The Mother And The Millionaire

by Alison Fraser

  Not as stupid as some British women, Esme decided, if Arabella couldn’t work out Rebecca had been giving Jack and her time. She blushed to recall how they’d spent it.

  Arabella noted the colour and remarked, ‘As for you, you may well look ashamed. Talk about amateur dramatics... Perhaps I should go up to the main house and apologise for your behaviour.’

  Esme almost laughed at that, but confined herself to a dry, ‘Yes, why don’t you?’

  Arabella frowned, confused by her attitude, but looked ready to take flight before the sound of a door opening dis­tracted them both.

  The sisters’ heads turned in unison to see Jack make an entrance. Fully dressed, but his unbuttoned shirt was a give­away, as well as Esme’s current state of undress.

  ‘Well! Well!’ Arabella’s tone was strident. ‘So we weren’t hiding away in our bedroom alone.’

  ‘We weren’t hiding away at all,’ was drawled back by a totally non-fazed Jack. ‘We were making love.’

  Esme blushed at such frankness and even Arabella looked taken aback.

  The latter staged a quick recovery, however, responding, isn’t that a rather grand way to describe a sympathy hump?’ before rounding on her sister. ‘What did you do? Put on your poor-little-Esme, let’s-all-feel-sorry-for-her act? You don’t imagine he’s serious about you, do you?’

  Esme had no idea how Jack really felt, but her sister’s jealousy was patent even before Jack came to her side and put a supportive arm round her. ‘Actually, I’m crazy about her, always have been in a way.’

  He gave Esme a look of such fondness she almost believed him. Almost, but not quite.

  Arabella was doubtful, too. ‘You never looked at her twice when we were young.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ He raised a questioning brow to Esme and, at her nod, ran on, ‘So how do you account for Harry?’

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘My son.’

  It was clear from Arabella’s expression that she had never suspected the truth, not even tonight when Esme had fled the hotel. She looked at her younger sister in amazement.

  Emboldened by Jack’s attitude, Esme confirmed, ‘Harry is Jack’s.’

  ‘God, that’s rich!’ Arabella’s surprise gave way to recrim­ination, directed at Jack. ‘All that summer, pretending you were too high-minded for casual sex, and you were screwing my little sister.’

  Esme cringed from her sister’s crudity, although it con-finned Jack’s claim that he’d never had sex with Arabella.

  ‘You had your revenge.’ He looked at her sister with such contempt Esme wondered why she’d ever imagined Jack liked, far less loved, Arabella. ‘Pity you can’t have me kicked off the estate this time,’ he added with more indifference than anger.

  Nevertheless Arabella took it as a threat, ‘I suppose you’re going to return the compliment.’

  ‘It’s tempting,’ he admitted, ‘but, for the sake of future relations as in-laws, I’d prefer a truce.’

  ‘In-laws?’ Arabella picked up. ‘You’re not going to marry her. I don’t believe it!’

  Neither did Esme, considering he hadn’t even asked her. Just words, she assumed, to put Arabella’s nose out of joint.

  ‘He’s joking,’ Esme told her, and, growing weary of the whole discussion, added, ‘I’m tired so if you’ll excuse me.’

  For the second time that night she escaped, before Arabella became more spiteful and tempted Jack into other rash state­ments.

  She trailed back through to her bedroom and shut the door on the sound of their voices. She stared at her unmade bed and the clothes cast aside on the floor, a visible reminder of what she and Jack had been doing before Arabella had in­terrupted them.

  She could have regretted it but didn’t. He’d made her feel so alive. As if she’d been sleeping half her life and he’d been the prince to wake her. Now a total certainty—Jack Doyle was the one and only for her. No comfort in knowing, though, as she couldn’t imagine he felt the same way, whatever he’d claimed to Arabella.

  When he entered the room again she was sitting huddled in a chair.

  ‘Your sister’s gone to bed,’ he informed her. ‘Good.’

  ‘Have you an overnight bag?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  He followed her gaze to the top of the wardrobe and reached up for the small holdall.

  He opened it up on the bed, announcing, ‘I think you should move up to the house.’

  Temporarily? Permanently? As what?

  All these questions flitted across Esme’s face before he added, ‘Arabella has a pretty undermining effect on you and I don’t want her dripping poison in your ear when she leaves in the morning.’

  Temporary, then.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Esme was tempted, being reluctant to en­dure another pointless scene with Arabella.

