A Baby in His In-Tray

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A Baby in His In-Tray Page 12

by Michelle Douglas


  It was all she could do not to grab a fistful of hair in both hands and give a silent scream. Dear God, what was Liz going to say? She was making a hash of everything! How on earth was she going to fix this?

  Liv retraced her steps to the drawing room and her gaze rested briefly on that awful letter from Seb’s father. Damn those parents of his! Seb was honourable. Thank God he was honourable or heaven only knew where they’d be right at this very moment!

  She squashed the images that rose in her mind.

  The thing was, they had him convinced he couldn’t be fun or amusing or...or even interesting. Her mind raced as she made her way back down to the kitchen. ‘Mrs Brown, do you know when Seb’s birthday is?’

  The other woman cocked her head to one side. ‘It’s in five weeks’ time.’

  Hmm...that was too far away. She fell into a chair at the table.

  Mrs Brown glanced at her. ‘Is everything OK, lass?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Seb has this ridiculous notion in his head that he’s not fun-loving.’

  The housekeeper raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  Her shoulders slumped. ‘Look, I know he’s not some latent party animal, but...there’s more to life than duty and responsibility.’ Having a bit of fun wouldn’t turn him into his parents.

  ‘That’s very true.’

  She drummed her fingers against the weathered wood of the table. ‘It’s his parents’ fault. They have him convinced he’s dull and boring.’

  Shrewd eyes met hers across the table. ‘And you think they’re wrong.’

  ‘I know they’re wrong. And he’s just got it all mixed up in his head—responsibility and fun are not mutually exclusive.’

  In bringing her to Tyrell Hall he’d inadvertently changed her life. For the better. He hadn’t set out to, of course, but all the same he was sincerely happy for her. Surely she could return the favour? In a tiny way.

  She lifted her chin. He had a poetic soul. And in her experience poetic souls loved a good party. ‘Which is why I have a favour to ask.’

  * * *

  Sebastian stomped up to his bedroom. Dress for dinner? He scowled. What bee did Brownie have in her bonnet now? Eliza was on his staff, not someone for whom he dressed for dinner. Even if kissing her was becoming harder to resist.

  The thought didn’t improve his temper.

  And none of it changed the fact that dressing for dinner was utter nonsense.

  He resisted slamming his door—just. He kicked off his shoes and prepared to throw himself down on his bed when he saw the zippered suit bag laid across it with a crisp white envelope resting on top. What on earth...?

  He flicked his thumb beneath the envelope’s flap and pulled out a one-sided card.

  The Honourable Eliza ‘Poppins’ Gilmour

  requests the pleasure of

  Mr Seb ‘Elvis’ Tyrell’s company

  this evening from eight o’clock.

  For celebration, revelry and shenanigans to commemorate the return of long-held dreams.

  Theme: fancy dress.

  Gifts: optional.

  He found himself shaking his head...a slow grin spreading across his face. For a moment he let himself remember the way she’d beamed up at the sky—the momentary joy that had radiated from her. He recalled her heated denials of the accusations his parents had levelled at him. And then the expression on her face when she’d confided her ill-judged love affair with her teacher.

  No wonder she was one thing in the office and another out of it. She was living a lie. But it wasn’t the same kind of lie that Rhoda practised.

  Today had been an extraordinary day for her and she deserved the chance to celebrate. With something akin to dread, he unzipped the garment bag and pulled forth a signature Elvis outfit. He shook his head. She’d remembered the song he’d recited to try to hush Jemima. So...would she dress as Mary Poppins? The thought made him smile.

  It might be crazy. It might even be a little dangerous, but she deserved to celebrate and he had no intention of raining on her parade.

  He glanced at the card again. It’d been decorated with pictures of balloons and a disco ball—in colour pencils rather than paint, but it still captured her signature style. It’d probably be worth thousands in a few years. Not that he’d ever sell it.

  Gifts: optional.

