A Baby In His In-Tray

He had to swallow before he could speak. ‘I have no siblings that I know about.’

‘Ah.’ She slumped back as if all the air had gone out of her.

‘Or...’ worse yet ‘...she could be my half-sister.’

‘But—’ she frowned and leaned towards him ‘—your father must be...’

‘Sixty-eight—old enough to be her grandfather, yes.’

* * *

Liv ran a hand across her brow in an effort to shift the tightness that gripped it like a vice. The poor man looked exhausted. Not physically exhausted the way he had when she’d opened her door to him earlier, but deep-down-in-his-soul exhausted. ‘I guess that explains the scandal you want to avoid.’

His head swung up to meet her gaze again. ‘I’ve given up trying to quash scandal where my parents are concerned.’

Given how often they appeared in the pages of the tabloids, that was probably just as well. It might also explain why Sebastian wanted to present such a squeaky-clean image himself.

She wanted to see him smile again, the way he had when Jemima had smiled at him. It was probably crazy, but... ‘I don’t believe half of what the papers say. They inflate everything.’

His lips twisted—not into a smile. ‘Where Hector and Marjorie Tyrell are concerned, you can believe pretty much everything that you read.’

She winced.

‘My parents are selfish people, Ms Gilmour, and have been all their lives. Chasing their own pleasure is more important to them than anyone’s welfare.’

Including their son’s? A weight pressed down on her chest.

‘I’ve no interest in protecting their reputations—they don’t have reputations worth protecting. However, if Hector has taken advantage of some young woman and left her feeling desperate, then she does deserve protecting. And until I can discover who she is, I mean to shield her from the spotlight.’

Liv lifted her chin. ‘Good. Good for you!’

This time he did give a smile, though it was only a small one...and tinged with disillusion. ‘In the meantime we—’ he gestured first to her and then to himself ‘—have this problem to sort out.’

‘No problem,’ she assured him. ‘You go off and find Jemima’s mother. In the meantime Jemima can stay here with me. Ms Brady is doing a fine job holding the fort at the office. I’ve been checking in with her every afternoon.’

‘No.’

No? What did he mean, no?

‘Just as you’re not comfortable letting me take the baby, I’m not comfortable leaving the baby with you.’

She couldn’t prevent air from hissing out between her teeth. ‘You didn’t seem to mind her spending the last three nights with me when it suited you. From memory, I had your undying gratitude.’

‘I believe that’s a slight embellishment.’ Just for a moment light danced in his eyes, making him look younger and less troubled. ‘But you mistake me, Ms Gilmour.’

The formality of that Ms Gilmour was starting to chafe at her, but she didn’t have an answer for it. She didn’t want him calling her Liz or Eliza. Every time he did it’d bring home, all the more acutely, the deception she was playing on him. She was finding it hard enough to maintain the charade as it was, without an additional load of guilt every time he called her by her sister’s name. At least she was Ms Gilmour.

It’s a situation of your own making.

Yes, thank you—she knew that well enough. She pulled in a breath. She only had to survive for another few days. ‘I mistake you?’

‘I don’t doubt your ability to look after Jemima, and I don’t doubt your integrity.’

Darn it all! Why did he have to make her sound mean-spirited for doubting him? ‘Then why aren’t you comfortable continuing our arrangement?’

‘Because you’re getting no sleep. It’s not fair to ask you to continue in this vein. You live in a one-bedroom flat. You haven’t a spare room to put the baby in, let alone any additional help I might be able to provide for you.’

She wished she hadn’t been so utterly shattered when she’d opened the door to him earlier. She’d sounded—and acted—like a mad woman. It was all she could do not to wince. She’d hoped he’d been too jet-lagged to remember, but...apparently not. The impression she’d made on him had evidently been indelible.

‘I have a solution if you’re willing to hear it.’

He had the most perfectly shaped mouth. She’d love to paint it and—

Stop it! She didn’t want to think about painting or Sebastian Tyrell’s mouth or anything. She didn’t want to like him!

