Baby On The Tycoon's Doorstep

Can a tiny unexpected baby...

...bring them back together?

Billionaire Jake Cartwright’s Mayfair hotel has an adorable if unexpected new guest. And according to the note, abandoned baby Emily isn’t just his temporary responsibility—she’s his fiercely independent ex Isobel Brennan’s, too! Finding himself up close and personal with Izzy once again, Jake’s long-buried feelings are quickly unearthed. And, once their little charge is safely home, Jake wants to trust in a future where Izzy remains—forever...

NINA MILNE has always dreamed of writing for Mills & Boon—ever since she played libraries with her mother’s stacks of Mills & Boon romances as a child. On her way to this dream Nina acquired an English degree, a hero of her own, three gorgeous children and—somehow!—an accountancy qualification. She lives in Brighton and has filled her house with stacks of books—her very own real library.

Also by Nina Milne

Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

Marooned with the Millionaire

Conveniently Wed to the Prince

Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée

Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

A Crown by Christmas collection

Cinderella’s Prince Under the Mistletoe by Cara Colter

Soldier Prince’s Secret Baby Gift by Kate Hardy

Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Baby on the Tycoon’s Doorstep

Nina Milne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90349-7

BABY ON THE TYCOON’S DOORSTEP

© 2020 Nina Milne

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

 Change of font size and line height

 Change of background and font colours

 Change of font

 Change justification

 Text to speech

To my family,

for putting up with me during the writing of this book!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Six years ago

ISOBEL TRIED TO determine which emotion was uppermost, incandescent rage or sheer gut-pounding, rib-squeezing hurt. She opted for the former because she would not succumb to the latter. The thought of breaking down in tears prickled her skin with aversion—she would not give Jake Cartwright the satisfaction.

Instead she watched as Jake paced the room, each stride an angry re-treading of the past hour’s conversation, his whole body taut with frustration. Then she hurled words, each one laden with fury.

‘How could you do this? And why the hell won’t you just admit it?’

‘I won’t admit it because I didn’t do it. How many more times can I tell you this?’ He halted in front of her. ‘I did not sleep with Anna.’ Each word was enunciated with exaggerated emphasis.

‘Jeez, Jake. Repetition doesn’t make the words true. You must think I’m an A-grade idiot. Fact: I caught Anna sneaking out of your house at one-fifteen in the morning. Fact: she confessed!’

The memory was so vivid. Beautiful, blonde, perfect Anna. Supposedly ‘just a friend’ from Jake’s university days. Anna with her long blonde hair and endless legs and her first-class degree in economics and her brand-new modelling contract. Difficult to know which to be more threatened by.

Long hair tousled, shoes in hand, a cat that’s had the cream smile on her face. A smile that had dropped from her lips with almost incongruous speed when she’d seen Isobel approach. ‘Isobel? What are you doing here? I...we thought you were at work.’

‘My shift finished early. I thought I’d surprise Jake.’ The words had fallen from her lips on automatic, her tone ridiculously polite, almost conversational as the full ramifications of the scene pounded her brain. The irony not lost on her. ‘Turns out the surprise is on me.’

‘Isobel. Listen to me.’ Anna’s voice was urgent now, those wide blue eyes full of concern.

‘There’s nothing for you to say.’ She sidestepped to get around the willowy model, frowned when Anna reached out and took her arm.

‘Wait. Please. Let me explain. Before you see Jake. Please Isobel. Come with me. Hear my side first.’ Isobel hesitated; part of her wanted to storm in and confront Jake, part of her recoiled at the idea of seeing him now, fresh from Anna, perhaps still tangled in the sheets... The whole thought shuddered her body with humiliation.

‘OK.’

‘Thank you.’ Anna’s grip tightened on her arm. ‘We can’t talk here. There’s an all-night diner round the corner.’

The walk achieved in a dull silence punctuated by the click of Anna’s high heels on the pavement; images tormented Isobel’s brain as realisation struck. Jake slept with Anna. Jake slept with Anna. Anger began to bubble, anger at him and anger at herself. How could she have been such a fool? Why had she agreed to date him? She should have known this would happen. Jake was gorgeous and rich and fun; used to women falling at his feet, He dated whichever beautiful model or celebrity took his fancy. Now he’d slept with Anna. Jake slept with Anna.

