At Dante's Service (12 page)

She hung on to her dignity long enough to say an equally cool goodbye, but as soon as she put the phone down she had a good cry and told herself how stupid she had been for falling for a playboy. Then she blew her nose and reminded herself that she could not remain at her parents’ farm indefinitely. She needed to find a job and get on with her life. Gaspard Clavier was still keen for her to work for him when she contacted him and suggested she meet him at his London restaurant to discuss plans for his new restaurant in St Lucia.

It was while she was studying her diary to pick a date to visit Gaspard that she realised she was late. It was now early September and when she flicked back through the diary’s pages she saw that her last period had been in the middle of July, while she had been in Tuscany. With all the upset over Nana’s death, it hadn’t occurred to her that she had missed a period in August. At first she tried to reassure herself that it was just a blip in her cycle. She couldn’t be pregnant. For one thing, she was on the Pill, and most of the time Dante had used a condom. But, as the days passed with no sign that would put her mind at rest, she did the only sensible thing and bought a pregnancy test.

As she sat on the edge of the bath, waiting as the minutes ticked past agonisingly slowly, she could hardly believe she was in this situation again. On the one previous occasion that she had done a test she had been looking forward to marrying the man she loved and had excitedly hoped the result would be positive. She had
been overjoyed when she’d discovered she was expecting Gareth’s baby, but her dreams of a family had been shattered by his terrible behaviour, which she was convinced had caused her to lose the child.

Now, as she stared at the two lines in the little window of the test kit, she was swamped by a host of conflicting emotions. A new life was developing inside her. Dante’s baby! The child would not replace the one she had lost, but she felt an overwhelming sense of joy and fierce protectiveness. She would do everything possible to ensure this baby was born safe and well. And she would love it—dear God, she loved it already. But what would Dante’s reaction be? She felt sick as memories of Gareth’s angry rejection of her first baby haunted her. Would a notorious playboy react any differently to the news that he was to be a father?

Her GP had a further surprise in store when he said she could potentially already be ten weeks into the pregnancy. The unusually light period she’d had in Tuscany might have been what was known as spotting that sometimes occurred in the first month after conception.

‘It’s vital with the type of mini-pill you are on that you take it at exactly the same time every day,’ the doctor explained when she pointed out that she used oral contraceptives. ‘Also, sickness or a stomach upset can stop the Pill from being effective.’

Rebekah recalled the night Dante had taken her to the theatre—the first time she’d had sex with him. At the party she had unwittingly drunk alcohol in the fruit punch and the next morning her body had reacted badly and she had been sick for most of the day. She must have conceived Dante’s child that first time. He had almost
stopped making love to her until she had assured him she was protected, she remembered.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t have any sign that I was pregnant,’ she said to the GP, who knew her history. ‘With my first pregnancy I had dreadful morning sickness, but this time I’ve had nothing, apart from feeling a bit more tired than usual.’ She had put her lack of energy and her uncharacteristic weepiness down to the fact that she missed Dante unbearably.

‘Every pregnancy is different,’ the doctor told her. He gave her a kindly smile. ‘You’re fit and healthy, and there is no reason why you shouldn’t give birth to a healthy baby in seven months’ time.’

Reassured by the doctor’s words, Rebekah walked out of his surgery feeling that her heart would burst with happiness as she imagined being a mother. Of course the situation wasn’t ideal. She had always assumed she would be married before she started a family. Her heart jerked painfully against her ribs at the prospect of telling Dante her news. But he would have to be told that he was going to be a father, she decided. The baby developing inside her had been created by two people, and she and Dante both had a responsibility towards their child.

Dante stared unenthusiastically at the cod in white sauce on his plate. A sample mouthful had revealed that it tasted as bland as it looked. But he could not put all the blame for his lack of appetite on his new cook, he acknowledged. Mrs Hall did her best and the meals she provided were edible, if unexciting.

