Gabby was still fuzzy about the relations between Sebastian and his parents, but they seemed, to her, strained at best. He never really discussed his mother, and though the British media constantly mentioned he and his father in the same breath, she’d never seen a picture of the two of them together. “I’m famished, dear!” Amelia declared loud enough to inform the entire house. “Please tell me you have lunch on the table?”
“Of course, mother. Let’s move to the dining room. Father?” Sebastian took his father’s shoulder, helping the older man along as he shot Gabby a warning look. As if she needed one. She knew she was supposed to be on her best behavior, no matter what happened. The slightest slip and they would be done with.
But it seemed as if the Duke and Duchess of Raithwithe had brought enough luggage to clothe an army. How long was she expected to be able to pretend in a single stretch? She’d be under the impression that his parents were coming for a short visit.
That, she soon realized, was not the case.
Amelia gushed over lunch about how she was so glad she’d moved all of her social appointments to London so that she could stay with them until the baby was born; and though Gabby hadn’t had the slightest hint of morning sickness that day, she suddenly felt incredibly ill.
She pushed her Shepard’s pie and peas around her plate, at a loss for what to say. Sebastian, meanwhile, didn’t look too thrilled himself.
“Seven months, mother? Really? You don’t think your social circles will miss you in Raithwithe?” Gabrielle had to admire his attempts to escape the woman, really he did; but it was evident that Lady Amelia Hunter was relentless.
She was, unsurprisingly, the first person to intimidate Gabrielle in a long while. “They’ll be fine, darling!” The duchess sipped at her wine, having barely touched her food, despite how “famished” she was. “Right now, there’s nothing more important than the impending birth of my grandson or granddaughter – isn’t that right, my dear?” The last part, she directed, oddly, towards Gabby and the young woman could only nod blankly. “I was just speaking to Winston last week and I told him: Winston, we need to be present for our son and his new bride. We must coach them through this new experience. This is your first child, after all.”
From the other end of the table, the Duke only nodded blandly. He’d spoke about as much during the meal as Gabrielle had.
Gabby kept her mouth firmly clamped shut. The woman could hardly be an authority on childbirth. She’d only had one, and Gabrielle was willing to bet she’d been doped up when it had happened.
“How very…kind of you, mother.” Sebastian’s expression was somewhat pained, and Gabby found herself feeling sorry for him. Between the hard time she was giving him and his mother’s hardening personality, he must be stressed to the nth degree. Perhaps she didn’t need to be so hard on him. The man had found her a dress when she needed it and called Tristan over to make her feel more at ease.
He wasn’t a monster.
“You will be delivering at St. Mary’s, won’t you?” Amelia’s next question flew completely over Gabby’s head. She was totally unfamiliar with every London hospital except the one she was attending for her weekly checkups – and she was fairly certain that one wasn’t called St. Mary’s.
“Actually, mother, we’ve already begun with appointments at Winstead. It’s closer, and Gabrielle is fond of Dr. Bletchley. We thought we’d have him attend the delivery.”
“Absolutely not.” The finality in Amelia’s voice was breathtaking, considering she was neither pregnant nor a doctor. “Bletchley is no good. It must be St. Mary’s and it must be Dr. Elwiss.” The sharp statement was softened by a saccharine sweet smile. “Only the best for a Hunter, yes?”
Sebastian eyed his mother suspiciously. “Isn’t St. Mary’s where Lady Kate delivered the young Prince? And Dr. Elwiss their attending physician?”
Amelia batted her eyelashes in a gesture as forced as it was sickening and Gabby pushed her plate away discreetly. “Well, the queen did put the bug in my ear, darling, but imagine the prestige! The next Hunter born in the same suite as the heir to the British throne!”
“That suite is ten thousand pounds,” Sebastian replied flatly. “Astronomical.”