  He tapped the card against his hand, thinking hard. In the next moment his brow cleared and he gave a laugh. Perfect.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Sebastian stood outside the party room—dubbed so by his parents, not Eliza. It ran the length of the entire ground floor of the western wing. He pulled in a deep breath.

  You’re the only one who can celebrate with her. Don’t let her down.

  He raised his hand and knocked.

  The door was flung open almost immediately and the moment he clapped eyes on her, his jaw dropped. She twirled on the spot. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I...’ He could barely form a coherent sentence. ‘I thought you’d dress up as Mary Poppins.’

  She tossed her hair—well, not her hair so much as the blonde wig that she wore. ‘I always had a sneaking suspicion that under Mary Poppins’ strait-laced exterior lurked the heart of a vamp.’

  ‘A...’ He swallowed again. ‘A Marilyn Monroe vamp?’

  ‘But of course, darling,’ she said in a breathy Marilyn Monroe whisper that curled around him, making his pulse race and firing an ache of need to life deep inside. ‘Is there any other kind?’

  Grabbing his arm, she hauled him inside and promptly handed him a glass of champagne. She touched her glass to his. ‘Bottoms up, darling.’

  She wore a replica of that infamous white halter-neck dress—the one in the photograph where Marilyn stood above the grate—and it outlined her shape to... His mouth dried. It outlined it to utter perfection. He’d never known that beneath her severe suits she had such delectable curves, such generous...

  He started when she poked him in the shoulder. ‘My dear Elvis, it’s far too early to start ogling the hostess. That’s reserved for much later in the evening, surely?’

  Dear God! ‘I’m sorry! I—’

  ‘Relax, Seb.’ Her eyes danced. ‘We look extraordinary, and probably faintly ridiculous.’

  She didn’t look ridiculous.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s hard not to stare.’

  And then she eased back and did exactly that. Everything inside him went hot and tight as her eyes darkened in appreciation and her lips parted on a sigh. ‘Oh, you make a mighty fine King of Rock ’n’ Roll.’ She grinned and fanned her face. ‘Whoa!’

  And just like that she removed the last trace of self-consciousness that he felt.

  She leaned forward to nudge the bottom of his glass. ‘Drink up.’

  Colour tinged her cheekbones pink and her eyes sparkled, but whether with delight or from champagne he couldn’t tell.

  ‘Come on over and take a seat at the bar.’

  He followed her and that was when it hit him—she had the sound of a party coming through the speaker system. He swallowed a grin and pointed. ‘You wanted to set the right tone?’

  ‘Oh, the things you find on the internet! Listen to this...’

  She was streaming the sound from her tablet and she leaned forward to click a button. The next moment whale song filled the air. She grinned at him and clapped her hands. ‘Now we’re partying with whales and dolphins. Groovy, huh? Check it out.’

  She pushed the tablet towards him before setting out bowls of crisps and nuts. He pushed the item labelled ‘Trappist Monks’ and the sound of chanting filled the air. They stared at one another before bursting into laughter. ‘We’ll save that one for the speeches. It has a suitably solemn tone.’

  He reached for a crisp. Would there be speeches?

  ‘This one’s fun.’ />
  She pointed and he clicked. The sound of fireworks exploding sounded through the room. ‘Very...’ He searched for a suitable word.

  ‘Loud?’ she offered.

  ‘Invigorating,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we’ll save that one for the close of the evening’s proceedings.’

  ‘Wise,’ she agreed.

  They kept playing with the multitude of soundtracks while nibbling on the snacks and sipping at their champagne until he realised with a start that somehow between them they’d finished the bottle.

  ‘I bought you a gift.’

  ‘Oh!’ She eased back to stare at him. ‘That wasn’t necessary. It was just me being silly.’

  He pulled the gift from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She took it, and then her face turned reverent. ‘Pride and Prejudice. Oh, but Seb, this looks like a very old edition.’ She gulped, her eyes going wide. ‘Please tell me this isn’t a first edition.’

