The Mother And The Millionaire

by Alison Fraser

  ‘Jack!’ came from Rebecca, shocked at the blunt demand, while a general hush fell round the table.

  Arabella was the first to recover, malicious amusement in her voice as she volunteered, ‘Some Italian schoolboy, ac­cording to Esme, but I have my doubts. What about it, Midge? Fancy revealing all?’

  Intended to embarrass Esme, it more than succeeded, but it also made her angry.

  ‘Oh, I think you’re revealing enough for both of us.’ She let her gaze rest on her sister’s plunging neckline.

  ‘Hurrah,’ Rebecca murmured sotto voce at the double-edged remark.

  But Jack wasn’t to be deflected, grating out, ‘So why the big secret?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Esme muttered back.

  ‘Then who is he?’ He caught and held her eyes.

  At that point Esme was almost certain he knew the answer and didn’t seem to care if the rest of the world knew it.

  She could have withered under the harshness of his stare. Instead she gained strength. ‘Nobody. At least, nobody im­portant. So now, if you and Arabella have finished trying to humiliate me...’

  She let the sentence trail off as she picked up her clutch handbag, rose from the table and marched away.

  She didn’t see Jack move to go after her and Rebecca intercept him, warning him not to do anything he might re­gret. She didn’t run until she reached the hotel lobby and heard her name called, and then her escape was impeded by high heels and the absence of any taxis in the rank outside.

  Jack caught her on the bottom step, hand clamping on her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he ground out.

  ‘Home, of course,’ she snapped and, seeing a cab draw up to let down passengers, shouted, ‘Taxi!’

  ‘Forget it.’ He pulled her with him round the side of the building and she almost tripped trying to keep up.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she threw back in the hotel car park.

  ‘My car,’ he snapped, already dragging her towards it. ‘You’re my guest. I’ll take you home.’

  ‘I’d sooner walk,’ she stated, ‘and what about your other guests?’

  ‘Rebecca will take them,’ he dismissed, escorting her right to the passenger door. ‘Now get in, unless you want me add­ing to your so-called humiliation by airing our business in public!’

  His expression told her it was a threat he meant, and he had her pretty much hemmed in, anyway.

  Seething, Esme climbed aboard. He slammed the door and actually used his remote to re-lock the car with her inside.

  Esme went from angry to furious, rattling at the handle but only succeeding in setting off an alarm so strident she had to put her hands to her ears.

  By the time Jack had rounded to the driver’s side, used the key to shut off the alarm and climbed into his seat, she was too shaken to react.

  He said nothing until he’d reversed out of the space and then it was a dark mutter of, ‘Do you actually imagine I’d let you run away from the truth now?’

  It was a rhetorical question Esme didn’t bother answering. She expected him to follow it up with a real question but he drove in grim-faced silence and at breakneck speed to Highfield, entering by the West Gate to pull up outside her cottage.

  For a moment Esme hoped he would just deposit her there and go, but when she went to open the door he shot out an arm to stop her.

  ‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’ he demanded.

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ she threw back.

  Esme meant it. She gave him the choice. He could remain ignorant and walk away.

  ‘Of course I want to know,’ he grated back.

  Esme took a deep breath, then admitted, ‘Harry is your son, yes.’

  It was what he’d suspected yet he still looked deeply shocked. He released her arm and turned away to grip the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white.

  Esme half expected him to challenge it. After all, she’d claimed to have been with other boys at the same time.

  But, no, there was just a long silence, followed by a ragged mutter of, ‘Damn.’

  Hardly a reaction of joy, and Esme took it as her cue to leave and quickly opened the passenger door.

  She bailed out, rushed up the path, fumbling for her key, had it in the lock and was almost inside when he loomed over her.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ He put his foot in the door. ‘You think you can tell me something like that and just walk away?’

  ‘What else is there to say?’ She rounded on him.

  ‘Plenty,’ he bit back, and, pushing her before him, slammed shut the door.

