he demanded and she flushed and spooned a bit more soup in.
‘It was a horrid flu but I’m fine now. You haven’t answered my question. Why are there no reporters? If you’re indeed Prince Regent…’
‘We came incognito.’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘It can be done,’ he said. ‘In fact I changed my name to my mother’s when I left the country. I have an American passport—I’m Rafael Nadine.’
‘And Matty?’
‘Trickier,’ he said. ‘But not impossible when you know people in high places.’
‘As you do.’
‘As we do,’ he said gravely. ‘It was important. To sweep in here in a Rolls-Royce or six with a royal entourage behind me…it wouldn’t achieve what I hoped to achieve.’
‘Which was what?’
‘To find out for sure what my investigators have been telling me. That you are indeed a woman of principle. That you are indeed a woman who should have all the access to your son that you want.’
‘Oh,’ she said faintly.
‘Eat your soup.’
‘I don’t think…’
‘We’re not talking about anything else until you’ve eaten your soup and at least three slices of toast,’ he said roughly. ‘Matty, something tells me your mama needs a little looking after. As a son, that’s your duty. Finish your soup and then make us all some more toast.’
Matty crashed. Just like that. One minute he was bright and bubbly and enthused about toast-making, but the next minute, as he ate his third piece of toast, spread thickly with honey, his eyelids drooped. He pushed aside his plate, put his head on his hands and sighed.
‘My head feels heavy,’ he said. ‘Uncle Rafael…’
‘We need to go,’ Rafael said ruefully. ‘We hadn’t meant to stay this long.’ He smiled at her—that damned smile again. ‘It’s your fault. The soup smelled so good.’
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.
‘The Prince Edward.’
‘But that’s…’ She paused, dismayed.
‘That’s what?’ Rafael said. ‘We found it on the Internet, Matty and I. It looks splendid. We checked in this afternoon and it seems really comfortable.’
‘Yes, but it’s over a really popular pub,’ she said. ‘Thursday night here is most people’s pay night. The Prince Edward is the party pub. By two in the morning it’ll be moving up and down on its foundations.’
‘Oh,’ he said, in a voice which said that if Matty hadn’t been present he might have said something else.
‘I need to go to sleep,’ Matty said unnecessarily.
‘You can stay here,’ Kelly said before she realized she intended to say it.
‘We can’t…’
‘I’ve just got the one bedroom,’ she said quickly. ‘But it’s a double bed. You and Matty could have it and I can sleep on the settee.’
‘This settee?’ Rafael asked. There was no separate living area from the kitchen in this cottage. The settee stretched out along one wall, big and piled with cushions and incredibly inviting.
‘I could sleep on that,’ Matty announced.
‘So you could,’ Rafael said. ‘If that’s okay with your mama. I’ll go back to the Prince Edward.’
Matty’s face fell. ‘I want to go with you,’ he whispered.
Of course. Kelly was his mother but he’d known her for all of two hours. Rafael was his security.
But now she’d said it, Kelly knew the invitation had come from the heart. She so wanted them to stay. She wanted Matty to stay.
Rafael was watching her face. He wouldn’t have to be brilliant to see the aching need she had no way of disguising.
The thought of them going to the Prince Edward, where she knew they’d lie awake all night rocked by the vibrations of truly appalling bands was almost unbearable. But in truth the thought of Matty going anywhere was unbearable. She’d put up with Rafael—with a de Boutaine in her house—to know that Matty was under her roof.
‘So here’s a plan,’ Rafael said gently, looking from Matty to Kelly and back again. ‘Matty, your mama says the hotel we’re planning on staying in is very noisy. She’s invited us to stay in this little cottage with her. Would you like to do that?’
‘Yes, but only if you stay here too,’ Matty said, and his bottom lip trembled.
‘Then I will,’ Rafael said. ‘But you know, you and your mama look as tired as each other. Why don’t you pop under the blankets on one side of your mama’s bed? Your mama can sleep on the other side and I’ll sleep by the fire.’
‘Why can’t you and mama sleep in the bed while I sleep by the fire?’ Matty whispered but he was losing force. He was drooping as they watched.
‘It wouldn’t be dignified,’ Rafael said. ‘You know Aunt Laura says you and I need to learn to be dignified.’
‘It’s not dignified to sleep in the same bed as my mama?’
‘For you, yes. For me, no.’
‘Okay,’ Matty said, caving in with an alacrity born of need. ‘Can I go to bed now?’
And an hour later she was in bed with her son.
It felt like a weird and spacey dream. She lay in her big double bed and listened to him. Her son was breathing.
No big deal. To listen to a child breathe…
How could she go to sleep? She’d left the blind open and the moon was shining over her little vegetable garden, into the window, washing over her little son’s face.
Normally she blocked the moon out. She had a single woman’s need for security—privacy—so the blind went down every night.
There was no way the blind was coming down this night. She lay and watched Matty’s chest rise and fall, his small face intent even in sleep, the way his lashes curled, the way his fingers pressed into his cheek…
She could see his father. She could see the de Boutaine side. But she could also see little things about herself. She had funny quirky eyebrows, too thick for beauty. Whenever she had a haircut, the hairdresser tut-tutted and thinned them out.
Here were those same thick brows.
On a guy they’d be gorgeous.
On Matty they were gorgeous.
