The British Billionaire's Baby (10 page)

Immediately, Gabby’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

She’d been so excited about her new piece that she’d forgotten that she was supposed to be meeting the Duke and Duchess of Raithwithe today. It was only the event Sebastian had painstakingly coached her on for a week – and though she’d fought him all the way, she wasn’t stubborn enough to take for granted that in order to keep up their little ruse, they had to fool his parents.

And she in a paint-splattered nightgown with her hair in disarray wasn’t exactly going to cut it. She immediately tossed her brush and palette onto the table, rushing for the stairs. ‘Where on earth are you going?” Sebastian shouted after her.

“Shower!”

She wove her way through the manor, bypassing several servants to streak into the master suite. Dropping her nightgown on the floor as she went, she made it to the immense tiled bathroom to turn on the shower, waiting impatiently for it to warm. The moment it did, she dove inside, frantically scrubbing to remove the paint from her hair.

“Shit, shit,
shit
.” The epithet left her in a low litany as she scrubbed her scalp raw. Now she was begging to realize the silly vindictiveness of her ridiculous thrift-store buying spree. She should have used what little money she had to buy a few tasteful, versatile pieces. Instead, all she had now was a closet full of sweats and mid-life crisis wear. There was nothing at all suitable to meet a Duchess in – unless you counted her
Estelle’s
exhibition dress, and she was willing to bet the few pregnancy pounds she’d put on excluded that as a viable option.

She was utterly screwed.

It took her about twenty minutes to properly remove the paint from all her cracks and crevasses, and she merely had a heart attack when she stepped from the tower to be greeted by the sight of Sebastian waiting patiently for her. A high sound of surprised escaped her as she grabbed for a towel, her face flaming. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Relax.” She would have had to have been blind not to see the few seconds heat that rose to his gaze before he extended to her an elegant black garment bag dangling from a hanger. She didn’t recognize the name brand, but she knew it was expensive. It smelled ever so faintly of rich perfume and velvet. “I’ve only brought this for you. It was a bit last moment, but they were the only shop that would deliver on such short notice.”

Gabrielle’s eyes fairly popped from her head. “They delivered? A
dress
?”

“Go ahead and try it on. I believe I got the size right but I can’t be sure.” His gaze became slightly accusing as it slid over her towel clad form. “After all, I’m hardly familiar with your body.”

Gabby snatched the bag from him, storming into the closet to slam the door behind her. As always, she was momentarily awed by a room the size of her apartment in Harlem – and just for clothes. One side was supposed to be hers, but it stood near empty, while the opposite was filled with Prada suits and tailor made coats.

Skeptically, Gabrielle unzipped the bag and inhaled sharply. Inside it was a cream colored peplum dress that she could immediately tell was her exact size. The fabric was soft wool and it was exquisitely cut. One look at the price tag had her eyes the size of saucers. She couldn’t possibly accept this.

However…if she came out wearing one of her atrocious thrift store concoctions, Sebastian would likely strip her bare and force her into the damn thing. It was hard to admit how tempting the idea was…even weeks after their first and only encounter, she sometimes woke up with her thighs slick from the intensity of the memories.

Quickly, she shimmied into the dress, lamenting that in a few months it would almost certainly be too small. The garment fit her beautifully, and when she zipped it up, she found she felt almost as regal as she supposedly was. Her hair still hung lank and damp about her shoulders, and she had no idea where she was going to find shoes, but at least now she didn’t look totally out of place.

When she stepped from the closet, a cry of delight tore from her throat. Standing at Sebastian’s side was none other than Tristan, clutching an unmarked black paper bag. Though it had only been a week since she’d seen him, it felt like an eternity. She never felt more alone than when she was curled up next to Sebastian in his immense four poster bed. “Tristan!”

She rushed into his arms, laughing happily as he lifted her from her feet with an affectionate squeeze. “It’s lovely to see you too, sweetheart. Please tell me you’ve been enjoying yourself just the slightest bit? London is so very fabulous.”

