The Heiress's Secret Baby (12 page)

Just a few minutes’ walk. He should go, say hi.

He could even offer to help.

Gabe stood for a moment and then slowly turned to face the church.

A deep breath shuddered through him as if an icy fist had clenched his heart.

He hadn’t set foot in that church for ten years and yet he could clearly picture the aged, wooden beams, see the sunlight dancing through the coloured glass in the ancient windows, the expression on the faces of the cold marble statues. He could smell the incense as it burned hot and heavy.

He could see the coffin.

Without conscious thought, without decision, he walked across the tree-lined square, away from the festival, past the church, to the narrow street that led out of town. Towards the old walled cemetery.

To Marie’s grave.

Was it really ten years since he had stood by the open grave, pale faced and dry eyed as the white coffin had been slowly and solemnly lowered in?

White! She would have been horrified! Demanded black and velvet with silver clasps—or nothing at all, a quiet spot in a wooded glade. No X to mark the spot.

But burials weren’t for the dead, they were for those left behind and her parents had needed every last trimming to get them through the day.

His mouth tightened. He hadn’t written or contacted the Declors for years, unable to face another visit down memory lane. Not wanting to sit in the claustrophobic
salon
, sipping wine while looking through photo albums preserving the memory of a dead girl, pink cheeked and full of health. He had never known that girl. The Marie he had known had been like him, clad with a hospital pallor.

They were supposed to live or die together. He hadn’t kept his part of the deal. Had she known, when she slipped away, that he wouldn’t be joining her? Not yet.

Which was the worst betrayal? That he hadn’t died with her or that she hadn’t lived with him?

Had she forgiven him? He wasn’t sure he had forgiven her yet. Or himself.

‘Gabe?’

He jumped, a shiver running down his spine at the softly breathed words.

‘Gabe!’ No, not a ghost. Not unless Marie had developed a clipped English accent in the last ten years, had swapped the Converse low tops for high-heeled sandals that tapped smartly on the old cobbles.

He stopped and turned. Waited. Relieved to have the present intrude on the past.

‘Claire was so busy I didn’t like to disturb her.’ Polly stopped as she reached the tall figure, her hand automatically going up to nervously knot her hair, only to fall away as she spoke. ‘I wondered if maybe you wanted some lunch, if I could buy you some lunch. I...er...I crossed a line earlier. I need to apologise.’

She let a shuddering breath go and waited.

Lunch, work, an excuse not to face up to the past, to push it away for another decade.

‘That would be nice,’ he said after a long moment. ‘But there’s somewhere I need to go first. Polly, I’d really like it if you came with me.’

* * *

The river rushed along, white-topped as it bubbled over rocks and dropped over mini falls. The path along it was flat, easy walking. Left the mind free to wander.

Polly wasn’t entirely sure that this was a good thing. She searched for something to say.

Nothing.

Now didn’t seem appropriate to discuss work and she had already ventured into personal territory once that day. Look how well that had gone down, a clear indication to mind her own business.

Only... It was just...

He had asked her to come along.

She hadn’t gone all the way into the rather macabre cemetery with its carved headstones, statues and family vaults, as different from a tidy Church Of England graveyard as a Brie from Cheddar, rather she had waited by the wall as Gabe had walked steadily to a white marble gravestone, topped with a carved cherub, and dropped to one knee in front of it. He had stayed there for five minutes, head bowed. Polly couldn’t tell if he was weeping, praying or just frozen in silent contemplation. Either way discomforting shivers had rippled down her spine.

She had witnessed something deeply personal.

So she should say something, right? Wasn’t that the normal thing to do when someone allowed you to see a part of their soul?

Only it had never happened before. She had no compass for this kind of thing. No guidance.

Even at her very proper boarding school there hadn’t been a lesson on how to handle this kind of situation.

How to greet an ambassador? Yes. Royal garden party etiquette? Of course.

But this? She was clueless. She was going to have to go in blind.

‘Are you okay?’

Not the most insightful or original icebreaker in the world, but it was a start.

‘Oui.’
Gabe turned, looked at her, the dark eyes unreadable. ‘Thank you.’

Polly stopped, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. ‘What for? I didn’t do anything.’

He shrugged. ‘For being there. I needed a friend.’

Her eyes dropped; she was suddenly, oddly shy. ‘I owe you.’ Unable to resume looking at him, she started walking again and he fell into step beside her. ‘Who was it?’

He sighed, low and deep. ‘Who was your first love, Polly?’

‘My what?’ Flustered, she pushed her hair away from her face. ‘I don’t know. I thought we’d already covered that I don’t really do love.’

