Czytaj książkę: «The Brabanti Baby»

Whenever she and Gabriel did happen to be in the same room together, the atmosphere between them crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with hostility.

Even though the context of their conversations revolved entirely around Nicola, and was entirely appropriate, Eve read a different kind of message when his glance happened to collide with hers. The promise in his blue eyes made her forget to be cautious; his smile made her dizzy.

Sometimes, in passing the baby back and forth, their hands would touch. He made such contact seem meaningless, accidental, non-threatening. But it left her feeling exposed, hungry and breathless. She was filled with a sense of anticipation—of something thrilling about to happen.

The Brabanti Baby
Catherine Spencer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

BE CAREFUL and establish your rights from the start, because Gabriel Brabanti is a shark, and given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive. There’s no middle ground with him, ever. It’s his way, or the highway—and I chose the highway!

Her cousin’s warning ringing ominously through her mind, Eve took a firmer grip on the infant seat holding her niece, and paused in the entrance to the Gerolama Cassar Executive Arrival Lounge at Luqa, Malta’s International Airport.

One among the select group waiting to welcome passengers flying in from Amsterdam was the man himself, Marcia’s ex-husband and the father of sweet Nicola Jane, whose birth hadn’t ranked high enough on his list of priorities for him to attend it in person. Instead, almost four months after the fact, he’d summoned mother and child to visit him, half a world away from Manhattan.

But had Marcia cooperated? Heavens, no! Marcia only ever did what she wanted, and she wanted easy, convenient, glamorous. And the rest, the untidy stuff? She palmed that off on to someone else, a fact Eve was so well aware of that she had only herself to blame if she didn’t like her present difficult situation.

It had begun innocently enough—and wasn’t that typical!—with a call from Marcia one evening, when the air-conditioning in Eve’s Chicago apartment had failed yet again, her clothes were sticking to her like wet tissue paper, and her resilience sat at an all-time low.

“How are you, Evie?” Marcia had cooed effusively. “I miss you! It’s been too long since we spoke!”

But the preliminaries had soon given way to the real reason for her call. Gabriel Brabanti was flexing his paternal muscles and demanding visitation rights.

“And there’s no way I’m putting in a command appearance just because His Highness ordered it,” Marcia had spat, her tone changing from sweet to steely, and echoing indignantly over the speakerphone she insisted on using so that Jason, her new husband, could be part of the conversation. “As far as I’m concerned, I never received his letter.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to pull that off,” Eve had pointed out. “You just finished saying he had it delivered by courier to the agency, which means you had to sign for it.”

“I don’t care! The almighty Signor Brabanti can go to hell! He might be a rich Italian living in Malta and wielding a lot of clout there, but he’s a nobody in New York.”

Eve heard the rustle of paper, then Jason spoke. “Might be best to cater to him, buttercup. From the tone of this letter, he means business. Either you go to him, which gives you the choice of making the visit short and sweet, or he comes here and hangs around as long as he pleases—and we don’t want that, now do we?”

“If you think my showing up with Nicola will put an end to his demands,” she’d replied, “you’re dreaming, honey. They’re just the beginning, mark my words.”

A pause, then Jason’s voice again. “What’s your take on all this, Eve?”

Wishing she’d let her answering service pick up a message, because becoming embroiled in the permanent crisis which best defined Marcia’s life inevitably wound up costing her more than she could afford, Eve said, “From what you’ve told me, I have to agree with Jason, Marcia. Either you make the trip to Malta, or Gabriel will come to you. It’s your call. Either way, he’s obviously determined to see his baby and frankly, he has every right to do so.”

She hadn’t needed to be there in person to know that Marcia’s mouth had taken on the mulish pout she’d perfected before she turned four. It had announced itself in her petulant reply. “Then you can be the one to take her to him, because I won’t have him hanging around here, and I absolutely will not go back to Malta. And before you turn me down, Eve, let me remind you who came to Chicago to look after your smelly old cat and water your plants, the last time you spent a month lolling around on the Mexican Riviera.”

“For heaven’s sake, that was five years ago and Fidelio’s been dead nearly two—and he didn’t smell, at least no more than you would if you were almost a hundred and forty years old in human years! As for the plants, you managed to kill off every one!”

