The Surgeon's Miracle / Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell (5 page)

But only the promise. She shivered a little, realising that the sunshine was deceptive. The heating was on—she could hear the pipes creaking, but the old house must be as leaky as a sieve and trying to heat it was inevitably to fight a losing battle. She could feel the draught around the window frame as she stood looking out across the rolling parkland towards the river in the distance. The willows by the river were bursting into leaf, and she could hear birds singing.

Beautiful, she thought, and smiled. Much better than Paris, and she’d still get her riverside walk. Pity about her cream jumper…

The bathroom door opened and Andrew walked out, naked except for a towel wrapped round his waist and looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and full of the joys of spring. And mouthwateringly gorgeous.

He grinned at her. ‘Morning. I didn’t expect that you’d be up yet. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I never sleep late, and to be honest it’s so quiet here it’s a little eerie. There isn’t a soul about, only the birds.’

‘Will’s sure to be up. He always rides first thing, and he’s bound to be out today—it’s a gorgeous day.’

She dragged her eyes off his chest. ‘So I see,’ she replied, turning back to the window and trying not to
think too much about that broad, muscular expanse under the scatter of dark hair glistening with water droplets. ‘Can we go for that walk you were talking about?’

‘Sure. I’ll throw my clothes on and leave you to get ready. I’ll be in the kitchen. I take it you can find your way?’

‘I’m sure I’ll manage. I’ll ring you on your mobile if I get lost,’ she joked. ‘Down the stairs and along the corridor?’

‘Go the easy way—turn left, straight to the end of the landing, down the back stairs and the kitchen’s at the bottom,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go and get the kettle on—do you want breakfast now or do you want to wait for the whole full English shindig with kippers and scrambled egg and Cousin Charlotte?’

She laughed and turned away from the window. ‘I think we can avoid Cousin Charlotte. You do realise she’s in love with you, do you?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, yes. She tells me every time she gets me alone, which is as infrequently as I can manage it. She’s been in love with me for years. So—fancy a cooked breakfast? I can probably rustle something up.’

Libby shook her head. ‘No, I’m still full from last night. I’ll have a quick shower and join you in a minute, then could we have tea and toast?’

‘Sure. I’ll give you ten minutes.’ He went into the dressing room, pulling on a pair of well-worn jeans and his weary old loafers to the sound of running water in the shower, dragging a jumper over his head as he headed for the door and tried not to think of what she was doing behind the bathroom door.

He needed to get out of there, to suck some air into
his lungs and forget about how she’d looked when he’d woken, her hair trailed across her pillow, the soft, silky strands fanned out against the white Egyptian cotton, her lashes lying like crescents against her pale cheeks—and then just a few minutes later, standing in front of the window with the early morning sun behind her, outlining her body perfectly through the fine fabric of her nightdress. Her long and perfectly respectable nightdress—if you didn’t count the effect of the sunlight streaming through it…

He went down to the kitchen and let the dogs out, then put the kettle on the Aga and hummed softly as it boiled. There was a mountain of bread of every description in the larder, and he chose a lovely nutty wholemeal, sliced it and sandwiched it in the wire toasting gadget and clamped it under the hob cover, flipping it after a minute to toast the other side, and as he pulled it out the door opened and Libby came in, looking fresh as a daisy and squeaky-clean, and he just wanted to hug her.

Instead, he smiled, poured boiling water on the tea bags and stacked the toast on a plate in the middle of the battered old table. ‘Just shove the dogs out of the way and sit down. Jam, marmalade, honey or Marmite?’

‘Oh, marmalade, please. Thanks. That smells fantastic. Hello, dogs, aren’t you lovely? Oh, tea—bless you!’

And she buried her nose in the mug and breathed deeply, her fingers wrapped round it, the steam drifting around her like a wraith, and he wanted her as he hadn’t wanted a woman in years.

Or maybe for ever…

It really was the most gorgeous day. The wind was chilly, but she was well wrapped up. Andrew had kitted
her out in borrowed wellies and a thick, warm jacket, and he took her down to the river, as he’d promised.

‘This is lovely,’ she sighed, leaning against a fence and staring out over the lightly ruffled water. The sunlight was sparkling on it, and she could see birds bobbing about near the shore.

He propped his elbows on the rail beside her and gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m sorry it’s not the Seine.’

‘Oh, no, don’t be sorry, it’s beautiful,’ she murmured, watching a swan circling lazily in the water. ‘So peaceful—it’s bliss. I can’t think of anything better.’

