Pregnant with His Baby!: Secret Baby, Convenient Wife / Innocent Wife, Baby of Shame / The Surgeon's Secret Baby Wish

He returned it a week later when he proposed.

CHAPTER TEN

DERVLA’S apprehension increased as the limo pulled into the underground parking space of the London house. She swallowed past the nervous constriction in her throat as the car came to a halt and Eduardo switched off the engine.

Beside her Alberto clicked free his seat belt, nothing in his manner suggesting he shared her apprehension. Dervla couldn’t believe he was really that relaxed, but if he wasn’t, she thought, studying his stress-free, handsome young face, he was the world’s best actor.

Her brow furrowed; his attitude totally baffled her. Gianfranco might be an indulgent parent, but when Alberto overstepped the mark he came down hard. And by anyone’s definition he had overstepped the mark this time!

His father was going to go ballistic and Alberto had to know it.

She waited until Eduardo was out of hearing distance before she voiced the question that was uppermost in her mind.

‘Why did you do it?’

He had fed her a steady stream of information concerning the highlights of his journey, including the complicated romantic life of the lorry driver who had given him a lift to Calais—she might suggest he didn’t share that little anecdote with his father—but so far he hadn’t even hinted at any reason for the escapade.

Alberto looked at her and shrugged.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The similarity between father and son had never been more pronounced as the teenager slung her a look from under well-defined sable brows. ‘An impulse, I guess.’

Dervla rolled her eyes and begged with a groan, ‘Please don’t say that to your father, Alberto.’

‘Don’t worry about Dad, Dervla. I can handle him.’

Dervla’s mouth fell open. ‘You can handle …’ She began to laugh. The person had not been born who could handle Gianfranco.

The boy was not offended by her amusement. ‘It’s all right, really, Dervla. I’ve got it all under control.’

‘Have you suffered a head injury?’ Concussion would go some way to explaining his ill-judged confidence. ‘Sometimes, Alberto, there is a fine line between confidence and stupidity—in this instance there is a dirty great chasm!’

Alberto laughed.

‘Alberto!’ she protested. ‘This isn’t a joke. You can’t just run away.’

‘Why not, Dervla? You did.’

The gentle reminder made her flush to the roots of her hair. ‘That,’ she retorted, her eyes sliding from his, ‘is not the same at all. I’m an adult …’

‘And you’re married and I’m not.’

Dervla was starting to wonder who was meant to be defending reckless behaviour here. ‘Your father must have been beside himself.’

‘When you left he spent the night walking the floor. I could hear him all night.’

‘Really?’ She stopped and bit her lip. Suddenly I’m the adolescent. Alberto really was his father’s son, she reflected, and not just in looks. ‘That’s between me and your father,’ she said repressively.

‘Of course. Adult stuff.’

Dervla looked at him suspiciously, unable to rid herself of the idea he was humouring her. The boy looked innocently back at her through eyes that were so like his father’s that it was like being pierced by a dull blade.

‘You’re thirteen. What you did was incredibly dangerous. Anything could have happened,’ she said, struggling to impress on him the seriousness of the situation without coming over as the heavy step-parent.

‘But it didn’t,’ he pointed out with another flash of unarguable logic. ‘So there’s not much point worrying about it, is there?’

‘I know your dad can seem a bit unapproachable at times, but if there’s a problem you should tell him, Alberto. I think you’d be surprised at how understanding he can be.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Dervla, I know I can tell Dad anything and, let’s face it, he’s the sort of person that you want around in a crisis.’

This piece of worldly wisdom robbed Dervla momentarily of speech. ‘Yes, he is,’ she admitted finally.

‘You look a bit misty, Dervla. Are you all right?’ her stepson asked, watching her dab the suspicion of moisture from under her eyes.

‘Fine, just a bit of hay fever.’ She caught his arm. ‘It’s just when your father does get here don’t whatever you do act as if this is a joke.’

‘I won’t.’

With that she had to be content as the teenager put on a spurt of speed and shot ahead.

She called his name, breaking into a jog to catch him up.

But she didn’t; the teenager with the advantage of longer legs and youth reached the porticoed entrance to the tall Georgian building before she caught up with him.

Dervla stopped at the bottom of the elegant sweep of shallow steps and watched him exchange a few words with the man standing at the open door before disappearing inside.

Run, her inner voice screamed as the man began to walk down the steps towards her. She might even have responded to the voice had her feet not been nailed to the spot.

‘Hello, Gianfranco.’ He looked devastatingly handsome in a pale linen shirt open at the neck to reveal smooth golden skin and jeans that clung to his narrow hips and emphasised the length and power of his muscular legs.

The longing rolled over her like a tidal wave as she stared at him.

It did not even occur to her to question his presence here. A year sharing his life had taught her that ingenuity, determination and seemingly limitless financial resources meant that very few things were impossible for Gianfranco.

Compared to some of the things she had witnessed, reaching the London house before them could not have presented much of a challenge to him.

He stopped on the step above her, making the disparity in their heights even more noticeable, but he didn’t respond to her polite greeting.

His eyes, dark and intense, remained on her face.

‘Alberto’s very sorry.’

Dervla saw a flicker of something that looked like amusement in his dark eyes. ‘Did he tell you that?’

‘Not in so many words, but—’

Gianfranco cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand. ‘Dio mio, I have no wish to discuss my son just now.’

‘Not with me, you mean.’