Blair shook her head at her fanciful thoughts and changed feet. The closest thing she’d have to a partner right now was her relationship with a foot spa that she was invariably too tired to lug out of the cupboard and set up to soothe her tired feet.
She wondered how she was going to cope as she grew bigger, especially with her father unable to return to work. The doctor, this morning, had been adamant. If, after his surgery, he couldn’t pace himself to a few hours a day, then he had to stay away from the restaurant completely. Blair made a mental note to advertise in the national newspaper for someone to share her role at the restaurant. She’d hoped Phil would be up to speed by now to take the promotion, but he had a wife and a toddler, with another baby on the way, and he’d made it clear when she’d broached the subject with him that he was happy where he was while his family was still so young.
She’d envied his wife in that moment more than she’d ever believed possible. She tried not to think about it, but right now it pressed heavily on the back of her mind. What would happen to her after the baby was born? She had no doubt that Draco would insist on full custody, and, to be totally honest, she couldn’t maintain her work pace and be a parent as well. She was between a rock and a hard place, and neither of them were where she really wanted to be.
“What do you mean she is gone?” Draco thundered, striding through the salon at the palazzo. “Why did no one tell me of this?”
“Ms. Carson said not to concern you, signore.”
The poor maid who’d informed him of Blair’s defection looked as if she was on the verge of tears.
Concern? She didn’t want him to be concerned? How ironic when she had been on his mind every second of every day, and he’d been in a fool’s paradise, imagining her here at the palazzo. Safe. Secure.
“When did she leave?” he asked, pitching his voice lower, softer.
“Last Friday, signore.”
“Thank you, Maria, and I’m sorry for shouting at you.”
His apology earned him a watery smile and another liberal dose of guilt. It went a long way toward showing how upset he was that he’d lost control with one of his staff. Draco looked at his watch—it was midday. The time in New Zealand would be around ten in the evening. Hopefully a good time to get hold of Blair at the restaurant—because he knew without a single doubt that was where she’d be.
Two hours later Draco snapped his phone off for what felt like the hundredth time. So, Blair was too busy to come to the phone and talk to him, was she? He’d see about that. He’d been shocked to hear that her father was in the hospital awaiting bypass surgery, but he didn’t see why both Carsons needed to work themselves into early graves. His instructions to Blair’s father had been explicit. That the man had ignored them and that Blair was now putting herself and their baby’s health in jeopardy was enough to make Draco see a violent shade of red.
Draco swiftly punched in the phone number of Blair’s apartment and left a message on the answering machine that would leave her with no doubt of his intentions.
“We had an agreement, Blair. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you stop working until my baby is born. Be sure of it, and expect to see me very soon.”
The next morning Draco readied himself for the long flight back to New Zealand. For the number of times he’d used the charter jet recently, he may as well invest in one for himself, he decided, as one of his staff zipped his suitcase closed and took it down to the waiting car.
He stopped in Blair’s room on his way back downstairs. He hadn’t set foot in here since the day he’d returned from Firenze—when he’d given her the earrings and the clothes. A trace of her fragrance lingered in the air and he inhaled it deeply.
He hadn’t wanted to admit it, or even to believe it, but he’d missed Blair terribly during his time in London. It had been a physical ache, permeating his body and his mind. Not calling her had been difficult to deal with, but they’d left on such awkward terms—what could he have said on the phone that shouldn’t be said face-to-face? Yes, he’d missed her all right. Enough to realize how wrongly he’d treated her the night she’d asked about Marcella.
Wrongly? Hell. He’d been cruel. Deliberately deflecting his pain, his loss—his shortcomings—onto Blair.
But talking about Marcella had been like ripping the scab off a wound. And through it all he’d still been forced to beat back the desire that raged through him every time Blair was in his orbit. She’d sat there in that delicious concoction of night wear, her skin glowing translucent through the sheer folds of material, looking nothing like the woman he’d promised to marry, yet everything like the woman he loved.
The realization had been as painful as it had been eye-opening.
He had never loved Marcella as much as he knew he now loved Blair. What he’d felt for her was a pale comparison to the emotions that ripped through him now. And that made him feel even more guilty, if that was humanly possible—even more responsible for Marcella’s death. She’d been prepared to do anything for him, even risk her life for what he wanted, and how had he repaid her? By working all the hours that God sent him, by being a fleeting fiancé at the best of times. And yet, she’d stuck by him, loved him when he hadn’t deserved so much as an ounce of the measure of her love.
He hadn’t been the man Marcella deserved, and he hadn’t protected her as he ought to have, but one thing was certain. He would protect Blair and their unborn child with every last breath in his body, and that began with getting her back here, back home under his roof—and this time within the secure circle of his arms and his love.
