A Convenient Husband

‘Not alone.’

‘A tempting invitation, but it’s three o’clock in the morning,’ she reminded him, automatically consulting her bare wrist to confirm this statement and realising she wasn’t wearing her wrist-watch. Come to think of it, she wasn’t wearing much, she acknowledged uncomfortably, pulling fretfully at the hem of her washed-out cotton nightshirt.

She had a distinct recollection of waving her arms around wildly, revealing in the process God knew what! Still, it was only Rafe and it wasn’t likely he’d turn a hair if he’d walked in to find her stark naked!

Three a.m. or not, Rafe, of course, was looking as tiresomely perfect as ever. It went without saying that his outfit was tasteful and expensive. It consisted of dark olive trousers and a lightweight knitted polo shirt—not that the details really mattered, not when you were at least six feet four, possessed an athletic, broad-shouldered, skinny-hipped, long-legged body, and went around projecting the sort of brooding sensuality that made females more than willing to overlook the fact you had a face that wasn’t strictly pretty. Strong, attractive and interesting, yes…pretty…no.

‘I know what time it is, I was kind of wondering about you…’ His gaze moved rather pointedly over the disarray in the room. ‘Do you often get the urge to spring-clean in the wee small hours, Tess?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained defensively, peeling off the yellow rubber gloves and throwing them on the draining-board.

She didn’t much care if Rafe thought her eccentric, bordering on loopy; she didn’t much care what Rafe thought at all these days. In her opinion success had not changed Rafe for the better. He’d been a nice, if irritating kid when he’d been two years younger than her.

She supposed he still must be two years younger, time being what it was, only the intervening years seemed to have swallowed up the two-year gap and had deprived her of the comfortable feeling of superiority that a few extra months gave you as a child.

Superiority wasn’t something people around Rafe were likely to feel, she mused. He was one of those rare people folk automatically turned to for leadership—not that she classed herself as one of those mesmerised sheep who hung on his every word.

Still, although she often teased him about his old family name, he wasn’t like the rest of the Farrars who were a snooty lot, firmly rooted in the dark ages. Traditionally—they were big on tradition—the younger son entered the military and the elder worked his way up through the echelons of the merchant bank which had been founded by some long-dead Farrar.

His elder brother Alec had obligingly entered the bank, even though as far as Tess could see the only interest he’d had in money had been spending it. She didn’t suppose that his family had been particularly surprised when Rafe hadn’t meekly co-operated with their plans for him. Since he’d been expelled from the prestigious boarding-school that generations of Farrars had attended they’d expected the worst of him and he’d usually fulfilled their expectations.

He hadn’t even obliged them and turned into a worthless bum as had been confidently predicted. He’d worked his way up, quite rapidly as it happened, on the payroll of a national daily. He’d made a favourable impression there, but it was working as the anchor of a prestigious current affairs programme that had really made his name.

The job was tailor-made for Rafe. He wasn’t aggressive or hostile; he didn’t need to be. Rafe had the rare ability of being able to charm honest answers from the wiliest of politicians. He made it look so easy that not everyone appreciated the skill of his technique, or realised how much grinding background research he did to back up those deceptively casual questions.

Such was his reputation that people in public life were virtually queuing up to be interviewed by him, all no doubt convinced that they were too sharp to be lulled into a false sense of security. Without decrying his undoubted abilities, Tess cynically suspected that being incredibly photogenic had something to do with him achieving an almost cult-like status overnight.

‘I think better when I keep busy,’ she explained glibly. Tonight, it would seem, was the exception to that rule. Fresh panic clawed deep in her belly as she realised afresh that there was no magical solution to her dilemma.

Rafe’s narrowed gaze objectively noted the blotchy puffiness under her wide-spaced green eyes. She had that pale, almost translucent type of skin that tended to reflect her every mood, not to mention every tear! He recalled how impossibly fragile her wrist had felt when he’d caught hold of her hand.

‘I promise I won’t tell you things will get better—they probably won’t.’

Tell me something I didn’t already know! ‘You always were a little ray of sunshine, but the depressive traits are new.’

‘I’m a realist, angel. Life sucks…’ He pulled the cork on the bottle and glugged an ample amount into a stray mug.

