The Pregnant Tycoon. Caroline Anderson

tender it brought tears to her eyes.

      What am I doing here? I don’t belong! This is her house—her husband.

      She turned, stumbling blindly towards the door, and Will caught her and folded her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as the sobs fought free and racked her body.

      ‘Shh. I’m sorry. I should have realised it would upset you. I’d forgotten how much you loved her.’

      Loved you, Izzy corrected silently, but she couldn’t speak, and anyway, it didn’t seem like the smartest thing to say under the circumstances.

      Her sobs faded as quickly as they’d come, the shock of her reaction receding in the security of his arms, and gently he released her and stood back, looking down at her with worried eyes.

      ‘OK now?’

      She nodded, scrubbing her nose with the back of her hands, and he passed her a handful of kitchen roll and waited while she blew her nose and mopped her eyes and dragged out that smile.

      ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Too many memories.’

      He nodded and turned away, his face tight, and she could have kicked herself. If she had too many memories, what on earth did he have?

      ‘Tea?’

      ‘Please.’

      He put the kettle on, then turned and propped himself against the front rail of the Aga and studied her thoughtfully. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she studied him back and fired off the first salvo.

      ‘You’ve changed,’ she said, her voice almost accusing.

      He snorted softly. ‘I should hope so. I was a puny kid of nineteen the last time you saw me. I’ve grown two, maybe three inches and put on a couple of stone. I work hard—physical stuff. That builds muscle.’

      It did, and she’d seen the evidence for herself just a few moments ago when he’d stripped off at the sink. Putting the disturbing memory away, she shook her head, studying the lines on his face, the lingering trace of sadness in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, and then gave a short, hollow laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being a real idiot here. Of course you’ve changed, after all you’ve been through. Who wouldn’t?’

      His smile was wry. ‘Who indeed? Still—it’s all over now, and we’re moving on.’ He cocked his head on one side and his smile softened. ‘You don’t look any different,’ he said, his voice a trifle gruff, and she rolled her eyes.

      ‘All that money, all that sophistication, and I don’t look any different?’ She’d meant to sound a light note, but instead she sounded like a petulant little toddler. How silly, to feel hurt. After all, she probably hadn’t changed that much. Nothing had touched her as it had touched him.

      Not since he’d gone away.

      But Will was looking embarrassed, and she wanted to kick herself again. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave an impatient sigh. ‘I meant—oh, hell, I don’t know what I meant, except it wasn’t an insult—or not intended to be. I’m sorry if it came over like that.’

      His eyes were full of remorse, and she shook her head and reached out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Of course it didn’t. I just feel different, and I suppose I thought it might be reflected in my face, but a sensible woman would be flattered. Anyway, I wouldn’t want my money to have changed me, and I certainly don’t want to look like Godzilla, so perhaps I should just be grateful!’

      His mouth lifted in a wry smile, and his eyes swept her face, their expression tender. ‘I suppose you have changed, a little, but you’re still you, every bit as beautiful as you ever were, and it’s really good to see you again. That’s what I was trying to say in my clumsy, inept way.’

      She laughed, her turn now to be embarrassed, and shook her head. ‘I’m not beautiful—’

      ‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ he said, but his thumb came up and brushed away the last remnant of her tears, and the tender gesture nearly brought her to her knees. Then he dropped his hand and stepped away, ramming it into his pocket, turning away.

      When he spoke, his voice was gruff. ‘It’s a bit of a shock, really, seeing you again—takes me back all those years. But that’s never a good idea, and you can’t really go back, can you? Too much water under too many bridges.’

      And just then some of that water came pouring into the kitchen in the form of a tidal wave of giggling and chasing and high-pitched shrieks that skidded to a halt the moment they saw her.

      The little girl she was ready for—dark-haired, blue-eyed, the image of her father. The boy, though—he stopped her in her tracks. His colouring was almost the same, but it was the shape of his face, the expression, the vulnerable tilt to his mouth.

      Julia.

      Will straightened up, looking down at them with pride in his eyes.

      ‘Izzy, meet my children—Michael and Rebecca. Kids, this is Isabel. She was at school with me and your mother. Say hi.’

      ‘Hi,’ they chorused, and then their four eyes swivelled back to him and mischief sparkled in them again. ‘Grannie says can we ask you for some more eggs, because everybody wants egg sandwiches today and she’s run out,’ Rebecca said in a rush.

      ‘And Grandad’s sold a climbing frame and a tree house this morning, and you know old Mrs Jenks?’ Michael said, his eyes alight. ‘She’s having a willow coffin. She’s going to have a woodland burial, and her son’s up in arms. I heard Grannie telling Grandad. They were arguing about it in the café, and she said it was her body, she could do what she wanted with it. And Grannie said to tell you there’s roast pepper flan today,’ Michael added inconsequentially, and Izzy felt her lips twitch.

      Will was smiling at them, ruffling Michael’s hair and slinging a casual, affectionate arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and Izzy felt suddenly empty.

      I’ve got nothing. Thirty years, and I’ve got nothing. Nothing to hand on except money, and no one even to give that to. No wonder I haven’t changed.

      The kettle boiled, its shrill whistle fracturing the moment and freeing her.

      ‘I’ll make the tea—you get the eggs,’ she said, and opened the cupboard the mugs had always lived in.

      ‘Try the dishwasher,’ he said over his shoulder as they went out, and she pulled down its door and found mugs—lots of mugs, unwashed, even though the machine was full. She put powder in the dispenser, shut the door and set it going, then washed the two mugs she’d rescued and made the tea, lifting out the teabags just as he came back in.

      ‘Find everything?’

      ‘Just about. I put the dishwasher on.’

      ‘Oh, damn,’ he said. ‘I meant to do that.’ His grin was wry. ‘I meant to do all sorts of things, but you were early and the ewe was late, and—’ He broke off, the grin widening as he shrugged, and then he sighed and wrapped his arms around her again, and hugged her briefly against that wonderfully solid chest that she had no rights to.

      ‘It really is good to see you again,’ he murmured, releasing her to look down searchingly into her eyes. ‘Are you OK? Really OK?’

      She found that smile somehow, and the lie to go with it. ‘I’m fine. How about you? You’ve had so much more to contend with.’

      His eyes tracked away, then back, and his smile was fleeting. ‘Yes. I’m OK now. It’s been a rough few years.’

      ‘Tell me,’ she said softly, and he picked up his mug and pulled out a chair for her, then sat in the carver at the head of the table, his father’s chair if she remembered right, and stared down into his tea.

      ‘It was nearly three years ago. She’d been having difficulty swallowing, and she felt as if there was something stuck in her throat, so she went to the doctor. He referred