held a shadow of the fear he had felt as he finished in a throaty whisper, ‘I couldn’t go through that again, Mari.’
She started to weep in earnest, great gulping sobs that shook her. ‘You really love me?’
‘I adore you.’
‘But you were nice and polite to me.’
He burst out laughing. ‘I promise I will never be polite to you again.’
She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, pressing a fervent kiss to his palm before spreading his long fingers around her cheek. ‘I love you, Seb, so very much, but I can’t stay married to you.’
Beneath his confident smile there was a hint of wariness as he asked, ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a Defoe and your name means a lot to you, you’re proud of it and so you should be and I’m—’
‘You’re stupid,’ he completed lovingly. ‘I am proud. I’m proud of having the most beautiful woman in the universe as my wife.’
‘I love you, Seb.’
‘We have a lifetime to love. Right now you need to sleep.’
Mari struggled to keep her heavy eyes open. ‘I can’t, I want—’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll use the time to plan our wedding.’
Her tired eyes opened. ‘We’re already married.’
‘I want to do it right this time... You deserve everything, my darling. A church, the dress, flowers, your foster dad to give you away. They were here, by the way, to see you, and Mark sends his love. Fleur is outside in the waiting room.’
‘How about your parents?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not? What is a wedding without a scandal? Though you do realise that no one will be looking at us with them there?’
Mari gave a watery smile; her eyes filled with tears that slid down her face. ‘That would all be lovely,’ she agreed. ‘But all I really want, Seb, is you.’
He bent and pressed a long loving kiss to her pale lips. ‘You’ve had me from the moment I saw you. I was just slow catching on.’
‘LOOK AT YOUR SISTERS.’
Seb lifted his son, Ramon, up to see the babies sleeping side by side in the crib.
The toddler’s eyes were wide.
‘Can I touch?’ he whispered.
Seb nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he watched his son touch a gentle finger to each baby’s nose.
‘They look like Mummy,’ he said wonderingly as he stared at their golden-red curls.
‘They do,’ Seb agreed.
‘Who do I look like, Daddy?’
Seb swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. It was sometimes hard to believe how lucky he was. The early months of their marriage had been marvellous. After a fairy-tale wedding and extended honeymoon Mari had returned to her job at the school, which had accepted her back with open arms, scandal forgotten, after they realised she was married to the family who funded ten scholarship places.
But in the midst of their happiness, the shadow of the baby they’d lost had hung over them. It had been the arrival of Ramon, who had been one when they had adopted him, that had chased away the shadows, though not the precious memory of the baby they had lost.
He had been more terrified than he thought possible when Mari had fallen pregnant with twins. She, who had been working part-time since the adoption went through and with typical selflessness, had given up work immediately in an effort to ease his fears. If he hadn’t had to keep it together for Ramon, Seb really thought he might have fallen apart. The little boy was a blessing in every way, and now they had two gorgeous daughters.
‘You look like your birth mummy, Ramon, who loved you very much.’
‘She went to live with the angels.’
‘She did,’ Seb agreed. ‘Now, quiet, we don’t want to wake the girls or Mummy, do we?’
Seb pressed a kiss to the forehead of his sleeping wife and left the room hand in hand with his son.
Outside, his brother-in-law, on the crutches he was due to exchange for a stick, stood waiting with his wife—Mark had married his nurse—and Fleur, who was talking to Mari’s foster parents.
‘You can go in,’ Ramon told them all importantly. ‘But only if you’re very quiet—right, Daddy?’
‘Right.’
‘And we’re proud as Punch, aren’t we?’
‘We are,’ Seb agreed, looking through the window to where his wife slept. ‘Very proud and very, very lucky.’
* * * * *
Maggie Cox
To Karen Middlemiss at the MS Therapy Centre.Whenever we speak you help me make peace with this condition and remind me that life is for living whatever our challenge. With love and blessings, Maggie x
ROSE WAS STANDING by the window, mesmerised by the steady rain that hadn’t let up all morning, when a gleaming black Mercedes drew up in front of the antiques shop and effortlessly glided to a stop.
It was just like a scene from a movie and she was immediately riveted. Inside her chest her heart thumped hard, because she knew it was the visitor she’d nervously been anticipating... Eugene Bonnaire.
Even the name gave her chills. He was one of the country’s wealthiest restaurateurs, with an uncompromising reputation for getting what he wanted, and when Rose’s boss, Philip, had put the beautiful Thames-side antiques shop he owned up for sale the businessman had wasted no time in declaring his interest.
Not for the first time that morning she wished Philip could be there alongside her, but sadly his already failing health had deteriorated and he was now in hospital. In his absence, he had asked Rose to handle the property’s sale on his behalf.
The responsibility was a bittersweet one. Not just because he was ill, and she feared he might not recover, but because she’d nurtured a secret hope to take over the business herself one day. Having spent ten enjoyable years working with Philip, and training as a dealer, she’d honestly grown to love the place. Consequently, she wasn’t predisposed to warming to their potential buyer.
Her first glimpse of the man, after his chauffeur had opened his door and he’d stepped out into the rain, was of a pair of classy Italian brogues, followed by a flawless charcoal suit that was no less than stunningly perfect. Rose caught her breath. As soon as she saw his arrestingly sculpted features, the cut-glass jaw and crystalline blue eyes that were frequently described by the press as ‘unflinchingly piercing’, she had the disturbing sense that she was coming face to face with her greatest fear and—inexplicably—her greatest desire...
She irritably chided herself for the thought. Snapping out of the near trance she’d fallen into watching him, she smoothed her hands down her smart navy dress and made herself walk calmly to the door. It was then she saw that the businessman’s height dwarfed hers.
Lifting her head to gaze up at him, she said, ‘Eugene Bonnaire? Please come in. I’m Mr Houghton’s