‘I’m so glad you stopped by, I feel better already.’ Absent-mindedly she accepted the mug he handed her. ‘This is actually rather nice,’ she announced with some surprise, before taking another, less tentative sip of her grandmother’s famous wine—famous at least within the narrow precincts of this parish and then for its potency rather than its delicate bouquet.

Rafe shuddered as he followed suit and decided not to disillusion her. ‘What’s happened to you that’s so bad?’ he enquired carelessly, refilling his mug.

‘Still the same!’ It gave her a feeling of perverse pleasure to see her sharp, sarcastic tone ignite a spark of irritation in his dark eyes. ‘You always did have to go one better than everyone else, didn’t you? You even have to be miserable on a grand scale!’ There was a warm glow in the pit of Tess’s empty stomach; she hadn’t been able to eat a thing since that awful phone call from Chloe.

‘Meaning…?’

‘Meaning my simple life can’t possibly be expected to reach the supreme highs and hopeless depths of yours.’

Rafe’s dark brows rose to his equally dark hairline. ‘You got all that from a simple, what’s up?’

‘You asked, but you weren’t really interested!’ she accused, waving her mug in front of him for a refill. ‘But then why should you be?’

‘I thought we were friends, Tess.’

‘We were friends when we were ten and eight respectively,’ she corrected, injecting sharp scorn into her observation. ‘Actually, I didn’t think you went in much for slumming these days, Rafe.’

There was just enough truth in her words to make him feel uncomfortable and just enough unfairness to make him feel resentful. Before she’d had the baby and left behind her city lifestyle they’d got together pretty frequently. Things being the way they were, he wasn’t likely to visit home often and after the first few refusals he’d stopped inviting Tess up to town.

‘You moved away too,’ he reminded her.

‘I came back.’ And that was the crux of the matter. When she’d been a driven, goal-orientated career woman they’d still had common ground, but that common ground had vanished when her life had become baby-orientated. She felt her life was pretty fulfilling, but she wasn’t so naive as to expect others, including Rafe, to share her interest in Ben’s teething problems!

It was on the tip of Rafe’s tongue to ungallantly remind her that decision hadn’t been initiated entirely by a nostalgia for the rural idyll of their childhood. He restrained himself and instead poked a finger against his own substantial chest.

‘What do you call this, a hologram?’

‘I call it visiting royalty.’ She performed a low mocking bow, blissfully unaware that the gaping neck of her loose nightshirt gave him an excellent view of her cleavage and more than a hint of rosy nipples.

‘Got the latest girlfriend in tow again? Going to impress her with the family crypt or maybe the family ghost?’

Her soft, teasing chuckle suddenly emerged as she misread the reason for the dark tell-tale stain across the angle of his high cheekbones.

‘Or is that the problem—she isn’t here? A frustrated libido would explain why you stalked in here with a chip a mile wide on your shoulder. Smouldering like something out of a Greek tragedy…I’m right, aren’t I? The girlfriend couldn’t or wouldn’t come…?’ she speculated shrewdly.

At least theorising insensitively about someone else’s problems stopped her thinking—if only in the short term—about her own!

Now he had a pretty good idea what was under the shirt thing it was even less easy to stop thinking about it. ‘Is it that obvious I’ve been flung aside?’ he bit back.

‘Like an old sock?’ she chipped in helpfully.

There didn’t seem much point indulging Rafe’s inclinations towards drama; she’d had enough of that with Chloe. He thought his life was a mess, he should try wearing her shoes—not that they’d fit, she conceded, comparing his large, expensively shod feet with her own size fours.

It was hard to feel sympathetic when the worst thing likely to happen to Rafe Farrar was a bad haircut! She gave his thick, healthily shining dark hair an extra-resentful glare.

‘It didn’t take a psychic to see you came here spoiling for a fight!’

Despite his growing anger, Rafe couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her accusation. ‘I knocked on the right door, then, didn’t I?’

‘You didn’t knock, you just barged in…’ Quite as abruptly as it had arisen, the aggression drained from Tess. Feeling weak, she gave a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Maybe I just got tired of being patronised…? Has someone really given you the push?’ Her wondering smile was wry. It hardly seemed credible.

‘You find that possibility amusing?’

