The Aristocrat and the Single Mom (11 page)

His smile dipped ‘I guess she did. Once upon a time.’ He shrugged. ‘She was just a bored little girl and there was no one else around to pester.’

He must’ve been off at university or working by this time. And yet she’d bet he’d spared Felice as much time as he could’ve.

‘You know what, Simon? I don’t think I’d have liked your parents very much.’ She glared at the deeper shadows of her garden, then added a hurried, ‘No offence meant.’ Good Lord! Did she always have to blurt out what she was thinking as soon as she thought it?

‘None taken.’

‘What I meant is, I believe we’d have disagreed about the way to bring up children.’

‘I believe you’re right.’ His smile broadened. ‘Your parenting strategies are certainly vastly different.’

‘Parenting strategies,’ she snorted. ‘You mean they had one?’

‘Absolutely. They saw it as their beholden duty to provide an heir and a spare. And to provide for said heir and spare’s material needs. In many ways our upbringing was very privileged.’

Privileged? Ha! ‘Heaven forbid they spend any quality time with you,’ she muttered. She glanced across at him. Tension hadn’t shot back into his shoulders, but she sensed he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared. ‘You must’ve been dreadfully lonely as a little boy rattling around in that big house on your own.’

‘There were an ample number of household staff to keep me company.’

She thought of Jesse abandoned like that…and then imagined a younger version of Simon. The picture she painted almost broke her heart.

Simon glanced at her, then rolled his eyes at whatever he saw reflected in her face. ‘Seriously, Kate, the solitude never bothered me.’

‘And Felice, did it bother her?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘It bothered her.’

Of course it had! ‘I can barely begin to imagine the support and comfort you were to her,’ she stated gently.

He shifted on his seat, lifting the wine bottle as if meaning to top up their glasses. When he realised the glasses were still full, he set it back down again. He rolled his shoulders and scowled. ‘It must’ve been the same for you. You said your mother left when you were six. That means Danny was still a baby. You practically raised him.’

‘Not single-handedly. There was my father and Uncle Archie. Grandma was still alive then. Yes, my mother left and it was hard and awful—I missed her so much. But, Simon, I always felt I had family around, people who loved me. Felice, she had no one but you.’

Across the table, Simon met Kate’s eyes. Her concern made his awkwardness disappear. He could see the morbid fancies she painted in her mind and it screwed him up tight. He didn’t want her wasting her sympathy on him.

‘Felice and I had each other. We did okay.’ Yet he’d managed to ruin even that.

‘And now?’ Kate whispered.

A crippling weight crashed down on his shoulders. ‘And now we don’t.’ And it was all his fault.

‘What happened, Simon? I can tell you were close. I can tell
it was you who read her bedtime stories, bandaged scraped knees and kept her entertained when she had the flu. You probably even went to the open days at her school.’

He had, whenever he’d been able to manage.

She lifted an eyebrow, but it didn’t judge him; it just asked the question—what happened?

Simon frowned. ‘It all suddenly became too bloody hard!’ he burst out, surprising even himself with his vehemence.

‘Too hard…?’

‘She started talking about becoming a ski instructor. Do you know what happens on the ski fields?’ he demanded.

Wordlessly, Kate shook her head.

‘Well…it isn’t pretty,’ he shot back. ‘Avalanches, broken legs…Seductions!’ French and Italian men could be smooth. They could turn a young girl’s head, break her heart. He could feel his scowl darkening his whole face, but he couldn’t help it. ‘Then she went and found herself a boyfriend with a motorbike. Do you know how dangerous that is?’

‘Um…’

‘Then, get this, she and her girlfriends would go out on the town clubbing and—’ he leaned towards her ‘—they’d walk home at some ridiculous time in the morning instead of catching a cab. In London!’ Felice had been furious the few times he’d waited outside a nightclub to escort her home. ‘She wouldn’t listen to a damn word I said.’ In fact, as soon as he said one thing, she’d go and do the opposite.

‘It was hard enough keeping her out of trouble when she was ten. How was I supposed to do that once she turned eighteen?’

