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
