The Brabanti Baby

Of course she’d noticed! What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have, when confronted by such a splendid male specimen? His blue jeans clung to his long legs and molded themselves to his hips like a jealous lover. His shirt, unbuttoned halfway to his waist, ebbed and flowed over the breadth of his chest, allowing tantalizing glimpses of bronze skin and a smattering of dark hair.

With cavalier disregard, he set the infant seat in the middle of an elaborate gilt occasional table, and it was all Eve could do not to utter a protest. “How do I unfasten these restraints?”

“There’s a release button here.” She hurried forward, unsnapped the buckles holding the safety belts in place, then lifted Nicola out of the seat before it did irreparable damage to the table’s delicate surface, and handed her to her father.

He held her with his elbows pressed to his sides, his forearms extended, his hands too inexperienced to know how to scoop up so tiny a burden, and he too unaware to know she’d feel more secure cuddled up against his chest. Instead he stared down at her, the doubtful look on his face speaking volumes. Picking up on his uncertainty, Nicola stretched and let out an annoyed squawk.

He froze. “Per carita! She wriggles like an eel!”

“Hold her upright,” Eve suggested. “You’ll both feel safer that way.”

“Like so?” Tentatively he hoisted Nicola so that she rested solidly against his chest, with her head on his shoulder. As if she sensed she’d come home, she turned and burrowed her face against the smooth, tanned skin of his neck, her mouth seeking.

Unexpectedly moved by the sight of the baby, so pink and delicate, nestled trustingly against the man, so dark and strong, Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Exactly like that.”

He made a face. “Why is she’s slobbering on me?”

“Because she’s hungry.” She nodded to where she’d left the diaper bag in the hall. “I’ve got a bottle of formula out there. If you’ll tell me where the kitchen is, I’ll go warm it up, then feed her.”

He indicated a velvet rope hanging beside the fireplace. “Ring for my housekeeper. She’ll heat the bottle. And I,” he said flatly, “will feed my daughter. You’ve done your part by bringing her to me, signorina. I’ll take over now.”

She hadn’t been so summarily dismissed since her student nurse days when she’d accidentally stepped on the hospital chief of staff’s toe. “Fine,” she said, smarting at his high-handed tone, and yanked the bell pull with rather more force than was warranted. “Then you can change her diaper as well. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s leaking all over your shirt. In fact, give her a bath while you’re at it. She could use one, after spending most of the day either in airports or on a jet.”

His horrified expression would have been comical if Eve had been in any mood to laugh. But all she could think of was Marcia’s warning. Establish your rights from the start…because given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive…!

“Perhaps,” he murmured grudgingly, “I’ll allow you take care of her needs this one time, after all.”

Allow? Oh, the man had gall to spare! “You’ll allow me to look after my own niece? How big of you!”

For a second too long, they glared at one another, and in that time a turbulent sense of recognition swarmed through the air; a sense that beneath the surface of resentment and rivalry, something much less antagonistic and much more disturbingly erotic, was struggling to emerge.

Even he felt it. “Forgive me, signorina,” he said, almost pushing Nicola at her, then backing out of range of that sudden, strange, high-voltage jolt of electricity. “I didn’t intend to come across as quite so overbearing. Please attend to my daughter’s needs as you see fit. There’ll be time enough in the coming weeks for me to become better acquainted with her.”

“As you wish,” Eve said, feeling oddly disoriented herself. Just as well a pleasant-faced, motherly woman appeared in the doorway and took charge.

Appearing equally relieved by her arrival, Gabriel said, “This is Beryl, my housekeeper. Beryl, my daughter’s mother won’t be staying with us, after all. Instead Signorina Caldwell is taking her place.”

If the housekeeper was surprised by the change in guest arrangements, she was too well-schooled to let it show. “Si, signor.”

He glanced again at Nicola who’d begun to howl in earnest. Raising his voice over the din, he asked, “How long do you expect it will take to settle her for the night, Signorina Caldwell?”

“An hour, at least.”

Eyeing the large gilt pendulum clock on the wall, he said, “Then we’ll sit down to dinner at nine-thirty.”