She found the possibility incredible. ‘You must admit that it does have a certain novelty value. Look on the bright side…’

‘I can’t guarantee I won’t throttle you if you go into a Pollyanna routine,’ he warned darkly.

‘I’m trembling.’

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he encountered the sparkling mockery in her eyes. He found himself grimly contemplating how hard it would be to make her tremble for real…and he wasn’t thinking of scare tactics! What he was thinking of scared him a little, though. If he was going to vent his frustration on anyone, it couldn’t be Tess!

‘It might actually do you some good,’ she mused thoughtfully. ‘You’re way overdue a dose of humility,’ she explained frankly.

Looking at him properly for the first time, Tess saw that he actually did look pretty haggard in a handsome, vital sort of way. She couldn’t recall ever seeing that hard light in his eyes before. The price of partying at all the right night spots?

‘Then I’ll give you a real laugh, shall I?’ he flung the words angrily at her. ‘The woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with—have children with—has decided not to leave her husband!’

Tess’s startled gasp was audible in the short, tense silence that followed his words.

‘Does that have the required degree of character-enhancing humility to suit you?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU were going out with a married woman?’ Tess didn’t know what made her feel most uncomfortable: the part that Rafe had been messing with a married woman, or the part that said he’d been contemplating wedding bells and babies.

‘You want to have babies…?’

Rafe, regretting his unusual episode of soul-baring the instant the self-pitying words emerged from his lips, dragged an angry hand through his hair as Tess, after visibly recoiling from him as though he had a particularly nasty disease, started staring at him with the expression she obviously reserved for moral degenerates. He resisted the impulse to unkindly point out she was no saint herself!

‘I don’t think I’ve got the hips for it.’ He didn’t understand why this sarcastic response should make her flinch.

‘And just for the record I didn’t know she was married until it was too late.’ He didn’t know why the hell he was explaining himself to her.

‘Too late for what?’

Rafe scowled at her dogged persistence. ‘Too late not to fall in love!’ he bellowed.

He saw her soft wide lips quiver and a misty expression drift over her almost pretty features. Oh, God, not sympathy…please…he thought with a nauseated grimace.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I need to sit down, and from the look of you so do you.’

Tess looked askance at the guiding hand on her arm but decided not to object; she found that she did need to sit down too. She made no immediate connection between the half-empty mug of wine still clutched in her hand and the shaky quality of her knees.

Rafe was relieved to find that Tess’s spring-cleaning efforts hadn’t extended as far as the small oak-beamed sitting room. He pushed a sleeping cat off the overstuffed chintzy sofa and sat down with a grunt. The grunt became a pained yelp as he quickly leapt up. A quick search behind the cushion recovered the item responsible for his bruised dignity.

He held aloft the culprit, a battered-looking three-wheeled tractor.

‘I searched everywhere for that earlier,’ Tess choked thickly, taking the toy from his unresisting fingers and nursing it against her chest.

‘Are you crying…?’ Rafe wondered suspiciously. He didn’t associate feminine tears or even more obviously feminine bosoms, of which he’d had that unexpected eyeful, with Tess, and he was getting both tonight. It intensified that vague feeling of discomfort.

Tess sharply turned her slender back on him and stowed the toy away in an overflowing, brightly painted toy chest tucked in the corner of the room. Scrubbing her knuckles across her damp cheeks, she turned back.

‘What if I am?’ she growled mutinously.

A nasty thought occurred to Rafe. ‘Ben is all right, isn’t he?’ he asked sharply. A picture of a dribbly baby came into his head and he felt an unexpected twinge of affection. ‘I mean, he’s not ill or anything…?’

It occurred to him, as it perhaps should have done sooner if he was the friend he claimed to be, that it must be hard bringing up a baby alone. He couldn’t be a babe in arms any longer, he must be—what? One…more, even…?

‘Ben’s fine…asleep upstairs.’ The tears were starting to flow again and there was zilch she could do about it, so Tess abandoned her attempt at pretence of being normal or in control—of her tears ducts, her life…anything!

‘Something’s wrong, though.’

‘You don’t usually state the obvious,’ she croaked.

Rafe gave an indulgent sigh. ‘You’d better tell me.’

‘Why bother?’ she asked with a wild little laugh. ‘You can’t do anything!’