  Alarmed by his temper, Esme backed her way into the living room, putting space between them.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that!’ he rasped, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  Physically, he meant. He’d certainly hurt her in other ways.

  ‘I just want to know,’ he continued harshly, ‘why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  Esme deliberately misunderstood as she responded, ‘In front of your guests?’

  His mouth went into an even tighter line. ‘When you were pregnant, I meant.’

  Esme felt her own temper rise. ‘And I would have done that how? Catch a plane to America and go searching for you?’

  ‘I sent you a letter at the time,’ he claimed, ‘asking you to write back if you had any problems. OK, so I wasn’t explicit, but what kind of problems did you think I meant?’

  ‘I received no letter!’ she insisted, although she’d begun to believe in its existence, ‘I was back in school by then, anyway.’

  ‘Your mother.’ His brows drew together. ‘She must have intercepted it.’

  But Esme was certain her mother had never connected her pregnancy with Jack. ‘Why should she do that? She didn’t know about us.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought I was after another of her precious daughters.’

  ‘That’s possible.’

  ‘And if you had received it? Would you have written back? Told me about the baby?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Esme answered honestly. ‘It was a while before I realised myself, then my mother made arrangements to have the baby adopted.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t,’ he concluded, and, as some of his fury abated he turned away from her, crossing to a window to stare out on the woods beyond while he struggled to come to terms with it all. ‘It’s hard to take in. Harry being mine... ours.’

  He’s mine, only mine, Esme would have claimed a few short months ago, but somehow she’d lost her conviction. She wondered if he was pleased or horrified to have gained a son and where they might go from here.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me when I came back?’ he pursued, still facing away from her. ‘All this time and you’ve said nothing.’

  ‘I didn’t know how you’d react,’ she replied. ‘It’s not as if you ever wanted to be a father.’

  He turned at that, his brow darkening. ‘How would you know what I want? Have you ever asked me?’

  Somehow Esme had strayed onto dangerous ground, ‘I don’t understand why you’re angry. I was trying to do the best thing for Harry.’

  ‘Like hell you were!’ he threw back at her. ‘If that was the case you’d have accepted my offer to pay his school fees. You could have taken the money, aware I was only doing what a father would, and still kept your damn secret.’

  ‘I let him come and visit you,’ she said in her defence.

  ‘And I’m meant to be grateful for that?’ he scorned in return. ‘You were going to move away, remember, just so I couldn’t be around him, my own son.’

  ‘It wasn’t that!’

  ‘Then what?’

  Esme shook her head rather than explain the turmoil of her feelings for him.

  ‘God, you Hamilton girls are a class act,’ he muttered at length.

  Now that was something Esme could rail against. ‘Don’t compare me with Arabella! I wasn’t the one who messed you around, broke your heart in the first place!’

  ‘
Broke my what?’ He stared at her with little short of amazement. ‘You really believe that?’

  ‘All right, hurt your pride if you like,’ she amended bit­terly.

  ‘That’s closer to the mark,’ he agreed, ‘although perhaps it’s time you heard the whole truth.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to.’ Esme already felt jealous enough of Arabella. ‘In fact, I think you should leave.’

  She managed to sound imperious as she stalked towards the hall. He followed and she actually imagined he was pre­pared to go. The moment she opened the door, however, he slapped it shut with his palm and somehow backed her into a corner.

  ‘Well, you’re going to hear it anyway,’ he barked at her. ‘I didn’t sleep with your sister that summer, although God knows I had ample opportunity.’

  ‘I’m not listening to this.’ She tried to shout him down.

  He continued relentlessly. ‘Oh, I didn’t imagine she was really interested in me. She was just bored and I was around. Hell, I might even have been tempted if she hadn’t already slept with half the neighbourhood. But I wasn’t and didn’t,’ he finished abruptly.

  Esme wanted to believe him but it seemed so unlikely, any man turning down her beautiful sister.

  ‘God, you must take me for a fool!’ she snapped back. ‘Arabella could have had anyone she chose.’