  ‘Well, I’ll pack while you’re thinking about it.’ He found underwear in drawers, and rifled her wardrobe for several outfits.

  More than one night, then.

  ‘I wouldn’t like Harry to find me up at the house and get the wrong idea.’ She finally voiced her real objections.

  He straightened from zipping up her bag. ‘And which wrong idea would that be?’

  He slanted his head at an angle, waiting for her response. She shrugged. She wasn’t sure she had the right idea herself. He sounded more amused by the whole affair than anything else.

  ‘Want me to stand out in the hall while you dress?’ he added.

  Definitely amused, this offer to preserve her modesty, con­sidering the intimacies they had already shared.

  ‘No.’ She pulled a face at him, putting on fresh knickers and jeans under her dressing-gown before discarding it to drag a sweatshirt over her head.

  ‘The woman of my dreams,’ he commented drily. ‘One who can dress in one minute flat.’

  He was smiling so she forced a smile back. She didn’t want him to know how it hurt—to wish she really was the woman of his dreams and not the girl next door he occa­sionally noticed.

  What had Arabella called her? His sympathy hump. Ig­noring the crudity, was it really like that?

  ‘Come on.’ Jack saw all the doubts flitting across her face and wanted her out of the cottage before she changed her mind.

  They collected a jacket from the hall and he carried her bag in one hand and guided her up the darkened path with his other. Bypassing his car, they went on foot to the house.

  Lights in the converted stables told them that Rebecca and Sam were still awake, but the boys’ room was in darkness.

  She chewed at her lip. ‘About Harry—’

  ‘We’ll talk inside,’ he insisted, taking out a set of keys to unlock the back entrance.

  She thought he meant over tea or a drink, but he ushered her through the side hall and up the stairs. She felt his hand at her back, the pressure light but enough to keep her moving. She wondered if he knew how close she was to bolting.

  They passed his bedroom and a couple of others before they reached her old room, still furnished as she’d left it. ‘I thought you’d prefer this one, make you feel more at home.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She had assumed...too much, it seemed.

  He placed her bag on the bed. ‘Give Harry the chance to get used to things.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘You and me.’

  He turned to face her and she awarded him a quizzical look. Exactly what had he in mind?

  ‘Our marrying,’ he clarified.

  She stared, half laughed, then went back to staring while his face remained deadly serious.

  ‘If you agree, of course,’ he finally thought to add.

  No, she had assumed too little, Esme concluded, her heart clamouring to shout yes while her head strived for sanity.

  ‘That’s a proposal?’ She wanted to make absolutely sure.

  He nodded, ‘I can’t produce a ring, but if you want me down on one knee I could oblige.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she returned smartly, willin
g to dispense with such a tradition. The situation seemed surreal as it was.

  ‘Is that no thanks to down on one knee,’ he enquired, ‘or no thanks to marriage?’

  The former, but Esme let it cover both. ‘And they said chivalry was dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s why you want to marry me, isn’t it? To make an honest woman out of me and give Harry your name?’

  Jack laughed. He couldn’t help it. Such an absurd idea.

  Then he drew her to him and placed a gentle kiss on her lips before saying, ‘Could it just be that I adore you? That I want to fall asleep every night with you in my arms?’ His eyes held hers, telling her he meant every word. ‘As for Harry, he doesn’t need anything from me to make him a great kid... It’s you I want to give my name, Es, you I want to have and to hold. You must know that.’

  Not till that moment, and she could only smile back in inane wonder, ‘Esme Doyle.’

  ‘You mean...?’ He looked expectant.

  She nodded.

  ‘You’ll marry me?’

  She nodded more vigorously.

  Jack still insisted, ‘Then say the words.’

  But Esme chose something more important to say. ‘I love you. I love you so much it really does hurt. Is that what you wanted to hear?’ she asked, knowing it was from the smile stretching across his handsome face.

  ‘For months,’ he confirmed, then groaned drily. ‘Only you seemed to prefer putting me through hell.’

  ‘I was just scared,’ she admitted, ‘I thought...well, it doesn’t matter any more.’

  ‘I never meant to cause you pain,’ Jack showed he under­stood, ‘and, if it takes a lifetime, I’ll make it up to you, Esme.’

  A promise so tenderly given it healed any hurt left inside Esme.

  In return, she gave her heart, a delicate thing that would beat so much stronger in his care, and said simply, ‘Just love me. Love me for ever.’

  ‘And a day,’ he vowed softly, taking her hand.