As he set her down, Gabby frowned, shooting Sebastian a dirty look. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been inside all week studying my Ps and Qs to meet the Duchess.”

“Who I might remind you, will be here in-” Sebastian checked his Cartier watch obtrusively. “Twenty minutes.”

“Well, thank God you called me.” Tristan spared the man a long-suffering glance. “This dress is gorgeous but there’s still a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Here.” He extended his black bag to her. “Put these on. We’ve got to do something about this hair – and please tell me you brought
some
makeup.”

The shoes in the bag turned out to be nude silk pumps, and though Gabby grimaced at the height of the heel, she put them on without complaint. This was for the baby, she reminded herself,
the baby.

Somehow, Tristan managed to work his magic with her hair, sweeping the lank locks into a neat chignon at the base of her neck before applying the slightest bit of mascara and lipstick. “No need to overdo it,” He cited. “Let your natural beauty shine through.”

By the time he was finished, Gabby was shaking her head as she stared at herself in the mirror. To strangers, she would doubt look the perfect part of a moneyed countess. Her dress was elegantly cut and oozed class, with the absence of a single paint splotch lent her a tidiness she thought she’d never see again.

No sooner had the man finished than the front bell rang and Gabby’s heart began to pound. “I’ll just slip out the back door, shall I?” Tristan gave her another brief squeeze. “You look lovely, darling, you’ll do fine.” With that, he slipped discreetly from the room, leaving her alone with Sebastian.

The earl was gazing down at her with no small amount of appreciation and after a moment, he extended his hand to her. “Are you ready?”

Gabrielle took a deep breath before taking his offered fingers. The effect was electric, zinging through her the moment they touched. Sebastian tugged her closer to him before taking a liberty that surprised her - rubbing the palm of his free hand over her belly gently, almost reverently. “Well, then…it’s time to put on a show.”

CHAPTER 6 – Lady Amelia

“Sebastian, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

The Duchess of Raithswithe was everything Gabby had imagined she’d be and more. The woman had to be close to seventy but she didn’t look a day over fifty, filling out the flattering navy shift she wore well. A large straw sunhat accompanied the ensemble, and she wore a Burberry bag and sunglasses. The very air around her exuded poise and power, and on her arm she carried a very tiny and pissed-off looking poodle.

Compared to her, her husband, the Duke, was fairly boring. Balding and milk-eyed, the man leaned on a cane as he followed in his wife’s footsteps, clad in a brown wool suit. He stood a head taller than the Duchess in her heels and followed her like a dutiful puppy.

“How was New York?” The Duchess continued to gush as she folded her son into a stiff hug around her growling dog. “Oh, you don’t even need to tell me you had a good time. You’ve gotten married! And let me take a look at my new daughter!”

When the woman turned to her, Gabrielle felt distinctly like a minnow in the last moment before it was devoured by a barracuda. Though Amelia Hunter’s tone was warm, her gaze was like ice – cold, calculating, and sharp.

She took Gabby into her firm grip, air-kissing either of her cheeks with stiff formality. Behind her, a string of servants carried in a bevy of trunks, and Gabby’s heart sank even further. Exactly how long were these people planning on staying? “I-I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Raithwithe.” She managed to remember the greeting Sebastian had drilled into her and even dipped a passable curtsy.

“So polite!” Amelia tittered in a high and utterly false tone. “You hardly need to be shy! You’re family now, dear. She is a
lovely
thing, Sebastian.” Amelia pinched Gabrielle’s arm in a manner that had her biting back a pained whimper. “So robust and…exotic.”

She couldn’t be sure, but Gabby thought that might be the British High society equivalent of a racial slur. The woman obviously wasn’t too thrilled to have a daughter in law of color, and even all her fancy breeding couldn’t hide the fact. Gabrielle was relieved when the woman flitted away from her and back towards her son, who had a plastic smile fixed on his place.