She rose and went to check on the baby. She returned to her seat only when she had her wayward thoughts back under lock and key. ‘OK, hit me with it.’

He raised an eyebrow.

Oops, that was probably a bit informal for Liz. ‘I mean, please outline your solution, Mr Tyrell. I’m all ears.’

He stared at her with pursed lips. ‘I never imagined you’d be like this...outside of the office, I mean.’

His words had a texture and they brushed across her skin with a faint promise she didn’t dare examine. It took all her strength to stop from chafing her arms. What did he mean? Like what? Human? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to think about what I was like outside of the office.’

He frowned and opened his mouth.

‘Which is exactly as it should be,’ she added.

He snapped his mouth shut, but his frown deepened. ‘I want you to know that I’m more than happy for you to order in milk for your tea and coffee at the office.’

Oh! Liz took hers black! And he’d noticed that she’d added milk to hers earlier. She was an idiot! She tried to shrug. ‘I chop and change all the time.’ She shrugged again, overdoing it but unable to stop herself. ‘Sometimes I prefer milk, sometimes I don’t.’

His gaze narrowed in on her face. ‘Well, on the weeks you do prefer milk you’re to order it in. Are we clear on that?’

‘Crystal,’ she assured him.

Dear lord, that was sweet of him, and she felt an utter cow. She and Liz were the ones deceiving him. He had nothing to feel guilty about.

You’re not doing it to hurt him. Besides, you’re helping him.

She was helping him. And, given the events of the last few weeks, it was just as well that she was here rather than Liz. She was much better able to cope with a baby. Liz may, in fact, have gone to pieces. But that knowledge didn’t make her feel any the less guilty.

‘Well...ahem...tell me about this solution of yours.’

He set both hands on the table and leaned towards her. The scent of something rather lovely like spiced apples drifted across to her. ‘We all leave together and go to my house on Regent’s Park.’

Move in with him? Ooh, she really didn’t want to do that. Instinct told her that the more distance she kept between herself and Sebastian the better.

‘There’s ample room in the house and you can still be Jemima’s primary carer, but with the added benefit of having help near at hand.’

She bet he had an entire army of household staff. And a huge house. It was quite possible they’d hardly ever see each other.

‘And...you’ll do your best to find Jemima’s mother?’

He nodded. ‘That’s the plan. I don’t care what it takes, I will find her.’

Liv thought hard. She wasn’t sure she could deal with too many more sleepless nights. If Jemima’s mother had had to put up with that for months... With no help, no family... Liv repressed a shudder, understanding in a way she never had before how that kind of pressure could make a person snap.

But surely, after a little rest, Jemima’s mother would come forward to claim her? And she’d find them quicker and easier if they were at Sebastian’s house.

‘If you think I’m being irresponsible in any way you can still carry out your original intent and go to the police.’

‘Oh!’ She shot to her feet. ‘That wasn’t a threat. It—’

‘I know, and I understand. We have a duty to Jemima, a responsibility. You’ve been thrust into a role you didn’t ask for, but you and the baby have bonded. And now you’re understandably reluctant to abandon her to an uncertain fate. It’s admirable.’

She paced back into the living room to stare down at the sleeping baby. She was an innocent in all of this. She knelt down beside her, brushed her fingers over a tiny hand.

The hand opened and gripped one of Liv’s fingers convulsively before loosening again as she drifted back into a deep sleep. It was as if that little hand had squeezed Liv’s heart. She’d known Jemima for all of three days, and yet she’d do anything now to protect her.

She rose and spun around to find Sebastian right behind her. She took an instinctive step backwards, the scent of cinnamon and something darker like aniseed wrapping about her. With a smothered oath he seized her shoulders before she could fall over the baby carrier.

‘Careful.’ He moved her three steps away from it.

‘Sorry, I, um...didn’t realise you were standing right there.’ So close! ‘You startled me.’

The warmth of his hands burned through the thin material of her jumper, sending a drugging surge of heat coursing through her blood. He stared down at her and his pupils dilated. This close to him she could see the lighter flecks—almost silver—in the grey of his eyes.