Convincing Blair her place was at his side was going to take some doing. Carson’s was in her blood, of that he was now convinced. Yes, he could understand her needing to return home to be at her father’s side after his heart attack, but from what he’d understood from his brief conversations with her staff at the restaurant, she was busy in the kitchen for nearly all the hours available to her. A brief visit to her father each morning on her way home from the markets hardly counted, in Draco’s mind. She was there for the restaurant. She measured everything she was by that place, and somehow it was more daunting for Draco to know he was fighting for her against something, rather than someone.
He spied the jewelry she’d left behind on the dresser. That small gesture as telling as if she’d graffiti-sprayed it on the wall. She wanted no part of him. Well, it was time for her to reconsider.
It was nearly two in the morning when Draco’s jet touched down at Auckland International Airport. As the plane taxied to the private air terminal he itched to disembark, chafing at the delay created by the requirements to go through customs and immigration, however efficiently it was conducted. His driver waited for him in the terminal building and stepped forward to take Draco’s bag and lead him to the waiting limousine.
Draco drummed his fingers on his leg as they seemed to get every red light on George Bolt Memorial Drive, on their way to the motorway link that would lead them into the city. It was far too late to show up at the apartment and talk to Blair right now, but he had every intention of being there first thing in the morning—before she headed to the hospital to see her father, and before he was taken into surgery.
He rested his head briefly on the leather headrest, but started as his cell phone chirped in his breast pocket. He identified the number as that of his second in command here in New Zealand and flipped open the phone.
“Sandrelli.” His voice was clipped and cool in the confines of the luxury vehicle, but what he heard next struck fear into his heart and changed the tone and pitch of his voice in a split second.
“A fire? At Carson’s. When? Has anyone been hurt?”
As his questions were answered in succession, Draco felt as if a giant hand had reached out and squeezed his heart. If the fire started in the kitchen, would Blair have had warning as she slept upstairs in her tiny apartment? Then he heard the news he’d been dreading.
Casualties.
Fire fighters
struggling to contain the blaze.
The bad news came in a succession of blows, but none of it told him the information he most dreaded.
“Blair Carson. Where is she?” he demanded, his voice cracking on her name.
“I don’t have any news of her yet, I’m sorry.”
Draco closed his phone with a shaking hand and redirected his driver to Ponsonby. He had to get there and see for himself if Blair was all right. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of anything but seeing her safe and well, because right now the alternative was, quite frankly, too terrifying to even consider.
Access to the road where Carson’s sat was closed by snaking fire hoses across the bitumen and the organized chaos of emergency vehicles and personnel. Two ambulances stood at the head of the road, one closing its doors and racing away from the scene, siren screaming. Before the limousine had even rolled to a halt, Draco was out the door and racing toward the restaurant.
His eyes were drawn in horrified fascination to the beast of fire that, even with the hoses trained upon it, continued to consume the restaurant with unequalled appetite. A police officer approached him.
“Excuse me, sir, you’ll have to stand back.”
“Blair Carson. Do you know where Blair Carson is?”
A loud boom suddenly shook the air and a ball of fire shot skyward. Firefighters continued to train their hoses on the fire, but Draco could see already it was only a matter of confining the flames to Carson’s and protecting the neighboring buildings. For the restaurant itself there was no hope.
He caught the look of pity that swept across the officer’s face, and Draco felt as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world.
“Please,” he demanded, “tell me where she is. Tell me she’s not still in there.”
“I’ll see what I can find out for you, sir, but please, you must stand back.”
The officer gave Draco a gentle shove and he took a couple of steps back, silently praying as he’d never prayed before.
Fourteen
How long he stood there on the side of the road he didn’t know, but a sudden movement near the back of the remaining ambulance caught his eye.
Blair! She was all right.
He covered the distance between them in a matter of seconds, reaching to take her into his arms and to confirm for himself that she was okay. Her face was smudged with soot, her clothes also, and the indentation of an oxygen mask on her face left him in no doubt she’d been in terrible danger not so very long ago.
Blair batted away at his hands as he sought to touch her. Shoving hard at him when he tried again to hold her.
“How could you?” she rasped, her voice raw and tears tracking pale lines down her face. “Was this what you meant when you said you’d make me stop working? Was it?”
She was hysterical with grief.
“Blair, no. How could you think such a thing? I would never do something like this to you. Never,” he answered vehemently.
She started to cough, and a burly paramedic came up beside her to gently urge her back, to sit on the back step of the ambulance. He placed the oxygen mask once again over her nose and mouth and spoke quietly to her for a moment. When he straightened up again Draco stepped forward.
“Why is she still here? Surely, she should be in hospital. She’s sixteen weeks pregnant. Shouldn’t she be checked out?”
“Ms. Carson has refused to go to hospital for assessment. I’m keeping her on oxygen for now.”
“Is it true, Blair? Have you refused to go to the hospital?”
Tears continued to streak down her cheeks. Draco squatted down in front of her, taking her hands.
