The Mistress's Child (21 page)

He gave a grim smile as he slipped the sopping coat from her shoulders. 'Don't stretch my patience, Lisi—I've taken just about as much as I can stand from you this morning.'

There was something about his stance and his attitude which made all the rebellion die on her lips. Of course he had been worried—wouldn't she have been out of her mind herself in the same situation?

She changed into jeans and a big, thick sweater and towel-dried her hair, and when she walked into his study, not only did he have a glorious fire blazing, but he had also made tea, and a large bowl of soup sat steaming on the tray.

He handed her the soup. 'Eat that,' he commanded.

There was something so unimpeachable about the expression on his face that Lisi took the bowl from him obe-

diently and began to drink it, while he stood over her making sure she did.

When she had finished the soup and drunk some tea, and the colour was beginning to seep back into her pale cheeks, he sat down in the chair opposite hers beside the fire.

Lisi pouted. The least he could have done was to have taken her upstairs and to have brought complete warmth back into her body by making love to her.

Philip saw the way her eyes darkened and the way her lips had softened. He knew what she wanted, but she was damned well going to have to wait! For too long now, he realised, he had allowed the intimacy of the bedroom to help shield him from confronting real intimacy.

'Did you really think that it was only Tim I was concerned about?' he demanded. 'Didn't it enter your pretty little head that I might be worried sick about you?She met the accusatory green glitter of his eyes. So he wanted the truth, did he? Then the truth he would have. 'Not really, no.'

'Lisi.' His voice was incredulous. 'Why on earth do you think that you're here, living with me the way we have been? Why do you think I asked you to move in?'

'Because that way you can have Tim full-time, and a sex life into the bargain!'

He stared at her. 'You honestly think that?'

'What else am I to think? You've never told me anything apart from the fact that I'm a great mother and a great lover. Oh, and a great cook.'

'And that isn't enough?'

She wasn't going to ask him for anything he couldn't offer freely. 'It's obviously enough for you.'

There was a moment of fraught silence. 'Oh, but it isn't,' he said softly. 'Not nearly enough.' This kind of thing didn't come easy to him, but he was going to have to try.

'You see, what I want more than anything else is your love, Lisi.'

She stared at him. 'Why?'

She needed to ask him whyl He shook his head impatiently. Didn't she know? 'Because I'm finding that I can't hold back my love for you. Not for much longer. I love you, Lisi—hadn't you begun to even guess?'

She didn't respond for a moment. When you had spent so long wishing that something would happen, you didn't believe the sound of your own ears when it seemed as though something just had. 'You don't have to say things like that to make me feel better.'

'I'm not,' he said patiently. 'But what if saying them makes me feel better? What if I told you that I don't know when I started loving you, but I do, and not just because you're mother and lover and cook, but because you make me laugh and you make me mad, and I can't imagine the world without you. And the only unknown factor in this equation is that I don't know how you feel about me.'

She felt hope—delirious, impossible hope—begin to beat out a rapid thunder in her heart. 'You must do,' she said weakly.

'Why must I? You never tell me what's going on inside your head, do you, Lisi? At night you never whisper anything more tender than the fact that I'm a bit of a stud in the bedroom.'

'And what about you?' she countered. 'You're the master of disguising your feelings! If, as you say, you love me— then why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you make that a part of asking me to move in here with you, instead of leaving me feeling like a mistress-cum-mother?'

'Is that what I made you feel like?'

She nodded.

He sighed. 'Because I didn't know how much I loved you until you became a part of my life,' he admitted. 'It

kind of crept up on me slowly, like a sunny day at the end of winter.'

Curled up in her chair, Lisi felt some of the tension begin to leave her. 'Something still stopped you, though, even when you realised?'

'I was scared,' he said simply.

'Scared?' Lisi smiled. 'Oh, no! That really would be stretching credibility too far—I can't imagine you being scared of anything, Philip.'

'Scared that it would all sound too pat. That you wouldn't believe me—and why should you? I thought you would begin to see for yourself, only...'

'Only what?' she prompted, her heart in her mouth.

He shook his head as he read the doubts and fears in her eyes. 'It was like you had erected a barrier between us, and sometimes you would lower it down, but only so far—so I didn't have a clue whether you knew how I felt. Or how you felt about me,' he finished, a question in his eyes.

He had been about as honest as it was possible to be, and she knew that, to Philip, such admissions did not come easily. It was time to make her own.

'I was scared, too,' she whispered. 'Only my fear was that the love I felt for you might frighten you away. Falling in love wasn't supposed to be part of the deal, even if that's what I wanted more than anything.'

A slow smile began to transform his face into the most carefree Philip she had ever seen. 'Come here,' he whispered.

She didn't need asking twice, just went and sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist while her head fell onto his shoulder and she fought to keep the stupid and irrational tears away.

'Don't cry, Lisi,' he soothed as he felt her tremble. 'There's nothing to cry about. Not any more.'

She thought about how far she had come to reach this

moment, and, despite his words, the tears spilled over onto his sweater and soaked right through it.

He didn't say another word, just held her very, very tight until a last little sniff told him that she was all cried out, and he lifted her head and gave her the kind of tender smile she had always dreamed of. 'Better?'

'Mmm.'

'Need a hanky?'

She bit her lip and actually giggled. 'I used your sweater, thanks.'

He smiled as he brushed a last stray tear away. 'You once asked me whether that first night had just been lust,' he said softly. 'And I said that  didn't know.' He paused. 'That wasn't quite true.'

She stilled. 'What do you mean?'