A memory came into his head of Rebekah’s fish pie—succulent pieces of cod, smoked salmon and prawns in a creamy parsley sauce, with a crunchy rosti
and grated cheese topping. Her wonderful food was the first thing that had impressed him about her. It had taken him a little longer to appreciate all her other qualities, he mused. But she had kept her fabulous figure hidden beneath shapeless clothes until the night he had taken her to the theatre and she had blown his mind when she had worn a stunning evening gown that had shown off her voluptuous curves.

He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her that night, or all the nights during the month they had spent in Tuscany. An image of her slid into his mind and Dante felt a predictable stirring in his loins, followed by the dull ache of frustration that had been responsible for his foul mood over the past few months.

He still found it hard to believe she had rejected him. She had given every impression of being happy with him when they had been in Tuscany. They had spent practically every moment together and had made love every night with a wild passion that he was convinced she had enjoyed as much as he had.

But the stilted conversation they’d had when he had phoned her in Wales had put an end to his pleasurable anticipation of continuing their affair in London. He had felt a curious hollow sensation in his stomach when she had told him she would not be coming back to him. It had crossed his mind briefly to try and persuade her, but he’d dismissed the idea. She had made her choice and he certainly wasn’t going to let her know he was disappointed. He’d assured himself he did not care and that he could find a replacement mistress any time he liked. He had even dated a couple of women but, although they had both been beautiful, elegant blondes, he had realised
halfway through dinner that they completely bored him and he had not asked either of them out a second time.

Giving up on dinner, he carried his plate into the kitchen and tipped away the uneaten meal. It was fortunate that Mrs Hall did not live in the staff apartment. She had no idea that most of the dinners she cooked for him ended up in the recycling bin. He wandered listlessly into the sitting room and poured himself a straight Scotch, his second since he’d got home from work an hour ago. He snapped his teeth together impatiently. Not only had Rebekah unmanned him and caused his current worrying lack of libido, but he could also blame her for the damage he was doing to his liver!

His frown deepened at the sound of the doorbell. He wasn’t expecting visitors and was half-inclined not to answer, but a second strident peal suggested that whoever was standing on his doorstep was not going to go away any time soon.

Muttering an oath, he strode down the hall, flung open the door—and froze.

‘Hello, Dante.’

Rebekah had to force the greeting past the sudden tightness in her throat and her voice sounded annoyingly husky rather than bright and brisk, as she had been aiming for. She hadn’t forgotten how good-looking Dante was, but seeing him in the flesh made her catch her breath. Dark trousers hugged his lean hips and his pale blue shirt was open at the throat so that she could see a few black chest hairs. Lifting her eyes to his face, she was struck by the masculine beauty of his features. His cheekbones looked more defined than she remembered and his olive skin was stretched taut over them. The firm line of his jaw was hard and uncompromising
but his mouth evoked memories of him kissing her, and she wished with all her heart that he would sweep her into his arms and claim her lips with hungry passion.

For a split second Dante wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. It seemed an incredible coincidence that just as he had been thinking about Rebekah she appeared, like the fairy godmother in a children’s story book. But he would bet no fairy godmother ever looked as gorgeous as the woman who was hovering—somewhat nervously, he noted—in front of him. She looked achingly beautiful, with her long chocolate-brown hair falling around her shoulders and her incredible violet eyes staring at him from beneath the sweep of her long lashes.

Dragging his gaze from her face, he saw that she was wearing a cherry-red wool coat that brightened the gloom of the misty October evening. She looked wholesome and sexy and he was unbearably tempted to pull her into his arms and crush her soft mouth beneath his until she returned his kiss with sensual passion, the memory of which kept him awake at nights. Pride stopped him from reaching for her, and that same damnable pride demanded that he should not make it too easy for her. Did she think she could simply walk back into his life?

‘Rebekah—this is a surprise,’ he said coolly. ‘I didn’t know you were in London. Have you moved down from Wales, or are you visiting?’

‘I …’ Rebekah was completely thrown by Dante’s nonchalant greeting. This was the man who had been a passionate lover and someone she had thought of as a friend when she had spent a month with him at his home in Tuscany. From his careless tone, anyone would
think they had been no more than casual acquaintances. But that was probably how he regarded her, she thought bleakly. He had enjoyed a brief sexual fling with her but now she was just another ex-mistress and it was likely that her replacement was waiting for him in his bed.

