Their Secret Baby (15 page)

And she had to say yes or no.

And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

And so:

‘For the babies’ sakes, then yes,’ she said.

‘W
ELL
, Cait…’

Bob Richardson turned to his daughter, who stood beside him in the porch of the small village church looking stunningly beautiful but almost as pale as the lovely white dress and veil she wore.

‘Are you ready, love?’

‘Ready,’ Caitlin managed, even producing a weak smile, though inside she knew the truth was that she was very far from ready.

How could she be ‘ready’ for this wedding?

Oh, she was dressed in all her finery—the finery that Rhys had insisted on, rejecting without hesitation her tentative suggestion for a secret wedding, a purely civil ceremony. Her make-up was immaculate, her hair scooped up into an elegant arrangement under the circle of fresh flowers—ivory roses and tiny stephanotis—that held her delicate veil in place. Her bouquet was made up of the same blooms and she knew that beyond the heavy wooden door the cool interior of the church was decorated with them too.

But would she ever be emotionally ready for a marriage that had nothing of love in it but only convenience and the fact that she had unexpectedly fallen pregnant to the man who was to become her husband?

‘We’re doing this thing properly!’ Rhys had insisted when she’d protested that there was no need to go to any trouble to arrange the ceremony. ‘It will be perfect right down to the very last detail. Every flower, every hymn, every candle will be just as you’ve always dreamed of it. I want it to be your day.’

But how could it be perfect when the only thing that could make it that way was for her to have Rhys’s love? When all that she wanted was to know he’d given his heart to her as she’d given hers to him? That love was all that she needed to make her day perfect. With it she would want for nothing else, and without it nothing could ever redeem a day that should be so wonderfully happy and yet was so desperately, terribly empty.

But her father was waiting for her. Beyond the doors, the organist was coming to the end of the third repetition of the Bach sonata he had been playing, and she knew that the congregation would be starting to get restless. She was already a few minutes late.

‘Cait?’

Bob’s gentle prompting pulled her from her melancholy thoughts and brought her back to reality.

There was no way this wedding could ever be perfect. But it was the only wedding she was going to get, and she had promised Rhys that she would be here—for the babies’ sakes.

Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and forced a brief, bright—at least she hoped it looked bright—smile.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

She took the seconds while her father pulled the transparent veil down over her face and arranged it carefully to let her fingers rest very lightly on the spot under her white silk gown where the baby—Rhys’s baby—was lying. A tiny speck of life at the moment, but one that had had such a huge impact on her life, changing it forever.

He’ll be a good father to you, she promised secretly, knowing deep in her heart that that, at least, was true. Seeing Rhys with Fleur, how could she ever doubt that he would be a wonderful parent to this new baby as he already was to the little girl? He might never know if he was her biological father or not, but there was so much more to being a father than simply starting off the miracle of life.

And in every aspect of fathering, Rhys just couldn’t be faulted.

‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

Her father beamed his pride at her as he held out his arm. Grateful for his support, knowing that her legs were faintly unsteady beneath her, Caitlin tucked her hand under it and made herself step forward into the cool nave of the church.

The traditional sound of the
Wedding March
swung around her. The rich scent of the flowers and the burning candles swirled in the air, making her still delicate stomach protest faintly. But she just held on tighter to her father and paced slowly and elegantly towards the beautifully decorated altar.

The curtain of the veil that came down in front of her face had an effect as if a soft mist were hovering before her eyes, blurring some faces as she passed and making them indistinct. But there was one person she saw sharply and clearly. One tall, powerful, masculine frame, one proudly carried head of rich dark hair that drew her gaze and held it. And once she had looked that way it was as if there was no one else in the whole church except for Rhys. The man who was going to be her husband.

He stood straight and strong at the foot of the altar steps, his dark suit fitting perfectly to every gorgeous inch, his feet planted firmly on the stone-flagged floor as if stating his perfect right to be there.