“I’d prefer to have a snack in my room.”

“Don’t push your luck, signorina! I’ve made enough concessions for one night.”

“And I’ve been traveling for the better part of two days.”

For a moment, from the way his mouth tightened, she thought they were in for another confrontation. Then, on a long, controlled exhalation, he said, “Indeed you have. How remiss of me to have overlooked that fact. Beryl, show Signorina Caldwell to the suite you’ve prepared, will you, and make sure she has everything she needs?”

“Certainly, signor. And shall I order a light supper while I’m at it?”

“I’ll speak to Fabroni on your behalf.” He glanced again with some alarm at his daughter. “It would seem you’re going to have your hands full, dealing with…that.”

“All right, then.” She smiled at Eve. “Come with me, signorina, and let’s get the little one looked after.”

He watched her follow Beryl out of the room, his brow knit in thought. That his ex-wife was up to something he had no doubt. Unless there was some pressing reason to do so, no normal mother entrusted a young baby to the care of someone else, on a journey taking her halfway around the world, no matter how impeccably trustworthy and capable that person might be.

The question was, what part did the cousin play in all this? Was she merely a pawn in Marcia’s latest scheme, or did her big, innocent gray eyes and softly curved mouth serve to disguise yet another devious mind?

He smiled grimly. The day had yet to dawn that Marcia succeeded in manipulating him, and this time was no exception. One way or another, he’d ferret out her true motives, and if either woman thought they’d use a helpless infant to further their own ends, they were in for a very rude awakening.

CHAPTER TWO

BERYL led the way up the marble staircase and along a wide hall to a set of double doors at the end. “Here we are, signorina. You’re in the tower suite. It’s got one of the best views in the whole house, and is very comfortable. Signor Brabanti’s given me a free hand setting up the nursery, and I believe you’ll find all the supplies you’re likely to need, but it’s been a long time since I’ve shopped for a baby. I’d no idea the things you can buy for them, these days.” She flung open the doors and stood back. “After you, love.”

Stepping over the threshold, Eve found herself in a sitting room furnished in restful shades of aquamarine and cream. Speechless, she gazed around, Marcia’s prediction that Gabriel Brabanti spared no expense in making his guests comfortable coming home to roost with a vengeance. The room was beautifully appointed, and large enough that her entire Chicago apartment could have fit in it, with space to spare.

“This is your private soggiorno,” Beryl informed her, misinterpreting her stunned silence. “What you’d call a sitting room.”

“So I see.” Eve blinked, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“A bit taken aback, are you?”

“More than a bit! This is all quite…palatial.”

“Why don’t I take the baby for a minute, while you have a look around?”

“Yes. All right.”

Beryl cradled Nicola in the crook of her arm. “The bedroom’s down the hall, through that door over there, with a bathroom between it and the nursery, and a little kitchenette beyond that. Let me know if there’s something I’ve overlooked that you’d like to have.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten a thing.” Still bemused, Eve wandered about the sitting room, noting the elaborate wall and ceiling moldings, and richly carved door panels. An eighteenth-century ladies’ writing desk and bustle chair stood next to a glass and wrought-iron door opening onto a balcony. Beautifully framed antique prints, flanked by Venetian crystal sconces, hung on the wall between two tall oriel windows.

But there were modern touches, too: a telephone on the desk; a brass floor lamp for reading; fresh flowers in a Lalique vase on the low table before the sofa; a stack of paperback novels on a bookshelf next to the small marble fireplace; a remote control for the television set and stereo system housed in a rosewood cabinet.

The bedroom was no less impressive, a vast area of cool oyster-white walls, the same ornate oriel windows as the living room, a carved armoire that surely belonged in a museum, and a similarly carved bed standing so high from the floor that she’d have to climb on the matching footstool beside it to reach the mattress.

But if the chief ambience conveyed by these two rooms was that of an earlier era, the marble bathroom was pure twenty-first century. A steam shower filled one corner. The deep, jetted tub could have accommodated a pair of sumo wrestlers with ease. Even the toilet and bidet went beyond the merely functional in their sleekly elegant lines. As for the gold faucets, thick, velvety towels and profusion of bath oils, powders and lotions…well, they might not have merited notice from European royalty, but they were all a bit overwhelming for a plain little nurse from Chicago.