‘But there must have been someone, a crush, a passion. Someone who made your world that bit more exciting, your pulse beat that bit faster. Someone who made your blood heat up with just the thought of them.’ His voice was low, his accent more pronounced than usual; each word hit her deep inside, burning.

You.

But she didn’t say the word; she couldn’t. That wasn’t who she was, what they were. They might have crossed a line from colleagues to friends but the next line, from friends to lovers, was too far, too high, too unattainable.

And Polly didn’t have many friends. She didn’t want to screw this new understanding up.

First love? She dragged her mind back, to her lonely teenage years.

‘I had a huge crush on my school friend’s brother,’ she admitted. ‘I was sixteen and staying there one Christmas holidays. He kissed me on New Year and I went back to school convinced we were an item. When I next saw him he was with his girlfriend and barely acknowledged me.’ She grimaced. ‘I wept for a week. What a silly idiot I was.’

‘Non
.
’
To her surprise he reached over and took her hand. His long fingers laced through hers. Every millimetre where his skin touched hers was immediately sensitised, tiny electric shocks darting up her arm, piercing the core of her.

She shivered, all her attention on her hand, on her fingers, on the way he was touching her, the light caress.

It wasn’t enough.

Just friends, remember?
she told herself sternly. But who was she fooling? As
if
it were enough.

‘That’s how we learn, that complete single-mindedness of the teenage heart.’

‘Learn what?’

His fingers tightened on hers. ‘That feelings are not always worth the price.’

‘Gabe.’ Her voice was husky with the unexpected need. ‘Who was she?’

‘Marie.’ The sound of loss and regret pulsed through her. ‘She was sixteen.’

‘Like I was,’ she breathed, absurdly glad to find some tenuous link between her teenaged self and his ghostly lover.

‘Same age as you were,’ he agreed. ‘Only I didn’t find someone else. She left me.’

‘You met in hospital?’ It was all beginning to fall into place.

He nodded, his fingers almost painfully tight but Polly didn’t care, welcomed his grip, anchoring him to her. ‘It’s not like anywhere else,’ he said. ‘Everything is distilled down. You’re defined by your illness but underneath? Underneath you’re still a person, a teenager desperate to act out and find yourself, and the steroid bloating and the hair loss and the bruising and burns? None of it changes that. Marie and I met and we knew each other. Instantly.’

A shocking, unwanted jolt of jealousy hit her and Polly swallowed it back. It was unworthy. Of her and of the story he was confiding in her.

‘Tell me about her.’ She wanted to know everything.

‘She was understanding and acceptance. She was anger and rebellion and gallows humour. Just like me. It was...’ he paused, searching for the right word ‘...intense. I don’t know if we’d met in normal life if we’d have even liked each other. But then? Then she was all that I wanted, all that I needed. We were going to make it together or fail together.’ He laughed softly, bitterly. ‘The hubris of youth. But it didn’t turn out the way we planned. I was so angry that she left me behind.’

‘And now?’

‘And now I am a decade older. That time is a memory, and Marie...’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t even think of her day to day. I don’t think of the boy I was. I took that time and I locked it away. I got well, I left Provence, left France, went away to college and I reinvented myself.’

‘You’re a survivor.’

She stopped and turned to face him. One hand was still held tightly in his; she allowed the other to drift up, to touch his cheek, to run along the defined line of his cheekbone and along the darkly stubbled jaw.

‘You did what you had to do to survive. That makes you pretty darn amazing.’

He looked down at her, a pulse beating wildly in his cheek, the eyes almost black with pain. ‘I forgot how to feel,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It hurt too much. Loss and pain and need. It was easier to smile and flirt and work and leave all that messy emotional stuff locked away. With Marie.’

‘I know,’ Polly whispered. She stared up at him. ‘Emotions hurt.’

‘Coming back, coming home, I can’t forget. It’s in every look, every word. My parents see me and they remember it all, all the hurt I caused them. And I see her, on every street corner, in every field. I see my broken promises.’

‘You must have loved her very much.’ Polly could hear the wistfulness in her voice and winced inwardly.

‘Love?’ He laughed softly. ‘We were too young and fiery for love. I needed her, adored her, but love?’ He looked right at her, gold flecks in his eyes mesmerising her. ‘I don’t know what love is either, Polly.’

She took a step towards him, eyes still fixed on his. The one small step had brought her into full contact, her chest pressed against his, hips against hips. She slid the hand cupping his face around his neck, allowing her fingers to run through the ends of his hair.

‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘I know want.’ She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss on the pulse in his throat. He quivered. ‘I know need.’ Emboldened, she moved her mouth up and nipped his ear lobe. ‘I know desire. Sometimes they’re enough, they have to be enough.’