She followed Anna into a small café, redolent with the smell of cooked breakfasts, fried eggs, the whiff of chip fat...

‘Sit here,’ Anna instructed, placing her handbag on a table as she gestured to Isobel. ‘I’ll get coffee. Americano right?’

Isobel nodded; it seemed easier than a refusal. Not that she could drink anything purchased by Anna–she’d probably choke. A few minutes later the blonde woman returned, sat down facing Isobel and leant forward.

‘You have to forgive Jake. You have to. This was a one-off. I know it is. It’s you he cares for and I think I was just a final fling before he commits. To you. I know he will be regretting it and it was my fault–my idea. Jake and I are friends. Nothing more.’ Anna put a hand on her arm. ‘It meant nothing. To either of us.’

Isobel shook her head. ‘But it means something to me.’

‘Please. You have to forgive him.’

Isobel rose from the table. ‘No Anna. I don’t.’

And she still didn’t.

After her conversation with Anna she had felt too raw to confront Jake, her insides scorched with sheer humiliation, her brain leaden with the awful knowledge of betrayal. Instead she’d sat, sleepless, by the window of her small rented room until dawn had touched the sky. Sat and thought and soon the mortification had been replaced by a welcome bright bitter light of fury. An anger that didn’t allow even the vestige of forgiveness.

Not that Jake was asking for forgiveness—instead he had the gall to try and turn it on her. Was furious with Isobel for not yielding to his will, for refusing to enter his illusory world where he was innocent. Shades of her childhood. Her stepfather’s repeated lies and denials, the excuses that spewed from his mouth, his assertion that it was actually his wife’s fault that he had hit her, that he was sorry, that he loved her. And Tanya Brennan always ceded and accepted him back.

No way was Isobel following that pattern—any pattern followed by her mother. Folding her arms now she glared at Jake. ‘I have evidence and a confession.’

‘You also have my word. I didn’t sleep with Anna.’

‘Then why was she tiptoeing out of your house at one-fifteen in the morning?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jake gusted a sigh. ‘But I can tell you what I think. Anna knew I was out. She still has a key from years ago when she stayed here whilst I was away. I think she used my house last night to entertain a “friend”.’

‘Then why didn’t she tell me that?’

‘Because she is seeing a man she has to keep secret—either a politician or someone married—she won’t say. When she saw you, my guess is she panicked in case you stormed in and found him.’

‘Then why doesn’t she tell me now?’

‘Because it could compromise him.’

Isobel shook her head. ‘You have to admit that sounds sketchy at best. Anyway, if you weren’t here, where were you? Prove to me you were somewhere else.’

‘I can’t. I was out walking.’

‘Walking?’ She could hear the high-pitched rise of her voice. ‘Surely you can come up with something better than that? Walking where?’

‘It’s the truth. I had a bit of a row with my father.’ Isobel stilled. In the months she had known him, Jake had mentioned his father less than a handful of times. ‘I decided to go for a drive and then I parked and just walked.’

‘So how did Anna even know the house was empty?’

‘She called and I told her I was out for the evening. It was risky but Anna has always thrived on risk.’ Yet another reason why she and Jake were suited to each other, Isobel thought dully. ‘I get it sounds sketchy but it is the truth.’

Isobel stared at him.

She closed her eyes, realising she wanted to believe him. Knew she couldn’t. The image of Anna, the way she had walked down the drive, the smile on her face, the urgency of her words—how could she disregard that? Plus, Anna was in Jake’s league, beautiful, intelligent, wealthy. She was his type. Isobel wasn’t. Isobel had grown up on a barren, desolate estate and then been consigned to the care system; Isobel only had the money she earned herself as a waitress; Isobel had dropped out of school at sixteen. This whole idea of dating Jake had been a mistake of massive proportions and now she was paying for her error in spades, clubs and her own heart.

Now he stepped forward and for a moment, despite herself, she was struck anew by his sheer aura, tried to remind herself that the thick blond hair, the charismatic blue-grey eyes, the strength of feature was a simple genetic chance. ‘You have to believe me.’

Wrong choice of words.

That was what her mother had said time and again.

‘This time I won’t take your stepdad back. You have to believe me.’

Her stepdad talking to her mother. ‘I won’t hurt you again. I love you. I’ve changed. You have to believe me.’

As if the phrase had some sort of hypnotic, magical mesmerism. The power to dictate.