Feeling sick at the idea, she almost lost her nerve and half-turned to walk away from him.

‘So, how are you?’ He pulled the door open a little wider, and Rebekah glanced into the hall, half-expecting to see some gorgeous leggy blonde.

‘I …’ Running away wasn’t an option, she reminded herself. She needed to tell Dante he was the father of her child, but so far she hadn’t managed to string more than two words together. ‘I’m fine, but I need to talk to you—if you’re not … entertaining anyone tonight,’ she choked.

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘No, I happen to be free tonight. You’d better come in.’

The house was achingly familiar. Glancing round the elegant sitting room, she noticed that the potted ferns she had bought to give the room a more homely feel were thriving, as if someone had been taking care of them.

It was warm inside. She unbuttoned her coat but kept it on when she realised he might notice her slightly rounded stomach—which was silly when she was about to tell him about the baby, she thought wryly. Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry and she licked her lips nervously. His reaction to the news she was about to give him couldn’t be worse than Gareth’s had been. She suddenly realised how much she wanted him to be pleased about the baby. Was she being a fool to hope he would want his child?

‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,’ she said in a rush.

Dante shrugged. ‘Actually, I can guess your reason.’

She was flummoxed. ‘You … you can?’

‘Sure.’ He put down the glass he was holding and strolled over to her but, although he moved with his usual easy grace, the predatory gleam in his eyes caused Rebekah’s heart to miss a beat. ‘You miss what we had in Tuscany and you’re hoping I’ll take you back. And you know what,
cara
?’ he murmured as he halted in front of her and dipped his head so that his mouth was tantalisingly close to hers. ‘You’re in luck. I still want you too.’

In the flesh, Rebekah was even more gorgeous than his memory of her, Dante thought. He had missed her. He finally acknowledged the truth that he had tried to deny to himself for the past weeks. It was not just her gorgeous body and the passion they had shared that he had missed; it was her lovely smile and her beautiful eyes, the soft, lilting way she spoke, the sound of her laughter and just the pleasure of her company. Unable to resist the lure of her soft lips, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

Rebekah was so surprised that she responded to him unthinkingly. Oh, she’d missed him, she thought, as he deepened the kiss to something so deeply sensual that she began to tremble, and when he pulled her close she melted in his arms.

‘I recall the sofa was a very comfortable place to make love,’ he murmured. ‘Or shall we attempt to make it to my bedroom this time?’

‘No … I mean … neither. I’m not here for that,’ Rebekah gasped. The sound of Dante’s voice shattered the sensual web he had woven around her and, with a little cry of despair that she had succumbed to him so weakly, she pulled out of his arms.

‘You could have fooled me,’ he said drily. Why was she playing hard to get? Dante wondered impatiently. He grabbed his glass and strode over to the bar. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked roughly, pouring himself another Scotch. ‘I forgot—you can’t drink alcohol. I can offer you a soft drink.’

‘No, thanks.’ Rebekah took a deep breath. ‘Actually, my strange allergy to alcohol is sort of the reason why I’m here.’

Dante lifted his brows but made no comment. On the train journey from Wales Rebekah had rehearsed what she was going to say to him, but the kiss had thrown her. She hadn’t expected him to still desire her. Perhaps it was a good thing, she thought shakily. It gave her hope that they might be able to make something of their relationship. But first she had to tell him, and the longer she hesitated the harder it was becoming.

‘I … I’m going to have a baby,’ she blurted out.

He went very still and for a second his shock showed on his face. His silence simmered with tension. Lifting his glass, he took a swig of his drink.

‘Congratulations. I assume that’s what you want me to say?’ His jaw tightened. ‘You didn’t waste much time, did you? I assume the father is someone you met when you went back to Wales.’