  ‘That’s pretty much what Arabella thought, too—’ his laugh was harsh ‘—which is probably why refusal offended. Hence her complaint to your mother and my subsequent evic­tion.’

  ‘You’re saying—’ Esme was incredulous ‘—that my mother chucked you out because you wouldn’t sleep with my sister?’

  ‘Not quite!’ He gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Your mother isn’t that perverse. I assume she heard the version where I was pressuring Arabella to sleep with me... She obviously had no idea what your sister was like, but you did—you even tried to warn me,’ he reminded her.

  Esme nodded slowly. ‘You thought it was funny.’

  ‘It was,’ he countered, ‘considering I was having to beat her off with a stick.’

  Could that really have been the case?

  ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe?’ he appealed. ‘There was only one Hamilton sister who caught my eye and it wasn’t Arabella.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Esme couldn’t take any more history rewrites. ‘We both know I just happened along.’

  ‘God, Esme.’ He ran a hand through his hair in exasper­ation. ‘Why do you think so little of yourself? I always liked you, more than liked you. That night we made love it felt so right, even though it was so very wrong, with you just a kid and me so many years older. You weren’t experienced either, were you?’

  Esme stared at him with surprised eyes, then shook her head. ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘I guess I knew deep down,’ he admitted with a grimace, ‘but it helped square things with my conscience, the idea you’d already slept around. If it’s any consolation, I’ve al­ways been ashamed of the way I treated you that night.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ He could keep his damn regrets as far as Esme was concerned.

  ‘All right, I can’t change the past,’ he conceded, ‘but do you at least believe me about Arabella?’

  Esme remained resolutely silent. Wanting to believe didn’t make it true.

  ‘You just can’t credit that I preferred you, can you?’ He made a frustrated sound. ‘OK, I’ll show you. Where’s your bedroom?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Your bedroom... The downstairs one, isn’t it?’

  He nodded towards the short corridor off the hall.

  ‘I... Wh-what are you doing?’ she demanded, although he was already doing it, backing her towards the bedroom.

  ‘What I said.’ He pushed the door open and her inside. ‘Since you won’t listen, I’ll show you how much I care for you... Light on or off?’

  ‘I—I... Y-you...’ Esme found herself stammering.

  ‘Off initially, I think,’ he decided, then, in the darkness, leaned towards her to place a hard kiss on her mouth.

  ‘We can’t do this.’ A rather weak protest from Esme.

  ‘Why?’ The next kiss was by her ear.

  ‘Because...because...’ She tried hard to focus her thoughts as he pulled the clips from her hair and let it tumble down. ‘Arabella. She’ll be home soon.’

  ‘So?’ He cupped her face in his hands.

  ‘I can’t do this.’ A plea this time.

  ‘Yes, you can.’ His lips moved over hers until she began to respond. ‘See, it’s easy.’

  She tried to resurrect his anger. ‘Don’t you hate me for Harry?’

  ‘Hate you?’ He was quietly incredulous. ‘You’ve given me this wonderful son.’

  Esme found her own resentment fading. Without it, she was anchorless, swaying in the breeze.

  When he said in a soft, persuasive murmur, ‘Why don’t we make another one?’ she was already lost.

  He drew her towards the bed. She went, unresisting. He sat her down on the edge. She waited, trembling.

  Jack took off his jacket and threw it on a chair, then un­buttoned his shirt to the waist. His hands were unsteady. He had imagined this scene many times over the last months, imagined lying with her naked. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted her. Yet it was more than just sex, much more.

  He sat beside her to feel for her hand and she started like a cat. He wondered if once again she would take off on him. He needed to see her face. He reached in the gloom for a bedside lamp and switched it on.

  He lightly gripped her chin and turned her face to his. In the muted light it was all eyes and shadowed cheekbones. How beautiful she was—always would be.

