More Than A Gift. Josie Metcalfe
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didn’t need to see the faded script on the first page to recall the heartbroken words, apparently written just hours after she’d given birth and had had to watch her precious babies being taken away for others to nurture into adulthood.
The first time she’d read the letter, she’d been shocked, then overwhelmed with anger at the deception that had shaped her life. It had taken her several months before she’d been able to find sympathy in her heart for the mother who had abandoned her then deliberately distanced herself from any contact.
Laurel closed her eyes against the hot prick of tears, cradling her hands over the swell of her own child. It hadn’t been until she’d realised that she was pregnant and had felt that instant flood of maternal love that she’d been able to understand how a mother would do anything to make sure her child was taken care of, even give her up for adoption.
She was just grateful that society had changed enough in the last twenty-eight years that she could make her own choices, not have them forced upon her by appalled family and friends.
And they would be appalled if they knew what she’d been doing for the last year.
She gave a brief wry chuckle when she realised just how close to twelve months it had been since she’d left the only home she’d known and had tried to disappear.
It would be Christmas in just a few days, and exactly one year ago she’d been a meekly dutiful part of the lavish planning and preparations for her wedding.
She still didn’t know whether Grant had been privy to her father…no, not her father…to Robert Wainwright’s machinations. When she’d realised what had been going on, she hadn’t paused even long enough to leave him a note and hadn’t dared to contact him in the meantime.
Not that she believed for a moment that she’d left Grant with a broken heart. As far as she could tell, theirs had been a marriage brokered solely in pursuit of financial gain.
One thing that had persuaded her into agreeing to it had been the fact that she would finally be escaping from Robert’s incessant criticism. It would be such a relief not to have to pretend any more that she was still taking those wretched tablets and to be able to live her own life. The fact that she would finally be able to wholeheartedly follow the nursing profession she’d fought so hard for had been enough to convince her to accept Grant’s proposal.
It wasn’t as if she’d had any other suitors lining up, not with Robert keeping an eagle eye on every spare moment when she hadn’t been on duty. Anyway, she’d never really wanted a man in her life. A lifetime under the overbearing control of one had made her wary about any sort of social interaction. It had been enough for her that she’d finally completed her training as a nurse.
Laurel sighed when she remembered just how long she’d had to campaign to be allowed to apply for a place and her surprise when her mother…no, not her mother, Robert’s wife, had added her weight to the argument in her favour.
She would always see the day of her interview as a milestone in her life. For a few moments she’d wondered if she’d made an enormous mistake when she’d explained in detail how she’d become addicted to tranquillisers and the steps she’d taken to rid herself of the problem.
Looking back, she believed that it had been her willingness to consider herself on probation and the offer to permit blood tests at any time to confirm that she was ‘clean’ that had prompted them to give her the chance she’d wanted.
Those years had been hard work but she didn’t regret a single bedpan. Not only had they given her a way to escape the poisonous atmosphere that seemed to surround her whenever she was in the same room as Robert Wainwright, they’d also made her realise that she’d found the purpose to her life.
And that wasn’t all. There was another, even more important reason.
If she hadn’t fought to get out from under Robert Wainwright’s thumb—if she hadn’t insisted that she wanted to train as a nurse—she’d never have been in the right place at the right time to meet Dmitri.
This time the smile was bitter-sweet, muted by the pang of loss that surrounded her heart.
It hurt to know that never again would she see the man she loved. After the way she’d had to leave him, he probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her, but that didn’t mean that she regretted meeting him. Far from it.
Laurel didn’t need to have him in front of her to be able to picture him perfectly, starting with those mesmerising eyes.
‘EXCUSE me?’
Fear had been Laurel’s first reaction at being accosted, and she’d frozen. It had always been her first emotion in those days. Fear that someone had finally seen behind her deception and tracked her down. She hadn’t seen how they could have, since she’d changed the name she was known by on the ward, but still, with the necessity of at least one person in the admin department knowing her legal name so that she’d been able to be paid, there had always been a risk that something could get back to Robert Wainwright.
The softly spoken voice behind her had a definite accent but it wasn’t one that Laurel recognised. Neither did she recognise the shiver of awareness that the velvety sound had on her nerves.
She forced herself to turn, and looked up into the most amazing eyes she’d ever seen.
They were grey, but not like any grey she’d ever seen before. They didn’t look the cold colour of steel but almost as if they carried the searing heat of molten silver, and set against the intriguing slant of lean cheeks and surrounded by long dark lashes they seemed more mysterious than ever.
For several long seconds Laurel stared into them, almost mesmerised by their intensity. It wasn’t until he blinked that those sinfully long lashes broke the spell and she realised that she hadn’t said a word.
‘I’m sorry. Can I help you?’ At least she hadn’t dropped the armful of clean sheets she was carrying.
‘I hope so. Can you tell me, which way to ryebyonak?’
‘Ryeby—what?’ Laurel asked, wondering if her brain was so scrambled that she couldn’t understand simple English any more.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a rueful grin. ‘I was thinking of home—of Russia—and sometimes the wrong words come out. I should have said I was looking for the…the babies. Neonatal department.’
‘I’m going that way myself. I can show you,’ she offered, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. His eyes had hardly left her face since she’d turned round and she was now wondering if she’d got a coffee moustache, or something. She would have to check as soon as she had a moment. It was imperative that she didn’t draw even the most innocent attention to herself, not until she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do.
‘Here. Let me take those for you,’ he offered, and before she even realised what he was going to do, let alone argue about the need, he’d scooped the heavy pile of linen out of her arms and tucked them easily under one arm.
And all she could think about was the fact that she could smell the scent of soap on his skin.
‘You work in the department?’ he asked as they set off, and she wondered if he was having to shorten his stride to allow her to keep up with him. She wasn’t particularly short at five feet eight, but guessed that he must be at least six feet and probably an inch or two more.
And every inch of it seemed as lean and powerful as one of those swimmers she’d seen on television, practising for the next Olympics. He might be dressed in a smart charcoal-grey suit and white shirt at the moment, but she could just imagine what he’d look like in a pair of those skin-tight shorts, or…
Whoa! Enough!
What on earth was happening to her?