“Cara mia, you must see a doctor.”
“I can’t,” her voice was muffled by the mask. “I can’t go until it’s over.”
Her eyes were riveted on the conflagration that had been her pride, her home and her very life. Draco understood her need to be here, even though his every instinct screamed at him to bundle her into the back of the ambulance and direct the crew to take her to the hospital immediately. It was some consolation that they would have done that very thing, had her life or that of the baby been in danger.
He sat down beside her on the wide step of the ambulance, hooking an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his body. And he watched and waited.
As dawn broke across the water-washed street, Draco stirred. Satisfied with her breath sounds, the ambulance officers had left some time earlier and Draco had managed to coerce Blair into waiting in the limousine for the fire department to finish.
Under the cold, spreading light of sunrise, the true devastation of the building became clear. Charred beams hung at drunken angles from the ceiling, roofing iron in scorched twisted ribbons falling to what remained of the restaurant floor. The air was still thick with the stench of destruction, rancid with the fight of the flames against the firefighters’ defense.
There would be an investigation, Draco had been told, and even though the building was insured and Blair had insurance to cover loss of business, the stark impact of the smoldering, sodden, charcoaled ruin that had been her livelihood rammed home with a finality that no one could deny.
Blair got out of the car as the fire department cordoned off the remnant of what had been her home and her life. Deep shudders rocked through her body. There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Her legs began to buckle beneath her, but strong arms closed around her, lifting her off her feet and carrying her back to the limousine.
She didn’t even have the energy left to protest. What was the point? Every last thing that had mattered to her was irrevocably burned to the ground.
Draco took her back to his apartment and she dragged in a breath of the sea air as they got out of the car. But still the scent of burning dreams remained lodged in her nostrils. She made no protest as he guided her to the elevator that sped them upstairs to his penthouse suite, and was docile as a baby as he stepped into the shower with her, both of them fully dressed, and began to peel away her clothes under the warm flow of water.
He tossed their wet clothes out of the shower door and they fell in a sooty, sodden mess she was too tired and broken to care about. With tender hands Draco shampooed her hair and rinsed it out before repeating the action, then with a soft cloth and liquid gel soap he gently washed her whole body until the water pooling around her feet ran clear.
Once she was clean, he switched off the water, dried her and dressed her in one of his oversize T-shirts, then slid her between the cool cotton sheets of his bed. Then and only then did Blair allow her mind to let go of the horrors of the night, and let sleep claim her.
Blair woke hours later to the drone of male voices from the other room. Her throat still felt raspy, and she gratefully reached for the bottle of water that Draco had no doubt placed at her bedside while she slept. As she let the deliciously clear liquid slide down her throat she heard Draco’s voice.
“And the baby? The baby will be all right?”
He must have called a doctor. She listened as the voices grew more distant, and then heard the faint sound of the front door being opened and closed.
She sank back against the sheets, feeling more lost and alone than she ever had in her entire life. The baby was still his primary concern. Yes, she knew it should be hers too, but just for once, the little girl buried deep inside her cried, why couldn’t it be her?
She cast a blurry gaze over at the bedside alarm clock and sat upright when she saw how late it was. Her father’s surgery would be over by now. She was supposed to have been with him before he went in, and then later when he was moved from recovery.
Blair swung her legs over the bed and put her feet on the floor, but before she could stand Draco was there at her side.
“Can I help you? Do you need the bathroom?”
She shook her head; she didn’t need his solicitous behavior. It wasn’t as if he truly cared about her, anyway.
“No,” she said, her voice rougher than usual, “I n
eed to get to the hospital to see my father. He’ll be worried.”
Draco gently pushed her back down onto the bed.
“Your father has come through his surgery with flying colors, you don’t need to worry. And the surgeon explained to him why you couldn’t be there. He’s sleeping now, and I have one of my people there to let us know the minute he wakes. If you’re up to it, I’ll take you to see him myself.”
Blair allowed him to lift her legs and tuck them back under the covers. Then, to her surprise, he sat down on the bed next to her.
“We can rebuild, you know,” he said softly.
“Rebuild? The restaurant?”
An image flashed in her mind of the carnage the fire had wrought. It would take a hell of a lot to rebuild. A lot of money and time, neither of which she had at her disposal. But then again, she didn’t own the building, did she? Draco did.
She remembered what she’d said to him as he’d arrived at the scene and had the grace to blush. She’d been overwrought. Why on earth would he do something as destructive as set fire to his own building? She wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Yes, the restaurant. There are many photos of the exterior. We could rebuild, using recycled timbers wherever possible, and remain true to the original building. It will be better than before. We can ensure that it has all the charm of the old restaurant, but with all the convenience and functionality of a new one. What do you say?”
“Is that what you want to do?” she asked tentatively.
“How can it not be what I want, Blair, when it is so important to you?”
Secret Baby, Public Affair Page 13