Her mouth moved to his, to drop a light butterfly kiss on the firm lips. She had only meant to comfort him, to take his mind off the past but one small step, three small kisses, three dangerous words shifted the mood, charged the air.

‘Are they?’ he asked, his eyes burning a question.

Polly couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, could only nod as he continued to look hard into her eyes, into her soul.

She had no idea what he saw reflected there, all she knew was that she was boneless with desire, burning up with the unexpected, unwanted, but very real need pulsing through her, his body branding her, claiming her at every point they touched.

She didn’t want him to think, didn’t want any regrets, she just wanted him to hold her tight, wanted to taste him. She pulled her hand out of his, the momentary loss of contact chilling her until she slid her arm around his waist, working her hand under his T-shirt to feel the firm skin underneath. There under her fingers was the tattoo. She traced it from memory feeling him shudder under her touch.

‘Goddammit, Polly,’ he groaned. ‘I’m trying...’

‘Don’t.’

It was all he needed. With a smothered cry of frustration, of need, he gave in, his arms pulling her in tight, one hand on her back, the other tangling in her hair.

He looked one last time, searching her face and whatever he saw there was enough because he lowered his mouth to hers. Claimed her. And she allowed it. Allowed herself to lose herself in his mouth, his hands, his hard, strong body. Today at least, in this moment, it was all she could give him.

And she would give all that he could take.

CHAPTER NINE

‘O
H
,
NO
!’

Polly had barely waited until the plane had landed and the seat-belt light was switched off before she had pulled her phone out and switched it on.

Keeping busy. Avoiding conversation. Just as she had done all last night, all morning. Chatting to his mother, going on yet another guided tour with Claire, bathing Mathilde.

Avoiding conversation. Avoiding physical contact. Avoiding Gabe.

Gabe closed his eyes. It wasn’t as if he had been trying to get her alone either.

It was all too
real
. The taste of her, cinnamon spicy and sweet. The softness of her hair, the warmth and smoothness of her skin. The exquisite torture of her hands, roaming over him as if she could learn him by heart...

He took a long, deep breath, willing away the evocative memories. Willing away the urge to reach over, take her hands and draw her back to him. To lose himself in her again.

What had he been thinking? Necking like teenagers on a riverside path! Gabe couldn’t remember the last time he had been content to hold and be held. To kiss, to touch with no expectation, no hurry to move on to the next stage. It wasn’t just their admittedly exposed location. It was as if they were the teenage selves they had exhumed, armed with all that shy and explosive passion. No need to take it further. Content just to explore, to be.

No need to go further. Not then. And not since either.

It was probably all for the best. Every reason he had listed against getting involved with Polly still stood. Was valid. Even with the memory of the kiss thudding through him.

He opened his eyes and stared at the back of the airline seat. Yep, definitely all for the best.

‘Honestly, does he never think?’ Polly was still muttering as she glared at her phone as if it could answer her.

‘Problems?’ Gabe swung himself out of his seat and opened the overhead locker to collect their bags.

‘Grandfather.’ It was said expressively. ‘He wants to meet us at the house when we get back. My house. He’s asked Raff. It hasn’t even occurred to him that we might be tired.’

‘Why should it?’ Gabe swung Polly’s neat overnight bag down and set it onto his seat. ‘It’s not even three in the afternoon. It’s the middle of your working day. Besides, have you ever put tiredness before business before? It’s not like he knows that you’re pregnant.’

‘That’s not the point...’

‘Polly.’ He put his own bag onto the floor and turned to face her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes. She looked as if she had slept as well as he had. Was it the heat or the baby keeping her awake—or was she, like him, taunted by the memory of soft lips and caressing hands? Had she got out of bed several times, determined to creep down the landing hall to tap at his door only to fall back onto the bed unsure what to say, what to do?

‘You need to tell him.’

She turned the full force of her glare on him but Gabe simply shouldered her bag and collected his own. ‘It’s time, Polly. Everything’s looking good. You’ve accepted it. You need your family.’

She blinked, the long dark lashes falling in confusion. ‘My family isn’t like yours. We don’t do unconditional love.’

‘Then it’s time you changed that,’ he said and walked off along the nearly empty aisle.

She didn’t speak to him again as they exited the airport and found their way to her car and this time, when Gabe held out his hand for her keys, she didn’t protest, handing them over almost absent-mindedly. He had expected her to spend the journey back to Hopeford as she had every other moment that day, tapping on her laptop or phone or scribbling in her notebook, but she simply laid her head back on the headrest and stared out of the window.