He smiled, and they strolled on, the dogs milling around and sniffing, and Lara appeared out of nowhere and joined them, the three of them racing off into the undergrowth after a rabbit.

‘Will can’t be far away,’ Andrew said, and a few moments later they heard the drum of approaching hoofbeats. Will pulled up alongside them, grinning down at them as the bay mare caught her breath, sides heaving, chest wet and flecked with foam.

‘Morning!’

Libby smiled up at him. ‘Good morning. What a lovely day.’

‘Been somewhere in a hurry?’ Andrew asked mildly, eyeing the sweaty horse, but Will just laughed.

‘We went round the new cross-country course again. She’s brilliant, I love her.’

‘I thought she was a temperamental cow?’

He laughed again. ‘She was—last week. That’s women for you, but she’s the bravest horse I’ve ever had. You ought to take her for a ride, you’ll love her.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, she’s a bit feisty for me,’ Andrew said, patting the mare’s wet, steaming neck
and rubbing her nose. ‘I’m getting too old to break things, and so are you.’

‘Rubbish, you’re just a coward and, anyway, she’s a schoolmistress, safe as houses. I’d put a child on her.’

‘I shouldn’t tell Sally that,’ he muttered drily, but Will just laughed.

‘Seen Lara, by the way? She’s messed off again.’

‘Oh, she’s around somewhere. She got distracted by a rabbit and went off with the others. We’ll bring her back.’

‘No, she’ll come, she won’t want to miss breakfast. We’re having bacon and she’s already clocked it, the thief. Sally only just got there first. Never trust a lurcher, Libby,’ he advised with a grin, then he turned in the saddle and let out a piercing whistle, and Lara came bounding up, tongue lolling, grinning cheerfully. She’d obviously had a lovely run, and with a wave Will turned his mare towards the house and made his way back at a much more sedate pace, Lara trotting at the horse’s heels.

‘Is your brother a bit of a daredevil?’ Libby asked thoughtfully, watching him ride away, and Andrew gave a grunt of laughter.

‘Just a bit. Fortunately, he’s got the most natural seat I’ve ever seen, and he just stays stuck—which is a good job, because he’s got more courage than sense and he gives Mum and Sally fits. I thought with the baby coming, maybe he’d settle down, become a bit more responsible, but he’s just crazy. That’s how he got into the charity thing—he was doing sky-dives and bungee-jumps and marathons, stuff like that, and it occurred to him he could raise money doing it, so it sort of legitimises his lunacy.’

‘So what does Sally think of it?’

He shrugged. ‘She just grits her teeth, but I know she’s getting more worried. I mean, it’s not just her now, is it, and sometimes I think he hasn’t got a shred of responsibility.’

‘Is it just a reaction to his illness?’ she asked, thinking about what Chris had said the night before, and Andrew nodded.

‘Yes. Well, I think so, in a way. He didn’t die, he got away with it, so he thinks he can get away with anything. Only one day he’ll find out he can’t, and then Sally will be left picking up the pieces.’

They strolled on for a while, but the wind off the water was chilly, even with a thick jacket on, so they turned away from the river, heading back across the park to the house by a different route. And as they walked, she got her first real appreciation of the scale of the house and its grounds—his heritage, his destiny and, extraordinarily, his home. It was just another world and, beautiful though it was, she didn’t envy him any of it for an instant. Except maybe the peace and quiet and the sense of space. That was really special.

They went through a little wood, and startled a small herd of deer. They lifted their heads, stood motionless for a second and then bounded away, leaving her entranced. ‘Oh—how lovely,’ she murmured. ‘They’re beautiful!’

‘Yes, they are. They’re a bit destructive, though. Mum constantly wages war on them. They get into the garden and cause havoc. So do the rabbits, which we’re overrun with. One of the drawbacks of the sandy soil, I’m afraid, but the garden’s walled, so it’s not as bad as it could be.’

They emerged from the wood and he stopped her with his hand on her arm. ‘Look—can you see the folly?’

She looked where he was pointing, but she couldn’t see anything. Not until he came right up beside her. ‘There—look along my arm,’ he murmured, leaning closer so she could do that, the warmth of his body surrounding her. She breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of his skin, and then she opened her eyes and there it was, a little circular building sheltering on the edge of another small wood some distance away.

‘Oh, it’s pretty!’

