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A Baby In His In-Tray
Michelle Douglas
Taking care of baby…With the boss!When her identical twin sister begs her to take her place for a week, working for business hotshot Lord Sebastian Tyrell, Liv Gilmour can’t say no—after all, the boss will be away! Until someone abandons a baby in his office, with a note demanding that Sebastian take care of it! Sebastian’s swift return sees her suddenly up close and personal with the sexy boss…and a baby who needs them both!


Taking care of baby
With the boss!
When Liv Gilmour’s identical twin sister begs her to take her place for a week to work for business hotshot Lord Sebastian Tyrrell, she can’t say no—after all, the boss will be away. Until someone abandons a baby with a note demanding Sebastian take care of it. Suddenly Sebastian’s swift return sees Liv up close and personal with the sexy boss...and a baby who needs them both!
MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007, and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books and an eclectic collection of sixties and seventies vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website: michelle-douglas.com (http://michelle-douglas.com).
Also by Michelle Douglas
Snowbound Surprise for the BillionaireThe Millionaire and the MaidReunited by a Baby SecretA Deal to Mend Their MarriageAn Unlikely Bride for the BillionaireThe Spanish Tycoon’s TakeoverSarah and the Secret Sheikh
The Wild Ones miniseries
Her Irresistible ProtectorThe Rebel and the Heiress
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Baby in His In-Tray
Michelle Douglas


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07738-5
A BABY IN HIS IN-TRAY
© 2018 Michelle Douglas
Published in Great Britain 2018
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.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Beth,
whose quirky and offbeat sense of humour
always makes me laugh.
Contents
Cover (#u320fd28a-17de-50f7-8df3-2f559e5d0b51)
Back Cover Text (#u497a309d-9331-572f-b10a-5362d1f02134)
About the Author (#u4bb59f73-b8b6-5ced-88c6-571672356993)
Booklist (#ulink_d918e73b-4572-5c0e-9972-c3194bccbf32)
Title Page (#uff90be95-1d6d-5024-b5de-6053028b0803)
Copyright (#u155a8312-e3f2-5bc7-a457-1653d3835a01)
Dedication (#u51f14ae8-5070-5206-91ef-2b95eafc698c)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud95aacc4-ca76-5cca-835b-f5a1701fdecf)
CHAPTER TWO (#ufa7182e2-4f07-507a-94d3-6c57551b2ae7)
CHAPTER THREE (#u07dd4c62-3763-5f26-a998-5a56f2d07455)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1ac87340-4e44-5939-bc73-1f3e66461c83)
‘WHAT I’M SAYING, Liz, is that someone has left a baby on your—my—’ she amended, aware that Liz had already corrected her twice so far this phone call ‘—desk!’
‘A baby?’ Liz parroted for the third time, and Olivia Grace Gilmour closed her eyes and dragged in a breath—a long, deep, calming breath. In through her nose and out through her mouth. No matter how much she might want to, she couldn’t take her twin to task for her incredulity. She could hardly believe it herself.
Except seeing was believing.
She peered once more into the baby carrier at the sleeping infant.
‘Livvy, I...’
Liv waited but nothing else was forthcoming, and her heart rate kicked up another notch.
‘Where’s Judith?’
Judith was Liz’s assistant. ‘She called in sick.’
‘Good.’
‘Good?’ She tried to keep the shrill note out of her voice. A partner in confusion and concern would be welcome at the moment. But Liz was right. It was just as well Judith wasn’t here to witness her panic. Liv didn’t want to give the game away. She swallowed and tried to modulate her voice. ‘There was a letter addressed to your boss tucked into the side of the baby carrier.’
‘Your boss,’ Liz corrected. If a voice could sound green, hers sounded green.
‘My boss,’ Liv managed through gritted teeth.
Never had agreeing to stand in for her twin at her day job seemed a crazier move than it did right at this very moment. But it was only for a week and Sebastian Tyrell—Liz’s boss—was away. Not that he sallied forth all that often from his estate in Lincolnshire, from where he apparently oversaw operations. But with him being away it meant she shouldn’t even need to speak to him on the phone. This week should’ve been non-eventful, mission possible, a walk in the park. Liz had promised her it’d be a piece of cake.
Except now there was a baby.
Somewhere in the back of her mind maniacal laughter sounded.
She stared into the carrier at the cherubically sleeping baby—the teensy-tiny baby. ‘Heavens, Liz, it’s little. She can’t be more than four or five months old.’
‘Oh, God.’ If possible, Liz’s voice turned greener. Liv grimaced. Her twin had never been good with babies. And now—
‘Have you read the letter?’
Liv swung away from the baby, seized the letter and paced to the window overlooking a busy inner-London street, a sliver of the Thames in the distance, glinting silver in the afternoon light.
‘Of course I’ve read the letter!’ It was why she’d rung. It gave no clue whatsoever to the baby’s identity. And she had no idea what to do. ‘It says “Sebastian”—not Dear, not Seb, but “Sebastian—I can’t do this any more. It’s not fair. You owe me. Do not let baby Jemima down!”’ She glared at the inoffensive-looking piece of paper. ‘“Not” is underlined three times. It ends in an exclamation mark.’ She pulled in another long breath. ‘It’s not signed.’