Not for Rhys the feel of trembling legs, the nervous blurring of eyesight. He needed no physical support from the friend who was his best man, no one to lean on in the way that Caitlin was leaning on her father now.

Rhys had no doubt as to what he was doing here and why. He wanted nothing more from this wedding than what he was getting and he was quite content with that. He was marrying her ‘for the babies’ sakes’ and only for that.

Well, perhaps not
only
for that. He had made it plain that the blazing sexual passion that had hurried them into bed so precipitately and unguardedly was a bonus that he welcomed in what was otherwise a marriage of convenience. He showed quite openly that he desired her with a force that could barely be held in check until after the wedding was over. That as much as anything had been the reason for the rush to the altar, just a few short weeks after his unromantic proposal. He didn’t care if people guessed about the baby, or started counting on their fingers when she began to show.

‘I can’t wait to have you in my bed every night,’ he’d told her, his voice husky and raw with need. ‘Can’t wait to have my ring on your finger and to be able to truly say that you are mine.’

Well, that was one thing that they agreed on, Caitlin reflected, unable to restrain the faint smile of delight that always touched her lips when she thought of the physical ecstasy that Rhys’s lovemaking always brought. She was as impatient for him as he was for her.

That part of their marriage at least would prove no hardship at all.

They had reached the end of the aisle. Her father eased his supporting arm away; the bridesmaid stepped forward and took the bouquet from her. And Caitlin turned slowly to face the man who was to be her husband.

Rhys had tried to stand facing the altar, as he knew he was expected to. He had tried not to look over his shoulder to see Caitlin walking down the aisle towards him. But he had been unable to stop himself from doing so.

For one thing, she had been late. Ten whole minutes late. Ten long, nerve-racking, mind-numbing, panic-inducing minutes. And, although he knew that traditionally it was the bride’s prerogative to be a little late for her wedding, he had found the time spent waiting for her to arrive, waiting and wondering
if
she was going to arrive, had almost destroyed his composure.

And when at last the whisper that his bride was here had filtered into the church and through the congregation, reaching him like the flow of a wave onto the shore, he had known such a rush of relief that he could only nod at the smiling celebrant, unable to find the strength to say a word.

He had stood as instructed, fixing his eyes on the flame of a candle burning a few yards away, staring at it until it became just a golden blur, with no edge or definition to it. And staring had helped him stay still and straight, not giving in to the clenching of his stomach, the dryness of his mouth.

And now she was here. Now she stood beside him, silent and still, and ethereal in the beautiful white dress, her lovely face partly hidden by the veil she wore. Only those huge, luminous eyes shone clearly visible behind the fine material. The rest of her face was so pale he could hardly see it.

Nerves, he decided. And no surprise. He felt bad enough for two.

‘Hi,’ he whispered, flashing her a quick smile in the hope of making her relax.

She didn’t smile back in response. She just looked up into his face with those wide golden eyes in a way that only added to his already unsettled state.

God, he couldn’t wait until this formality and fuss was over. Then he could take her away on the honeymoon he had planned and they could relax together. Just the two of them, and Fleur. And then, out of sight of prying eyes and in the privacy he craved, he could start to show her how he felt.

They could start their married life as he meant to go on, and maybe, just maybe, he could also start to win her round too.

‘Soon be done,’ he whispered encouragingly.

He reached for the hand that hung at her side, folding his fingers firmly around it. There was no response, but she didn’t pull away either. She just let her hand lie in his grasp, limp and unresisting, not answering his squeeze of her fingers with her own.

‘Ready?’ the priest asked, and Rhys nodded firmly.

‘Go ahead.’

Ready?

There was that question again, Caitlin thought. The one she couldn’t answer.

She
was ready to marry Rhys. She had never been more ready for anything in her life—if only he loved her. And Rhys was ready for—for what? Ready to become a father. And to take her on as his wife, if that was what it took to achieve his aim.

What was it he had said?