His hands dropped abruptly back to his sides and this time it was he who took a hasty step back. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

She swiped suddenly damp palms across the seat of her jeans. ‘No problem,’ she said, before gesturing that they should return to the kitchen.

She preceded him. When she turned back, she found him staring down at the baby with such gentleness her heart turned in her chest. He reached down to pull the cover up around the baby more fully. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, little one. I’ll find your mamma for you. I promise.’

‘Yes,’ she said before she even realised she was going to say anything.

He turned to stare at her, straightened. ‘Yes?’

‘To your solution. I think it’s a good one. Just let me pack a bag.’

* * *

It took nearly half an hour in a black cab to drive from Liz’s southside suburb to Sebastian’s home—just off the outer circle of Regent’s Park. The cab stopped in front of a neoclassical terrace—all white brick and imposing columns. ‘You...you live here?’ she breathed.

Sebastian didn’t answer. He was already out of the cab, busy paying the driver and collecting up the various bags. She went to help him, but he shook his head. ‘You just take care of Jemima.’ He handed her a key and then hitched his head in the direction of the...mansion. ‘Let yourself in.’

She stared at the black front door. Just...wow! Did he own the entire building or had it been converted into apartments? She glanced down at the key. She guessed there was only one way to find out.

She unlocked the door to find a large entrance hall complete with a fancy chandelier. A grand staircase curved gracefully to the upper floors. Reception rooms ranged off on either side. So...not a converted flat, then.

She moved the baby carrier to the other hand. ‘Hello?’

‘Who are you calling for?’

Sebastian came bustling in behind her. He set her bag, two of Jemima’s bags and the portable cot that Jemima refused to sleep in down on the floor. His suitcase and several other bags still stood on the footpath.

‘I... Your staff. I didn’t want the appearance of a strange woman with a baby to make anyone nervous.’

‘I don’t have staff.’

He turned and headed back outside to collect the rest of their bags.

She could feel her eyes start from their sockets. What did he mean, he didn’t have staff?

‘Mrs Wilson comes in three days a week to clean,’ he said, when he came back in. ‘But I have no live-in staff.’ He set the remaining bags down. ‘I’m rarely in London.’ He shrugged. ‘It’d be indulgent, unnecessarily extravagant.’

And she was quickly coming to realise that he was neither of those things. Unfortunately that only made her like him all the more.

‘You seem surprised.’

She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘So when you said I’d have help with the baby...?’

His face cleared. ‘I meant me—that I’d help you. We can take it in shifts.’

A vision of spending the late hours of the night with him rose up through her mind with disconcerting clarity. Ooh, no...that couldn’t happen and—

‘That is OK, isn’t it?’

But in the next instant she remembered the Jekyll and Hyde act Jemima pulled as soon as the sun went down and the image dissolved. There’d be no opportunity for any...funny business. Which was just as well, she told herself in her sternest voice.

‘Ms Gilmour?’

She shook herself. ‘Yes, of course that’s OK. I just feel a bit of an idiot now for expecting staff.’

He hefted bags into his hands. ‘My parents would tell you I’m the idiot.’

‘They’d fill the place with an army of staff, I take it?’

‘They would.’

She grabbed the nappy bag and followed him towards the staircase. ‘You know what? I don’t think I’d like your parents very much.’

‘You’d be one of the few. They’re widely considered...eccentric but charming’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, the likelihood of me meeting your parents, Seb—’

She froze at her slip.

He stilled.

Everything inside of her crunched up tight. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was awfully unprofessional of me. Blame sleep deprivation. I promise it won’t happen again, Mr Tyrell.’

He set his bags on the floor. He took the nappy bag and baby carrier from her and put both down—gently—as well. He turned her to face him, before planting his hands on his hips. Her mouth dried as she took in the long line of his legs—their latent power barely disguised by his business trousers—those lean hips tapering up to intriguingly broad shoulders.

‘I think this is an issue we ought to clear up right now.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘WE NEED TO sort this out,’ Sebastian repeated.

‘Sort what?’ she squeaked.