‘Not signed?’ Liz’s voice rose. ‘Dear God, Livvy, I’m stuck in Turkey in the middle of a plane strike. It’ll take me days to get home and—’
‘Relax, Liz!’ The words shot out of her with more confidence than she’d dreamed possible, but she recognised the panic in her twin’s voice and needed to allay it. Liz was pregnant and she needed to stay calm. ‘I’m not asking you to come home. You need to stick to your plan.’
What Liz didn’t need was additional stress. Dear God, her sister had enough on her plate at the moment. Liv mentally kicked herself for troubling Liz with this except...except she’d panicked herself. ‘Look, seriously, I can take care of everything at this end. I was just keeping you apprised of developments like I promised I would.’ She dragged a hand back through her hair. ‘And I thought you might have some idea where this baby had come from.’
‘I haven’t the foggiest. I can’t think of a single baby he has in his life.’
‘Well...obviously somewhere along the line he became a father.’
A strangled noise on the other end of the phone was Liz’s only reply.
She swallowed. Did Liz’s boss even know he had a child?
‘Oh, what a mess! But Livvy, I can’t shed any light on this at all. I wasn’t joking when I said the most personal thing Mr Tyrell and I have ever shared was our mutual concern over an accountant I’d hired. I mean, I hardly ever see him, the only thing we ever discuss is work...and that as briefly as possible as a rule. He’s not a chatty man.’
‘Seriously? Nothing personal? Ever?’ She still couldn’t get her head around that.
Liz was silent for a moment. ‘When I returned from my holiday he asked me if I had a nice time. I said yes. That was the extent of the discussion.’
The holiday where Liz had become pregnant to her hot mystery man?
‘No passing comments about politics and the state of the nation, or a book you’ve been reading, or a movie you’ve seen?’ she persisted.
‘No! We have a weekly phone call—the Tyrell Foundation is his baby and it’s obviously close to his heart—but that’s it. He’s busy doing whatever it is lords running their estates are busy doing. It’s the reason I was so convinced we could pull this switch off.’
They’d thought it so unlikely that Liv would even need to speak to him that they’d practically considered it a fait accompli. But now... She swallowed and nodded. She could do it. She could pull it off. After all, she’d had no trouble convincing Judith that she was Liz.
Still...deceiving the sixty-two-year-old Judith who did a solid job at maintaining the foundation’s database but who was more interested in sneaking in a surreptitious game of Solitaire than gossiping with Liv was one thing. Deceiving a businessman in his prime was a different matter altogether.
‘Livvy?’
‘This new development might mean me and your Mr Tyrell have to come face-to-face.’
‘Will you be OK with that?’
She could practically see the grimace on her twin’s face. ‘Yes.’ She gave a silent scream and then stuck out her chin. ‘But I’m not changing my hair.’
Finally Liz laughed. ‘We already agreed I’d have to lop a few inches off mine before I came home. And in the unlikely event he even sees it, let alone mentions it, I’ll tell him I’ve gone back to being blonde.’
For a moment she could almost picture her twin waving an unconcerned hand through the air, treating the issue of hair as a matter of little importance. Liv couldn’t help smiling. She loved her hair. ‘Right. We’ll call that Plan A, then.’
‘What are you going to do now, though? About the baby?’
She suspected what she should do was call the police, but...
‘Please don’t lose me my job, Livvy.’
But there was that—it was what she was here for. Everything else in Liz’s life was up in the air and she was clinging to the security of her job like a lifeline. Liv couldn’t jeopardise that.
And if Mr Tyrell did happen to be the father of this baby...well, it wouldn’t be fair to call the authorities until after she’d spoken with him.
‘I’m going to ring your—my—boss and ask him what he wants to do about the situation. I’ll do my best to sound cool and efficient—’ like her twin ‘—but if I sound a tiny bit flustered I think, given the circumstances, that’ll be understandable.’
‘Oh, Liv, are you sure you don’t want me to come home? I can do my best to get back asap. Given this rotten plane strike, if Mr Tyrell is out of the country it could take him days to get home too. And in the meantime you could be literally left holding the baby on your own.’
‘Which sounds like more fun than doing government grant acquittals. There’s not been a peep from the little tyke. And before you ask—yes, she’s breathing. I checked. Besides, I love babies—you know that. And thankfully they’re not actually all that much trouble at this age.
‘Except for the four-hourly feeds and the sleep deprivation.’ Liv glanced down at the baby and grinned. ‘Not much sleep deprivation happening here. Besides, Mr Tyrell is bound to know who Baby Jemima is and what I should do with her. We’ll sort it out.’
‘I’m so, so sorry, Liv. If I’d thought for a moment that anything like this would happen, I’d have never asked you to fill in for me.’
‘I know. But don’t fear—I’ll muddle on through. You just focus on sorting things out at your end. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’
Liv hung up from her twin and tucked her phone back into her handbag. She stared again at the sleeping baby and bit her lip. It was usual for babies to sleep a lot, right? She touched her fingers to the baby’s forehead, but the baby didn’t feel hot or feverish.