“Nevertheless, you owe me.”

Eve had been sorely tempted to remind her cousin that, at the time, she’d been desperate to leave New York until the heat died down, after she’d become altogether too friendly with a client whose wife hadn’t looked kindly on his wandering eye. But unwilling to shatter Jason’s illusions about his brand-new wife, she’d made do with a firm, “I’m well aware that the rare favor you do for someone else invariably comes with a hefty price tag, Marcia. But if you think I’m about to take your baby off your hands and—”

“Why not?” Marcia shot back. “You’re forever saying you want to meet her. Well, here’s your chance to put your money where your mouth is, and do some serious bonding.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

Apparently Eve hadn’t been the only one who thought so. Even Jason, who had no real stake in any of this, added a shocked protest. “That’s going a bit far, buttercup!”

“So’s my traipsing off to Malta at a time when your career’s at a critical point and you need me around to protect your interests. Who do you think matters more to me, Jason: you or Gabriel?”

“Well,” he’d said, “when you put it that way…”

“What other way is there?” Marcia had replied blithely. “Come on, Eve, be a sport! You of all people know how hard it’s going to be dragging a baby from one small town to another in the kind of sweltering heat and humidity we get here in the summer.”

“Taking a child out of the country involves a bit more than presenting a plane ticket,” Eve objected. “There’s the small matter of a passport and parental permission. Or are you expecting me to smuggle her aboard in my carry-on bag?”

“I’ll make sure you’ve got all the necessary documentation. You just concentrate on Nicola and make sure she knows her mommy loves her.”

“And how do I do that, exactly?”

“You’ll figure out a way. It’s not as if I’m handing her over to some inexperienced stranger, after all. You’re a nurse. You deal with babies and children all the time.” Marcia had paused for a breath before winding up for her final argument. “Think about it, Eve! You’ve taken a leave of absence because you’re burned out from working twenty-four seven in that flea pit you call a clinic. You need a vacation worse than anyone else I know. And I’m presenting you with the chance for a luxurious holiday on an exotic island in the Mediterranean. Whatever other opinion I hold of my unlamented ex-husband, I’m the first to admit he never settles for anything less than the best, so you’ll travel first class all the way, and be waited on hand and foot while you’re a guest in his house. You’d have to be some sort of fool to turn down an offer like that.”

And a bigger fool not to! Yet here she was, complete with sleeping babe, waiting to confront the unpleasant Signor Brabanti whom she’d never met, because Marcia had wasted so little time marrying him that none of her family had known about the wedding until it was over. And before they’d had time to get used to that idea, the marriage was over, too.

…Tall, dark and handsome, and so arrogant you won’t be able to miss him. Just head for the guy acting as if he owns the place….

So Marcia had described him, but eyeing the group clustered before her now in the executive lounge, Eve saw no one fitting that description. Instead she was approached by a gray-haired man of medium height, in crisp white trousers and a navy blazer with a gold-braided coat of arms emblazoned on the breast pocket. “Signora Brabanti?” he inquired.

“Caldwell,” she said, wondering why he’d think she was her cousin, when she knew Marcia had let Gabriel know she was sending Eve in her place. “Signorina Caldwell.”

He inclined his head in apology. “Scusi. I am looking for an American with a baby and—”

“You’ve found her.” She gestured at Nicola who, worn-out with screaming pretty much nonstop during the flight from Amsterdam, had at last fallen asleep. “This is Signor Brabanti’s daughter.”

“Capisco! I am Paolo, sent by the signor to drive you to the Villa Brabanti.”

“He couldn’t spare the time to come and meet us himself?”

“The signor sends his apologies.” Paolo’s tone was as neutral as his glance. “A matter of some importance arose which prevented him from being here.”

“More important than meeting his daughter?” She raised her eyebrows, making no secret of her disdain. “And here I had the impression he was anxious to see her as soon as possible. Silly me!”

The chauffeur coughed and glanced away, clearly unused to hearing anyone criticize his employer. “You have had a long journey,” he murmured soothingly. “If you care to wait in the car, signorina, I will collect your luggage, then we will be on our way. You and the bambina will soon be home.”

