‘Right on target.’ He smiled without warmth, bringing embarrassed colour to her cheeks as she realised the hardhitting implication of what she had just called him. ‘And as far as the adjective goes, that makes two of us, doesn’t it?’ he said smoothly, aware of her embarrassment as he got out and came round to open her door with a courtesy that surprised her in the circumstances.
It only took an hour for her to pack the things she needed to take, although she filled a large suitcase and a substantial-sized travelling bag.
‘Leave that,’ Cameron ordered when she went to pick it up to follow him down with her suitcase to the car.
‘Why? Scared I might overdo things?’ she couldn’t help taunting sarcastically, but he ignored it, stooping to pick up the travelling bag with her case and carrying them both effortlessly downstairs.
She had been in the bathroom, checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything, and heard Cameron coming back just as she came out into the hall.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he advised grimly, ‘before we go any further, and that’s that I don’t care an iota what happens to you. But I am concerned for the welfare of my child, and while you’re carrying it you’ll take every possible precaution to protect it. Do I make myself clear?’
Perfectly, she thought, trying to deny just how much his confessed lack of concern for her had hurt. And, of course, she was going to take every step necessary to safeguard her baby. But she didn’t tell him that, snapping back instead, ‘What will you do? Pass sentence on me if I don’t?’ And with that deliberately provocative remark she brushed past him with her chin in the air, out to the gleaming saloon.
It was dark when they arrived at the cottage—Cameron’s insistence on stopping for a meal en route, which she had felt too nauseous to eat, which he had interpreted as rebellion, having necessitated a good hour’s break in their journey.
Now, as they pulled up in the country lane outside the solitary little house, Nadine’s stomach seemed to come up into her mouth.
‘Would you give me a minute?’ she uttered as he started getting out of the car, despising herself for the way it had come out—as an almost feeble appeal. She didn’t want to make a fuss—show any weakness in front of him.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I feel sick.’ Suddenly she was forced to swallow her pride and tell him, leaning sharply forward, her hand clamped over her mouth.
‘I thought that was a morning problem,’ he remarked when she sat back again.
‘So did I.’ Feeling easier, she uttered an ironic little laugh. ‘I think my body-clock’s stuck permanently on a.m. at the moment.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He sounded surprisingly concerned, but she merely shrugged, deciding against reminding him of his earlier remark about not caring about her. ‘You’ve been to sleep,’ he said laconically—which was something, she thought, that she seemed to be doing all the time lately. ‘That might not have helped. Wait here.’
He got out of the car and she watched his tall, shadowy figure moving through the little gate, along the garden path; she heard the jangle of keys then the door opening, before light flooded through the aperture, spilling out across the step and two superb hydrangea bushes that were growing near the house.
‘Come on.’ The touch of his hand on her elbow was
gentle if not caring, and unwelcome sensations assailed her as she teetered unsteadily and felt a supportive arm go across her back.
‘I’m all right,’ she protested with mild vehemence, trying to pull away.
‘The devil you are.’ He swore roughly under his breath. ‘And it isn’t going to help not eating properly. You’re going to get something inside you,’ he asserted, that strong arm keeping her locked to his side as he guided her along the path.
‘I couldn’t,’ she uttered, her mind rejecting his electrifying nearness as much as her stomach rejected the thought of food.
‘You can and you will. You’ll eat little and often and drink plenty of fluids,’ he told her, surprising her with a knowledge of her condition she hadn’t expected him to possess. ‘You might think you can’t stomach anything, but it will help the nausea, believe me.’
On that, at least, she thought later, when she was sitting on the floral-patterned settee tucking into the dry toast and tea he had made her, he had been right, because the sickness had certainly begun to subside.
‘Did…you and Lisa come here for weekends?’ she asked hesitantly as he came in from the car with her luggage. The room, though spacious and well-furnished, reflected an old-world charm which was certainly not Lisa’s taste, she thought, remembering her friend’s liking for stark, contemporary designs.
‘No,’ he answered, and so tersely that she wondered if she should have mentioned it since he was still obviously blaming her for the break-up of his marriage. But then, in surprisingly neutral tones, he said, ‘Lisa never stayed here. This place belonged to an aunt of mine, and when she died last year it passed to me. I don’t get down here as often as I’d like, but it’s always been the perfect spot to come when I want to unwind and get life back into perspective. It’s also where I did a lot of my growing up.’
Of course. He had said he’d lived with various aunts, Nadine remembered, feeling the sudden throb of her pulse as her gaze clashed with his, the dark sapphire of his eyes holding hers with a hard, unsettling intensity.
What was he thinking? she wondered, weakened by a sexual magnetism she didn’t want to acknowledge. Because he had discarded his tie, loosened the pristine white shirt, so that she was disturbed by mental images of the last time she had seen him like that, in that other country house, but determinedly she pushed them out of her mind.
He might appeal to every feminine instinct she possessed, but she was only here with him now because of the consequences of that other time; because she was expecting his baby—the baby he had planned to share with Lisa. But he was still Lisa’s husband, and it was only because it was his baby that he was showing any concern or responsibility towards her, Nadine. What secret feelings she might harbour for him counted for nothing.
‘You look tired.’ Cameron’s voice was coolly detached. ‘I think you’d better go to bed. Come on, I’ll show you your room.’
His tone stirred a reckless rebellion in her, but she didn’t have the energy to argue and compliantly she went ahead of him, up the creaking stairs.
The room he showed her into had the same quaint charm as the sitting-room: the coverlet on the double bed matching the gaily floral curtains and valance, the predominant leafy greens picking out the natural green in the carpet.
‘The bathroom’s next door,’ he informed her, lifting her case up on to the chest beside the door. ‘If you need anything just call. I’m just along the corridor.’
Picking up on his last words, Nadine looked at him quickly. ‘Aren’t you…going back tonight?’ she asked, realising how foolish that sounded in view of the hour, and despairing of herself for letting him see how unsettled