What on earth was the poor little mite going to think when she woke up and found her mother gone? ‘Poor little chick.’
Right.
She planted herself in her office chair and pulled the phone towards her, punching in the contact number that Sebastian Tyrell had left...along with the instruction Only to be used in the direst of emergencies.
The phone rang three times before it was answered. ‘Ms Gilmour.’
‘Yes.’
‘I trust this is an emergency?’
The cold, clipped tones told her it had better be or there’d be hell to pay. She took an immediate dislike to the man. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’
‘My parents...?’
His tone didn’t change and she disliked him even more. ‘To the best of my knowledge they’re in excellent health. This has nothing to do with your parents. It’s to do with—’
Baby Jemima chose that moment to let loose with a loud wail.
Heavens! Who knew something so small could produce a sound so fierce? She stood up to peer into the carrier—still perched on her desk where it’d been left—but the sight of Liv seemed to startle the baby further. Baby Jemima’s face turned red as she started crying in earnest.
Oh, heck!
Sebastian Tyrell’s voice boomed down the line at her. ‘Is there a baby in my office?’
Technically, it was her office.
Actually, it was Liz’s office.
‘Hey, there, little one, hush.’ She ran her hand across the baby blanket—over the baby’s tummy—in an effort to impart some comfort. ‘Shh, it’s OK.’ She spied the dummy pinned to the blanket and popped it into the baby’s mouth. Baby Jemima immediately stopped crying and sucked on it greedily. Oh! She must be hungry.
‘What is a baby doing in my office?’
She hated that voice—the cutting ice of it. ‘That, Se—sir...’ She quickly caught herself. Liz had told her that first names weren’t used in the office. Ever.
She closed her eyes and pulled in a breath. She had to keep her wits about her. Slip-ups were not allowed. She couldn’t let Liz down. It was Sebastian Tyrell’s reserve, his distance—both physical and emotional—that had made them believe they could pull this deception off. They could still pull it off. She and Liz were identical twins—at least on the outside. He’d never be able to tell them apart. She could do this.
‘Continue, Ms Gilmour. Stopping partway through a sentence is not only unprofessional, but irritating.’
Her chin shot up and her nostrils flared. ‘I was hoping you could shed light on this particular emergency, sir. You see, the baby is the emergency. It was left on my desk during my lunch hour...along with a letter for you.’
‘What?’
She held the phone a little further away from her ear and refrained from pointing out that deafening one’s office manager wasn’t particularly professional either. Or that having her eardrums blasted was seriously irritating.
‘You’ll have to excuse me for having read your letter, but I deemed the situation warranted it.’ She feared, though, that her tone told him she didn’t give a flying fig what he thought about her having read his letter.
Air hissed down the line at her. ‘Read it out loud.’
She did. Word for word. As few as they were.
Without being asked, she read the letter again, allowing him time to process it. She waited for him to respond. When he continued to remain silent she asked, ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘I’m thinking.’
She wanted to tell him to think faster. ‘Do you know baby Jemima?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know who her mother might be?’
‘Ms Gilmour, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop peppering me with questions.’
Jemima spat her pacifier out and set up a toothache-inducing wail. ‘Mr Tyrell, there’s a baby on my desk that is evidently hungry and probably in need of changing—a baby that has obviously been abandoned by its mother. You’ll have to excuse my impatience, I’m afraid.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘If you don’t know who this baby is or who she belongs to, then the sensible thing to do would be to contact the police and hand her over to Social Services.’
‘No!’
She blinked. So...maybe he did have a clue?
‘This child’s mother obviously thinks there’s some connection between us, between the baby and me.’
‘Or someone could be trying to take advantage of your aristocratic heritage,’ she felt honour-bound to point out. Sebastian was Lord Tyrell’s only son. The Tyrell family had that enormous estate in Lincolnshire. Not to mention a London house and a holiday villa somewhere on the Riviera.
She rubbed Jemima’s tummy again, and tried to entice her to take her dummy—unsuccessfully. If anything the volume of her cries only increased.
‘Going to the police has the potential to cause a scandal. The tabloids would have a field day.’
She rolled her eyes. What on earth was a scandal when a baby’s welfare was at stake?
‘And a scandal will affect the Tyrell Foundation. It’s on a knife-edge already. I don’t want to risk scaring away the benefactors I’ve been in negotiations with for the last few months. We’ve worked too hard for that.’
Sebastian’s charity wasn’t one of the glamorous ones featuring children or animals on their flyers. His charity assisted the recently unemployed in the over-fifties age bracket to find work.
From all that Liz had said, it was gruelling work too, and apparently Sebastian toiled like a Trojan. It wasn’t something she’d have expected from an aristocrat’s son.
We all have our peccadilloes, she reminded herself. She’d have never expected to be particularly fluent in office work, and yet here she was.
She tossed her head and gritted her teeth. She was glad she’d become skilled enough to help her sister out of a tight spot.
Baby Jemima’s continual crying scratched through her brain, making her temples throb. ‘Where on earth are you anyway?’