Hardly ‘home’, she thought, following him through the main arrivals hall to the black Mercedes Benz limousine parked directly outside the building. Although it was only a little past seven-thirty in the evening, already it was dark, but floodlights illuminated the handsome curved facade of the airport.

“Allow me, signorina.” Relieving her of the infant seat, Paolo lifted it into the roomy interior of the car, deftly buckled it in place in the middle of the back seat, and ran a gentle finger down the sleeping baby’s cheek. “Molto bella, si?”

Although her grasp of Italian was minimal, Eve understood well enough to reply, “Yes, she’s beautiful, but I’m afraid all this traveling has been very hard on her.”

He murmured sympathetically, and waited for Eve to get settled before handing her the overloaded diaper bag and her purse, then disappeared into the building again to retrieve the rest of her luggage, a task he accomplished with amazing speed and efficiency. Within minutes, he was behind the wheel and the limousine was gliding away from the curb, and dovetailing smoothly into the stream of traffic heading toward Valletta.

“A bit of history goes a very long way with me, but you’ll soak up all that antiquity,” Marcia had predicted. “You can’t turn a corner anywhere in Malta, especially not Valletta, without coming smack up against some ancient relic.”

Although Gabriel lived just outside the city itself, as the car headed northeast and the ramparts of the capital came into floodlit view, Eve could well understand her cousin’s remarks. Even after dark and from a distance of several miles, those soaring, massive walls, built centuries before by the Knights of Saint John, made an impressive sight, and despite all her reservations about making the trip, she found herself hoping for a few days to herself, to explore the famous islands.

Any such ambition faded, the minute the limousine swept through the iron gates guarding the entrance to the Villa Brabanti. The house rose up in the night, huge and dark, a barren, looming pile of stone with not so much as a speck of light shining from its windows. Only the moon, cool as ice, glimmered on the glass panes. Not for a second could she imagine leaving Nicola in the care of a man who chose to live in the sort of mansion lifted right out of a gothic horror movie.

“Are you quite sure we’re expected?” she asked Paolo, an undeniable quiver of apprehension slithering down her spine. “I don’t see any sign of the welcome mat being rolled out.”

“It is the emergency of which I spoke,” he explained, coming around to open the limousine’s rear door. “Unfortunately the main fusebox in the villa has developed a problem which poses a fire hazard. As you know, signorina, Malta has adopted the British electrical system, supplying 240 volts. When trouble arises, it is not something to be ignored. We could roast in our beds otherwise.”

Her disquiet increasing with his every word, Eve remained firmly seated and said, “What a comforting thought! Perhaps I’d be better off taking the baby and staying in a hotel until the problem is resolved.”

“Quite unnecessary,” Paolo assured her. “Signor Brabanti has the situation well in hand.”

As if he’d uttered some magical incantation, the property suddenly came alive with light. It poured from the windows, flowed from hidden spotlights in the garden, and fell in a bright golden swath from the open front door to illuminate the forecourt where the limousine stood.

“Per favor, signorina.” Paolo extended his hand, less in invitation than command. “The signor will have heard us arrive.” He didn’t need to add, And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The way his tone verged on the imperious said it for him.

“Very well.” Suspending her reservations for the present, Eve leaned over to unbuckle Nicola’s infant seat. “Come on, munchkin. We might as well get this over with.”

The night air lay warm and heavy with the scent of flowers. A cluster of fat white blooms hung ghostlike over the edge of a stone retaining wall sturdy enough to hold back an army. Tall palm trees stood sentinel-like along either side of the long driveway leading to the forecourt. Somewhere to the right, below a sweep of lawn, the soft boom and swish of waves breaking over rocks swept the silence like a lullaby.

“This way, signorina.”

Paolo ushered her through the front door and into an entrance hall of such grand proportions that it would have done justice to a royal residence. Checkerboard black and white marble tiles covered the floor. Tapestries, faded by age to softly muted tones of ecru and rose and blue, hung from the walls. Directly in front of her, a magnificent marble staircase rose to a central landing, then branched in two to lead to a gallery that ran around the entire second story. Overhead, some forty feet above the ground floor, frescoed cherubs cavorted among a sea of clouds around the perimeter of a domed ceiling with a stained-glass window at its center.