It didn’t take them long; the small airport was conveniently close to Hopeford and it was less than an hour later when Gabe turned into the narrow lane and parked outside the cottage. An old red Porsche was already parked there along with a Mercedes saloon.

‘Great, the cavalry are already here.’

Gabe shot her a concerned look. Where was the cool, collected Polly, in charge of everything and everyone? Where was the insistently questioning Polly, forcing him to face up to some unpalatable truths?

‘Is that Raff’s car? The vintage one?’ Surely a mention of vintage cars would cheer her up.

‘It was our father’s. He got Daddy’s car, I got Mummy’s jewellery, the bits she left behind anyway. Never say that the Raffertys aren’t conventional.’

She opened the door and slid out. ‘Let’s do this. Leave the bags, Gabe. We’ll get them later.’

Gabe slowly exited the car and watched her. It was incredible seeing the way she breathed in, the mask slipping over her as she tilted her head up, straightened her back. She was every inch Polly Rafferty, CEO. On the outside at least.

He fell into step beside her but she didn’t look at him as she marched up the small path that wound from the road through her flower-filled front garden to the wooden front door.

Twisting the handle, she made a face as the door opened with no need for a key. ‘Hello,’ she called as she pushed it open. ‘If you’re burglars then there isn’t anything worth taking. If it’s Raff how the hell did you get in?’

‘Ah, that’s my fault. I abused my position as your concierge service but I thought you would prefer to come home to a prepared dinner and a settled-in grandparent.’ A woman with a heart-shaped face, wavy red-gold hair and the greenest eyes Gabe had ever seen came through from the kitchen, smiling a little shyly. ‘Hi, Polly. I’m so sorry I haven’t been round before today. Good trip?’

Polly stood stock-still for a moment and Gabe felt her take an audible deep breath as if steeling herself before she moved forward, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Clara! I should have known. It’s so good to see you. Let me see...’ She grabbed Clara’s left hand and stared at the antique emerald ring on her third finger.

‘I know it’s customary to say congratulations but as Raff’s twin I can’t square it with my conscience if I don’t first say
run
. I lived with him for eighteen years and you are far too good for him.’

Clara was glowing with happiness. ‘It’s too late. Summer would never forgive me. He’s promised to take her to two theme parks in Florida this year.’

Polly shook her head. ‘That’s my brother. He always targets the weak spot! Congratulations, Clara. I hope you will be very happy. Have you met Gabe yet? Gabe, this is Clara, my brother’s fiancée.’

‘No, we haven’t met but I know Raff, of course. Please accept my felicitations.’ Gabe shook her hand warmly and smiled down into the green eyes.

‘Polly, I am so sorry,’ Clara whispered. ‘I said you would probably be too tired for a meeting now, and the last thing you would want was your house invaded, but your grandfather was so insistent. I got Dad to make some food I can heat up, just a lasagne and salad, and Sue will clean it all up tomorrow so, really, all you have to do is eat.’

Polly didn’t know how she would have managed without Clara’s concierge service to manage her life over the last three years; she had never been more grateful for her friend’s organisational powers.

‘That’s okay.’ Polly gave Clara’s hand a squeeze. ‘But I hope you’re sticking around. You’re part of the family now. Where is everyone?’

Clara smiled back at her friend. ‘Thanks, Polly. They’re in the sitting room. Oh, and just to warn you before you go in, your grandmother is there as well.’

‘What? With Grandfather? In the same room? Good God, thank goodness I don’t have any priceless antiques.’

Polly led the way through the low-beamed door into the pretty sitting room. Gabe was so used to seeing the house empty it was a shock to find the room full of people. Charles Rafferty was ensconced on the straight-backed armchair by the unlit fire, his despised stick by his side. A white-haired, regal-looking woman with an unmistakeable look of the Rafferty twins in her straight nose and shrewd blue eyes was sitting on the sofa talking to Raff while a dark-haired girl of ten or so was lying on the floor whispering softly to Mr Simpkins as he purred around her hand.

‘This is quite the welcoming committee.’ Polly looked calm and collected as she walked in. ‘Hello, Grandmother.’ She went over to the sofa and kissed the older lady’s cheek. ‘Raff.’ A cool nod at her brother. ‘Grandfather.’ Another nod. ‘Hi, Summer, how was Australia?’

‘Polly!’ The girl scrambled to her feet. ‘Do you know you’re going to be my aunt?’

‘I do.’ Polly stepped over and gave her a quick hug. ‘My first niece. I’m looking forward to it.’

