The Spaniard's Baby Bargain

Let it go. They were only words. Take a deep breath.

Ariane repeated the silent mantra as she slipped out of her clothes and donned the swimsuit she’d tossed into her bag on the off-chance she might use it. Then she pulled on jogging-bottoms and top, caught up a towel and made her way down to the lower level.

The gym was impressive, the equipment expensive, and she crossed to the indoor lap pool, slid into the water and began a punishing series of laps, back and forth until she could feel the pull of muscles.

It felt good to expend pent-up energy, and she emerged, crossed to the shower, then donned sweats and returned to her room to change for dinner.

After a pleasant meal, they took coffee into the entertainment room and watched a movie on DVD.

When it finished Ariane rose to her feet. ‘Goodnight.’

Tony slotted in another movie, then sank back into a comfortable chair. ‘See you at breakfast.’

CHAPTER THREE

ARIANE was unsure what woke her. Only that something had, and she lay still, listening to the silence, wondering if she’d slipped into consciousness from a dream.

Then she heard it, the distant cry of a fractious babe. Manolo del Guardo’s daughter. Awake and, from the sound of it, in pain.

What time was it? She checked her watch…almost midnight. Any second now Manolo or, if he hadn’t returned home, Santos would tend to Christina.

The cries continued, and Ariane didn’t pause for thought as she slid out of bed, snagged her robe and shrugged into it, then made her way along the gallery.

Electric wall sconces turned low provided a dim light, and she moved quickly past a few closed doors, then paused outside the room where the sound seemed the loudest. A slight qualm caused a momentary hesitation, then at a further wail she discarded it and opened the door.

Ariane barely registered the room with its soft lighting as she crossed to the cot. Her attention was focused on the distressed babe.

‘Poor little petite, hmm?’ She scooped the child up and held her against one shoulder, instinctively soothing the small back. ‘Let’s guess, shall we? You’re hungry? Wet? In pain?’ She touched her cheek to the small head. ‘Or all three?’

At almost six months of age, was she still having a late-night bottle? There had to be a feeding schedule around somewhere. But not in plain sight, she registered.

‘OK, little one, let’s do a nappy change and see if that helps any.’

Ariane heard a sound and turned towards the door to discover Santos framed in the aperture. ‘I heard her crying via the monitor, and came as quickly as I could.’

She laid the babe on the bed nestled against one wall and deftly effected a nappy change, speaking softly as she did so. ‘There we go, angel. Now, if only you could talk, we’d know if it’s a tooth ready to come through, or a tummy pain.’

‘I’ll take over.’

She spared Santos a measured look. ‘Because you feel you should, or you doubt my ability to cope?’

‘On the contrary. You seem to be doing just fine. Christina has stopped crying.’

A very satisfactory burp issued forth, and Ariane smiled. ‘Any more, sweetheart?’ Almost on command there was another. ‘Does she usually have a bottle? I couldn’t see a feeding schedule.’ She stroked a soothing finger over the babe’s cheek.

‘Probably because the last nanny didn’t keep one,’ Santos offered drily.

Obviously nannies, plural, were a sensitive subject.

‘I gave Christina a bottle at eight, and she has, I understand, been sleeping through until around five in the morning.’

But not tonight. Poor wee mite. No mother to cuddle her, a father who left her in the care of professionals and was too busy adding millions to his incredible fortune…

‘Problems, Santos?’

Think of the devil, and he appeared.

‘Christina is finding it difficult to settle.’

Manolo shrugged out of his dinner jacket and tossed it over a chair, then he loosened his tie and turned back the cuffs of his shirt.

Even to Ariane’s jaded eye he was too ruggedly attractive for his own good. The height, breadth of shoulder, his stance, and compelling facial features.

‘My apologies. I was unexpectedly delayed.’

Was it her imagination, or did she catch a telling glance pass between Manolo del Guardo and Santos?

‘Ariane heard Christina’s cry and reached her ahead of me.’ The explanation came from Santos, and Manolo inclined his head in her direction.

‘Thank you for your concern.’

But you can go now? The implication was apparent. It was totally weird, but she wanted to delay the inevitable a little longer. Holding the babe felt so…good. Almost in silent unison the babe nuzzled a little, and Ariane eased the knuckle of her little finger close to the babe’s mouth. Almost at once the babe began suckling as Ariane continued to stroke the tiny cheek.

Manolo’s gaze narrowed fractionally. ‘I’ll take Christina.’ He checked his watch. ‘I guess it won’t hurt to give her another bottle.’

‘She might settle back to sleep without one.’ She could hardly hold the babe any longer, and she gently eased her towards her father.

Christina’s protest was immediate, and voluble.

Ariane’s heart turned over at the sound, and she resisted the impulse to reach out and soothe the babe.

‘It would appear you have a certain empathy with the young.’

A compliment? Should she admit to having had some practice? ‘I reported the effects of war on children during the conflict in Kosovo.’

Very few were aware her experience was hands-on, that she’d spent time in severely understaffed hospital wards, helping out, or that she’d chosen to stay until trained staff arrived on the scene.

‘Where chaos reigned and depleted medical supplies were the norm.’ Manolo subjected her to a steady appraisal.

A calculated guess, based on media releases at the time?

‘You were given the opportunity to fly out with departing media staff, yet you refused,’ he continued. ‘Instead you ate rationed food, opted to sleep on a mattress on the floor of an infirmary and tended the sick twenty-four seven.’

He couldn’t know that, unless—

‘No one enters my home without undergoing a full investigation,’ he informed quietly.

No one?