“It will all be taken care of! The room is already booked, my love.” Gabrielle had hardly known the woman for an hour and she was making a concerted effort not to strangle her. Not only was the woman an obvious control freak, but she steam-rolled over Sebastian with the ease of a ton-loader. What was worse, was that the man himself didn’t seem to be making any effort to thwart her. “Gabrielle understands the importance of our reputation, don’t you, sweetheart?” She jolted at Amelia’s sudden address. The woman was staring at her with gleaming blue eyes very like Sebastian’s- but lacking any of their familiar warmth. “St. Mary’s will be a wonderful place to have the baby, don’t you agree?”
Gabby’s gaze slid from Sebastian’s irate expression to Amelia’s controlled smile – and she knew she couldn’t very well let the woman trample her. She didn’t plan to be impolite, she just had to make her opinion known. She did, indeed, like Dr. Bletchley and thought he would be the best doctor to delivery their baby.
“My apologies, Lady Amelia, but I am pretty partial to Doctor Bletchley. He’s been very kind on the few occasions we’ve met and I honestly think that-”
“Nonsense!” Amelia cut her off sharply, her eyes flashing dangerously even as her smile remained in place. “I understand that it is your first child, my dear, and you’re also fairly new to Britain and thusly unfamiliar with our practices, but believe me when I say St. Mary’s is what’s best for you and for the baby. I know that Doctor Bletchley may have more experience catering to…people of your ilk, but St. Mary’s is not only cleaner, it’s more prestigious and better funded. You won’t be sorry you went.”
People of her…ilk?
Doctor Bletchley was a British- African man – dark-skinned and well spoken. Now, Gabby wasn’t guessing that the duchess was a racist bitch, she was sure of it. Slowly, she raised a napkin to her mouth to dab at an invisible food stain delicately. “Of course, Lady Hunter.” She rose from the table, her stomach churning with disgust. “I’m sorry, but I’m feeling a little under the weather. It must be the baby. Please excuse me.”
“Of course, dear. Do lie down and have a glass of soda. Rest up.” Amelia’s unfaltering smile was maddening, and as Gabby made a good show of tottering off in her heels, it was emblazoned across her mind.
That ghastly woman was going to be the grandmother of her child – and it was clear that she thought she was going to have control over its every move. If that was the impression she had, then Duchess Hunter had another thing coming. Gabrielle was prepared to pretend to be a dutiful, loving wife. She was even prepared to put herself in the media spotlight and feign fame and fortune. One thing she would not do, however, was take orders from a conniving high class crone – Sebastian’s mother or not.
Kicking off her heels, she fled up the stairs, both her mind and her stomach in turmoil.
**
She didn’t speak to him for two weeks.
Mind you, she had every right, considering his mother’s first grand, cruel power play. Even Sebastian himself had been surprised at her ruthlessness. While he’d known his mother would do everything in her power to put her grandchild and the Hunter name in the spotlight, he hadn’t thought that would include insulting Gabrielle to her face.
Luckily, the high-maintenance woman was out most days’ till late flitting around the London social scene. On the few occasions that she did chose to interact with them, it wasn’t to ask after the baby or Gabrielle’s health, but to lecture them on what social groups they should let their child interact in and what extracurricular activities would be best for it.
Gabrielle endured these tirades with thin patience, her fingers clutched to the tiny swell of her stomach as she stared raptly at the air beside his mother’s head. She was cordial enough with him in his p
arents’ midst, but the moment Amelia released them, she fled from him, locking herself in her studio or the bathroom to drone him out. His mother was, he realized, trying to dictate his child’s future just as she’d dictated his, and the thought disturbed him greatly.
There was, however, absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was constantly in the eye of the media and any wrong move he made would reflect badly on their family. This, in turn, would make his mother suspicious – and if she found out that he and Gabrielle weren’t truly married, she would no doubt challenge the child’s legitimacy. Despite the background he’d faked for Gabby, his mother was still displeased with her.
This was, Sebastian knew, because she hadn’t chose her – and of course his father made not the slightest motion to curb his wife’s behavior. He never had. Since their marriage, she had been the one in charge – and Sebastian’s political and emotional obligations to his family dictated that he satisfy her. He couldn’t even allow Tristan near the house under his mother’s watchful eye. She strongly disapproved of homosexuals, and would no doubt explode with anger upon discovering Gabrielle and the unborn child had been in contact with one.