A heavy sigh came down the line. ‘Australia.’
‘Australia!’ She said a rude word.
‘Ms Gilmour, did you just swear?’ There was no censure in his voice, just astonishment.
‘I can’t stand this crying another second. I need to change and feed the baby. I’ll call you back.’
Without further ado, she hung up on him.
Don’t lose me my job, Livvy.
She grimaced before pouncing on the bag the absent mother had evidently packed for the baby. She’d searched it for clues earlier. It contained clothes, toys, nappies, formula and bottles, and, most importantly of all, a set of instructions. A quick glance at them told her that Jemima’s next feed had been due fifteen minutes ago.
She crooned nonsense at the baby as she changed and then fed her. ‘Don’t you worry, little snuggly-wuggly Jemima. We’ll have you fed and dry in no time. Would you like to hear a bit about me—my qualifications and what have you? Well, I’ll have you know that I was the go-to babysitter when I was in high school. And believe me there were plenty of tots in Sevenoaks, Kent. And since then I’ve been made a godmother—twice! Once to baby Bobby and once to baby Matilda. So you see, I do have credentials. You’re in safe hands.’
Jemima drank her bottle with an avid greed that made Liv laugh. ‘You’re simply lovely, little Jemima.’
The baby puked up on the sleeve of Liv’s blouse when Liv burped her, and then promptly fell asleep again.
‘Easy-peasy, nothing to it,’ Liv murmured, gently placing her in the carrier again. ‘If only I could curl up and go to sleep too. But no, not I. I now have to ring my sister’s boss and apologise for hanging up on him. Grovel if I have to so he won’t fire Liz. Wish me luck, little one.’
Without wasting any more time, she grabbed the phone and hit redial. It was picked up on the first ring. ‘I’m sorry I hung up so abruptly, but I had to—’
‘There’s no need to apologise, Ms Gilmour. The noise was driving me to distraction as well and I’m not even in the same country, let alone the same room. It all sounds quiet now, though.’
‘Baby Jemima has been changed and fed and, having thrown up on my blouse, is now blissfully asleep. All’s well in Baby Land.’
‘I’ll replace your blouse.’
She blinked. ‘That won’t be necessary. It’ll wash out.’ She stared down at the sleeping baby and something inside her chest clenched. ‘She really is the sweetest little thing. Would you like me to send you a photo?’
‘Why?’
She shook herself. What was she thinking? Sebastian Tyrell didn’t sound like the kind of man who oohed and aahed over cute baby pictures. ‘Maybe...maybe she looks like her mother and that’ll give you a clue to the baby’s identity.’
‘I...uh... OK.’
She was grasping at straws and they both knew it. Nevertheless she took a picture on her phone and sent it through to him.
A long silence ensued. ‘Babies all look the same to me.’
She bit her lip. ‘You don’t have much experience with babies, do you?’
‘No.’
She drummed her fingers against her desk. He’d ruled out the police, so... ‘Do you want me to organise a nanny or some kind of babysitting service?’
‘I may not know much about babies but I know business. Questions will be asked and the answers recorded. The baby’s full details will need to be provided—a birth certificate may need to be produced.’
She doubted an actual birth certificate would be required, but she caught the gist of his concerns. They didn’t know Jemima’s full details. They barely knew any details at all! And if he was the baby’s father...
Another long silence ensued—a silence that started to burn and chafe through her. ‘Look, I don’t know if you’ll consider this any kind of solution, but Jemima can stay with me until you get back to London. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds perfect.’
His relief was evident and it occurred to her now that those long silences of his had been strategic devices to lead her to the point of making this precise offer. She didn’t know whether to be outraged or not.
‘I understand this is a great imposition on you, Ms Gilmour, and you have my sincere gratitude.’
She chose not to be outraged.
‘I also understand that you can’t be expected to perform both nanny duties and office duties at the same time. Please organise a temp to take over in your absence. Judith performs her duties ably, but...’ He trailed off. ‘The woman you arranged to come in while you were on holiday was very good.’
‘I’ll check with the agency and see if she’s available.’ Playing nanny would be far more fun than playing office manager. And she couldn’t help thinking that the further away from the office she was, the less the likelihood of her and Liz’s deception being detected.
Win-win.
She glanced at the sleeping baby. Except what was baby Jemima winning? Nothing. She faced upheaval and an uncertain future. She bit back a sigh. Thankfully the baby was blissfully unaware of that fact.
‘I hope your mother is all right,’ she murmured.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Oops! ‘Oh... I was talking to the baby, but... Her mother must’ve felt in the direst of straits to leave her baby like this.’
And she’d left her baby in the care of Sebastian Tyrell. What did that show?
That she trusted him?
She swallowed. That he was the father?
‘I’d prefer it, Ms Gilmour, if you refrained from enacting a Cheltenham tragedy.’
Her chin shot up. ‘To be perfectly frank with you, sir, I’m not sure it much matters what you’d prefer. I’d have preferred not to have come back from lunch to find an anonymous baby abandoned on my desk. There’s not only a mystery to solve—’ who was the child’s mother ‘—but a couple of serious issues to be dealt with too. I can’t help feeling time is of the essence.’