It was time at last to make sense of all his vague suspicions. 'I talked to Khalim about it—I told him the whole story, and he said that such uncharacteristic behaviour on my part meant far more than I perhaps realised.' He smiled as he touched her lips, just for the hell of it. 'I told you that Khalim was a romantic, but he would prefer to describe himself as a realist. He said that I was being too hard on myself and that my subconscious was telling me that you were—or could be—very important to me. How right he was.' He kissed her tenderly. 'How right he was!'

'Oh, Philip!' She snuggled even closer to him.

'And one more thing.' He kissed her again. 'I'm sick of not letting the world know how I feel about you. I want to marry you, Lisi—just as soon as you like, if you like.'

'Mmm! I can't think of anything I'd like better!' She kissed him back. But not for a while. She wanted to enjoy what she had never had with Philip—a loving courtship with no pressures.

'But let's take it step by step,' she whispered. 'Better get

your parents used to having a grandson before we announce that you're getting married!'

His mouth trailed a lazy line down her cheek and he felt her shiver. 'Nervous about meeting them?' he questioned.

'A little.' She pressed herself closer, revelling in the knowledge that there were no secrets or taboo between them now. Love, she realised, was a very liberating emotion. 'We've done everything the wrong way round, Philip.' She sighed. 'Haven't we?'

'It certainly hasn't been a text-book love-affair,' he agreed. 'And I need to take you to bed,' he added softly.

She felt the raw need and tension in his body, but there was one other thing she needed to say to him. 'You must never forget Carla,' she whispered. 'I don't want you to. Let all the guilt go now and remember all good times—she would want that for you, having loved you. I would.'

There was a moment of silence. 'That's about the sweetest thing you could have said,' he said shakily, and right then he needed her as he had never needed her before. He gave a slow smile. 'We'll have to go and collect Tim in an hour, you know.'

'I know. And?'

A finger was grazed carelessly around the outline of her lips. 'Any idea how you'd best like to fill the time?'

She felt the invasive tug of desire and gave him a bewitching smile, loving the predatory and possessive darkening of his eyes. 'One or two,' she said demurely.

'Me, too. Let's say we swop notes. Upstairs,' he purred, lifting her up into his arms and slanting a provocative smile down at her.

She opened her eyes very wide. 'You're going to carry me to bed?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

'On whether we make it to the bedroom!'

EPILOGUE

Someone was banging a spoon against an empty wineglass and the excited chatter of the guests began to die away.

It had been the most wonderful wedding imaginable. Lisi stole a glance at her new husband and let out a small sigh of contentment. She almost didn't want it to end, except that the night ahead beckoned her with such erotic promise.

Philip slowly turned his head, as though he had known she was watching him, and mouthed 'I love you' with an expression on his face which made her heart feel like spilling over with happiness.

'May I just say a few words?' The banger of the spoon was Philip's father, who was now rising to his feet.

Charles Caprice was a poppet, thought Lisi fondly. Tall and distinguished, his hair brushed with silver, he had given her a very pleasing insight into how her darling Philip would look when he was older.

Philip's mother had been equally welcoming—embracing her as if she were the daughter she had never had, and both of them were absolutely besotted by their grandson. In fact, Tim was going to stay with them while they were away in Maraban for their honeymoon.

She looked around the room. Langley had never seen a wedding like it—but maybe that wasn't so surprising. When a small English village was invaded by the leading members of the Maraban royal family and their entourage, then excitement was pretty much guaranteed!

Prince Khalim had stood as Philip's best man, and an ecstatic Rose had proudly carried the infant Prince Aziz,

who had lain contentedly in her arms throughout the ceremony.

'I do not know why Rose has brought along a nanny,' Khalim had rernarked drily to Philip. 'She guards him so jealously—like a tiger!'

'And would you have it any other way?' Philip had smiled.

'Never!'

Philip looked down at the jet-dark hair of the baby Aziz, and ruffled it. He had never seen his own son as a baby, and Lisi had cried and cried about denying him that right on more than one occasion, but he had urged her to let it go, as he now had. 'There'll be more babies,' he had whispered.

'Wh-when?' she had questioned shakily.

'Whenever you like. I think Tim would like a brother or a sister, don't you?'

And she had nodded and then kissed him, too full of emotion to speak for a moment or two.

Philip's father was now clearing his throat. 'I know that it isn't conventional for the groom's father to speak,' he began, and then sent Lisi a gentle smile across the table. 'But Lisi has become like a daughter to my wife and I— actually, she is our daughter, as well as my son's wife. And that's really what I want to say to you all.' His voice faltered a little. I would like you all to raise your glasses in a toast. To Lisi, beautiful, sweet Lisi—who has put a smile on my son's face again, and for which I will always be grateful.'

Champagne glasses were lifted and waved in the direction of the top table, but Lisi was so choked that she didn't dare look up for fear that everyone would see her eyes brimming over with tears.

'To Lisi!' they all echoed.

Beneath the table, Philip squeezed her hand. 'Look at me, my darling,' he urged softly.

She lifted her face to his, seeing the corresponding glitter of his own eyes and immediately understanding why. His father's emotional words had reinforced that a bright, new future lay ahead and that the past was now behind them. And in a way, Philip had been saying goodbye to Carla, she guessed, and squeezed his hand back, very tightly.

'It's okay to cry at weddings, you know, sweetheart,' he whispered.

She wobbled him a smile. 'But my mascara will run!'

He laughed. She was everything to him—his passion and his soul mate—the woman who had brought the light back into his life. 'I love you very much, Mrs Caprice,' he told her simply, because he did.