“There’s a portable baby bath in that corner cupboard. It’ll fit right next to the wash basin and make it a bit easier on your back when you’re bathing the baby,” Beryl said, coming to stand in the doorway. “You’d need arms a mile long to lean over that contraption of a tub. A body could drown in it, it’s that deep!”

“You’re right.” Eve laughed and looked at her through the mirror above the long vanity. “Beryl, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Anything you like, as long as it’s not how much I weigh,” the housekeeper said cheerfully.

“It’s just that, although you obviously speak Italian fluently, you don’t sound Italian.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m originally from Manchester, in England.”

“How did you end up in Malta?”

“My husband brought me here for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and we both fell in love with the island. He died not long after, and there was nothing left in England for me after that, so I brought his ashes back to the place that held so many happy memories for us, and made a new life for myself. That was eleven years ago, and I haven’t regretted it for a second.”

“It sounds as if your marriage was a true love match.”

“Oh, it was! Nothing like that terrible business with the signor’s. That wife of his…well, excuse me for saying so, Miss Caldwell, seeing that she’s your cousin and all, but there was no pleasing her.”

“Marcia can be difficult.”

The way Beryl’s lips clamped together suggested she could have come up with a more choice description, but she made do with a curt, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. The real pity, though, is that there had to be a baby thrown into the mess.” Her voice softened. “Not that this little mite isn’t lovely, because she is. A real little beauty, in fact—but a bit small for four months, if you ask me. Do you think she’s getting enough to eat?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve known her only a couple of days, myself, and most of that time, we’ve been on the move, so I don’t have much of a handle on her eating schedule yet. Compared to some of the babies I see every day, though, she’s the picture of health.”

“And she deserves better than to be caught in a tug-of-war between her parents.”

It was on the tip of Eve’s tongue to point out that Gabriel Brabanti’s limited interest in Nicola hardly left her in much danger of that, but to what end? Beryl’s loyalty quite rightly lay with her employer. And much though her cousin tested her patience, Eve’s lay with Marcia.

“Well, right now, she deserves to be cleaned up and fed. Do you mind going down to the kitchen to heat her bottle while I give her a quick bath?”

“No need for that, love. There’s a bottle warmer and a bar refrigerator in the kitchenette. I didn’t want you having to go up and down stairs every time she’s hungry. Here, you take her, and I’ll get the bath ready, then see to the bottle while you sponge her down. Not that I plan to be interfering every other minute, you understand, but you must be a bit worn out yourself after coming all this way. I imagine you could use some help settling in.”

In fact, fatigue had begun to take a ferocious toll. Eve’s neck and shoulders ached as if she’d just put in a twenty-four hour shift at the clinic. “You really are a gem, Beryl,” she said, grateful not just for the housekeeper’s thoughtfulness but also for her approachability. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

“My pleasure, Miss Caldwell. By the way, there’s a bell next to the fireplace in your sitting room, and another in the nursery. Anything you’d like, night or day, just ring, and someone’ll be up to see to it for you.”

“Right now, only two things come to mind. First, would you mind bringing me the diaper bag from the sitting room? It’ll save me having to go through Nicola’s suitcase to find a clean sleeper. And second, won’t you please call me Eve?”

“I’m not sure the signor would approve,” Beryl said, filling the plastic infant bath half-full of warm water, and laying out towels next to a basket containing baby lotion, cotton swabs, soap and a sponge, before retrieving the diaper bag. “His ex-wife was always Signora Brabanti to the staff, even though she was American like you, and not given to being quite as formal as he is.”

“This isn’t Signor Brabanti’s call. I’m not his wife.”

“No, more’s the pity! You’ve got your head screwed on straight, which is a lot more than could be said of her.” She heaved a sigh and checked her watch. “Well, I’ve probably said more than I should, so as soon as I’ve finished here, I’d best be getting back downstairs. It’s nearly nine o’clock now. When would you like to have your meal sent up?”