‘It is—it’s delightful. Completely useless, but delightful. My great-grandfather’s idea, apparently. He built it for his wife, but she hated it. Called it lewd and uncivilised and refused to go there.’

‘Strange woman. I think it’s lovely.’

‘So do I, but she had a point. I’ll show you later, if we’ve got time.’

They joined a track cutting across the park, and as they approached the house, she saw it from the front for the first time, with the huge green copper dome that must be above that beautiful ceiling in the entrance hall, and it took her breath away. It was glorious. Magnificent—and a terrifying responsibility. No wonder he was daunted by it—or at least, if not daunted, fighting against the inevitability of it.

She could see people milling about, vans being unloaded, others arriving, and here and there a group of people strolling on the grass. She recognised some of them from the night before, and realised they were the guests. The others were much more businesslike, engaged, she imagined, on preparing the house for the ball.

‘So what happens for the rest of the day?’ she asked, wondering how she’d cope if they had to go shooting, for example, but his words reassured her.

‘Oh, I’m sure there’ll be a packed programme of activities for anyone who can be bothered. We can join in, if you want, or keep our heads down and chill. Up to you.’

‘Chill?’ she suggested tentatively, horribly aware of how grand it all was and how out of her depth she’d felt last night amongst all the socialite butterflies, and he flashed her a smile.

‘That would be my preference,’ he said honestly, ‘but I don’t want you to be bored.’

‘Oh, I won’t be bored,’ she assured him instantly. ‘How could I be bored? Look at it! It’s so beautiful here, all this stunning countryside.’

His mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘All I see is a pile of responsibilities stretching away into the hereafter. It should go to Will, really. He’s the one who loves it, the one with the vision. He knows every inch of it far better than I ever will. You ought to ask him to give you a guided tour.’

‘I’d rather you showed me.’

His smile softened. ‘So would I. We’ll take a drive this afternoon, go for a walk in the woods—we could have lunch out, if you like, rather than stay here. There’s a pub in the village down on the river, it’s rather nice. Or we can take a picnic and eat it in the folly. I’m sure there’s something in one of the fridges we can steal.’

‘Shouldn’t we be here for lunch? The dutiful son and all that?’ she asked, but he shook his head, his eyes glinting with mischief.

‘Only if you want to brave Charlie again.’

‘Oh, poor Charlotte. I think I’ll pass,’ she said with a contrite smile. ‘I feel so guilty when she tells me you’re virtually engaged.’

‘Don’t. It’s just her wishful thinking, she’ll get over it one day.’

‘In which case, a picnic in the folly sounds perfect. Won’t the caterers mind if you raid the fridge, though?’

His smile widened. ‘No,’ he said confidently. ‘We’ll steal it from the family kitchen. The caterers for tonight’s extravaganza will be working in the visitors’ centre—they’ve got a big catering kitchen over there and it’s perfect for such a large function, but the cooks who work in the visitors’ centre restaurant will be doing lunch in the house, and they won’t mind if we steal something from the buffet stash. They love me.’

His grin was cocky and boyish and endearing, and she could easily see how they might indeed love him. It wouldn’t be hard at all, she thought wistfully, and felt sorry for Charlotte all over again.

They went in through the back door, into the family kitchen where they’d had breakfast with the dogs, and found breakfast cleared away and the team of cooks in full swing preparing lunch for the house guests; they greeted him with smiles and told him to help himself, so Andrew swiped a few slices of asparagus and mushroom quiche still warm from the oven, a bowl of salad and a handful of crusty rolls, put them in a basket with a bottle of spring water and some plastic cups and a bunch of grapes and some cheese, and they headed off in the car. She took her borrowed boots and jacket, and they drove to the edge of a wood, parked the car and walked to the folly.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful! The walls are all painted!’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stepped inside and stared around.

He saw the moment she registered the content, the
soft colour that swept her cheeks, the muffled laugh through fingers pressed lightly against her lips. ‘I understand now why she thought it was lewd and uncivilised, but really they’re lovely,’ she said, turning to him with a smile, and he smiled back, watching her as she looked again at the paintings of naked lovers frolicking in the woods; her eyes were entranced, and he was pleased he’d brought her here—pleased he’d had the idea of the picnic and that she hadn’t wanted to do all the tedious and organised things that the others would be doing. This way he had her to himself, but the downside was they were alone in a room designed for lovers, a room filled with images that heated his imagination and made his thoughts run riot.