Her logic and her intellect drew from him a powerful sense of appreciation, even though Xanthos could see that both were working against him. Had he thought this would be a walkover? Yes, and three times yes. His life might not always have been easy but women had been, falling into his arms with an eagerness which had sometimes felt predatory. But not Bianca Forrester. Despite their earlier passion and the very pregnant state which was a result of that passion, she was behaving with a maidenly primness which was only adding to her considerable allure.
‘And that’s it?’
‘That’s it,’ she agreed firmly. ‘And since there is nothing more to be said and this isn’t how I envisaged spending the night before Christmas, I really would like you to go.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THESNOWWAScoming down thick and fast as Xanthos stepped out onto the pavement. Icy flakes flew into his mouth and coated his lashes and cheeks with a thin white mantle. He stared up at Bianca’s window but there was no sign of her watching him, no wave of farewell, or even making sure he was safely off the premises and heading towards his car.
His car was parked on the edge of the common, but he turned in the opposite direction and began to walk past the windows of the trendy village shops, decorated for Christmas with their glitter and their lights, his thoughts whirling as fast as the falling snow which was making visibility so poor.
He couldn’t believe what had just taken place in his ex-lover’s apartment. She had rejected his proposal of marriage as if it meant nothing, her accusation ringing in his ears. That his words had been all about power and possession and nothing else.
What had she expected?
His mouth hardened.
He knew damn well what she had expected—more than he was capable of giving her. She wanted him to delve deep inside himself and to open up his heart completely. A heart he had carefully protected from pain since as long as he could remember. Couldn’t she be satisfied with what he’d given her already? His lips tightened. Perhaps he’d had a lucky escape after all.
So why did his shoulders suddenly feel as if they were carrying the weight of the world upon them—as if he had lost something very precious?
He saw a shop door open and something drew his footsteps towards it. Was it the sound of taped carols coming from within, or just his need to shelter from the inclement weather? With snowflakes dissolving on his face, he stepped inside, realising too late that it was a children’s clothing store.
Among all the miniature elf outfits and sparkly fairy frocks with wings, he could see tiny cardigans of pale wool and unfamiliar smocked garments, embroidered with carrot-wielding rabbits. Would his baby ever wear clothes as impossibly small as this, he wondered, and would he ever be there to witness it? Pain and regret rose in his throat as the sound of a particularly poignant carol split the air with its heartbreakingly sweet melody, and he was reminded of that night in Vargmali, exactly a year ago, when the children had sung their hearts out to the people of the village. He remembered the wonder and joy on Bianca’s face as she had gazed at all the simple festive greenery, professing it more beautiful than all the splendour at her sister’s palace. Her eyes had been half closed while those beautiful songs had been sung in a language she hadn’t recognised, but which she had loved all the same.
And then they had gone upstairs to that high-ceilinged and chilly room and she had given him the greatest gift of all. He swallowed. Her innocence. She had done so without preface or condition, and back in London she had melted just as eagerly into his arms. He had just taken from her, he realised. He had given nothing back.
Even when she had told him she was pregnant, she had done the honourable thing. She hadn’t grabbed at marriage to a wealthy man as many women would have done, but had told him with quiet dignity that he could be as hands-on as he wanted. And he had thrown it all back in her face. He had told her he didn’t want to be a father. To go and find a different life and a different father for their baby.
Even now...evennowhe had turned up with a heartless offer of marriage. Perhaps she had been right. Perhaps ithadall been about power and possession. There had certainly been no mention of love, had there?
‘Can I help you, sir?’
He turned to see a young woman looking up at him. She was wearing a wreath of golden tinsel like a crown on top of her blonde hair and a pair of earrings shaped like wreaths, which were intermittently flashing red and green.
‘I want something for a baby,’ he said abruptly.
‘Boy or girl?’
‘I don’t know. It hasn’t been born yet,’ he admitted, and he didn’t know if it was the brusque quality of his words or the sudden brightness of his eyes which made her expression grow soft, so that suddenly she looked much older than her years.
‘Let me help you,’ she said gently, and Xanthos nodded.
Minutes later, armed with his carefully wrapped package, he stepped out onto a pavement now coated white, the thick snow still swirling down as he began walking up the street to the shop the young girl had recommended.
Because he wasn’t done yet.
When the ring came on the doorbell, Bianca was half expecting it. She knew it was Xanthos. It had to be Xanthos, and deep down she was praying it was. She had told him to go away, yes, but deep down she had wanted him to stay, though she hadn’t dared ask herself why. Did he realise that and was that why he’d come back? Had he observed the conflict of interests which was waging a war inside her? Had he noticed that too, along with her aching feet?
This time she buzzed him in, having no appetite for another journey down two flights of stairs—but more than that, she was reluctant to open the door to him, afraid that the bright snowy light would reveal emotions in her eyes which might be better kept hidden.
When he walked into the sitting room the snow was thick on his head—a bright contrast to the ebony of his black hair. But he seemed oblivious to it, or the fact that he was still wearing his overcoat as he walked towards her. Without thinking, she perched on the window seat, not trusting her legs to support her as she met the hard glitter of his gaze.
‘I have been arrogant and foolish, Bianca,’ he began, without preamble. ‘A man unable to see what was right in front of him all along.’
She blinked up at him, not quite sure she’d heard him properly but forcing herself to stay silent and not to prompt, afraid of influencing his words with her choice of question.
‘I keep thinking about that time when we were alone together in the mountain hut,’ he continued, his voice heavy and low. ‘About the things I confided in you. Things about my past and my upbringing. Not everything, no. Not then. But believe me when I tell you that I have never spoken so frankly to anyone, nor felt so secure in the knowledge that you would never betray my trust. Yet afterwards I chose to push that knowledge aside, because it was easier not to think about the things I’d said, or the reason I might have said them.’