As she took potatoes from the vegetable rack the phone rang. She picked the instrument up off the table, stamping firmly on the fluttery hope that it might be Carl. He didn’t have her mobile number; the caller couldn’t be him.
It wasn’t. It was Henry.
‘Angela had a little boy just over an hour ago—both of them are fine, but I’m exhausted! We shouldn’t have let the housekeeper go to her sister for the holiday; the house is an utter shambles and I spent the whole night making pots of tea for the midwives—’
The outside door opened and Carl walked in. Beth lost the thread of what her employer was saying. Carl’s hands were pushed into the pockets of his sheepskin, the upturned collar framing a face that was white with fatigue, the skin stretched tightly over the fabulous bone structure, the eyes deep-set, unsmiling.
Beth’s stomach performed a series of somersaults. She hadn’t expected him to show his face until everything had been arranged through his solicitor. She felt warm colour steal across her cheeks, her lips curve into an unstoppable smile. She knew she shouldn’t read anything into his unexpected arrival, but couldn’t help herself hoping…
Holding the phone against her upper chest, she asked softly, ‘Carl, would you fetch Guy, please? His father has news for him,’ and watched a brief smile touch his gorgeous mouth, a gleam of understanding flicker in his eyes, before he strode past her into the parlour, where the noise was reaching earsplitting levels.
A pulse was beating madly in her throat as she gave her fractured attention back to Henry, offering sincere congratulations and the information that Guy was having a great time and would talk to him in a moment.
The little boy scampered in, his face flushed with warmth from the fire and happy excitement. Beth gave him the phone, her heart lurching as Carl reentered the room. Jamie was holding his father’s hand.
‘I dropped by to wish these two merry Christmas,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not stopping.’
Stay! Beth’s eyes pleaded, and she could have hugged Jamie when he vocalised the word she hadn’t had the courage to force past her lips.
‘Stay! Please! I want you to.’ Huge eyes shining, the little boy tugged at his father’s hand. ‘You can play with my train set and have some Christmas dinner! And Guy’s got a new football and a Man United away strip. You could be goalie!’
Her mouth running dry, Beth met Carl’s eyes. What she read there made her bones go weak. He needed his son and Jamie needed a father. Mums were okay, as far as they went, for kissing sore places better, giving hugs and cuddles, making food. But mums knew zilch about football teams and hadn’t got a clue about rolling stock and signals. A boy needed his dad.
‘Stay.’ She added her own entreaty, making it easier for him by tilting her head towards Guy, who was now capering wildly around the room.
‘I got a brother!’ he was shouting, over and over, until she felt dizzy.
‘I really could do with some help.’
Some of the tension eased out of his hard, handsome face as he conceded, ‘So I see,’ and his smile was wide and magical as he captured Guy’s flying figure with one strong hand and suggested, ‘Why don’t we go and see how Bert’s weathered the snowstorm? If he’s okay we could make him a wife for company. A man gets lonely when he’s on his own.’
Was she meant to read something into that? Beth wondered hectically, her hand going to her breast, where her heart was pounding violently. She hardly registered Guy’s shriek of, ‘And make them a baby. A boy baby. If I’d had a soppy sister I’d have given her away!’
As the two boys raced to collect their coats and boots in a competitive jostle Carl said, ‘I’ll keep them out of your hair for a couple of hours. The fresh air and exercise might calm them down. What time would you like them back for lunch?’
She held his eyes. ‘We’ll eat at two. You included,’ she ordered firmly.
‘I didn’t intend—’
‘I know you didn’t.’ She cut through the stiff beginning of what she was sure would amount to a stiltedly polite refusal to accept her order. He was used to dishing them out, not taking them. As an inducement he couldn’t back away from, she added, ‘James would be really disappointed if you didn’t share Christmas lunch with us.’
She saw the way his broad chest expanded on a sudden intake of breath, heard the huskiness of his voice as he countered, ‘How about you? Would you be disappointed?’
Dragging in a breath just as deep and as ragged as his had been, she answered, ‘Very,’ and heard the lightening of his tone as he collected the boys and led them outside.
Everything was ready on the stroke of two: the table spread with Gran’s best cloth, scarlet crackers by each place-setting, the plump golden-brown chicken surrounded by crisp roast potatoes on a serving dish, vegetables and cranberry sauce, lighted candles and sprigs of holly, glasses of fruit juice for the boys.
And Beth’s stomach was being attacked by a plague of butterflies. While she’d been on her own she’d made up her mind to tell Carl how she felt. Exactly how she felt. She had nothing to lose but her pride—and pride didn’t count for a row of beans when love was at stake.
She’d managed to convince herself that he did feel something for her. Hadn’t he sincerely denied it when she’d accused him of loathing her? Admitted to having been glad to see her again—a warm ray of sunshine on a bitter winter’s day? And he’d said he’d been besotted with her all those years ago.
His insistence on marriage—a clinical, in-name-only relationship—had been dropped when he’d realised she had only kept quiet about James for his sake.
If she still felt the same after all these years then maybe he did, too. All she had to do was find out.
But she was tongue-tied, almost paralysed with the fear that she had got her wires crossed.
The boys were upstairs, washing before lunch, and Carl was opening the champagne Henry had given her to wet the new baby’s head. This was her opportunity to say something, let him know how she felt. But the words wouldn’t come.