Don’t lose me my job, Livvy.
She grimaced and waited for him to take her to task for her insolence. He didn’t. Instead there was that darn silence again. She suddenly laughed. ‘You don’t feel that you can reprimand me at the moment because you’re in my debt.’
‘I have no wish to reprimand you. You’re worried, understandably so, and I share your concerns. I will own, however, to a little...surprise over your fieriness.’
She winced. She needed to tread carefully—channel her more level-headed sibling. ‘Babies bring it out in me,’ she offered weakly.
‘I see.’
‘I should go and let you make your travel arrangements.’ She blinked. ‘I mean...you are planning to return immediately, aren’t you?’ She’d simply taken that for granted.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Or perhaps you’d like me to organise your travel arrangements?’ She gave a silent scream. Were they part of her job description? She had no idea.
‘The arrangements are already underway.’
The tap-tapping noises in the background suddenly made sense. She wondered how many devices he had open in front of him besides his phone—his tablet and laptop perhaps? Those strategic silences suddenly took on a different complexion.
A moment later she dismissed that thought. No, she’d bet her life on the fact that Sebastian Tyrell was a master of the strategic pause.
‘I’ll be back in London as soon as I can.’
‘Travel safe, sir.’
‘Wait!’
She wanted away from him—now! Though she couldn’t explain why. ‘Yes?’
‘I’d like you and the baby to move into my house on Regent’s Park.’
Not a chance! ‘I’m sorry, Mr Tyrell, but I’m not comfortable with that. I’ll go back to my—’ she gulped back the word sister’s, covered it with a cough ‘—flat. I know where everything is there.’
‘I—’
‘Please don’t waste time arguing with me.’
‘Very well.’
She winced at the tightness of his voice.
‘You’re going to incur expenses—the baby will need things. Please charge them to my personal account. I insist that I take care of all the expenses.’
‘OK, will do.’ She made a mental note to keep all receipts.
‘I hope to see you very soon, Ms Gilmour.’
And then he was gone. Liv scowled at the receiver, miffed beyond measure that she hadn’t had the chance to hang up first. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle. ‘I can hardly wait.’
* * *
Liv sat bolt upright in bed and grabbed her phone before it could ring again. The clock by the bed read five forty-four a.m. Please don’t have woken the baby! She held her breath but no answering wail met her expectant ears. Thank you, God!
‘What?’ she growled into the phone without the slightest bit of grace. It was too early and she was too tired.
‘Ms Gilmour?’
Oh, God! ‘Mr Tyrell?’
A sigh heaved down the phone. ‘For the last five minutes I’ve been knocking on your door. I understand that it’s early, but I’m starting to worry that I’m disturbing your neighbours.’
‘Don’t you dare wake the baby!’ she whisper-hissed at him. ‘Don’t make another sound on threat of...of something dire!’
She leapt out of bed and shot to the front door of Liz’s flat, reefing it open as quietly as she could. Her finger halted halfway to her lips when she took in the man that stood on the other side. Six feet two inches of solid-muscled man stood there, bristling with square-jawed arrogance and wide-legged impatience. Dark chestnut hair, lighter on the ends, stood up at odd angles as if he’d repeatedly run his hand through it. She had to fight the impulse to reach out and smooth it down.
She swallowed. Liz had never mentioned how handsome Sebastian Tyrell was. Why not? A pulse started up in her throat, making her breath choppy and uneven. Sebastian Tyrell wasn’t merely handsome—the man was hot with a capital H!
‘I know I look a mess,’ he growled. ‘But you could have the manners to pretend to not notice. I’ve come directly from the airport, and it’s taken me more than fifty hours to get here, so what do you expect? And, I might add, you don’t look much better.’
Dear God, she was standing in the open doorway in her pyjamas. They were perfectly respectable. They covered everything adequately. Some would argue more than adequately.
He continued to stare at her. ‘What have you done to your hair?’
She tried to smooth it down. It probably looked like a rat’s nest, though she knew that wasn’t what he referred to. ‘A...a change is as good as a holiday,’ she mumbled.
He looked as if he were going to say something more, but then blinked and shook himself. ‘Are you going to let me in?’
‘You cannot wake the baby.’
* * *
Sebastian took in the martial light in his office manager’s eyes and raised both hands. ‘Understood.’
He’d never seen Ms Gilmour so...undone, if that was the correct term. He could barely discern a trace of his cool, efficient office manager in the woman in front of him. Granted, he’d never knocked on her door at the crack of dawn and dragged her from her bed either.
And then there was her hair!
It took all his strength not to reach out and touch it, to track a strand’s length to see if it contained some kind of magic.
He rolled his shoulders—jet lag.
To be fair, he’d never contemplated Ms Gilmour’s life outside of the office before now either. To be brutally honest, he’d barely considered her at all beyond appreciating her myriad business skills and her efficiency...and feeling guilty about refusing her leave request a fortnight ago.