R
EBEKAH
had tried a hundred times over the past weeks to imagine what Dante’s reaction would be, but it had never occurred to her that he would jump to the conclusion that she was pregnant with another man’s child.

‘The baby is yours,’ she said quietly. ‘I conceived the first night we slept together after the party.’

For what seemed like a lifetime he made no response. ‘You assured me you were on the Pill,’ he said eventually. His expression was unreadable. ‘I trusted you.’

His words seemed to echo around the silent room. Dante felt as though a lump of ice had formed inside him and his blood ran cold as he remembered the other occasion when he had been told by a woman that she was pregnant with his child. Like a fool, he had believed Lara. This time he would not be so gullible or so trusting, he thought grimly.

How could Dante’s eyes that a few moments ago had blazed with fiery passion have turned to hard steel? She hadn’t expected him to be thrilled to learn of his impending fatherhood, Rebekah acknowledged, but his coldness felt like a knife in her heart.

‘I certainly didn’t lie to you,’ she told him with quiet dignity. ‘I
was
on the Pill but, because there is a history
of high blood pressure in my family, I was taking the mini-pill, which isn’t quite as effective as the more common type. I didn’t know there was alcohol in the fruit punch at the ball, and if I had I wouldn’t have touched it. When I was sick after we spent the night together I didn’t realise I wasn’t protected against falling pregnant.’

He stared at her speculatively. ‘You must admit it sounds convenient,’ he said at last, in a curiously emotionless voice. ‘If the child you are carrying is really mine, why did you wait so long to tell me? It’s the end of October, yet you say you conceived at the end of June. That’s
four
months.’

He strode back over to her and jerked the edges of her coat open, seeing the slight but distinct mound of her belly, and shock jolted through him. There was no doubt she was pregnant, but he was struggling with the idea that it could be his child.

‘My dad was seriously injured in an accident on the farm. The tractor he was driving rolled over and he was crushed beneath it.’ Rebekah’s voice shook at the memory of seeing her father’s body trapped beneath the tractor’s wheels. Her mother, usually so calm, had looked terrified, and her older brother Owen had been grim-faced as he had called the emergency services. Ifan Evans was a giant of a man who had never suffered a day’s illness in his life. His near-fatal accident had shaken the whole family, and for several weeks while he remained in intensive care Rebekah had simply pushed her pregnancy to the back of her mind and concentrated on supporting her parents through their ordeal. It was only now her father was back home at the farm and making a good recovery that she was able to focus on the new life growing inside her.

‘I understand you must be shocked about the baby,’ she told Dante. ‘I was too at first. But we’re both intelligent adults and we have to accept that no form of contraception is one hundred per cent safe.’

‘I’ll want proof that the child is mine.’

She bit her lip and tasted blood. ‘And once you have your proof, will you demand I have an abortion?’ Her voice shook as she fought to control her emotions. ‘If so, you’ll waste your breath because I am going to have this child, with or without your support.’

He was visibly shocked. ‘Of course I would not want you to …’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence and he cursed himself for his insensitivity when he remembered how her ex-fiancé had reacted when she had told him she was pregnant. Had Rebekah hoped he would be pleased to hear she was expecting his child? If so, then he had cruelly disappointed her, he accepted, gripped by guilt as he stared at her tense face. She deserved so much more than he had given her. But he was reeling from shock and all he could think of was how he’d felt as if his heart had been ripped out when Lara had taken Ben.

When Rebekah had told him she was pregnant he had experienced a feeling of déjà vu. It seemed unbelievable that history was repeating itself. The hurt expression in her violet eyes made him wince.

‘How do you feel about the pregnancy?’ he asked her gruffly.

‘Happy,’ she said instantly. Her voice wobbled. ‘And scared.’

Dante turned away from her and sloshed more whisky into his glass, vaguely surprised to find that his hands were shaking. It was his fault that Rebekah was in this
situation, he thought grimly. She had suffered the agony of her first child being stillborn and understandably this second pregnancy must bring back terrible memories and make her afraid of what lay ahead. She needed his reassurance and support, not his anger. But he could not reach out to her. It shamed him to admit that he was scared too, afraid of being hurt like he had been once before.

