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Thinking about it now, Josie realised she was still apprehensive, and she wished Conan would hurry up and get home. Their guests would be arriving in little more than two hours. Jeffrey was slaving away in the kitchen, having flatly refused her offer to assist him. Maybe if she had a bath, and tried to relax, she would feel better.
Later, bathed and seated on the bed, wearing a blue silk robe, Josie tried to brush the tangles from her hair.
‘Here, let me do that.’ Conan walked into the room, shedding his jacket and tossing it on to the bed. He sat down beside her, and took the brush from her hand to brush her long hair. ‘How are you and Junior today?’ he asked, dropping a light kiss on the exposed curve of her neck.
Josie shivered and smiled. ‘Fine, now you’re home,’ she murmured. To see him was enough to make her happy.
‘Good.’ He stood up and grinned down at her. ‘I see I’m too late to get you to share the shower. Pity...’ His dark eyes glinted wickedly. ‘But I’ll catch you later.’ And, swinging on his heel, he headed for the bathroom.
Josie grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Her face and hair were fine; it was the rest that took some getting used to. She was twenty-seven weeks pregnant and there was no disguising her belly. Her red dress was from a designer maternity boutique. Slashed straight across her chest, exposing the curve of her breasts, the narrow straps supported the bodice, and the soft silk, cut on the bias, skimmed around her body, but could not hide her bump.
‘You look beautiful.’
She hadn’t heard Conan come in, but the feel of his long arm around her and his large hand splayed over their child brought a glimmer of a smile to her face. Her violet eyes captured his in the mirror. He was standing behind her, naked apart from a towel around his hips. His broad, tanned shoulders, gleaming in the artificial light, appeared to surround her protectively.
‘Of course, you’re not biased,’ she teased. The one certainty in her life was her love for Conan and her unborn child, and her heart lurched as she saw his golden eyes darken, his hands stroking up to cup her breasts, her nipples tautening at his touch. She sighed
. She felt the stirring of his masculine response against her buttocks, and for a long moment their eyes fused and reflected in the mirror a mutual need and desire. Conan blinked and abruptly let her go.
‘I’m probably a lot of things you don’t rem—realise,’ he said curtly. But right now I had better get dressed; our guests will be arriving shortly.’
Josie watched him as he crossed to the bathroom, a worried frown marring her smooth brow. Something was bothering him. She gave a shrug; now was not the time for an in-depth discussion, and she went downstairs to check with Jeffrey that everything was ready. Walking out of the kitchen into the hall, she stopped as Conan ran lightly down the stairs. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked gorgeous in a dinner suit, but then he looked gorgeous in anything—or nothing, Josie thought with a secret smile.
‘Remember this was your idea,’ Conan murmured as the doorbell rang.
An hour later Josie was beginning to enjoy herself. The food was perfect: a light consommé followed by Dover sole, and the main course an invention of Jeffrey’s—chicken breasts stuffed and cooked in his secret sauce, with all the accompanying vegetables.
They were ten at the table. Josie did not remember any of the guests but was immediately at ease, as Conan had apparently explained she was suffering from amnesia. Pamela, the small lady across the table from Josie, was delightful as was her husband and the bluff Mr. Smales and his wife, Betty. Martin and Belinda Bewick were a couple about Conan’s age and full of stories about their three children. A tall blonde woman, Angela, was not quite so friendly, but her brother Steve, a strikingly handsome American, more than made up for her, keeping Josie amused with his stories.
By the time they all retired to the drawing room, Josie was feeling quite relaxed and her headache from earlier had eased slightly. Pamela and Belinda had promised to call around to see her without their husbands, to arrange a shopping trip. It was only when Pamela excused herself to go to the bathroom that Josie felt a twinge of disquiet. Angela turned her cold blue eyes on Josie and smiled with saccharine sweetness.
‘I know it’s hard in your condition to walk around,’ she said, making Josie feel like a beached whale. ‘But I’m dying to see what you’ve done to the nursery.’ Angela stood up and, with a brief glance around the room before smiling down at Josie, she added, ‘I’m sure the others won’t mind—unless the stairs are too much for you?’
‘No, no, of course not.’ Josie got to her feet. ‘I’ll be delighted to show you,’ she murmured, and led the way out of the room and up the stairs.
The nursery was next door to their bedroom, and Josie opened the door and stepped back as Angela marched past her and spun around to face her.
Josie glanced around the room and crossed to the muslin-draped crib, tenderly running her hand along the side. The room was perfect, with pale walls stencilled with a multitude of nursery rhymes. ‘As you can see we chose pale lemon...’
‘Drop the act,’ Angela snapped.
Josie’s head shot up. ‘I beg your pardon?’
The hard blue eyes fixed on Josie seemed to pierce her brain, and a dull ache behind her eyes blurred her vision for a moment. She blinked, but Angela was still staring at her, very tall and dressed in a plain white gown. A brief image of the same woman dressed in black flickered in Josie’s mind. Her subconscious was playing tricks, perhaps, but she had a nasty premonition it was more than that.
‘You heard. I hate to admit it, Josie, but I almost admire you. I really thought it was that wholesome, innocent look of yours that had captured Con’s fleeting interest, but you are much cleverer than I gave you credit for.’
‘Cleverer?’ What was the woman getting at?
‘Yes, fancy catching a man like Con with the oldest trick in the book. When I got back last week and he told me you were suffering from amnesia, I didn’t believe it for a second. ’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Josie said curtly, disliking the woman’s abbreviation of her husband’s name to Con. It smacked of a familiarity between the two of them she did not want to contemplate.
‘Oh, come on,’ Angela sneered. ‘I was in New York when I heard of your accident, and I rang the office. Good manners dictated I ask after my boss’s wife. But a very chatty secretary told me all about your accident. It was a simple calculation—married at the end of October but over five months pregnant’
Josie gasped, and for a second her heart stopped beating.
‘The amnesia was a brilliant touch; now you can pretend it never happened. Knowing what a soft touch Con is, he wouldn’t dare mention it in your tender state of health,’ she scoffed. ‘My God, the child probably isn’t even his.’