Gazing around, Eve’s first impressions of the place underwent change. Old the house might be, but “elegant” more properly described it than “gothic” “sumptuous” rather than “barren.” In fact, she was so entranced with the visual feast surrounding her that she failed to notice a recessed door at the rear of the hall, until it thudded open and the figure of a man appeared silhouetted on the threshold.

Even without Marcia’s description, Eve would have recognized him as Gabriel Brabanti. Never mind that the door cast him in such deep shadow that she couldn’t tell whether he was handsome as sin, or homely as a board fence. Only the lord and master of the manor could have exuded such presence; such an air of unshakeable, aristocratic authority.

For a second or two, he remained motionless and fixed her in an unblinking gaze, stroking his thumb the entire time over the barrel of the enormous steel flashlight he carried. The intensity of his stare, not to mention the way he caressed the flashlight as if it were a weapon he was debating using, unnerved Eve enough. But when he finally approached her, crossing the wide expanse of marble floor in long, purposeful strides, it took all her considerable will-power not to cringe against the tapestry-hung wall.

He did not look like a father eager to see his baby for the first time. He looked coldly outraged by the intrusion of strangers in his home.

“Who the devil are you?” he asked, his voice rich as textured velvet, his accent an intriguing mix of Italian over-laid with Harvard English.

Flabbergasted, Eve stared at him. Up close, he was all lean, hard angles and olive skin burnished by the sun. A tall, elegant creature of exquisite proportions; broad across the shoulders, deep in the chest, narrow at the waist.

And his face? He had the face of an irate angel. A face at once so arresting it stole a person’s breath away, and so darkly brooding it chilled the blood.

His eyes, she noticed with a faint sense of shock, were a remarkable shade of crystal clear blue. Against the contrasting fringe of dense black lashes and olive skin, they were astonishingly beautiful. As for his mouth…her own ran dry just thinking about it.

Marcia’s description of him as dark and handsome ran pitifully short of the mark. He was the epitome of male beauty; a god among mortals. A sight to make rational men grind their teeth in envy, and sophisticated women to fall at his feet. In short, Gabriel Brabanti was the most strikingly beautiful man Eve had ever seen.

“What sort of question is that?” she croaked. “You know very well who I am. Marcia wrote and told you.”

But even as she spoke, she knew her words were meaningless, and she knew why. Because, of course, her cousin had done no such thing. Instead Marcia had behaved just as she always did when faced with a sticky situation: she’d lied, then run for cover. It was a habit of such long-standing that the shame was Eve’s for having expected anything else.

“What I know,” Gabriel Brabanti replied stonily, “is that unless she has undergone extensive cosmetic surgery, you are not my ex-wife. As for her having written to me, apart from a brief note advising me that she would be arriving today, I’ve had no contact with Marcia since her equally brief message informing me of my daughter’s birth.”

Still stunned by his appearance and feeling like an utter fool because of it, Eve said, “She’s never been much of a letter writer.”

His mouth thinned scornfully and she could hardly blame him. Such a lame excuse deserved nothing but contempt. “She appears to possess few commendable qualities. That, however, does not answer my question. Who are you?”

“Her cousin, Eve Caldwell.” She deposited the infant seat on the floor, fumbled to shift the heavy diaper bag from her right arm to her left and thrust out her hand. Discomfited when he ignored it, she rushed to explain, “I’m Nicola’s aunt. Sort of—well, not really. Technically I suppose she’s really my first cousin once removed. But Marcia and I are like sisters—twins, even. Our fathers are brothers, and she and I share the same birthday, you see. So it seemed the natural thing for me to assume the role of aunt to her baby.”

“Do you always babble like this in reply to a simple question, Signorina Caldwell?” he inquired, his gaze never once wavering. “Or is it something you resort to only when you’re nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” she said. But that she had to swallow twice and run the tip of her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry made a mockery of her answer.

“You should be. Within minutes of your arrival, you discover your cousin has betrayed your trust. Only a complete simpleton would assume her store of unpleasant surprises ends there.”

His marriage to Marcia might have been brief, Eve decided glumly, but clearly it had lasted long enough for him to get to know her altogether too well. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to confront him again. “I can deal with anything Marcia dishes out.”