His mother’s antics were making Gabrielle profoundly unhappy – any fool could see that; and Sebastian could do nothing to stop it. He felt her toss and turn all night beside him only to rise in the middle of the night to disappear and do God bloody knew what.
One night, he felt her leave the bed around three in the morning, and after several tense moments by himself, he rose to don his robe and follow her. Silently, he padded down the stairs and through the parlor and kitchen to the narrow landing that led up to her workshop. A low light shone down from the room, confirming its occupation, and Sebastian sighed before beginning up the stairs.
When he crested the staircase, he stopped cold, the sight before him giving him pause.
Gabrielle was utterly, completely naked. Her caramel colored skin glowed in the dim light of a number of candles that she’d lit as she moved hauntingly to the base of the soft music that played from her iPod. Splotches of paint were flecked over her shoulders, the small of her back and the small jut of her abdomen as she worked, utterly absorbed in her work.
Her horrendous nightgown lay pooled in a heap at the head of the stairs, and the woman worked with long, almost violent strokes of a thin brush, the paint swirling onto the canvases in hypnotic motions. It was, Sebastian realized, the piece she’d begun to work on not long after moving into the house. The colors and pattern were brilliant, fairly leaping off the page in a desperate plea for help.
Desperation.
Gabby felt utterly alone at his side, shoved into a mold that she couldn’t even begin to fit into, and utterly ignored by his mother.
He felt like a complete and utter cad watching her, entranced by her jolting, furious motions and the curves of her ripening body. Though he hadn’t had her since their first time, he’d longed for her every night. Inhaling the perfume of her freshly washed hair and listening to the soft timbre of her breathing was torture. Seeing her now, like this, he felt himself reacting powerfully, his erection tenting the front of his silk pajamas as breath came almost harshly.
All at once, as if she sensed him, Gabrielle stopped mid motion, turning to fix him with Gray eyes full of frustration and loneliness. In a sudden fury, she tossed the brush across the room. Sebastian flinched when it hit the wall a foot from his head with a loud clatter, his mouth dry at the sight of his “wife’s” bare breasts.
“How dare you.” The words escaped Gabrielle on a low, almost inaudible tone. “How dare you let her spout that bullshit day after day? She’s not the one having this baby, Sebastian, we are.” Groaning, the young woman drew her hands over her face and down her chest, streaking paint alluringly over her skin. “I am.” She raised a hand to place protectively over her belly before turning from him. “Go back to bed.”
In five quick strides, Sebastian spanned the room drawing her stiff form into his arms. Gabrielle fought him,struggling in vain against his superior strength, but after a moment of writhing, she sagged in his arms, her breath hitching on an unmistakable sob. The sound startled him.
Gabrielle, despite her current unhappiness, struck him as a very strong woman. For her current situation to have brought her to tears… “I’m sorry.” He whispered against her neck, the smell of oil paint and strawberry shampoo drugging him. “I’m so sorry, Gabby.”
“Are you?” She demanded, her voice trembling. “You say that, but when that woman comes to us tomorrow with some ridiculous plan for our child, are you going to challenge her?”
“I will,” He promised lowly, his words firm. Though the promise brought him no small amount of trepidation, he knew something had to be done. What if Gabrielle became depressed? What if she got sick? She would lose the baby and that would do none of them any good. Sebastian found, now, that the thought of losing a child he’d come to at least start to view in the permanent realm disturbed him more than he’d like to admit.
He wanted more than to just watch his child being born. He didn’t want it to be shipped off to some expensive boarding school the moment it would walk. He knew, from experience, that such things were never the best policy for his child.
Gabby was right. It was time for him to be firmer with his mother. She might hold many of the cards, but he still had a few of his own. “I promise, I will speak with her, Gabby.”
