranger to her. Yet she clings to me with absolute confidence, certain she is safe with me and wraps me around her little heart without even trying. I cannot imagine being indifferent to where, and how, she is.”

  Ignoring the clutch of emotion inspired by the sight of Nicola’s translucent dimpled knuckles curved so trustingly around his long, tanned finger, Eve said, “If you’re suggesting Marcia doesn’t care—!”

  Beryl chose that moment to come into the room with a bowl of peaches, and a basket of warm sweet rolls to go with the curls of butter and preserves already on the table. A young girl accompanied her, bringing in a fresh pot of coffee.

  Glad of the interruption, Eve helped herself to the fruit and hoped he’d drop the subject of Marcia’s apparent lack of concern for her baby. Because how could she defend something she herself found hard to understand?

  The moment they were alone again, though, Gabriel picked right up where he’d left off. “If I am suggesting she doesn’t care,” he said, gently disentangling himself from his daughter’s grip, and pouring himself more coffee, “I’ll be glad to have you prove me wrong. You told me, your first night
here, that you’re accustomed to being around children, in which case I respect your opinion. Are you a teacher? Is that how you gained your experience?”

  “No. I work as a nurse in an inner city health clinic, and I can tell you that the babies I see would consider themselves fortunate beyond their wildest dreams if they had the kind of home Marcia provides for Nicola.”

  “Are you saying your patients live in poverty?”

  “That, of course—and in some cases, it’s extreme. But it’s not just the grinding misery of being poor that shows in their eyes, it’s the violence and neglect that so often go with it. Many of them have learned before they’re two years old that they have no future.”

  His gaze rested on her face with a compassion in its blue depths that, if she’d allowed it, would seriously have undermined her determination to resist him. “You must find that very distressing.”

  “It breaks my heart, every day.”

  “And the fact that Marcia appears to treat my daughter like a toy to be cast aside when something more interesting comes along, doesn’t?”

  “It’s not like that, at all!” she insisted heatedly. “You only have to look at Nicola to see that she’s well cared for.”

  He fixed her in such a reproachful stare that she squirmed. “Signorina Eve, a vintage car might be well-cared for, or a garden, or a public park! But a baby deserves better than that, surely? A baby should be treasured, doted upon, adored.”

  “What makes you think Nicola isn’t?”

  “On the surface, nothing, although I admit I’d expected her to look a little more robust for her age, and be a good deal more contented than she often is.” He flicked a glance at Nicola who, for once, was quite happy gazing at the slow-circling blades of the ceiling fan, then turned his attention again to Eve. “But I see that I’m making you very uncomfortable with my speculations and opinions. Forgive me. I have no right trying to drag you into the middle of what is, after all, a fight between my ex-wife and me.” He pushed the basket of sweet rolls closer. “Try these and some of Beryl’s excellent home-made preserves. I swear, if she suspects I’ve spoiled your appetite, she’ll make my life a misery.”