She stared at him with wide eyes as if afraid he was going to give her a right royal rollicking. Damn it all to hell! What kind of grump was he to have her looking at him like that?

‘I didn’t say you were a grump!’

It was only then he realised he’d said the words out loud. ‘You’re staring at me as if you think I’m going to haul you across the coals.’

‘Sorry, I—’

She broke off to press the heels of her hands to her eyes. He dragged a hand back through his hair and fought the urge to draw her into the circle of his arms and press her head to his shoulder where she could rest. She must be dead-on-her-feet tired. He’d got a good, solid seven hours’ sleep, but not her. ‘I’m not upset that you started to call me by my first name.’

She pulled her hands away, her eyes wary. ‘You’re not?’

‘No.’ He’d liked the sound of his name on her lips.

She pressed her hands tightly together in front of her and stared down at them. ‘Nevertheless, I think it’s important to maintain professional boundaries.’

His chest clenched tight. When had he become so self-absorbed? For the last two years he’d sought refuge in an impersonal distance in both his professional and personal life. He thought his coolness had created a corresponding coolness in all those around him, but it was obvious that, like him, Ms Gilmour sought detachment.

And he had no right to intrude further into her life than he already had, to ask anything more of her beyond the employer-employee relationship. Except...

Baby Jemima demanded more from both of them and it appeared they were both more than willing to unstintingly give the baby whatever she needed.

He just had to make sure that whatever price was paid, it wasn’t too high for the woman standing in front of him.

‘Several years ago I made the very grave mistake of mixing business with pleasure.’ She stared at her hands as if they held the key to the universe. ‘I don’t mean to ever make that same mistake again.’

He pondered her words. From memory she was twenty-five. Several years ago she’d have been very young. She’d called it a grave mistake. His hands clenched into fists. Someone had taken advantage of her innocence and had hurt her badly. If he ever got hold of the man who’d done that he’d—

‘Look, I’m not saying that’s what I think is going to happen in our situation.’

She stared at his fists, her eyes going wide and worried. He unclenched his hands immediately. ‘Of course not. I never thought for a moment that’s what you were suggesting. I was just thinking of what I’d like to do to the man who hurt you.’

‘Oh.’

She shot him a smile—so sweet and lovely, it melted through him like treacle melting into the honeycomb of a hot crumpet, softening all of the stony places inside of him.

It took all of his concentration to keep his breathing even. He had to be careful around this woman. Once you opened yourself up to a baby, other walls were in danger of coming down. He had to keep them standing firm—for all their sakes. He was better than his parents, and he had no intention of blurring the line between business and pleasure himself.

‘I think we can both agree,’ he started carefully, ‘that this current surprising situation that we find ourselves in is not exactly a professional one.’

‘No, not precisely professional,’ she agreed.

Her eyes remained trained on him, waiting.

‘But this,’ he gestured to the baby, ‘is only a temporary interruption from our usual professional routine. When we get Jemima’s situation resolved things will go back to how they were.’

She pursed her lips and then pointed to herself. ‘Ms Gilmour.’ And then pointed to him. ‘Mr Tyrell.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But in the meantime you’re suggesting...?’

‘That perhaps, while we’re not in the office, we can unbend enough to call each other by our first names.’

Her nose wrinkled.

Someone had really done a number on her, hadn’t they?

But as he continued to survey her, it occurred to him that it wasn’t him she didn’t trust, it was herself. Something primal tried to claw its way to the fore—something that wanted to force the issue, force her to see him as a man rather than her boss, force her to take a risk.

He stiffened and beat it back down. He and his office manager were not going to dance that particular dance, regardless of how attractive or surprisingly intriguing he found her.

He was not opening himself up to betrayal again. Ever.

He’d keep his focus professional and his libido under wraps. He’d learned an important lesson with Rhoda, and it was one he had no intention of ever forgetting. He fought a sudden exhaustion. He didn’t have the heart—the energy—to venture down that path again. The part of him that had once welcomed the idea of love and family had been destroyed.