‘You’re not supposed to. You step back and let her fend for herself.’

She reached out and touched his hand briefly, fleetingly. Somehow it soothed him.

‘You hope you’ve instilled enough natural caution and good values in them to get them through. Then you let them fly free.’

She sat back and he shook his head. He hadn’t been able to do that. Felice was so young, so vulnerable.

‘And you stand by, ready to pick up the pieces if it all comes crashing down around them.’

No, he wanted to avert crashes. Felice did not deserve crashes.

‘You did a good job of raising her, Simon. She’s a lovely young woman—natural, well-adjusted and more than capable of making her own decisions. Which is remarkable, given your parents’ attitude and absence. I think that’s wholly down to you. She always had your unconditional love. She had one person in her life she could always rely on.’

‘If that’s true, she wouldn’t have run away from me.’ Acid burned his throat. He’d driven her away and failed her—the final proof that fatherhood was beyond him.

‘Oh, what a load of piffle!’ Kate’s tone had him swinging to face her. ‘Run away from you? You’re her brother, not her father. Stop acting like one and start acting like the other again.’ She pointed her index finger at him. ‘If you don’t, you may just find she will never speak to you again.’

His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘How do you think you’d react if someone told you that you weren’t capable of running your estate and started vetting your dates and demanding you be home by midnight? I can’t see you submitting to that.’

Neither could he.

‘Well, why should Felice?’

‘But she’s only…’

‘Twenty-two! Last time I checked, that’s old enough to vote, old enough to have babies and old enough to decide what to do with the rest of your life. What were you doing at twenty-two?’

At university, living his own life.

His shoulders suddenly slumped. Twenty-two? Was Felice really twenty-two? He sighed heavily. He’d done everything he could to check her freedom. Everything. And it hadn’t just
been in an attempt to keep her safe, he saw now with a clarity that sickened and shamed him. He hadn’t wanted her to stretch her wings and leave him all alone. The way he’d been alone before she’d been born.

He’d left her no choice but to run away.

In the light that spilled from the house, he saw Kate’s face soften. ‘Oh, Simon, do you really think—given your history and everything you know about Felice—that you can’t make things right again?’

He stared at her. ‘You mean if I apologise to Felice and stop trying to boss her around, then things might be okay between us again?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

He opened his mouth. He closed it. He scratched his hands back through his hair. And then it hit him. She was right. About Felice—about him.

When had he lost his sense of proportion?

In the darkness their gazes met and held. Somehow this remarkable woman had burrowed beneath all his defences. And he couldn’t even find it in himself to regret it. His father in particular would’ve found that admission unforgivable. Poor form was what he’d have called it. Simon didn’t care. For the first time in his adult life, he didn’t give two hoots for what his parents would’ve thought or for what duty demanded. The fear that had taken him over in the past few months, persecuting him with guilt and regret, had gone. The relief of it flowed through him, making him feel like a new man.

It was all because of Kate. Because she cared about people with a warmth and generosity he’d never encountered in anyone before. She gave without a thought for getting anything in return. She was so damn easy to talk to.

And kiss.

That thought, with all of its associated memories, flitted through his mind and lodged there.

‘Simon?’

He dragged himself back from thoughts of kissing her, touching her. No, dammit, he would touch her. He reached across and clasped her hand. ‘If I apologise, Felice will forgive me.’

‘Yes.’ Her generous lips lifted into an even more generous smile. She squeezed his hand.

‘She’s an adult. I need to treat her like an adult.’

‘It won’t be easy,’ she warned.

‘No, but I can do it.’ He had to do it.

Kate’s smile widened.

‘She might even want to help me run the businesses attached to the estate. With a little training, she’d be a whiz at PR and marketing. Perhaps she’d even like to take over the—’

‘Simon!’

Her smile had faded. He shrugged sheepishly. ‘I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?’

‘Yes.’

She didn’t spare him and he appreciated that.

‘Felice may not want to work for the estate. She might still want to become a ski instructor.’ She worried at her bottom lip. ‘And, if she does, you will have to respect that.’