Damn it all to hell! She’d had no leave left. He’d needed her in the office overseeing things while he was overseas. He wasn’t a tyrant, he was far from unreasonable, but he hadn’t been able to shake off the memory of the desperation that had momentarily threaded through her voice. When the London office number had flashed up on his phone three days ago, he’d thought she’d rung to hand in her notice.
Had her hair been a response to her disappointment at having her leave declined?
He dragged both hands back through his hair. For heaven’s sake, he’d not seen her in...what? Two months? She could’ve been wearing her hair like this the entire time.
He fought back a frown. He’d have sworn she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d ever dye her hair like that. Evidently he’d misjudged her.
But then he had form for misjudging women.
He glanced at her again.
And tried to ease the knots in his shoulders. Her hair looked great—really great. He hoped it’d given her some solace.
He dragged his gaze from her hair to her face. She was staring at his chest as if hypnotised. ‘Ms Gilmour?’
She didn’t move.
‘Ms Gilmour,’ he repeated, a little louder.
She gave a violent start before pressing her finger to her lips. ‘Shh.’
She looked as jet-lagged as he felt. A frown built through him. ‘How much sleep did you get last night?’
She held up two fingers.
He stiffened, but managed to keep his voice low. ‘Two hours?’ No wonder she looked so wrecked. For a crazy moment he had to fight an impulse to pull her into his arms and hug her, tell her to rest. He didn’t, of course. It was a crazy notion. She’d probably slap him. And he’d deserve it. ‘And the night before?’
Two fingers again.
He planted his hands on his hips. ‘And the same the night before that?’
She nodded. ‘Baby Jemima is a creature of the night. A demon. We—as in you and I—are not going to talk as we walk through the living room, because talking wakes her. We’re not even going to look at her, because looking at her wakes her. You’re going to follow me through to the kitchen and you’re going to keep your eyes firmly forward the whole time. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
Unfortunately eyes straight ahead meant his gaze was firmly fixed on her. Hips shouldn’t move with such a provocative sway when encased in such ridiculously baggy garments. But apparently they could...and they did.
A pulse started up deep inside him and spread out until he throbbed with it. He wanted to dismiss it as jet lag, but he knew what it was—desire. And it had no place in his relationship with this woman. None whatsoever.
She gestured for him to take a seat at a small kitchen table, collapsing into the one opposite. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘but I can’t offer you coffee. The coffee machine is too loud. Apparently the kettle is too loud too, so I can’t even offer you instant.’
He was dying for a coffee, aching for it. He now rued his decision to skip it at the airport to make his way here as quickly as he could instead. He wanted to sleep for a week, and yet he’d managed more sleep on the plane than she’d had in three days! ‘I don’t need coffee.’
‘I do.’ The words left her on a whimper. ‘It’s unfortunate on several counts. The primary one being that I don’t function as a halfway decent person in the morning until after a shower and a mug of strong coffee.’
She dropped her head to her folded arms, every line of her etched in exhaustion. An answering exhaustion rose through him. He tried to smother a yawn. ‘How much longer will the baby sleep for?’
She lifted her head to stare blearily at the clock on the wall. ‘Probably another two hours...but it’s one of those toss-a-coin things.’
Another yawn took him off guard. ‘Maybe we should take advantage of that? Follow suit?’
She stared at him. ‘Wow, you must be really tired.’
‘Really tired,’ he agreed. ‘Spent.’ But what he wanted was for her to jump back into bed and sleep until the lines around her eyes eased. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll stretch out on your sofa?’
‘Reverse that and you have yourself a deal.’ She shook her head when he went to argue. ‘This is a one-bedroom flat. I can’t offer you a spare bed, and I don’t want to think what Jemima’s reaction will be if the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is a strange man.’
Ah. Right.
He insisted she take her duvet. He stretched out on top of her covers. He only meant to lie there for a minute—just to help straighten out the kinks in his spine—before checking his emails. While he caught up on his emails he could try and think of a practicable way forward where Jemima was concerned.
What on earth was he going to do with her? He closed his eyes and Ms Gilmour’s autumn-hued hair filled his mind. A glorious fall of hair shaded in horizontal bands from a deep, dark auburn through to gorgeous oranges and finally a pale blonde. Shaded dark to light, from root to tip.
Gorgeous.
CHAPTER TWO (#u1ac87340-4e44-5939-bc73-1f3e66461c83)
SEBASTIAN WOKE TO the scent of coffee. His nose told him it was seriously good coffee too. He sat up gingerly, stretched... All the kinks were gone. His back didn’t hurt, his shoulders didn’t hurt, his head didn’t hurt.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up feeling so rested!
Obviously a nap was exactly what he’d needed. A couple of hours to—
His jaw dropped when he caught sight of the bedside clock. It was after one-thirty in the afternoon. He’d been asleep for over seven hours?
Dear God! What would Ms Gilmour think? He’d left her holding the baby...again!
He shot out of the bedroom and came to a halt. His office manager turned from pouring out two steaming mugs of coffee to send him a smile that momentarily dazzled him. She looked utterly together. She looked like his efficient office manager again. Except rather than a black pencil skirt and business jacket she wore jeans and a jumper, and that magical autumn hair. And the smile.
‘Come and have a coffee.’
