The Brabanti Baby

“There’s just one flaw in that argument,” he said, closing his long, tanned fingers around her wrist to prevent her from moving. “Marcia’s not one to share the limelight unless there’s something in it for her, so why would she designate you to show off her baby, when she’d much rather reap all the attention?”

His touch scalded her. Sent the blood boiling through her veins and bolts of sensation shooting up her arm. “In this case,” she said breathlessly, “I think it had more to do with the length of time you expected her to stay here. She’s married again, as you know, and—”

“I didn’t know.”

“Oh, dear!” Eve realized the news had come as a complete and unpleasant shock. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed she’d have told you.” She stared at him incredulously. “She really didn’t mention it?”

“Not a word.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

“I can. Now that she’s found herself a new husband, she’d like to cut me out of the picture altogether and have my daughter call another man ‘Papa.’

His grip tightened painfully. Wincing, Eve said, “You’re hurting me, Gabriel. Please let go.”

He glanced down, seeming almost surprised to find his fingers still locked around wrist. “Dio!” he exclaimed ruefully, releasing her at once. “I didn’t realize…forgive me.” Then, seeing the mark he’d left behind, he touched her again, stroking the pad of his thumb over the redness. “Your skin is so fine, so translucent,” he murmured. “Like mother-of-pearl. I’m a brute to have handled you so carelessly.”

“You were caught offguard,” she said, knowing she’d have to be the most naive fool in the world to believe he meant anything by his words. But although her brain recognized the logic of such reasoning, her pulse operated on a different wavelength and thundered like a runaway locomotive bent on destruction. Striving to control the resulting havoc to her breathing, she went on, “If I’d known Marcia hadn’t told you about Jason, I’d have broken the news more tactfully.”

His hand drifted down to unfold her fingers and lay bare her palm. “So Marcia fancies herself in love again, does she?”

“It would appear so.”

“And when did this marriage take place?”

“The beginning of last month, I believe.”

“You believe? You mean to say you weren’t invited to the wedding?”

“No. I gather it was a very simple civil ceremony, with just two close friends as witnesses. I live in Chicago, and it was hardly worth my making the trip to New York for something which lasted no more than twenty minutes.”

“What’s your impression of the new husband?”

“I’ve never actually met him. He was out of town when I picked up Nicola. The closest we’ve come is talking on the phone. He seemed nice enough.”

“He must be extraordinary, that Marcia would choose to remain at his side, instead of being with her child.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that clear cut. He’s on tour with a play he’s written, and since she’s both his wife and his agent, she wanted to be with him.”

“Just when I insisted on meeting my daughter? How very convenient!”

“As a matter of fact, it was. It spared Marcia having to take Nicola on the road.”

“So that she could devote herself to representing the undiscovered genius she married, without being hampered by the demands of a four-month-old baby, you mean?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She snatched her hand away from his encroaching fingers. “Stop twisting my words. She couldn’t be in two places at once and had to make a choice. If anything, you should give her credit for trying a bit harder to make this second marriage work.”

“At the expense of our child?”

“Oh, come on, Gabriel! You make it sound as if she abandoned Nicola to a stranger. I assure you I’m well qualified to look after your daughter, and given the way you’re spoiling for a fight, it’s just as well I’m here and not Marcia. It’ll save you arguing about who’s the better parent.”

“You have a point,” he said, the glimmer of a smile curling his mouth, “and you certainly seem comfortable handling Nicola.”

“I ought to be. I’ve dealt with enough babies over the years.”

“Ah! You have children of your own?”

“No. I’ve never been married.”

“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand these days.”

“They do for me,” she informed him flatly. “I’m the old-fashioned kind who believes in two-parent families.”

“How refreshing!” His smile would have charmed apples off a tree, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes that made Eve wary. “Do you and Marcia have anything in common?”

“Yes,” she said. “We both love Nicola and want what’s best for her.”

“Well, I can hardly take issue with that, can I?” He took her hands and drew her up to stand beside him. Her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’d like to look in on my daughter before I leave. Will you come with me?”

Together, they went through to the nursery. A lamp glowed on the dresser, filling the room with soft light. Nicola lay on her back in the crib, with her little arms spread-eagled and her tiny fists curled.

Bracing his hands on the crib rail, Gabriel watched her, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable. “Will she sleep through until morning?”

“No. She’ll need to be fed again around midnight, and again between two and three.”

“Then I should be shot for keeping you up so late.” He touched her arm. “Tomorrow, you must rest. I’ll spend an hour with her after breakfast, before I leave for my office, and another in the late afternoon when I return home. Otherwise, Beryl will look after her.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’m used to shift work.”

They were standing close together, speaking in whispers, the way parents might, and the intimacy of it all shimmered between them like a live thing. “I suspect,” he said, his gaze burning into hers, “that you’re also used to picking up the slack for others, regardless of what it might cost you.”

“I do what has to be done, but I’m no saint.”

“Nor am I,” he said, and the way he looked at her made her stomach turn over. “Nor am I. You’d do well to remember that.”

CHAPTER THREE

WASHED by moonlight, the villa lay at peace. Even the faint cry of the infant upstairs had at last dwindled into sleepy silence. Only he, plagued by misgivings, paced the length of his ground floor study and watched the night slip toward morning.

A three-quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, something he’d cultivated a taste for during his years at Harvard, stood on the desk, an empty glass beside it. Not even the bourbon could soothe his uneasiness tonight. After the evening just past, his suspicion that Marcia was up to no good had crystallized into certainty.

Their marriage might have lasted less than a year but in that time he’d come to know her well. She was secretive and sly and selfish; a bold-faced liar unhindered by scruples, and completely dedicated to furthering her own interests. And the cousin, Eve, knew it, even though she played her part well, turning her wide-eyed gaze on him and feigning ignorance of the true state of affairs.

She was lying, too, albeit by omission, but exposing her deception would be easy. Under that spirited front she put on, she was vulnerable—and very, very susceptible. He’d noticed how her pulse had raced, how she’d flushed, when he touched her. When they’d stood close together by the baby’s crib, he’d seen the agitated rise and fall of her breasts under her robe, and the way his gaze had held her hypnotized.

Unlike her cousin, Eve Caldwell’s experience of men was limited. He wouldn’t have to work too hard to uncover her secrets and seduce her into becoming his ally.

The realization should have calmed his restlessness and made sleep possible at last. Instead, it left a burning distaste in his mouth which the bourbon couldn’t begin to combat. To have to sink to his ex-wife’s contemptible level of subterfuge in order to ensure his daughter’s welfare offended his sense of decency.