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to believe you. Not when all the facts tell me the opposite.’

Anger and hurt etched his face. ‘Do you truly believe that I would cheat on you and then deny it, lie to you to your face?’

‘I don’t think you set out to do it, Jake. I think you and Anna got carried away in the moment, you took a risk because you genuinely thought I wouldn’t find out.’

‘That is not what happened.’

Isobel clenched her hands into fists—she would not believe him simply because she wanted to. Wouldn’t repeat her mother’s pattern. ‘It’s over, Jake.’

‘Is that really what you want?’ His voice was harder now, edged with intensity. ‘Because it’s not what I want. But it’s your call. You either trust me or you don’t.’

Be strong. ‘I can’t trust you. Not after this. And you can’t have a relationship without trust.’

‘Then I guess it’s goodbye.’ His voice was pure ice now and she forced herself to turn and leave the room. Refused to acknowledge the ache in her heart, told herself this was for the best. She was better off on her own—she’d always known that.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

JAKE CARTWRIGHT LEFT the crowded tube station and strode forward through the throng on the pavement. He felt the welcome breeze on his face after the cramped underground journey. Sure, he could afford the chauffeured cars that his father took everywhere—hell, Charles Cartwright had a fleet of limos on tap—and he knew his father despised the fact that his son chose to use public over private transport.

Not that Jake gave a flying fish about his father’s opinion. Not any more. He’d spent way too many hours of childhood caring about his father. Wondering why his dad didn’t want him, why he lived with his grandfather, only saw his dad once in a blue moon.

Then, when Jake was six and his grandfather died, a limo arrived and Jake was chauffeured to Charles’ London mansion. Jake could still remember his searing grief, his burning hope that his dad would be there to comfort him. A hope that had flickered out instantly—Charles hadn’t even been home to greet his son. That had been left to Petra, Charles’ PA-cum-assistant. It had been a prelude of times to come—Jake had been left to his own devices, his material needs looked after by Petra and the various interchangeable girlfriends and hangers-on that made up his dad’s entourage.

Every so often Charles would see him, usually in company, each meeting always edged with awkwardness. Eventually Jake had decided to accept his father’s indifference and lock down the emotional turmoil, all the questions, hurt and anger caused. Decided to get on with his life.

But now that Jake held a stake in the Cartwright empire, Charles Cartwright’s apathy had turned to antagonism and he seemed dead set on thwarting his son at every boardroom turn.

Jake’s pace increased—he would not let his father continue to run the business into the ground with his policy of extracting as much money as possible to spend on his hedonistic lifestyle.

For a moment the image of his grandfather flashed across his brain. ‘You are the Cartwright heir, Jake. Never forget it.’

And he hadn’t—his life’s ambition was to lead the company into a glorious future. Soon enough he would—in ten days, to be precise. In ten days he would wrest control from his father.

His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket, noted the identity of the caller—Helen McKenzie, manager of the flagship hotel, Cartwright of Mayfair.

‘Jake?’ Helen’s voice spoke of relief. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

‘Sorry. I must have lost signal on the tube.’ Jake pressed the phone to his ear, striving to block out the noises of the city—the familiar rumble of double-decker buses, the hum of mobile phones, the stream of chatter, the pounding of shoes on the sun-flecked pavements. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Um... A baby was left at Reception a couple of hours ago.’

Jake frowned. ‘Did a guest leave her baby by mistake?’ And not noticed for two hours? Unlikely but possible.

‘That’s what we thought at first. But then—’ Helen hesitated. ‘When no one came to claim the baby, I gave her to Maria to look after.’

‘Good call.’ Maria was the hotel’s housekeeper, a mother of four with a brood of grandchildren.

‘And I was about to call the police. But then Maria found a letter in the carrycot.’ Deep breath. ‘Addressed to you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. We haven’t opened it, but I figured it was best to talk to you.’

Another good call. ‘How old is this baby?’

‘Maria thinks she is about three, maybe four months.’

‘OK. Don’t do anything. I’m on my way.’

Jake dropped the phone back in his pocket and moved to the kerb to hail a cab, knowing that would get him to the hotel fastest. His mind raced, told him that, whatever was going on, at least the baby couldn’t be his. This past year or so he’d been so caught up in work, in his mission to gain control, he’d had no down time at all. His work hard, play hard ethos had morphed to work hard and work harder.