He forced himself forward. He was careful not to look into the living room as he went past, even though he was sure the ‘don’t look at the baby’ embargo had been lifted.
Critical eyes roamed over his face and she gave a satisfied nod. ‘You look much better.’
He collapsed into a seat and pulled a mug of coffee closer. ‘So do you. You managed to get more sleep?’
‘A blissful three hours.’
She poured milk into her coffee. Whenever he visited the London office she drank it black—like him. But...she preferred it with milk? She did know she was free to order milk in for her coffee, didn’t she? Where the Tyrell Foundation was concerned he’d accept the charge of penny pinching, but he could stretch to milk for his office manager’s coffee.
‘You should’ve woken me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we have things to sort out.’
‘People make better decisions when they’re well-rested.’
She looked so perky and chipper he felt at a distinct disadvantage. He leaned across the table towards her. ‘The baby?’ he whispered.
‘Happily engrossed with her baby gym at the moment,’ she answered at a normal tone and volume. ‘She’s an absolute angel during the day. It’s only at night she turns into a demonic creature from the deep.’
How could she sound so cheerful? She’d been sleep-deprived for three whole nights. How could she look so...delectable?
‘Drink your coffee, and then have a shower while I make us some lunch and—’
‘I couldn’t possibly impose on you more than I already have—’
‘You can and you will. You can’t just up and leave with the baby. Besides, Jemima is due for a feed soon and then she’ll go down for a nap. There’s really not much point in trying to do anything before then. There’s a fresh towel for you in the bathroom.’
He supposed she had a point. And he was dying for a shower.
He collected a few things from his suitcase—left by the front door when he’d arrived earlier. On his way past he peeked at the baby. She lay on a quilted rug, batting at the soft toys suspended above her. Her head wobbled around to look at him, the tiny body went rigid and then she let forth with such a piercing wail he had to cover his ears.
Ms Gilmour came racing in from the kitchen. ‘What did you do to her?’
‘Nothing! I... I just looked at her.’
‘And what were you told?’
‘Don’t look at the baby,’ he mumbled, feeling all of two inches tall.
She leant down to sweep the baby up in her arms, cuddling the tiny body against her chest. Her jeans pulled tight around the soft swell of her backside and that damn pounding started up at the centre of him again, sending warm swirls of appreciation and need racing through his bloodstream.
He swallowed when she turned back around to face him.
‘Did the big, bad man scare you, pretty girl? Did he sneak up on you and frighten you?’
He watched in amazement as baby Jemima snuggled into her rescuer, her crying ceasing as if a switch had been flicked. Ms Gilmour then blew a raspberry and the baby gave her a big smile and waved her arms about in evident delight.
‘How...?’ He stared at the baby and then his office manager. ‘How did you do that? You took her from crying to laughing in seconds!’
She blew on her nails and polished them against her shoulder. ‘Just call me Poppins, Mary Poppins.’
She said it in the same tones James Bond always used when introducing himself, Bond, James Bond, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
She hitched the baby a little higher in her arms. ‘Jemima, meet...’ She frowned. ‘What would you like her to call you?’
He had no idea. Did she have to call him anything? He frowned. Hold on, she couldn’t call him anything. She was too young and—
One look at his extraordinary office manager told him that wouldn’t wash. ‘What does she call you?’
‘Auntie...uh... Liz.’
Her gaze slid away, and he understood why. He knew her Christian name was Eliza, but he didn’t want to call her that. He wanted things to remain on as formal a footing as possible.
He let out a long, slow breath. ‘Uncle Sebastian,’ he clipped out.
‘Right. Baby Jemima, meet Uncle Sebastian.’
She said his name impersonally and yet something inside of him stretched and unwound as she uttered it.
He did his best to ignore it.
‘Well, say hello,’ she ordered him. ‘Talk to her.’
He shuffled a step closer.
‘Don’t frown or you’ll make her cry again.’
He smoothed out his face and tried to find a smile. ‘Hello, Jemima, it’s nice to meet you.’ He fell silent. The baby frowned at him. ‘What do I say?’
‘Say something nice. Tell her she’s pretty. Tell her you’ve been on a big plane...recite a poem. It doesn’t matter. She just needs to know you’re friendly.’
A poem? He used to love poetry. Once upon a time. It felt like a hundred years ago now. He pulled in a deep lungful of air. ‘“The Assyrian came down like a wolf on—”’
‘Good God, not Byron!’
Both woman and child swayed away from him.
‘You’ll scar her for life.’
Behind those honey-brown eyes he had a feeling she was laughing at him.
‘Can’t you think of something more...cheerful?’
Cheerful? Inspiration struck. ‘The Jabberwocky!’
He recited the entire poem and both woman and child stared at him as if mesmerised.
‘Give her your finger.’
He did as bidden. Jemima stared at it for a moment or two, swaying in her protector’s arms, before reaching out and clasping it in one tiny fist. Something inside of him felt as if it were falling.
She pulled it closer and then up towards her mouth, but he gently detached himself from her grip. ‘You might want to wait until I’ve washed my hands first. You’ve no idea where these have been.’