Rebekah felt sick with despair. Once again she was carrying a child inside her who was not wanted by its father. Blazing anger replaced her misery. Fatherhood might not appeal to Dante but he had a responsibility to his baby. How dared he try and wriggle out of that responsibility by suggesting that the baby wasn’t his?

‘I am carrying your child, no one else’s.’ She placed a hand on her stomach and her eyes blazed with maternal pride and protectiveness. ‘In five months’ time we are going to be parents, so you’d better get used to the idea.’

She took a steadying breath, afraid that her thudding heartbeat couldn’t be good for the baby. And the baby was all that mattered. The welfare of the tiny scrap of life inside her was her only concern and it should be Dante’s too. ‘If you insist on proof, I’m willing for a paternity test to be done.’ She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that suddenly blinded her. ‘How could you think I would try and con you into fatherhood if I knew the child wasn’t yours?’

Dante gulped down the rest of the whisky in his glass, aware that he owed Rebekah an explanation. In fact the explanation was long overdue, he thought heavily, when he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

‘Because it has happened to me once before,’ he said harshly.

‘I … I don’t understand.’ For some reason, a memory slid into Rebekah’s mind of the box she had found in Dante’s grandmother’s bedroom at the house in Tuscany. She recalled his strange reaction when she had opened the box and found a child’s clothes and toys. ‘It has something to do with Ben, doesn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘
Who
is he?’

‘I believed he was my son. And for that reason I married his mother.’

That wasn’t completely true, Dante acknowledged silently. He had been in love with Lara and when she had told him she was pregnant with his baby he had seized the opportunity to make her his wife.

Rebekah’s legs suddenly felt as though they wouldn’t support her. ‘You were
married
?’ She was staggered to think that Dante—the anti-marriage, anti-commitment divorce lawyer had once been married. She wondered if he had loved his wife. Something in his voice told her that he had, and she felt an agonising stab of jealousy. She frowned as she recalled his curious statement that he had
believed
Ben was his son. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said wearily.

Dante saw Rebekah sway unsteadily. Her face was deathly pale and he feared she was about to faint. He cursed himself. She was pregnant but, instead of taking care of her, he had not even invited her to take her coat off.

‘Sit down,’ he commanded roughly, his frown deepening when she did not protest as he tugged her coat from her shoulders and pushed her gently down into an armchair. She rested her head against the cushions and closed her eyes so that her long lashes fanned her cheeks. While she was off her guard he studied her, roaming
his eyes greedily over her firm breasts and coming to a juddering halt when he reached the rounded swell of her stomach. For the first time since she had told him she was pregnant he thought about what that actually meant. There was a strong likelihood that the child inside her was his. A strange feeling that he could not even begin to assimilate unfurled inside him. He stretched out a hand to her, compelled to touch her stomach, but snatched it back as she opened her eyes.

‘Are you keeping well? Eating properly and everything?’ he demanded awkwardly.

‘Like a horse,’ she said drily, ‘which is why I’m showing already. I’m afraid I’m not going to be one of those women who sail through pregnancy with hardly any visible sign and snap back into their skinny jeans half an hour after giving birth.’

‘What does it matter?’ It occurred to Dante that Rebekah had never looked more beautiful than she did now. He found her curvaceous figure incredibly sexy, but there was something else about her that he couldn’t explain, an air of serenity and contentment that softened her face and made her lovelier than ever.

Abruptly he moved away from her, strode over to the bar and refilled his glass. ‘You said you don’t understand about Ben, so I’ll tell you.

‘Six years ago I worked for a law firm in New York and had an affair with another lawyer at the company. Lara was a couple of years older than me. She’d been a top catwalk model but had given up modelling to concentrate on her legal career.’

