A Seasonal Secret. Diana Hamilton

a lot of catching up to do.’

      ‘I—’ Aware that all her nerves were standing to attention, her breathing shallow and fast, Beth made a conscious effort to relax. Behaving like a cat on hot bricks would only make him suspicious. She pulled in a slow breath and offered, ‘I was just about to make tea. Would you like a cup?’

      ‘Love one. It’s been a long day.’ His eyes narrowed as he watched her turn away to take the now furiously boiling kettle from the hotplate. The girl who had woven herself into his dreams for so many years had matured into quite a woman. Five feet five inches of seductive, enticingly feminine curves. Why hadn’t the father of her son married her? She was lovely to look at and had a nature to match. He couldn’t think of a man on the planet who wouldn’t be proud to call her his wife.

      Unless her lover had been already married.

      He would never have put her down as the type to get involved with some other woman’s husband. She’d been so sweet, innocent and trusting. Which was why he’d been so ashamed of himself for taking something so rare and precious and sullying it.

      He frowned heavily, black brows meeting over darkening eyes. Her son was seven years old. He didn’t need a degree in advanced mathematics to work out that she must have jumped out of his bed and straight into another’s! Had the air of innocence and openness that had so enthralled him been nothing but a clever act?

      Jealousy and a sense of bitter disappointment twisted a sharp knife deep inside him—and that was both warped and ridiculous! For heaven’s sake, what had happened was well in the past. He had been married himself in the intervening years; he had no damned right to have any feelings whatsoever about what she might or might not have done with her life!

      Oblivious, Beth settled a knitted cosy on the teapot and reached cups and saucers from the dresser, milk from the fridge. In the bedroom overhead she could hear the boys clumping about. From long experience she knew that getting washed and changed could take anything from twenty manic seconds to an eternity.

      The latter today, she devoutly hoped. They would surely spin the chore out as long as humanly possible in view of the telling-off they were due to receive the moment they presented themselves downstairs!

      Which would give Carl time to drink his tea and her time to make a more normal impression—make something approaching normal conversation. After all, they had been childhood friends. He would think it odd if she didn’t make some attempt to do some of the catching up he’d talked about. Not too much, though. She needed him out of here before James reappeared and gave him time to note the almost uncanny resemblance between the two of them.

      ‘I was sorry to hear of your uncle’s death,’ she said quietly as she set the tea in front of him. ‘I liked him a lot. He always had a kind word for me and apparently a bottomless pocketful of toffees!’ Her smile was unforced; she had genuinely happy memories of Marcus Forsythe.

      ‘I miss him,’ Carl admitted heavily, his smoky eyes darkening. ‘He was one of the best.’ He gave her a slight smile. ‘I think the fact that we were both without parents drew us together when we were kids. But you drew the short straw. Your grandparents were pretty forbidding.’

      ‘They did what they thought was best,’ Beth said defensively, soft colour washing over her cheeks. They had been good to her after their own fashion, and she wouldn’t hear a bad word against either of them. In spite of saying she’d washed her hands of her, Gran must have felt something for her. Otherwise, why would she have left this cottage to her? She could have willed it to the church she’d been such a staunch member of, or any number of charities.

      Her chin lifting, Beth met Carl’s eyes across the table and earnestly explained, ‘I think they must have both been born with a strong Puritanical streak—it was in their nature, so they can’t be blamed for the way they were. And after what had happened with their only child, my mother, they were doubly strict with me.’

      As pain flickered briefly in her lovely eyes Carl instinctively reached over the table and took her hand. ‘I remember how upset you were when your gran told you the truth about her,’ he said softly.

      Home from school for the Easter break, he had found her sobbing her heart out down by the stream, where the wild primroses grew. Gradually she’d blurted it all out. Her mother, a first-year student at a Birmingham college, had got pregnant. The first Beth’s grandparents had known about it had been when their daughter had arrived at Keeper’s Cottage with a newborn baby. Twenty-four hours later she had walked away and had never been back.

      A card—the only one that had ever been sent—had arrived to mark Beth’s first birthday, with a note enclosed for Frank and Ellen Hayley saying that their daughter had met and married an Australian and would be going to live in Darwin.

      Carl had been fourteen years old to Beth’s twelve and he hadn’t known what to say to ease her misery, so he’d simply hugged her. And she’d clung to him until she was all cried out. Looking back, that was when his feelings for her had begun to change. Certainly during the next few years he’d felt awkward in her company, increasingly inclined to blush, get tongue-tied and sweaty.

      His fingers tightened around hers now, and something sweet coiled around his heart as she responded with increased pressure of her own. ‘It was a tough nut to swallow, knowing your mother hadn’t wanted you, but it didn’t make you bitter and twisted—I admire you for that.’

      ‘Why should it?’ Beth’s face went pink. She snatched her hand away from his. What did she think she was doing? Holding hands—and loving it—with a married man! So, OK, she’d had a huge crush on Carl Forsythe for almost as long as she could remember, and he was the father of her son, but that didn’t excuse or explain why she should still feel so inescapably drawn to him.

      Knotting her hands together in her lap, trying to erase the sheer magic of his touch and bring herself down to earth again, she drew herself up very straight and staunchly defended what her grandparents had regarded as indefensible. ‘My mother was very young and probably couldn’t face the responsibility of bringing a child up on her own. My grandparents would have given her a hard time. They certainly didn’t take the modern, relaxed attitude to single parenthood.’

      As she had discovered for herself!

      ‘You did. You shouldered the burden of responsibility,’ Carl put in quietly. ‘Did Frank and Ellen throw you out?’

      ‘Of course not!’ But their disgust and outrage at the way she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps and brought shame on them had made it impossible for her to stay. ‘And James has never been a burden. I wanted my baby!’

      Flushed and flustered, she pushed herself to her feet and cleared away the teacups. Why did talking to him, opening her heart to him, seem so right and natural? She wished he would leave. Any minute now she might say something that would alert him to the true situation. Hadn’t Gran always complained that she didn’t know how to keep a still tongue in her head?

      Rinsing the cups out under a furiously gushing tap, she desperately hoped he’d take the hint and leave. But his hand on her shoulder killed that hope stone-dead, and she could have cried with frustration as he reached over and turned off the tap.

      He was too close, far too close. Her breath ached in her lungs. His body heat burned her. They were nearly touching. Almost against her will, but unable to stop herself, she tilted back her head to look up at him.

      He had a beautiful mouth. Her eyes lingered on the wide, sensual contours. As if it had been only yesterday she could remember exactly how that mouth had felt as it had plundered hers, so sweetly and gently at first, and then with a passion that had swept her away in a floodtide of feverish longing. And love.

      A shiver raced through her as she heard him whisper her name, and her long lashes flickered as she raised her eyes to meet his. There was something in the slow, smoky burn of that intent gaze that made her gasp air into her oxygen-starved lungs.

      ‘Beth—’ Lean strong fingers reached out to touch a wildly beating pulse at the side of her lush mouth. ‘You