The cork popped with a minor explosion and Carl turned to fill the two glasses she’d put ready. He handed her one and their fingers met.
His brilliant eyes shimmered over her flushed face and his voice was low, almost strangely hesitant, for a man who, she was sure, had never suffered a moment’s hesitancy in his charmed and privileged life. ‘Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me all those years ago?’
Emboldened by the intensity in his dark and beautiful eyes, she answered breathily, ‘I was in love with you. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t.’
She saw him wince as if he were in pain, and then there was no opportunity to hear what he might have replied because the boys came thundering down the stairs—and no one could have a meaningful and intimate conversation when crowded out by a pair of chattering, hungry, still over-excited seven-year-old boys.
But it was a happy crowd around the table; she had to admit that. Maybe the champagne helped—and the unspoken messages she was receiving from Carl’s eyes certainly did. If she was reading them correctly, she amended.
‘Why don’t you boys go through by the fire and rest up while Beth and I clear the dishes?’ Carl suggested after the last scrap of pudding had disappeared, the last cracker had been pulled and the last stale joke read out to gales of childish laughter.
‘You could each choose one of your new books to read.’ Beth put in her pennyworth, her heart beginning its now familiar skittering again. Did Carl want to continue that earlier interrupted conversation? She had her internal query confirmed when she started to pile up the dishes.
‘Leave it.’ He caught her hand and a jolt of wicked sensation burned its way right through her. He stood up, facing her, and she wanted to drift her fingers over the lines of his sexy mouth so badly it hurt. There was a moan in her throat and he must have heard it, because every line of his face softened and his voice was a caress that threatened to send her spiralling out of control.
/> ‘Do you still love me, Beth? Tell me the truth. There have been far too many misunderstandings already.’ He took her other hand and her knees wobbled. She nodded, too choked up to speak. Was he going to laugh at her, or, far worse, tell her he was sorry for her?
His eyes darkened emotionally and then he pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his heavily beating heart for one long delirious moment before he cradled her face between his hands and kissed her.
The wild passion of his mouth as it plundered hers, the fevered touch of his hands on her body, her own abandoned responses to every move he made were just as she’d always remembered them—but better. Far, far better. A million wildfire sensations shot like molten fire through her blood and she could have cried aloud in frustrated need when he eventually held her away, his voice rough-edged as he told her, ‘We could have company at any moment, my darling.’
He brought his hands up from the curve of her hips, lightly grazing the narrow span of her waist and then up to brush against the pout of her breasts, making her cry out with the need that was a pulsating fire deep inside her. Silencing her protest with the soft brush of his lips, he murmured against her mouth, ‘I have always loved you. Always.’
It took her a little time to recover, to shake her head and remind him, ‘You married someone else, remember? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.’
Carl cupped her cheekbones, his voice rueful. ‘I’m telling the truth, Beth. It was something I hadn’t fully realised until I saw you again a few days ago. In all those wasted years apart you were often in my thoughts and always in my dreams. Listen, and believe me. When you didn’t respond to my letter—and, boy, did I watch the post every day for months on end—I decided that I obviously meant nothing to you, that what we’d shared had meant nothing. I had to stop myself becoming a total wreck, so I worked hard, played hard—and Terrina was there, literally throwing herself at me, vowing she was crazy about me.
‘One thing led to another, and that led to an engagement. I wasn’t in love with her—I firmly believe the real thing only happens once in a lifetime—but I was fond of her. Marcus, on the one visit he made to the States while I was studying there, thought she was eminently suitable wife material. And she was beautiful. But I didn’t love her. I couldn’t feel the passion I’d felt for you. I was still in love with you, but I refused to let myself even think about it.’
Beth slid her hands up to his shoulders. Of course she believed him. It had been the same for her. He’d never been far from her thoughts, never vacated that special, secret place in her heart.
‘You’ll marry me?’ His heart beat heavily against hers as she moved closer, her shining eyes alight with love. ‘A real, true and lasting marriage? Not merely for our son’s sake but for us?’
The parlour door creaked open and James announced, ‘Guy’s gone to sleep.’ He sounded disgusted.
Beth whispered, ‘Of course I will—just try to stop me!’ and turned to their son.
She took Carl by the hand as the three of them tiptoed back into the parlour, careful not to wake Guy, who was curled up on the sofa, exhausted by the excitement of the day.
The daylight was fading rapidly. Beth closed the curtains and the baubles on the tree glowed in the firelight. When she turned James was snuggled up on Carl’s knee and Carl was saying to him softly, ‘I didn’t expect to meet up with you, so I didn’t have a gift for you this morning. But come the New Year we’ll find something special, I promise.’
‘Excuse me for contradicting…’ Beth knelt with a swirl of scarlet skirts in front of the two dearly loved males in her life. ‘But Carl does have a gift for you, Jamie. Carl is your daddy. And very soon now we’re going to get married and spend the rest of our lives together.’
There was a heartbeat of silence while Jamie’s face went red with sheer happiness, then he wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, and when he emerged from the stranglehold he said, ‘That’s the very best present ever. In the whole wide world!’
Carl caught Beth’s hand and brought it to his mouth, and their eyes said to each other, It’s been a perfect day.
Diana Hamilton - A Seasonal Secret Page 8