‘Oh, ye of little faith.’

‘Nobody can,’ she insisted bleakly. The alcohol had broken down all the defensive walls she’d built up with a resounding bang. Without lifting her head to look at him, she laid it against the wide expanse of chest that was suddenly conveniently close to hand. Eyes tight closed, hardly aware of what she was doing, she brought her fist down once, twice, three times hard against his shoulder.

At some deep subconscious level that dealt with things beyond her immediate misery her brain was storing irrelevant information like the level of hard toughness in his body and the nice, musky, warm scent that rose from his skin.

‘I can’t bear to lose him. I just can’t bear it, Rafe!’ she sobbed in a tortured whisper.

Her distress made him feel helpless. Helpless and a rat! Tess was putting herself quite literally in his hands, displaying a trust and confidence she had every right to expect if he was any sort of friend. It made the response of his body to the soft, fragrant female frame plastered against it all the more of a betrayal!

‘Lose who? Your vet…?’ he prompted. He took her by the shoulders and gave her an urgent little shake.

‘You can’t lose what you never had and furthermore don’t want! Don’t you ever listen?’ she demanded hotly.

‘Then who or what have you lost?’

‘Lost my inhibitions—it must be the wine.’

‘Stop laughing.’

Fine! If he preferred tears, he could have them! ‘Lose Ben!’

‘You’re not going to lose Ben,’ he soothed confidently.

Rafe always did think he knew everything—well, not this time! Angrily she lifted her head; tears sparkled on the ends of her spiky dark eyelashes.

‘I am. Chloe wants him!’ she wailed.

Rafe looked at her blankly. She wasn’t making sense at all…maybe she had an even lower tolerance for alcohol than he’d thought.

‘I know Chloe gets what she wants,’ he observed drily,

‘but on this occasion I don’t think you’re obliged to say yes. You really shouldn’t drink, Tess…’

‘You don’t understand!’

Rafe shook his head and didn’t dispute her claim as haunted, anguish-filled emerald eyes fixed once more on his face.

‘I’m not Ben’s mother, Chloe is…’ Sobbing pitifully, she collapsed once more against Rafe’s chest, leaving him to digest the incredible information she’d just hit him with.

If it was true, and he couldn’t for the life of him think why she’d lie about something like that, it was a hell of a lot to take in.

When Tess had taken leave of absence from her job as a high-powered commodities trader, he’d been as shocked as her other friends when she’d returned afterwards complete with a baby. Compared to that, the shock had been relatively mild when she’d walked away from the job she’d loved after a brief, unsuccessful attempt to combine motherhood with a demanding career and moved into the cottage she’d inherited from her grandmother.

Now she was saying she wasn’t Ben’s mother! She wasn’t anyone’s mother!

It was a good ten minutes before Tess was capable of continuing their discussion. Looking at her stubborn, closed-in expression as she sat with primly folded arms in the old rocking-chair, Rafe could see that talking to him was the last thing she wanted to do.

‘Why?’

‘Morgan and Edward were out of the country, some jungle or other,’ Tess recalled dully, speaking of her elder sister and brother-in-law who were both brilliant, but unworldly palaeontologists of international renown. They might be the first people everybody thought of consulting when a prehistoric skull was unearthed, but when it came to a pregnant daughter they wouldn’t have been high on anybody’s list.

‘Besides which they would have been worse than useless even if they had been around.’

Tess chose to ignore this accurate summing-up. ‘Chloe was five months gone before she realised and absolutely distraught when she was told it was too late to…’ Tess paused and looked self-consciously uncomfortable.

‘She wanted to be rid of it.’ Rafe shrugged. ‘That figures. She always was a selfish, spoilt brat.’

Honesty prevented Tess disputing this cruel assessment. Her elder sister and her husband always had either indulged or ignored their only child, and the product of this upbringing had turned into a stunningly beautiful but extremely self-absorbed young woman.

‘A scared spoilt brat back then,’ Tess snapped sharply.

‘She didn’t want anyone to know about it; she made me promise. So I took her away.’

‘Isn’t that a bit…I don’t know, Victorian melodrama…?’