  Nervous, Esme licked dry lips. He followed the movement with his eyes, then with one long finger. It was like a kiss, the finger slipping briefly inside, before tracing the outline of her mouth. Moist and ready for the possession of his.

  Tender at first, a mere whisper of breath, as he bent his head. Lips warm and hard. Hers parting, letting him taste her, tasting in return.

  Breath corning faster. Hand lifting hers. Laying it between shirt and skin. Fingers on body hair, already damp. Gliding over muscle from shoulder to waist, helping to take off his shirt till he was naked to the waist.

  Then his hands were around her, pulling her body to his, all the time kissing her, stealing breath and reason so she barely noticed the zip being slid downwards, was lost long before he pushed her gently back against the bed and drew down her dress to the camisole beneath.

  She couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried. And she didn’t try. She wanted the fingers touching through silk, sliding down straps, spilling her breasts. She wanted the hands cup­ping her nakedness, a thumb stroking, stroking until the nip­ple stood erect. Wanted the mouth suddenly leaving hers to cover the hard, swollen tip, drawing whimpering sounds from her as he sucked hungrily at her flesh.

  She held his head to her breast while he pushed down the dress further so his hand could move over her belly and slip between silk and skin, one long finger reaching inside. Suddenly there, sliding, slow and steady and strong, giving her pleasure, warm and wet, such pleasure, making her gasp, her legs fall slack with invitation.

  Jack felt his own control slipping and dragged at her clothes, wanting her naked, eyes roaming her body as he quickly undressed himself.

  Esme’s breath shallowed and her heart quickened at the sight of him, honed with muscle and hard with desire. He lay down beside her once more, mouth on mouth, skin to skin, his flesh urgent against hers until finally he pushed his length inside her.

  Esme flinched, he filled her so completely. He drew back slowly and she was poised for the next thrust. Deeper than the last. She moaned aloud and wrapped her legs round him. She wanted this, craved each time he raised his body and drove inside her, relentless until she arched and spasmed round him and they came together, crying out the other’s name.

  Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, bodies sli
ck with sweat, hearts pounding, catching breath. No words spoken, no words needed as he began to kiss her, and touch her, and unbelievably, make her want him all over again.

  Only this time he had her straddle him so he could watch her expression as he caressed her breasts before easing him­self inside her and showing her a sensual kind of loving.

  Complete and replete, Esme wondered how she would ever learn to live without him again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Inhibition had long departed when they heard the sound of the doorbell ringing. Jack was unconcerned, merely murmur­ing, ‘Ignore it,’ as he held her to his chest and stroked her hair.

  But Esme couldn’t. Not when the ring was followed by an impatient knocking on the door. She realised it must be Arabella and she could hardly leave her on the doorstep.

  ‘I can’t,’ she insisted, and he released her with reluctance.

  He watched her as she walked naked to the door and she felt a conflict of shyness and excitement before she shrugged into the dressing gown that hung on a hook.

  ‘You’ll stay here?’ Esme was desperate to keep him a secret from her sister.

  She took his smile for agreement—silly of her, really— before slipping outside and closing the door firmly behind her.

  By this time her name was being called by an irritated Arabella. ‘Open up, Esme. I know you’re in there.’

  She was hammering on the door as Esme unlocked it and didn’t wait for an invitation before brushing past her.

  ‘Typical!’ She took in Esme’s night-time apparel. ‘You always did hide out in your bed if anything upset you... I assume Jack’s gone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Esme lied, ‘yes, of course.’

  Arabella accepted it without question, even as she re­flected, ‘I wonder why he’s left his car.’

  Oh, God, she’d forgotten that. Think quickly.

  ‘It wouldn’t start,’ Esme garbled out. ‘I mean, after he stopped it...to drop me off.’

  ‘I suppose he just dumped you and fled,’ Arabella contin­ued, marching forth into the living room, ‘while I got stuck with that Rebecca woman. She insisted we hang around that dreary hotel for another hour, then got lost on the way home. Incredible. American women can be so stupid!’