“And so,” he said, “can I. I suggest you remember that, Signorina Caldwell, should you ever feel tempted to aid and abet her in any schemes she might be hatching. I’m sure she’s regaled you with tales of how miserable and intolerant a husband she found me, but she hasn’t the first idea of how formidable an enemy I can be when I really put my mind to it.” He stepped closer and made a move toward the infant seat. “Now, having made my position clear, I would like to meet my daughter.”

Acting purely on instinct, Eve beat him to it and hauled Nicola out of reach. “She’s sleeping.”

“So I see. But since I don’t expect her to engage in conversation with me, it hardly signifies. Hand her over, per favor!”

“Here?” Eve glanced around the vast hall. Impressive and magnificent though it might be from an architectural viewpoint, as a cosy setting for father and daughter to become acquainted, it left a lot to be desired. “Haven’t you prepared a nursery?”

“An entire suite, signorina,” he assured, his exasperation tinted with amusement. “And all of it well equipped to serve your every need. Don’t look so suspicious. I merely wish to hold my daughter, not feed her to the wolves.”

Her glance fell from his face to his hands. They looked capable enough, but, “Have you ever held a baby before? It’s not the same as handling a parcel, you know. You have to support her head.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And keep a firm grip. Babies have an inborn fear of being dropped.”

“I have no intention of dropping her, nor do I intend to take her from you by force. I am, however, rapidly running out of patience. So for the last time, signorina, hand her over.”

Reluctantly, she did so. He grasped the handle of the infant seat and raised it level with his chest in one smooth swing. “So,” he said quietly, his eyes tracking Nicola’s tiny features with somber intensity, “this is the child I fathered. She’s small.”

Small? She was beautiful! Perfect from the top of her downy head to the tips of her dainty little feet! If small was the best he could come up with, he didn’t deserve her, and Eve would gladly have informed him of the fact if it weren’t that alienating him would serve no useful purpose.

“Most babies are, Signor Brabanti,” she said, with as much restraint as she could muster.

“I suppose.” Continuing to hold the carrier at chest height as easily as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread, he made his way slowly across the hall and through a doorway on the left.

Following, Eve found herself in a reception room so exquisitely furnished that she couldn’t contain a small gasp of pleasure. She’d visited enough museums to recognize that the gorgeous ceiling and wall moldings, the beautiful faded rugs, the inlaid cabinets, and silk-covered sofas were priceless. But it was the combination of color and texture, as much as the antiques themselves, which lent the room such extraordinary distinction.

“There is a problem, Signorina Caldwell?” Elegant eyebrows raised in question, Gabriel paused before the fireplace. “You’re perhaps thinking that this isn’t a house where a child could roam freely, and play without fear of breaking something irreplaceable?”

She ran a self-conscious hand down her travel-worn suit. A stain marked the lapel of the jacket, where Nicola had spat up during the flight from Amsterdam, and the full skirt was woefully creased. “Actually I’m thinking that, to be in a room like this, I should be wearing formal evening dress—something in heavy slipper satin with a train, and diamonds and pearls.”

“The opportunity will arise in due course,” he remarked ambiguously, “but for tonight, what you have on will serve well enough. You will have noticed, I’m sure, that I’m not dressed for a night at the opera, either.”

Of course she’d noticed! What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have, when confronted by such a splendid male specimen? His blue jeans clung to his long legs and molded themselves to his hips like a jealous lover. His shirt, unbuttoned halfway to his waist, ebbed and flowed over the breadth of his chest, allowing tantalizing glimpses of bronze skin and a smattering of dark hair.

With cavalier disregard, he set the infant seat in the middle of an elaborate gilt occasional table, and it was all Eve could do not to utter a protest. “How do I unfasten these restraints?”

“There’s a release button here.” She hurried forward, unsnapped the buckles holding the safety belts in place, then lifted Nicola out of the seat before it did irreparable damage to the table’s delicate surface, and handed her to her father.

He held her with his elbows pressed to his sides, his forearms extended, his hands too inexperienced to know how to scoop up so tiny a burden, and he too unaware to know she’d feel more secure cuddled up against his chest. Instead he stared down at her, the doubtful look on his face speaking volumes. Picking up on his uncertainty, Nicola stretched and let out an annoyed squawk.

He froze. “Per carita! She wriggles like an eel!”