His office manager might be the complete opposite to Rhoda. But if she wasn’t she’d be no good for him. If she were, he’d be no good for her. Either way someone would get hurt. He shook his head. Not going to happen.

Her need for distance and reserve should comfort him, but the thought of calling her Ms Gilmour in these circumstances rankled. ‘You’re not my office manager in this situation, you’re...’

He watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed. ‘I’m...?’

‘Jemima’s advocate, her friend...her Auntie Liz.’

She frowned and crossed her arms. ‘You are not calling me Auntie Liz.’

She looked so suddenly schoolmarmish he had to choke back a laugh. ‘How about I just call you Eliza?’

She huffed out a long breath, her lips pursed. She glanced away, finally giving a shrug before meeting his gaze once again, her expression strangely resigned. ‘Fine. And I’ll call you Seb.’

No one had ever shortened his name—not even at school. He liked it. At least...he liked it coming from her lips.

His collar tightened about his throat and he had to resist the urge to run his finger beneath it. He couldn’t let this become too cosy. First names didn’t mean they had to become too familiar with each other. It wouldn’t do. He and Eliza were not going to cross any other boundaries.

She pointed a finger at him. ‘But this is only temporary. When we’re back in our respective offices we’re reverting to Mr Tyrell and Ms Gilmour...and all of this will feel as if it happened to somebody else.’

‘Absolutely.’ This was only a momentary loosening of clearly defined roles that would be assumed again as soon as this adventure was over. But would it be as easy to slip back into their old roles of Ms Gilmour and Mr Tyrell—boss and secretary—as they hoped it would be?

He shoved his shoulders back. He had to make sure it was. End of story.

* * *

‘You did this for three nights on your own?’ Sebastian looked at his office manager with a new-found respect. Before tonight he hadn’t known that a baby’s crying could grind you down to your soul so quickly. He hadn’t known that once it started it refused to release you.

He hadn’t known it could be so relentless!

‘Don’t look at me as if I’m some kind of hero.’ She didn’t even look up from rocking the baby. ‘It was a case of needs must and nothing more.’

From ten o’clock last night through to now—almost two-thirty in the morning—Jemima had slept in odd twenty-to thirty-minute increments, only to wake again screaming. It seemed he couldn’t do any damn thing right, at least not according to Jemima. He’d bounced, dandled, crooned, rocked, played teddy bears and choo-choo trains. He’d changed her and tried giving her a bottle—none of it had worked. She’d continue to cry through all his efforts, making him feel like a low-down loser. The only thing that made her stop crying was being in her new acting nanny’s arms.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t give me a harder time when I rocked up on your doorstep yesterday.’

She turned that amber gaze on him and raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought I did give you a hard time.’

That made him laugh. She was a rank amateur compared to his parents. Compared to Rhoda.

All mirth fled at that thought.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t shove her at me and push us both out of the door.’

‘Do you hear what the big, bad man is saying?’ she crooned down at Jemima. He wondered where she found the energy for that smile. ‘As if I’d do that.’

The baby stared up at her intently, working noisily on her dummy.

‘You know, Seb, you ought to go to bed. There’s no point in the both of us losing a good night’s sleep.’

Not a chance. He wasn’t leaving her to deal with this on her own again. Woman and child were ensconced on the sofa in the baby’s room. He sat on the floor, resting back against it. He was hoping Eliza and the baby would drop off to sleep and then he’d watch over them—make sure the baby didn’t roll off her lap or anything like that. At least then he’d feel as if he was pulling his weight.

He rubbed his nape. ‘Do you think she’s teething?’

‘Babies don’t usually start teething until they’re six months. Her cheeks aren’t pink and she’s not rubbing at her mouth or pulling on her ears.’

‘Then why...?’ If he could find out what it was that was making Jemima cry, he’d set about fixing it. ‘Should I call a doctor?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s anything physical—especially when she’s so cheerful during the day. I mean, she’s not hungry. Her nappy doesn’t need changing. She doesn’t have a temperature. And she stops crying whenever I pick her up.’

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