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‘If there is a child and that remains a massive if, there will be things we need to discuss without ears at doors. You’ll like Mandeville. It’s a great place for a child to grow up—there’s plenty of room.’
The words came back to Mari as she got her first glimpse of the white Palladian mansion with its rows and rows of perfectly symmetrical windows. She snatched an awed breath. Plenty of room? It was the size of a city!
‘Ever so humble, but home.’
He covered her hand with his; for a moment he thought she was going to leave it there, and then she didn’t. His jaw clenched; the rejection, a small thing, had a sting that was out of proportion to its size.
Mari didn’t look at him, just stared straight ahead as she nursed her hand in her lap. ‘This place is pretty daunting, the idea of servants and—’
‘You’ll be fine. I actually think you could cope with anything, and it is big, but that could work well. You can still have your privacy.’
‘So you won’t be here? No work, obviously...but when you say space, does that mean we won’t be sharing a room?’ She closed her eyes and thought, Did I say that out loud?
‘Mari Jones, the first time I saw you I wanted you.’
Mari opened her eyes.
‘And I still do,’ said the man who was famed for playing it cool. ‘We will be sharing a bed.’
He saw a flicker in her eyes and wondered if she wanted to hear something else. He took her hand and felt the zing of electricity shoot up his arm.
‘The sex was sensational.’ He wasn’t in love, he was in lust. He didn’t need her, he wanted her, and that made all the difference.
It was odd, Mari reflected—she hadn’t even known until that precise moment how much more she wanted. Much more than what he was offering or would ever offer. It was not until she heard him carefully avoid the word and felt the pain of its absence that she stopped trying to pretend that she had fallen in love with him.
God, could life be more complicated?
Normally Seb could read her expressions, but he struggled to read the look she gave him, and was further thrown by the odd intonation in her soft voice when she spoke.
‘How about we just enjoy ourselves?’ she suggested easily.
He frowned. That was his line, and he felt irrationally irritated to hear her speak that way.
‘Until we know for sure.’
He nodded and struggled to stifle a restless sense of dissatisfaction.
* * *
When she had first walked into the place Mari had been utterly convinced that she would never feel at ease in the dauntingly grand surroundings. The ballroom at Mandeville was straight out of a fairy tale, and the walls held the sort of art collection that a major gallery would envy, not to mention the massive leisure suite with a full-size swimming pool tucked away in the lower ground floor, but three weeks in Mari had adapted to the space and elegance with amazing ease.
It might be unadapting she had the problem with, she realised uneasily.
It was hard not to compare the life of a child growing up here with one growing up in her tiny fourth-floor flat—not that it was about money. Mari knew, none better, that it was love and security that really counted.
But Seb would make a good father. It wasn’t just his genuine desire to be a parent; he had a lot to offer. Seeing him interact with his young half-sister, who obviously adored and respected him, made her realise how far out in her initial assessment of him she’d been.
And being around him so much Mari found herself falling deeper and deeper in love with him every day. Sometimes the sheer hopelessness of it all made her seek a quiet corner and weep, although that might be the hormones.
She knew that she was pregnant. She had known for a week now. The little changes—she had no morning nausea, thank God, but she’d gone off coffee completely, and her breasts were painfully sensitive.
She had not confided in Seb, who didn’t even trust a home testing kit. He insisted they have the test done by a Harley Street specialist, totally unnecessary, but she knew better than to try to dissuade him.
He’d been right. It had worked...worked too well really, she mused. It was all so polite. They hadn’t had a single disagreement; there was no sparking off each other; it was all totally vanilla, which on the surface sounded good but in reality felt flat and unreal... Yes, that was the right word, unreal. There were times when she felt they were actors in a play, performing to an unseen script. She could only assume that was what he thought a good relationship should be.
The only time it felt normal was in bed. That was when the stilted politeness went out of the window, and it got raw and real... It was those nights that kept her going!