Soon be done.

He wanted this wedding over and done with so that he could get the pretence of love and dreams and happy-ever-after out of the way and they could start the sort of marriage he really wanted. The one where she had his children and he got what he wanted.

‘Do you, Rhys Matthew…?’

Vaguely she heard the priest begin the lead-in to their marriage vows and, although she tried to concentrate, her thoughts swam in a sudden panic of rejection.

How could she stand here and listen to Rhys tell everyone that he would love and honour her when she knew it was a lie?

How could she let him promise to care for and feel for her when she knew that no such thoughts or feelings were in his heart?

How could she let herself down by going into a relationship that denied her everything she had ever hoped for and dreamed of, and believed in?

And yet how could she not go through with it when Fleur and her own baby’s futures were involved?

She had to go through with it.

For the babies’ sakes.

‘Caitlin Marie…’ the priest had turned to her ‘…do you take this man, Rhys Matthew…?’

Panic was a dancing haze before her eyes. A sound that seemed like the buzz of a thousand frantic bees sounded in her ears, drowning out his words.

Rhys must have said ‘I do’, and she hadn’t heard it.

He must have said ‘I do’, and sounded as if he meant it.

But she knew that it was not the truth. That it had never been the truth. That…

‘No!’

The word was a cry of panic, of rejection, of despair, breaking into the priest’s words and shocking him and the whole congregation into silence.

She felt Rhys’s sudden stillness. Sensed him turn towards her, blue eyes very dark.

‘No!’ she said again. ‘I’m sorry—so sorry—but I can’t—I can’t!’

And, gathering up the long silken skirts of her dress, she whirled away from him. Away from the altar and the priest’s stunned expression. Away down the aisle, past the staring, bewildered congregation. Away out into the bright summer sunlight, hearing the heavy wooden door slam shut behind her.

No?

Rhys just couldn’t believe what had happened. What he’d heard.

Had
he heard right?

Had Caitlin truly said no?

He was turning to her, to stare, to question, to—he didn’t know what he was going to do, but she had already gone. She had gathered up the skirts of her dress in both hands and was running away, down the aisle, like Cinderella fleeing from the ball on the stroke of midnight.

She’d even lost one of her shoes in her headlong flight.

She’d gone. Left him.

Left him standing at the altar in the middle of their wedding.

The silence in the church was so intense that it was painful to his ears. He could see the entire congregation—friends, family, his and hers—everyone was staring, watching, wondering.

Wondering how he would react to this very public humiliation.

Caitlin had left him. Jilted him. And he had no idea in hell why.

There was a nervous cough, a faint movement. Caitlin’s father, getting up from his seat to go after his daughter.

‘No!’

It was the roar of a wounded lion. A lion who didn’t know if the pain inflicted on him would ultimately prove fatal and quite frankly didn’t care. He was staking out his territory, declaring that
he
was in charge here. ‘No!’ he said again. ‘Leave this to me! It’s me she ran out on. And I’m the one who has to deal with this. I’m the one who has to go after her.’

I’m the one who has to go after her.
The words repeated over and over in his head as he strode down the aisle in Caitlin’s footsteps, snatching up the delicate satin shoe as he went. The one who has to go after her and find out just what’s going on. The one who has to face whatever she has to say, even if it was only a repetition of that hateful ‘No!’ A declaration that she would never, ever marry him.

That she still loved Joshua Hewland, damn him, and would always be faithful to his memory.

And he would have to accept that if it was what she truly wanted. He couldn’t force her into something she would regret for the rest of her life.

And that was when he knew that he’d really got it bad. That as well as losing his heart, he’d lost what passed for his mind as well. And given them both into the care of the woman who’d just run in headlong flight away from him.

The sunlight outside was brilliant, blinding and hot after the cool, shadowy light of the interior of the church. For a few worrying seconds he stood, blinking hard, his hand up against his eyes to shield him from the glare, struggling to see.