“Why don’t we say ten? Nicola should be down for the night by then, and with any luck I’ll even have time for a shower.”

She did, but barely, and had only just finished drying her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Tying the strings holding closed her light robe, she went to answer, expecting to find Beryl or another member of the house staff outside.

Instead Gabriel stood there, a guarded smile on his face, a loaded tray in his hands. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her more: that he was there to begin with, or that he was smiling. There was nothing particularly friendly in that smile. If anything, it hinted of danger and sent a burst of goose bumps spattering over her skin.

He, too, had showered, and changed into slim-fitting black trousers and a white silk shirt open at the throat. His thick black hair, still slightly damp, curled at his nape. The polished bronze of his skin made his teeth gleam all the whiter.

…Be careful…he’s a shark…!

Oh, yes, a very apt description indeed, Marcia! Eve thought, feeling as if she were being pulled into the blue depths of his eyes and stripped of her soul. And a hungry shark, to boot!

Oblivious to his effect on her, he strode into the room and deposited the tray on the coffee table. “I don’t know about you, signorina,” he announced, whipping off the starched linen cloth covering the food, “but I’m starving. We have insalata with freshwater crayfish, warm rolls and butter, ripe figs, grapes, a little cheese, some almond tarts…. “ He seized the neck of the bottle poking out of a silver ice bucket. “And a very fine white wine.”

Giving herself a mental shake, she followed him and eyed the arrangement of crystal, china and sterling grouped around the platters and bowls of food. “Why are there two of everything?”

“Scusi?” He made a pathetic attempt at innocence.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. There are two sets of cutlery, two wine glasses, two—”

He raised his elegant black brows. “You do not drink wine?”

“Yes, I drink wine,” she said testily.

“Buono! Then we have something in common besides an interest in the welfare of my daughter.” He half-filled both glasses with the pale gold liquid and passed one to her. “How is she, by the way? Did you have trouble getting her to sleep?”

“No. She was exhausted.” She paused long enough to impale him in an indignant glare. “As am I.”

“That doesn’t come as any surprise. You’ve covered many miles in the last couple of days.”

“Exactly. So you’ll understand, I’m sure, when I tell you I’m not up for receiving a guest.”

“I’m not a guest, signorina. I’m your host.”

She drew in a frustrated breath. “I’m well aware of that. But I’m not dressed—”

He dismissed her objection with a careless flick of his hand. “What you’re wearing is of no consequence.”

Not to him, perhaps, but the knowledge that the thin cotton fabric of her robe and nightgown were more revealing than she cared for, left her feeling at a decided disadvantage. “Then what is? I presume you’re here for more than the pleasure of my company?”

“We must talk.”

“Now?” She glanced pointedly at the carriage clock on the desk. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I really am very tired.”

“But you did ask to be served a snack, did you not?”

“You know very well that I did.” She indicated the lavish spread. “Although I wouldn’t rate this a ‘snack’ exactly.”

“Nevertheless, now that it’s here, you do plan to eat it?”

“Of course! I’d hardly have put your kitchen staff to the trouble of preparing it, otherwise.”

“Then since I also have yet to eat, doesn’t it make good sense that we do so together, and learn a little more about one another at the same time?”

He wasn’t going to back down. That wasn’t his style. Rather, he dealt in silent intimidation cloaked in verbal reason, somehow moving in on a person so thoroughly that he stole the air she breathed. Overwhelming her with his size—a big, strong man, both physically and mentally, and well aware that, on his turf, his was the last word.

Eve was a guest in his house by default, an understudy for his daughter’s mother. As such, she had few rights. And even if that weren’t the case, just then she was too worn down to fight him. “Whatever!” she muttered, parking herself in a corner of the sofa, and attempting to tug her robe down far enough to cover her knees.

But he didn’t care that she was behaving less than graciously; he only cared about winning. “That’s better,” he said, taking a seat next to her, and touched the rim of his glass lightly against hers, causing the crystal to chime like tiny bells. “Welcome to Malta, Signorina Caldwell. May your visit prove pleasant for everyone involved.”