Gabby was still fuzzy about the relations between Sebastian and his parents, but they seemed, to her, strained at best. He never really discussed his mother, and though the British media constantly mentioned he and his father in the same breath, she’d never seen a picture of the two of them together. “I’m famished, dear!” Amelia declared loud enough to inform the entire house. “Please tell me you have lunch on the table?”

“Of course, mother. Let’s move to the dining room. Father?” Sebastian took his father’s shoulder, helping the older man along as he shot Gabby a warning look. As if she needed one. She knew she was supposed to be on her best behavior, no matter what happened. The slightest slip and they would be done with.

But it seemed as if the Duke and Duchess of Raithwithe had brought enough luggage to clothe an army. How long was she expected to be able to pretend in a single stretch? She’d be under the impression that his parents were coming for a short visit.

That, she soon realized, was not the case.

Amelia gushed over lunch about how she was so glad she’d moved all of her social appointments to London so that she could stay with them until the baby was born; and though Gabby hadn’t had the slightest hint of morning sickness that day, she suddenly felt incredibly ill.

She pushed her Shepard’s pie and peas around her plate, at a loss for what to say. Sebastian, meanwhile, didn’t look too thrilled himself.

“Seven months, mother? Really? You don’t think your social circles will miss you in Raithwithe?” Gabrielle had to admire his attempts to escape the woman, really he did; but it was evident that Lady Amelia Hunter was relentless.

She was, unsurprisingly, the first person to intimidate Gabrielle in a long while. “They’ll be fine, darling!” The duchess sipped at her wine, having barely touched her food, despite how “famished” she was. “Right now, there’s nothing more important than the impending birth of my grandson or granddaughter – isn’t that right, my dear?” The last part, she directed, oddly, towards Gabby and the young woman could only nod blankly. “I was just speaking to Winston last week and I told him: Winston, we need to be present for our son and his new bride. We must coach them through this new experience. This is your first child, after all.”

From the other end of the table, the Duke only nodded blandly. He’d spoke about as much during the meal as Gabrielle had.

Gabby kept her mouth firmly clamped shut. The woman could hardly be an authority on childbirth. She’d only had one, and Gabrielle was willing to bet she’d been doped up when it had happened.

“How very…kind of you, mother.” Sebastian’s expression was somewhat pained, and Gabby found herself feeling sorry for him. Between the hard time she was giving him and his mother’s hardening personality, he must be stressed to the nth degree. Perhaps she didn’t need to be
so
hard on him. The man had found her a dress when she needed it and called Tristan over to make her feel more at ease.

He wasn’t a monster.

“You
will
be delivering at St. Mary’s, won’t you?” Amelia’s next question flew completely over Gabby’s head. She was totally unfamiliar with every London hospital except the one she was attending for her weekly checkups – and she was fairly certain that one wasn’t called St. Mary’s.

“Actually, mother, we’ve already begun with appointments at Winstead. It’s closer, and Gabrielle is fond of Dr. Bletchley. We thought we’d have him attend the delivery.”

“Absolutely not.” The finality in Amelia’s voice was breathtaking, considering she was neither pregnant nor a doctor. “Bletchley is no good. It must be St. Mary’s and it must be Dr. Elwiss.” The sharp statement was softened by a saccharine sweet smile. “Only the best for a Hunter, yes?”

Sebastian eyed his mother suspiciously. “Isn’t St. Mary’s where Lady Kate delivered the young Prince? And Dr. Elwiss their attending physician?”

Amelia batted her eyelashes in a gesture as forced as it was sickening and Gabby pushed her plate away discreetly. “Well, the
queen
did put the bug in my ear, darling, but imagine the prestige! The next Hunter born in the same suite as the heir to the British throne!”

“That
suite
is ten thousand pounds,” Sebastian replied flatly. “Astronomical.”