‘You’ve not the faintest idea of how weird she was acting.’ Tess had been genuinely worried that Chloe might have done something drastic. ‘I thought a change of scene, away from people that knew her, might help. I imagined,’ she recalled, ‘that after the birth she’d…’

‘Be overcome by maternal instincts.’ Rafe gave a scornful snort.

‘People are,’ Tess retorted indignantly.

‘A classic case of optimism overcoming what’s right under your nose. Chloe was never going to give up partying to stay at home and baby-sit. I can’t believe you were that stupid.’

‘Why?’ she asked, roused to anger by his superior, condescending attitude. It was easy for him to condemn—he hadn’t been there; he couldn’t possibly understand what it had been like. ‘You don’t usually have any problem believing I’m an idiot!’ She shook her head miserably.

‘I don’t know why I’m even telling you all this. It won’t make any difference. The fact is, Chloe is his mother and if she wants him there’s nothing, short of skipping the country, that I can do about it! I wish now I’d adopted him legally myself when she suggested it,’ she ended on a bleak note of self-condemnation.

‘Don’t worry,’ she added, slanting him a small, bitter smile. ‘I haven’t got the cash to skip the country.’

That was another thing that had been nagging away at him. Tess had lived a starkly simple life since she’d moved here, she owned this place outright, had no debts that he was aware of, and she must have made a tidy pile during her brief but successful career. Yet this place needed a lick of paint. In fact it needed a lot of things—not big things, but…And when had she stopped running a car? He couldn’t remember; it hadn’t seemed important at the time. But covering the primaries in the States had been? In light of Tess’s distress there was a big question mark hanging over his priorities.

‘I could lend it to you.’

Just as well he didn’t know how tempting she found his offer, even though she knew it was meant as a joke. “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be,”’ she quoted sadly.

‘I can’t believe you’ve fooled everyone all this time.’ Rafe was looking at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. It had taken him long enough to get his head around the idea that she was a mother—now he’d have to unlearn something that had been surprisingly hard for him to accept in the first place.

‘It wasn’t intentional, it just sort of happened,’ she replied, knowing her explanation sounded lame.

‘You didn’t just sort of happen to give up a great job you loved. You didn’t just sort of happen to spend over a year of your life bringing up someone else’s child.’

‘I forgot that sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘That he wasn’t really mine,’ she explained self-consciously. ‘And I know what I did must seem a bit surreal to you now, but it was never meant to be a permanent solution. Chloe didn’t want Ben, she wanted to give him up, have him adopted. It seemed so awfully final. You hear about women who have given up their babies suffering, never coming to terms with the regret.

‘I didn’t want that to be Chloe ten years down the line. I thought it was only a matter of time before she realised, and then I suppose as time went on I lost sight of the fact I was just a stopgap.’ With a choked sound she buried her face in her shaking hands. ‘I was right, wasn’t I? She has realised that she wants him. Only it’s been so long I…’

‘God, Tess!’ Rafe thundered, banging his fist angrily down on a blameless bureau. A dozen images he didn’t even know he’d retained of Tess with the baby drifted through his mind—she loved that kid and he loved her. Mother or no mother, they should be together. ‘She can’t just take him away from you!’

Tess’s lips, almost bloodless in her pale face, quivered. The eyes that met his were tragic. ‘Yes, Rafe, yes, she can.’

‘Don’t give me all that martyr stuff, Tess. You don’t actually believe it’s in Ben’s best interests to live with Chloe, do you?’ he grated incredulously. ‘You know Chloe—the novelty will wear off within a couple of months and where will that leave Ben?’ he intoned heavily as her eyes slid miserably away from his. ‘So stop crying and decide how you’re going to stop her.’

The callous implication that she was behaving like a wimp really stung. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Whichever way you look at it, Chloe is his mother!’ she reminded him shrilly. ‘I’m just a distant relation.’

‘You’re the only mother Ben has ever known.’

Tess choked back a sob and turned her ashen face away from him. ‘I’ve been so selfish keeping him. I should have encouraged Chloe to take an active part in…’ The horror in her voice deepened as she wailed. ‘He won’t know what’s happening…God, what have I done…?’

Rafe dropped down on his knees beside her chair and took her chin firmly in his hand. ‘You loved him,’ he rebuked her quietly. ‘There’s one person you haven’t mentioned…’