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'My God,' he said, halting as he surveyed the rumpled bed. 'It looks like a disaster area.' He put her into a chair and began straightening the sheets with brisk efficiency. She watched him as he plumped the pillows and folded back the tangled cover into inviting neatness.
Treating her like a child, she thought, when she needed so desperately to be a woman. His woman.
'There you are, Lady Tempest.' He glanced at her with faint mockery when he'd finished. 'Your chaste couch awaits you. Now I'll get your milk.'
When he'd gone, she got into bed, sitting back against the banked up pillows, arranging the sheet carefully, so that most of her was covered. Not that he seemed to care that she was wearing nothing but a transparent layer of voile, she thought. He'd hardly even looked at her. But probably that was just as well, considering the doctor's advice.
But earlier he'd wanted to sleep with her—nothing more. And she knew now, with total certainty, that she wanted it too—so badly. Longed to feel his arms around her, holding her close and safely.
Vanessa Layton was a beautiful woman, but she, Cally, had her own weapons. She was Nick's wife, for God's sake, and carrying his child. And that had to matter.
So why had she conceded victory so readily to her rival? She loved Nick desperately, so why wasn't she prepared to fight for him? To try and make a marnage out of the shambles of their lives?
And persuading Nick back into her bed seemed an obvious beginning, she thought, slipping off her nightgown and tossing it to the floor, where he'd be bound to see it when he returned. And if that wasn't enough—well, surely she'd learned enough from their nights together to tempt him back to her.
He returned quite soon, carrying a porcelain beaker which he handed to her. 'Hot milk,' he said, 'with honey and a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg. Just like Nanny used to make.' Then he bent and picked up her nightdress, placing it on the bed.
Concealing her chagrin, Cally accepted the beaker with a murmur of thanks. 'You had a nanny?'
'I had loads of them,' he said. 'On the whole, I preferred the older plainer ones. They tended to be around for longer,' he added, his mouth twisting cynically.
She sipped her milk, which was as delicious as it was comforting. 'Your mother didn't bring you up?'
'Ma started pursuing her career again while I was still quite young,' he said. 'As I got older I realised why. Marriage to my father was tricky at best. Most of the time it must have been impossible.' He shrugged. 'I'm sorry. Bedtime stories are supposed to have a happy ending.' He gave her a brief smile. 'I hope the milk does the trick. Goodnight, Cally.'
'Nick.' She put the empty beaker down on the night table and clutched at the sleeve of his robe as he turned away. 'Nick—don't leave me, please.' The sheet fell away, baring her breasts. Kiss me, she pleaded silently, touch me.
The dark face was suddenly expressionless. 'A few hours ago you couldn't wait to be rid of me.'
She tried to smile. 'I—I was feeling a little wobbly. Put it down to the hormones.'
'Or perhaps the same instinct that made you run away from me last year.' The grey eyes watched her steadily. 'Maybe you were right all along, Cally. Your grandfather would certainly have thought so.'
'Grandfather?' she echoed. 'What do you mean?'
He moved to the chair she’d vacated and sat down. I went to him,' he said quietly. 'Told him I wanted to marry you and asked his permission to court you—pay my addresses—some suitably old-fashioned phrase. I thought he'd appreciate that. But I was wrong. He made it very clear in a few well-chosen words of his own that I wasn't fit to come near you, and that he'd do his damnedest to ensure that I never did.'
'He said that?' The breath caught in her throat. 'But why?'
'Oh, he had a whole list of reasons.' Nick examined a fleck on his nail. 'He was quite embarrassingly frank. I was too old for you, and altogether too shop-soiled, he said. He condemned my past, discounted my future, and had some harsh words about my present lifestyle. He wanted, he said, a decent lad for his precious girl. And when I suggested, quite mildly, that two virgins together wasn't always a recipe for happiness, he called me a foul-minded bastard and ordered me out of the house.'
He paused. 'It seems there'd also been a problem with my father. Years ago, he unwisely attempted to try it on with your mother. It got him nowhere, but it was an incident that clearly still rankled and it tarred me with the same brush.'
He sent her a faint smile. 'But believe that you were precious to him, Cally, even if he didn't always show it. I think he was simply trying to protect you. And, on balance, he was probably right.'