“If bulldozing your way into your guests’ private quarters against their wishes is your idea of being a good host, I can’t imagine either of us finding it pleasant.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders and plunged a serving spoon into the crayfish salad. “Time will tell. May I help you to some of this?”

“No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

“As you wish, signorina.”

“There’s one other thing I wish,” she said irritably. “I wish you’d stop with these annoying ‘signorinas’ every other breath. Since I have no intention of spending the next several weeks standing on ceremony, and plan to call you Gabriel, you might as well get used to calling me Eve.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll call you Gabriel regardless—to your face, at least. What I call you behind your back rather depends on how well we do, or don’t, get along.”

Surprisingly he laughed at that, and the change it brought to his face was quite startling. Warmth invaded his cool blue eyes and left flames of amusement dancing there. His mouth softened in a beguiling curve to reveal his white, perfect teeth. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to become more beautiful, but he put paid to that supposition in devastating fashion. If his scowl put thunder heads to shame, his laughter outdazzled the sun.

No wonder Marcia had been smitten enough to marry him, even if the magic had been short-lived. Looks aside, he possessed a subtle, seductive charm which, should he choose to exercise it, could wreak irreparable damage on a woman’s heart.

Shaken by the realization, and disturbingly aware of how close to her he sat, Eve concentrated on the food, helping herself to a small serving of the crayfish salad and a sliver of cheese.

Eyeing the size of the portions on her plate, he said, “There’s not enough there to keep a sparrow alive. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women so obsessed with her weight that she counts every calorie she puts in her mouth.”

“I won’t, if you’ll tell me you’re not one of those men who thinks it’s his God-given right to dish out unsolicited advice every time he opens his mouth!”

Smothering another burst of laughter, he allowed his gaze to tour her face with the refined appreciation of a connoisseur. “No. But I am a man who admires a woman with spirit,” he purred, the words caressing her as intimately as a kiss.

If he’d leaned over and touched his mouth to hers, she couldn’t have responded more shockingly. Her pulse leaped, her throat constricted until she could barely swallow, and her mouth ran dry. More dismaying still, a piercing quiver of sensation shot from her heart to the pit of her stomach.

To pretend such a response was anything other than purely sexual made no more sense than pretending the sun didn’t rise every morning. Furious by her body’s betrayal, she said, “Then why didn’t you stay married to my cousin? She’s got more spirit than any other ten women combined.”

“I beg to differ. Beneath that very shallow air of mature sophistication she projects so well when it suits her to do so, Marcia is little more than a charming but spoiled, and very manipulative child. Sadly, the spoiled too soon overcomes the charming, and one is left to deal with the child and her machinations.”

That he was as astute as he was handsome didn’t come as any great surprise. But it did serve to remind Eve that she’d be a fool to underestimate him. “It takes two to make or break a marriage, surely?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I certainly don’t pretend to be blameless in the failure of mine. I freely admit I grew tired of being cast in the role of guardian to a supposedly grown woman, and utterly bored by her attempts to bamboozle me with her little schemes. I never should have married her in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

“Because even I sometimes give in to moments of madness. Marcia arrived on Valletta’s social scene and took it by storm. For a while, I was as captivated as everyone else by her foreign ways. I should have known they’d eventually become obstacles neither of us was able to overcome. How is your salad?”

“Excellent, thank you. What do you mean by her foreign ways?”

“Our different tastes made it impossible to find a common ground.”

“Which is your polite way of saying she wasn’t refined enough for you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, signorina. I meant nothing of the kind, merely that she could not, or would not, recognize that things are done differently here. Malta is a culturally mixed bag, regarded by many as the place where east meets west. Initially Marcia claimed to be fascinated by this aspect of our society, but she soon tired of it and complained we weren’t Americanized enough.”

“Perhaps because she was homesick.”

“Quite possibly. And if so, it was undoubtedly made worse by the fact that her infatuation for me died as quickly as her infatuation with everything else Maltese.” He topped up their wineglasses. “You look somewhat dismayed. Have I offended you?”