Her Secret, His Child: A Night, A Secret...A Child / One-Night Love-Child / The French Aristocrat's Baby. Miranda Lee
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when he’d rung.
Nicolas smiled when he thought of the emails he’d exchanged with Felicity. What a delightful and intelligent child she was. But very strong-willed, if he was any judge. A handful for a widowed mother. What Felicity wanted, Felicity would contrive to get.
Nicolas knew first-hand about wilful children: he’d been one.
His own mother, who’d been a widow of sorts, had given up with him entirely by the time he was thirteen. After which he’d run his own race, on the whole, very successfully.
Only with Serina had he failed. Twice he’d let her get away. The first time through fate. Her father’s stroke had made it very difficult for her to leave Australia with him. He had eventually understood that, as he’d understood how loneliness might have forced her into the arms of someone else. He hadn’t exactly lived a celibate life over the years himself.
The second time he’d let her get away, Nicolas had blamed himself entirely. He should have gone after her, regardless of what she’d said in that note. He should have rocketed back to Rocky Creek, made a scene and demanded she marry him instead. He should have left no stone unturned in trying to win back the woman he loved.
Because, of course, he’d still loved her back then.
It seemed totally illogical that he still wanted her today. But he did, heaven help him.
‘And you’re not going to let her get away this time, Nick, my boy,’ he muttered determinedly.
Nicolas suspected, however, that Serina wasn’t about to fall into his arms the way she had that night in Sydney. Thirteen years had gone by since then, thirteen long years, and ten since they’d last met. Though one could hardly count that occasion, with her husband hovering in the background.
But there was no husband now. No one to plague Nicolas’s conscience if he was reduced to using sex to win her, which he might have to.
The Serina he’d spoken to just now was a lot more self-assured than the teenage Serina who’d willingly gone along with his plans.
But she was still his Serina. She might not think that there was anything left between them but she was wrong. The girl who’d never said no to him—at least where sex was concerned—was about to be awakened once more.
Nicolas’s flesh stirred as he recalled the things they’d done together. In the beginning, their lovemaking had been extremely basic. But with time and practice they’d gradually known no bounds. Sometimes when he’d come home from Sydney for the weekend and Serina’s parents had been out playing golf, they’d spent the whole afternoon making love all over her place… though never in her parents’ room.
Nowhere else, however, was deemed sacrosanct from their increasingly erotic activities: the guest bedroom where there was a brass bed; the large squashy sofa; the rug in front of the fireplace; the coffee table…
And she’d been with him all the way.
It had been amazing—and highly addictive.
Which was why she’d come to him that night less than a month before her marriage. Because she hadn’t been able to forget how it had been between them. Because she’d missed the way he’d been able to make her lose herself whilst making love.
She’d called it self-destructive, what they’d shared.
Maybe it had been. Because he’d never been totally happy with any other woman. Now that he thought about it, Nicolas suspected Serina hadn’t been happy with her husband, either. The day of his mother’s funeral, Serina’s tension had been more than fear that she might expose what she’d done to her husband because that old chemistry had been there simmering between them.
That was what he wanted to believe, anyway. And until he had proof otherwise, Nicolas was going to believe it.
Damn it all, he had an erection now. He really had to stop thinking about sex with Serina, or things might become embarrassing.
The temperature outside was hovering around thirty degrees already. He’d boarded the plane in chilly London wearing a suit, cashmere topcoat and scarf. In Sydney, however, he’d had to start taking things off, after having to board the connecting domestic flight by exiting the air-conditioned terminal and walking across a short space of much warmer tarmac. It had been even hotter by the time he’d landed at Port Macquarie, with the clear blue sky promising an even higher temperature later in the day. Which was why he’d changed into light trousers and an open-necked shirt rolled up to the elbows.
When he’d first climbed into the rented four-wheel drive for the trip to Rocky Creek, Nicolas had felt both refreshed and relatively relaxed.
Not so anymore.
Grimacing at his discomfort, he bent forward to turn up the air-conditioning to the max. Some very cold air blasted forth and it helped clear his mind from thoughts of Serina so he could concentrate on where he was going.
Wauchope loomed up ahead, the town closest to Rocky Creek, where Nicolas had attended high school and where most of the people in Rocky Creek came to shop. He glanced around left and right, not noticing the kind of major changes he’d seen in Port. The railway crossing was still the same, as was the main street. It wasn’t till he was heading out of town along the highway that he could see that the houses went farther out than they had before. There was also a big new shopping centre opposite the Timber Town tourist park.
Wauchope’s prosperity had once relied solely on the timber from the surrounding forests. The trees would be cut down and the logs brought out of the hills by bullock trains, then floated down the Hastings River to Port Macquarie. Not so anymore. But you could still see demonstrations of the old ways at Timber Town, as well as buy all kinds of wood products.
Nicolas was thinking about the wooden bowl he’d once bought his mother for her birthday when he drove right past the turn off to Rocky Creek. Swearing, he pulled over to the side of the road, having to wait for several cars to go by before he could execute a U-turn. Finally, he was back at the T-intersection and heading for home.
No, not home, he amended in his mind. Rocky Creek had never been his home.
Nicolas had been born and bred in Sydney, the offspring of a brief affair between his forty-year-old mother—who’d been working as wardrobe mistress for the Sydney Opera Company at that time—and a visiting Swedish conductor who’d had a wife and family back home and a roving eye whenever he was on tour.
The conductor’s eyes had landed on Madeline Dupre, who’d still been an attractive-looking woman at forty. Her lack of success so far in relationships, however, had left her somewhat embittered about the male sex, giving her a brusque manner that men had found off-putting. She’d been rather taken aback, but secretly elated, by the conductor’s interest in her and had happily comforted him in bed during his stay in Sydney, deliberately deceiving him about being on the pill. She’d waved him off a few weeks later at the airport, well satisfied with her rather impulsive but successful plan to have a child by a man who would be conveniently absent from her life, but who was both handsome and intelligent. She hadn’t realised at the time that raising a child by herself—especially one like Nicolas—would be so difficult.
After quitting her job during her pregnancy, she’d set about earning her living as a dressmaker. That way she could be home to look after her son. She’d already had the foresight five years earlier to get into the property market, purchasing a small though rather run-down terraced house in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills. The deposit had taken her life savings and there was a twenty-five-year mortgage, but it had given her a sense of security. She’d patted herself on the back now that she was having a baby.
Sydney, however, was a harsh city for a woman alone. Madeline’s parents had passed away—longevity did not run in her family—and her only brother had moved to western Australia to find work and had not exactly been a good communicator. All her friends had drifted away when she stopped being part of their working and social life, leaving her increasingly lonely. All she’d had in the world was her son, who’d proved to be more than she’d