She turned in his arm to face him, searching his face for any signs of dishonesty before she spoke. “You know, I believe you. I might be crazy for it, but I do.” With that, she made a last attempt to pull out of his arms, the naked slid of her body against his driving him to the cusp of insanity. Sebastian jerked her back to him, reading the shock in her eyes a moment before he kissed her.
She tasted just as sweet as he remembered – and her body was like liquid heat as she arched into his embrace, her lips parting beneath his. He had watched her for weeks – admired the poise with which she’d handled the cameras that poked into their privacy and his harpy of a mother. He’d seen her unhappiness and the strain in her features.
And now he would erase it all – every last iota.
His mouth moved down the column of her throat slowly, deliberately, and she shuddered against him as his tongue dipped into the hollow at its base. Her skin was damp with sweat and a few streaks of paint that smeared against his hands as they slid over her spine and down to cup the round globes of her behind.
Though she wasn’t even three months heavy with pregnancy, her body had already begun to change – her breasts were rounder and more lush, her hips fuller. As Sebastian lowered his head to take a chocolate-hued nipple between his teeth, a ragged gasp escaped her. His tongue circled the tight little nub slowly, until she was squirming and whimpering in his embrace. Her reaction drew a Sebastian’s smile against her warm flesh as one of his hands crept forward to find her wet and wanting between the legs.
They’d been dancing around one another for what seemed like an eternity, and now that he had her in his arms, he was going to take his time with her to recall the chemistry that had driven them to exhaustion before morning had broken.
Gabrielle gasped as his fingers moved torturously over her drenched cleft, her head falling back as he stroked her. He marveled that she slickened so quickly for him – even though she might be furious with him for allowing his mother to oppress them. Releasing her nipple, he straightened, eager to watch her face as he pleasured her.
Her gray eyes were hooded and dark, her fingers tense as they gripped his upper arm. With every stroke of his fingers, her hips bucked gloriously against his hand. When he finally obliged her with the swift thrust and withdrawal of two fingers into her tight sheath, Gabrielle cried out softly, biting her lip as she shook her head in denial of the pleasure wracking her body.
She was gorgeous like this – covered in paint and absolutely nothing else as her body strained against him. He slid his fingers back inside her, stroking the si
lken walls of her femininity until she was whimpering continuously, her lips parted as her thighs trembled. Again and again he plied her until hushed epithets were falling from her lips and her nails raked over the silk of his pajama shirt as she came powerfully.
He relished the way her inner muscles milked his fingers, their spasms slowly ebbing until she sagged against him, her breathing ragged. Sebastian leaned down to press a kiss against her damp forehead, and then the sweetness of her mouth, before raising his hand to lick his fingers clean.
There was little that he had seen that could make the unpredictable Gabrielle Arnold blush, but she did now, her cheeks flushing in the low light of the flickering candles. “That…” She finally managed on a hoarse whisper, “That was most definitely not proper.”
Sebastian’s cerulean eyes gleamed with amusement even as the sight of her heaving breasts made his erection pulse. “You have no idea how improper I can be, Gabrielle.”
He felt the shudder of arousal traverse the length of her body as her eyes glowed with anticipation. Her tongue darted out to wet full lips and Sebastian bit back a groan. “Show me.”
He hardly needed to be asked twice. Reaching down, he slid his hands beneath her thighs to lift her aloft, pressing the prominent bulge of his erection against her center. Gabrielle moaned, her arms winding around his neck as their mouths found one another and fused, their tongues tangling restlessly.
Within moments, she was tearing at his pajama shirt, almost popping the buttons in her anxiousness to bear his chest. He held her against him with first one arm and then the other, allowing the garment to slide from his shoulders and onto the floor. At this point, the paint flecked over his lover’s skin was beginning to smear over his own as well, but Sebastian hardly cared.
His fingers curling possessively into her behind, he growled almost primly against her throat as he yanked down his silk drawstring pants to free his aching erection. As it bobbed up in between them, Gabby groaned, clutching at his hair desperately as he all but stumbled forward until he was pressing her back flush against the nearest wall.
The British Billionaire's Baby Page 8