Jemima stared at him and then gave a big toothless grin before letting forth with a sound partway between ‘Gah!’ and a gurgle.
He could feel his entire body straighten—his chin came up and his shoulders went back—and he couldn’t help smiling back. ‘She smiled at me. She...she smiled.’
He glanced at his office manager to find her staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. Something arced in the air between them, and colour flooded her cheeks. She shook herself and sent him a smile that didn’t hide the consternation in her eyes. ‘You’ve just been given the official seal of approval.’ She laughed and suddenly seemed more natural again. ‘Hold tight to the memory. You might just need it at two o’clock in the morning, and at three...and four.’
It hit him then that she’d been right. He couldn’t just walk out of here with Jemima. He was going to need help.
Her help?
Something inside him chafed at the idea. He had a feeling it’d be best for him and Ms Gilmour to get back on a professional footing asap. He could hire someone else. He’d have to come up with a cover story for Jemima of course, but...
‘Mr Tyrell?’
But first he had to stop staring at her! ‘I’ll, uh, just go have that shower.’
When he emerged from the shower, he found Jemima asleep and his hostess making sandwiches.
‘Egg and lettuce,’ she said, setting two in front of him.
They ate in silence. She kept glancing across at him and he knew he should initiate the conversation, but he didn’t know where to start.
‘Do you have any idea who her mother might be?’ she finally asked.
‘None whatsoever.’
She pulled in a breath. ‘I know we’re straying into dangerously personal territory, but...can you recall all of the women you’ve been...intimate with in the last twelve to fifteen months?’
He choked on his sandwich. ‘I’m not Jemima’s father!’
One eyebrow kinked upwards. ‘How do you know that for sure?’ Her lips twisted. ‘Contraception isn’t always a hundred per cent effective.’
He knew that, but... Something in her tone caught at him. He frowned. ‘You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.’
Her gaze dropped to her plate. ‘Second-hand experience. A, um...girlfriend.’
‘I’m not Jemima’s father.’
She glanced back up at him. ‘How can you be so certain?’
Because he’d not slept with anyone in two years! But he had no intention of confessing that to this woman. It made him sound priestly, saintly, celibate, and he was none of those things.
‘Have you kept in contact with them all?’
He grabbed the branch she’d unknowingly handed him. ‘Yes.’
She leant back and folded her arms, staring at him in outright disbelief. It rankled.
‘I don’t know what kind of man you think I am, Ms Gilmour, but there haven’t been an endless parade of women in and out of my bed. I know every woman I’ve slept with in the past two years, and I’ve kept in contact with all of them. I can assure you that none of them have become pregnant—not with me and not with anyone else.’
She unfolded her arms, but he didn’t know if she believed him or not. He didn’t know why it should matter so much to him either way. She was his office manager, not his moral guardian.
‘Jemima and I can get DNA tests done if it’ll put your mind at rest,’ he snapped out. ‘A paternity test.’
Luscious lips—lips he’d never realised were luscious until this moment—pursed. ‘Could you, though? You’ve not been made Jemima’s legal guardian. You don’t have the authority to give legal consent for such a test.’
He opened his mouth. He closed it again. She had a point.
‘Which is why,’ she continued, ‘I’m not going to let you leave here with Jemima.’
He blinked. Had she just said...? ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m not letting you take the baby.’
He stared at her. ‘You can’t stop me.’
Their gazes locked and clashed. ‘Do you mean to take Jemima by force?’
His hands clenched to fists. Of course he wasn’t going to take the baby by force! Was she threatening him with the police? He pulled in a measured breath. ‘Jemima’s mother entrusted her to my care,’ he reminded her.
‘You’ll have to excuse me for not putting much faith in Jemima’s mother’s reasoning.’ She’d leapt up and now proceeded to pace—back and forth in agitated circles. ‘She left Jemima in my office during my lunch break. What if I’d decided to take a half-day—to skive off because the boss was away?’
His head rocked back. ‘You’d never do such a thing.’
‘I know that and you know that, but she doesn’t know me from Adam. So she couldn’t know that.’
She had a point.
‘She left the baby in your care but you were out of the country. What was she thinking? I mean, you live in Lincolnshire, not in London. Had she put any thought into this at all? Hadn’t she done any research?’
He couldn’t fault her reasoning.
She planted herself back in her chair. ‘Look, this is all beside the point. I wish I wasn’t involved. I don’t want to be involved. But I am, and ethically and morally I can’t just hand that baby over to you and walk away. Not when you aren’t her father. Not when you know nothing about babies.’
He dragged both hands back through his hair. If their positions were reversed he knew he’d feel the same.
‘Why do you want to take her anyway? Why do you feel so responsible for her?’
Finally they came to the crux of the matter. Exhaustion, disgust...and a still searing sense of betrayal momentarily overtook him. He dropped his head to his folded arms. Eventually he lifted it and met her gaze. ‘I suspect Jemima and I are related.’
‘Related?’
He forced himself to maintain eye contact. ‘A niece perhaps.’
‘But...you don’t have any siblings.’
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 (#u1ac87340-4e44-5939-bc73-1f3e66461c83)
‘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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