Kate was right. Again. He could no longer force his will on Felice. Not if he wanted to rebuild their relationship. But the woman sitting opposite him, the woman whose hand trembled in his, had given him hope that it could be rebuilt.

‘You are a remarkable woman, Kate Petherbridge.’ Before he knew what he was about, he’d drawn her to her feet. ‘You are kind and wise and more generous than any soul I’ve ever met.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

Her words emerged on a throaty whisper that brushed across his skin, sensitizing it. It made him aware of the cooling air on his face and the contrasting fire starting to burn low in the pit of his stomach. A fire he feared only this woman could quench.

‘Simon?’

That throaty whisper again. He couldn’t move away. The pulse at the base of her throat pounded wildly against her silver
dolphin charm, and all Simon could think of was brushing that charm aside and closing his mouth over that spot and laving it with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth. Tasting her, breathing her deep into his lungs.

He reached out and cupped her face…and she let him. His sense of wonder, of privilege, built.

Dazed eyes met his. ‘You really have hit holiday-maker mode, haven’t you?’

‘If I have, it’s down to you.’ He brushed his thumb across her cheek and her breath quickened. ‘You’ve helped me find my sense of proportion. I know that much.’

Her eyes softened. ‘You’re a smart man, Simon.’ Her hand came up to curl around his wrist. ‘You’d have found it on your own eventually.’

She didn’t pull her hand away. She left it there. The blood throbbed through his veins, hard and insistent. ‘You are remarkable
and
amazing.’ He meant every word.

But she wasn’t looking into his eyes any more. Her gaze had lowered to his lips. Her chest rose and fell, outlining curves that were sweet and inviting. He couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth across her lips—reverently, softly. She smelt of all things golden—sunshine and lemons, summer and Chardonnay.

She trembled. He drew back and eventually she opened her eyes. ‘I think you’re pretty terrific too,’ she whispered.

She reached up and kissed him back—just as softly, just as reverently—but this time Simon couldn’t let her go. He curved a hand around the back of her head, slid his fingers into the satin of her hair and deepened the kiss. Slowly at first, but thoroughly, taking his time to learn the exact shape of her mouth, the texture of her lips. Drawing her along without haste, giving to her the way she’d given to him. She melted against him, wound her arms around his neck and all her softness melted into all his hardness and he wanted—needed—to touch and taste every part of her.

Her soft moans as he pressed kisses to her neck thrilled him. Her fingers curving into his shoulders urged him closer. He slid his fingers under her shirt and she arched into him as he moved to cup her breasts through the thin cotton of her bra. He groaned as her nipples hardened against his palm.

She was perfect! Wonderful and perfect.

With a growl, she tugged his T-shirt over his head and Simon suddenly found that he was the one whose body was wracked by shivers, who had to grind back cries as her fingers travelled over the planes and angles of his chest and back…stomach…her mouth and tongue following until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he had to drag her mouth back to his for hot, hungry kisses. He couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never get enough of her. He needed her the way he needed air and water. His last hope…

Hope? The word filtered into his consciousness.

Needed? The word nagged at him.

No!

He seized her arms and put her from him. He tried to bite back a groan when her lip-swollen, kiss-dazed face lifted to his. When he sensed she’d found her balance he released her. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but this can’t happen.’

The words came out loud and harsh. He didn’t mean them to, and what was worse was that he knew she’d know that. He seized his shirt from the ground and hauled it back over his head, willing the cool night air to dampen the fever raging through him.

This was how he thanked her? Oh, well done! Things had gone well beyond a holiday fling and into realms that threatened to blow his mind.

He didn’t want his damn mind blown.

If she lived in England, he’d consider exploring where this might take them. Maybe.

He glanced at her. There was no maybe about it. This woman could come to mean more to him than any other person on the planet.

He raked his hands back over his head, digging his fingers into his scalp. God, she had a child. He couldn’t explore anything with her. He didn’t mess with single mothers. Kate Petherbridge was kind and giving, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve to be messed about by the likes of him.

He would be no good for her.