There was an ache at the back of Gabe’s throat as he watched her dance so awkwardly around her family. She was right: he kept his at arm’s length but it didn’t matter. They would always be there, love him, have a space for him. Nothing he could do would provoke this kind of cold and formal reception.

He
should
go home more often. Talk to his papa about his future plans. Help out a little.

‘Sorry for gatecrashing, Pol.’ Raff was twinkling up at his sister. ‘Grandfather insisted.’

‘Clara explained. It’s okay, of course you’re all welcome but there’s not much I can tell you today. Gabe and I haven’t had an opportunity to pull our research together, although after seeing what Natalie is doing with the software on a smaller scale I have to say I’m very close to being completely convinced if we can make the numbers add up...’

‘This isn’t about Rafferty’s,’ her grandfather interrupted and Gabe could feel the shock reverberate through Polly as her cheeks whitened and she took a step closer to her grandfather’s chair.

‘Not about Rafferty’s? Are you ill? I knew you should have stepped down earlier!’

‘Charles isn’t ill, at least, no worse than he was before the angina attack.’ Polly’s grandmother spoke calmly and Polly held her stare, looking for and apparently finding reassurance.

‘Then what?’

‘Polly dear, your grandfather and I are going to remarry.’

* * *

Polly looked down the wooden table at her family and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. It was ironic, just last night she would have given anything to have her family congregated in her kitchen the way the Beaufils did, all eating together.

And here they were. Sure, it was a little more formal, a tad more awkward than in the Provence farmhouse. Summer was unusually tongue-tied and Gabe evidently embarrassed about being caught up in the family drama. Clara...

Clara only had eyes for Raff and he for her.

A hollow pit opened up in Polly’s stomach. What would it be like for someone to look at her like that? As if she were the answer to every question? To every prayer.

Yesterday with Gabe she had come close. Close to letting him in. Colour flushed her cheeks as she remembered. She had almost begged him. No wonder he couldn’t meet her eyes.

‘Not hungry, Polly?’ Clara looked pointedly at Polly’s almost untouched plate.

‘Sorry, Clara. Please don’t tell your father. It was delicious as always. I’m just tired, I guess.’ Without meaning to, Polly allowed her eyes to wander over to Gabe, somehow at the head of the table. Of
her
table. He looked completely at ease, mid-conversation with her grandfather, long fingers playing on the stem of his wine glass.

Fingers that just yesterday had been playing on her skin.

Polly shivered. How could a kiss be that sensual? More erotic than the most practised lovemaking?

What would it have been like if they had been somewhere more private? If they had gone further? If she had been able to explore that tattoo the way she had burned to, tracing it with the tip of her finger. With kisses. With her tongue, slick on salty skin.

She clenched her hands, allowing the nails to dig into her palms. She was at dinner, for goodness’ sake. With her grandparents.

With her brother.

With Gabe...

He looked up, with that sixth sense he seemed to possess whenever she thought about him, eyes dark and intent.

‘We should celebrate,’ he said abruptly. ‘Two engagements require champagne.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She should have thought of that. It was her house after all. And she was the only one without news to celebrate. Publicly at least. ‘There’s a couple of bottles out back.’

‘I’ll get them.’ He pushed his chair back and disappeared into the pantry, reappearing with one of the bottles that had been chilling in the old stone cold room.

‘Summer,
ma chérie
, could you go to the cupboard there and get me six of the long glasses?
Oui
, clever girl.’ He flashed his warmest smile at the small girl as Summer proudly put the glasses on the table and Polly pushed her still-full wine glass to one side.

It had been easier to accept the glass and not touch it rather than face any questions. Gabe was right, she needed to say something. But how?

With an expert twist Gabe loosed the cork and began to pour the bubble-filled amber liquid into the first glass, handing the first to her grandmother and the second to Clara. When every glass had been filled and handed around every face turned expectantly to Polly.

Of course. This was her role. Head of the family firm.

She got to her feet, trying to drag her thoughts back to the here and now, to the unexpected news that had greeted her return home.

‘So there are two engagements to celebrate,’ she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. Raff and Clara were smiling up at her, her grandparents regarding her with more warmth than she had seen from them in a long time.

Her eyes flickered to Gabe. His eyes were fixed on her, expression inscrutable.

‘I know my job involves looking for trends and seeing what lies ahead so all I can say is that thank goodness I don’t run a dating agency because I didn’t predict either of these. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not truly happy for you all. Clara, you’ve been my closest friend in Hopeford.’

So close that I haven’t seen you since I returned,
a little voice whispered but Polly ignored it.

‘I know how much Raff loves you and I know he will do everything he can to make you happy—and when Raff sets his mind to something he usually achieves it!