  ‘Not a first. A fifth edition from 1902 with illustrations by H M Brock.’

  ‘Who has signed it!’ Her fingers moved over the inside cover. ‘I’m sure I shouldn’t accept this.’

  ‘I’m sure you should. I can’t imagine anyone who would treasure this more. You love Jane Austen and as an artist you’ll appreciate the illustrations.’

  ‘I...’ She swallowed and her eyes shimmered. ‘I can’t believe you remembered that.’

  He remembered everything about her. Dangerous. He shook the thought away. ‘Perhaps it’ll remind you of the adventure you once had in an Austen-eque house.’

  She stared up at him. ‘It’s beautiful. It’s the best present I’ve ever received.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and something arced between them. They swayed towards each other...

  But then a knock sounded on the door and both of them jumped back. Eliza pointed to the tablet. ‘Choose us some good party music.’ And then she went to answer the door.

  Recalling the decoration on his invitation, he chose a disco playlist. Disco was silly, fun...not romantic. He gritted his teeth. It set the perfect tone.

  ‘Excellent!’

  She sent him a grin over her shoulder as she sashayed to the door and it threatened to undo him completely. He ached to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her, to pull that ludicrous wig from her head and thrust his hands into the softness of her hair and—

  ‘Help yourself to another drink.’

  He crashed back to earth to find she’d wheeled in a trolley laden with party food.

  ‘And eat up. Mrs Brown has made enough to feed an army!’

  She had champagne, beer and soft drinks on ice. He chose a beer. He ate party pies and sausage rolls, mini spring rolls and meatballs, pigs in blankets and tiny pizzas until he thought he’d burst, while Eliza regaled him with stories of the infamous parties she’d attended at college. There’d been an unofficial school motto—Work hard; play hard. And she and her peers had apparently taken a great deal of pride in living up to it.

  They played pool on the billiards table—his grandfather would be turning in his grave. She made him dance the twist, and he taught her the jitterbug.

  She’d unearthed the karaoke machine and gave an eye-watering rendition of an eighties power ballad. She might be able to paint, but she couldn’t sing to save her life. He sang an Elvis medley and she clutched her heart and pretended to swoon.

  She dragged him back to the bar. ‘You have to make me a cocktail.’

  ‘What would you like?’ He’d make her anything she wanted.

  ‘No, no, it doesn’t work like that. It has to be a surprise.’ She frowned. ‘Except, no tequila.’

  Right.

  ‘And I’m going to make one for you. We’re making original concoctions, you see. And we have to give them appropriate names.’

  Uh-huh. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as she gathered ingredients. Neither of them was drunk, but they were both pretty merry. ‘Can I request no cream?’

  She beamed at him. ‘Of course you can.’

  A few minutes later he presented her with, ‘A Magnificent Marilyn.’ It was a combination of white rum and cranberry juice.

  She clapped her hands together. ‘It’s pink!’ She took a careful sip. ‘And delicious. Here’s yours. It’s called, um... Graceland.’

  He sampled it. Brandy, a hint of orange liqueur and dry ginger ale. ‘Superb.’

  She flopped down on the sofa, putting her bare feet up on the coffee table—she’d kicked off her shoes on the dance floor. He eased down beside her and followed suit. ‘What happened at your old parties at this point in proceedings?’

  Her cocktail floated through the air as she gave an elegant wave of her hand. ‘Oh, we’d play ridiculously serious music and lie around being all mellow and artistic and insufferably pretentious.’ With mischief alive in her face, she leaned forward to grab her remote. The sound of Trappist-monk chanting filled the room.

  He rested his head against the soft cushioned back of the sofa and grinned. ‘I thought you were saving that for the speeches.’

  ‘Oh!’

  The sofa cushions beside him dipped as she struggled to her feet, and she rested a hand against his thigh for a moment to gain her balance before clambering in her stockinged feet onto the coffee table. She tapped the remote against her glass as if to gain the room’s attention.