“Hold her upright,” Eve suggested. “You’ll both feel safer that way.”

“Like so?” Tentatively he hoisted Nicola so that she rested solidly against his chest, with her head on his shoulder. As if she sensed she’d come home, she turned and burrowed her face against the smooth, tanned skin of his neck, her mouth seeking.

Unexpectedly moved by the sight of the baby, so pink and delicate, nestled trustingly against the man, so dark and strong, Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Exactly like that.”

He made a face. “Why is she’s slobbering on me?”

“Because she’s hungry.” She nodded to where she’d left the diaper bag in the hall. “I’ve got a bottle of formula out there. If you’ll tell me where the kitchen is, I’ll go warm it up, then feed her.”

He indicated a velvet rope hanging beside the fireplace. “Ring for my housekeeper. She’ll heat the bottle. And I,” he said flatly, “will feed my daughter. You’ve done your part by bringing her to me, signorina. I’ll take over now.”

She hadn’t been so summarily dismissed since her student nurse days when she’d accidentally stepped on the hospital chief of staff’s toe. “Fine,” she said, smarting at his high-handed tone, and yanked the bell pull with rather more force than was warranted. “Then you can change her diaper as well. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s leaking all over your shirt. In fact, give her a bath while you’re at it. She could use one, after spending most of the day either in airports or on a jet.”

His horrified expression would have been comical if Eve had been in any mood to laugh. But all she could think of was Marcia’s warning. Establish your rights from the start…because given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive…!

“Perhaps,” he murmured grudgingly, “I’ll allow you take care of her needs this one time, after all.”

Allow? Oh, the man had gall to spare! “You’ll allow me to look after my own niece? How big of you!”

For a second too long, they glared at one another, and in that time a turbulent sense of recognition swarmed through the air; a sense that beneath the surface of resentment and rivalry, something much less antagonistic and much more disturbingly erotic, was struggling to emerge.

Even he felt it. “Forgive me, signorina,” he said, almost pushing Nicola at her, then backing out of range of that sudden, strange, high-voltage jolt of electricity. “I didn’t intend to come across as quite so overbearing. Please attend to my daughter’s needs as you see fit. There’ll be time enough in the coming weeks for me to become better acquainted with her.”

“As you wish,” Eve said, feeling oddly disoriented herself. Just as well a pleasant-faced, motherly woman appeared in the doorway and took charge.

Appearing equally relieved by her arrival, Gabriel said, “This is Beryl, my housekeeper. Beryl, my daughter’s mother won’t be staying with us, after all. Instead Signorina Caldwell is taking her place.”

If the housekeeper was surprised by the change in guest arrangements, she was too well-schooled to let it show. “Si, signor.”

He glanced again at Nicola who’d begun to howl in earnest. Raising his voice over the din, he asked, “How long do you expect it will take to settle her for the night, Signorina Caldwell?”

“An hour, at least.”

Eyeing the large gilt pendulum clock on the wall, he said, “Then we’ll sit down to dinner at nine-thirty.”

“I’d prefer to have a snack in my room.”

“Don’t push your luck, signorina! I’ve made enough concessions for one night.”

“And I’ve been traveling for the better part of two days.”

For a moment, from the way his mouth tightened, she thought they were in for another confrontation. Then, on a long, controlled exhalation, he said, “Indeed you have. How remiss of me to have overlooked that fact. Beryl, show Signorina Caldwell to the suite you’ve prepared, will you, and make sure she has everything she needs?”

“Certainly, signor. And shall I order a light supper while I’m at it?”

“I’ll speak to Fabroni on your behalf.” He glanced again with some alarm at his daughter. “It would seem you’re going to have your hands full, dealing with…that.”

“All right, then.” She smiled at Eve. “Come with me, signorina, and let’s get the little one looked after.”

He watched her follow Beryl out of the room, his brow knit in thought. That his ex-wife was up to something he had no doubt. Unless there was some pressing reason to do so, no normal mother entrusted a young baby to the care of someone else, on a journey taking her halfway around the world, no matter how impeccably trustworthy and capable that person might be.

The question was, what part did the cousin play in all this? Was she merely a pawn in Marcia’s latest scheme, or did her big, innocent gray eyes and softly curved mouth serve to disguise yet another devious mind?