He took a deep breath as he climbed into the black cab and continued to process the situation, wondering who the baby belonged to and what she had to do with Jake.

Half an hour later he alighted outside the hotel and walked through the revolving glass doors into the opulent marble foyer, rich with exotic greenery, enhanced by the gentle sounds of the water feature to one side and enlivened by the sculptures on display by various London artists. He headed straight for the lift and to Maria’s domain. Although Maria didn’t live in the hotel she did sometimes stay and a room was available to her at all times.

Jake knocked and then paused on the threshold for a moment when the executive housekeeper called, ‘Come in.’

Maria was sitting in her rocking chair by the bed where the baby lay asleep, surrounded by pillows. Both tiny hands curled into fists resting by her head, a head covered in a fine down of wispy brown hair. His breath caught in his throat as he registered the sheer vulnerability of this tiny being who had been deposited in his hotel and he felt a sudden stab of empathy. Left abandoned, unwanted—just like Jake had been.

His father had left within hours of his birth, jaunted off on a nine-month cruise. As for his mother, she’d hung around for a couple of days and then gone on her way and Jake hadn’t seen her until he was eighteen. More memories crowded in. His mother’s face, streaked with tears as she’d explained, the words tumbling out as though she had stored them up for years. She’d desperately needed money—her younger brother had been dangerously ill, but with the chance of a life-saving operation in the States if they could raise the money. She’d started a charity appeal and Charles Cartwright had contacted her and made a deal: marry him, provide him with a child and leave for a new life in the States—he’d pay for the operation, the aftercare and make a generous settlement.

‘I had to do it, Jake.’ His mother had dried her eyes, gazed at him with desperate appeal in her blue eyes. ‘I had no choice.’

Irrelevant. What mattered now was this baby. Jake was a grown man now, a success—that tiny, vulnerable, abandoned Jake had survived. Thrived. Grown into an uber-successful man with an ideal lifestyle.

‘Is she OK?’ he asked.

Maria nodded. ‘She seems to be fine, an adorable bonny little bambino. I have given her a bottle and she went straight to sleep. She was left with a bag full of milk and nappies and clean clothes and a careful list of instructions about her routine. And here is the letter.’

Jake sat down at the small wooden desk and opened the envelope carefully, saw the barely legible scrawl that covered the scrap of paper inside.

Dear Jake

I know this will come as a surprise after all these years but I know I can trust you. Emily is my baby, and I love her very much, but right now I can’t keep her safe.

Martin, her dad, is coming out of prison tomorrow. Please, please, don’t let Martin anywhere near Emily.

I hope it’s OK but I have asked Isobel to come and look after Emily. I know that may be awkward but I trust you both and it will only be for a few days.

Please tell Emily I love her and I will see her soon. I have packed her milk and her teddy and some nappies.

Isobel will explain everything—but please keep Emily safe for me.

Yours sincerely

Caro Ross

Jake stared down at the letter for a long moment as memories streamed back. Caro—Isobel’s best friend.

Isobel.

Her image danced up from the cache of memories.

Isobel, with her dark brown hair and hazel eyes that seemed to shift and change colour with her mood. Isobel, his first—his only—disastrous foray into the world of ‘real relationships’. Perhaps it had been the folly of youth that had persuaded him to let his guard down, let Isobel in, to allow himself to believe emotions were a good idea.

Well, he’d been proved spectacularly wrong. Emotions had sucked—big-time—and the real relationship had been exposed as based on dust and ashes. Whoa—there was no point in a walk down memory lane, not when he knew how the path ended. With him, alone and rejected, stricken with disbelief and hurt as he’d watched Isobel walk away. Just as his mother had, exactly as his father had. Judged and damned as not good enough. Again.

Enough.

At that moment the baby stirred, gave a small whimper and then subsided back into sleep. Emily was the important person here, not Jake and his feelings—feelings that he’d long since got over. Isobel was history, someone who had been a mere fragment of his life. A blip, a mistake never to be repeated, a lesson learnt.

Jake had always known how to move on from the past—and he’d moved on from Isobel. Caro said Isobel would explain everything; ergo he needed to talk to Isobel. That would not be a problem. At all.

Isobel pushed open the door to her room that she rented as part of a flat-share with a couple of other girls.