  ‘Everybody, everybody...if we could have a little hush.’

  She’d put the crowd noise back on, but turned it off again now and he couldn’t help grinning—her sense of fun was contagious.

  ‘I only want to say a few words. I won’t keep you long from your revels. First of all I’d like to thank the wonderful staff here at Tyrell Hall for pulling this event together so seamlessly at such short notice. But most of all I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate with me. You have no idea how much it means to me.’

  Something in his chest clenched. The smile faded from his face.

  ‘But even more than that I want to thank Seb here for...’

  His heart surged against his ribcage. His feet hit the floor as he shuffled into a sitting position. For...?

  ‘For bringing me to Tyrell Hall, because if he hadn’t I might’ve spent the rest of my life not truly living.’

  He hadn’t done anything!

  ‘And I want to thank him for being so kind and encouraging...and for being the best party companion anyone could ever have.’

  His spine straightened when he finally saw what she’d done.

  She met his gaze. ‘Your parents are wrong, Seb.’ A smile trembled on her lips, vulnerability flashing through her eyes. ‘You’re quite perfect just as you are.’

  His heart gave another giant kick. He rose and set her drink to the table beside his before taking her hand and helping her back down to the floor.

  And then he folded her in his arms and kissed her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SURE PRESSURE of Seb’s lips on Liv’s, the way his fingers cradled her head as if she were made of something fine and precious, completely undid her, crumbling any resistance she might’ve put up.

  Resistance? There was no thought of resistance. Kissing Seb was the most exciting, wonderful thing she’d ever done! She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything she had.

  For a moment he seemed to bend under the onslaught of her wholehearted enthusiasm, like a tree in the wind, but he came back with a force that had the potential to fell them both.

  ‘Seb.’ His name whispered from her lips. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to say his name over and over. She wanted to whisper it to the stars.

  Warm lips pressed kisses to her throat, teeth scraping gently across the delicate skin there. Her knees trembled, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her, but his arm slid about her
waist to hold her upright...and so very close. She pressed herself even closer. Under her hands, his shoulders flexed—broad and strong. She traced her hands up the strong column of his neck, the stubble on his cheek scraping her palms as she urged his mouth back to hers.

  He kissed her so thoroughly, so completely and shockingly explicitly that a fire burst into flaming life and engulfed them both, and all she could do was hold on and try to keep up with him.

  Kissing him was like being on a roller coaster. And yet it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket too. It was like flying, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Exotic and forbidden scents should be swirling all around them...as well as the scent of baking bread and sunshine-scented soap. She expected to hear fireworks exploding...alongside birdsong. Kissing Seb was all things exciting...and all things warm and welcoming.

  It made no sense, and it made all sense.

  She fitted into his arms perfectly, as she’d known she would. And she knew that if they were naked they’d fit even more perfectly. And she wanted that. She craved it with every atom, sinew and fibre. Ecstasy sparked to life wherever he touched...and aches and burnings and yearnings. She pressed herself against him to try and assuage the need engulfing her.

  ‘God, Eliza.’

  It wasn’t his ragged breathing or the hoarseness of his voice that made her freeze. Eliza. She wasn’t Eliza. She wasn’t who he thought she was.

  She pushed away from him with all her strength. ‘No!’

  The single word rang around the room, dispelling her ludicrous notion of fireworks and birdsong. He released her immediately. ‘Eliza...?’

  She’d let him kiss her when he thought she was someone else. She’d kissed him back. What kind of person did that make her?

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to get her racing pulse back under control. She met those dark, fathomless eyes, her heart pounding so hard it felt bruised. ‘This can’t happen,’ she choked out.

  Those smoky eyes narrowed. ‘Nothing need happen that you don’t want.’

  She knew that. Her hands clenched into fists. He’d never force himself on her.

  He adjusted his stance. ‘Look, Eliza, if you’re worried that I’ve had too much to drink, I can assure you I’m not drunk.’

 

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