So the mysterious Lara, who Nicole had mentioned in Tuscany, was beautiful and brainy, Rebekah thought
dismally. She realised Dante had continued speaking, and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘I knew she had been seeing another guy before I met her, but she assured me the relationship was over.’ Dante grimaced. ‘I admit I was blown away by her. She was stunningly attractive, ambitious, sophisticated—everything I most admired. My parents’ marital problems had made me wary of marriage, but when Lara said she was expecting my baby I was keen to marry her, and although the pregnancy was unplanned I was excited at the prospect of being a father.

‘I watched our son being born and held him in my arms when he was a few minutes old. Ben stole my heart,’ he said gruffly. ‘I was besotted with him, and I took care of him a lot of the time because Lara wanted to pursue her career. Several times I even took him to visit my grandmother at the Casa di Colombe while Lara remained in New York.

‘Perlita adored him as much as I did. But during a trip to Tuscany when Ben was two years old, Lara arrived unexpectedly and announced that our marriage was over. It was a bolt from the blue. I’d had no reason to think she was unhappy with our relationship. But she admitted she had been having an affair with her ex-boyfriend for several months and intended to divorce me and marry him.’

Dante took a long swig of whisky and relished its fiery heat as it hit the back of his throat.

‘I was angry that she had cheated on me, but my main concern was for Ben and I tried to persuade her to give our marriage another try.’ His jaw clenched. ‘She then dropped the bombshell that I wasn’t Ben’s father. At the same time that she had begun an affair with me,
she had slept with her ex a couple of times. When she’d realised she was pregnant she knew the other guy was the father. But he had ended his relationship with her and moved away—and he didn’t have any money. I, on the other hand, had good career prospects and a ton of money, and so she deliberately led me to believe Ben was my son—until his real father showed up again, complete with a sizeable inheritance fund and a willingness to take responsibility for his child.’

‘Oh, Dante.’

It was incredible how two words could hold such a depth of compassion, Dante thought, feeling that strange sensation of something unfurling inside him again when he saw the gentle expression in Rebekah’s eyes.

She stood up and walked over to him, and unbelievably she reached out and touched his arm, as if she hoped the physical contact would show that she understood how devastated he had been by Lara’s deception. He swallowed, thinking that he had treated her shamefully, yet she had not hesitated to show her sympathy for him.

The bleak expression in Dante’s eyes told Rebekah that he had not come to terms with his wife’s terrible deception or the pain of losing the child he had loved. She sensed that even after he had learned that Ben was not his son he had still cared for the little boy.

‘What happened to Ben?’ she asked quietly.

‘Lara took him and I never saw him again. I understand she married Ben’s father, and as far as I know they’re still together.’

Rebekah did not know what to say that wouldn’t sound trite. ‘What happened to you was terrible,’ she
murmured. ‘But this situation is different. I swear the baby is yours and I’ve agreed to a paternity test.’

Perhaps when he’d had a chance to get over his shock about her pregnancy he would see that his baby needed its father. She suddenly felt bone-weary, probably the result of anti-climax and a surfeit of emotions, she told herself. She felt a desperate need to be alone while she assimilated everything Dante had told her about his past. It was little wonder he had reacted with such suspicion to her claim that she was expecting his baby after the way his wife had lied to him.

‘How soon can we have the paternity test?’ she asked flatly.

‘I’ll arrange for us to give blood samples tomorrow. It usually takes a week to ten days before the results come back.’ He had dealt with enough paternity issues during his clients’ divorce cases to be sure of his facts. Dante’s eyes narrowed as he watched Rebekah slip on her coat. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m staying at my friend Charlie’s overnight. Where shall I meet you for the blood test?’

‘I think you should stay here tonight.’ He was surprised at how strongly he hated the idea of her leaving. It was slowly sinking in that if the baby was his they would have to discuss what they were going to do, how they were both going to bring up their child.

Dio
, was he being a fool to believe the baby was his? His instincts told him he could trust Rebekah. He would swear she was honest and truthful. But he had trusted Lara once, taunted a bitter voice inside his head. After his divorce, he had vowed he would never trust a woman again.

‘You can stay in your old room,’ he told her. ‘The
clothes you left behind are still there. In the morning I’ll drive you to the clinic in Harley Street.’