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The Baby Bind
Nikki Benjamin


Mills & Boon Cherish
A second chance? Charlotte Fagan’s attempts to get pregnant had strained her marriage to breaking point. Then the call came – the Fagans were approved for adoption. Her husband, Sean, agreed to pose as the happily married father-to-be – provided that once the adoption went through Charlotte granted him a divorce. Now at least one of her dreams would come true…Sean Fagan still loved Charlotte enough to help this last time, but after that they were through – or so he resolved, until their trip overseas made him rediscover everything wonderful about this woman.Would a beautiful baby girl tear Charlotte and Sean apart – or bind them together like never before?







Sean could see the anguish in her wide brown eyes, still damp with tears.

“It’s OK. I’ve got you,” he murmured, moving his hands around to her back in the beginning of an embrace.

Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away, but leaned against him with a sigh.

“What I meant to say was that I was so cold to you, so withdrawn those last few months. I was just so self-involved, so focused on trying to have a baby that it must have seemed that nothing else mattered to me. I am truly sorry, Sean.”

“I just wanted you to be happy, Charlotte. I still want you to be happy.”

The longing in his wife’s eyes sparked anew the heat that had never stopped smouldering in Sean. Before he could take the time to consider the possible consequences, Sean bent his head and claimed her luscious mouth in a kiss.


NIKKI BENJAMIN

was born and raised in the Midwest, but after years in the Houston area, she considers herself a true Texan. Nikki says she’s always been an avid reader. (Her earliest literary heroines were Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden and Beany Malone.) Her writing experience had been limited, however, until a friend started penning a novel and encouraged Nikki to do the same. One scene led to another, and soon she was hooked.



Dear Reader,

Several years ago, a close friend’s daughter decided to adopt a child. She soon discovered that although she was a stable, healthy young woman and a dedicated teacher, her options were limited because she was also single.

Laura chose to pursue the foreign adoption alternative. Her journey to Kazakhstan to adopt the elder of her two daughters was the inspiration for The Baby Bind. She has since rounded out her very special family with the recent adoption of her younger daughter, a little girl who was born in China.

Raising children seems to become more of a challenge every day. Yet it’s heartening to see how many people choose to become loving, caring, devoted parents despite all the uncertainties they face.

This story is for all you parents out there and for all who hope to be parents one day. May all the dreams you have for yourselves and for your children come true!

Sincerely,

Nikki Benjamin




The Baby Bind


NIKKI BENJAMIN




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Chapter One

For a long time Charlotte Fagan sat alone in the close confines of her small, elegant sports car, huddled in the darkness, hands clasped in her lap. An icy January rain pounded hard against the canvas roof just above her head and ran in rivulets down the windshield, blurring her view through the glass. But the storm that raged outside her car was nothing compared to the storm that raged in her heart.

Charlotte hadn’t been sure that she was making the right choice when she left the small town of Mayfair, Louisiana, almost three hours earlier and had begun the long drive to New Orleans. Her gaze fixed upon the tall old town house tucked deep in the heart of the French Quarter, she still wasn’t sure.

There had been a time when she could have, would have, asked anything of her husband without the slightest hesitation—a time when she had been able to trust him with her deepest, most intimate needs and desires. He had willingly, lovingly, tenderly given her everything that had been within his power to give.

Now, however, she knew that convincing Sean to help her was going to be a challenge. Separated by a physical distance of two hundred miles and the emotional distance of living apart for half a year, with only the tenuous-at-best connection of a telephone line between them, she was certain that the odds of winning him over were zero to none.

Unbeknownst to him, Sean held the possibility of a dream come true, an opportunity for her happiness—in fact, the very key to her happiness—firmly in his hands. She needed his cooperation—she needed it desperately. But for the first time since that summer day ten years ago when he’d promised to love and cherish her always, Charlotte wasn’t sure that he would offer it.

She had spotted his signature red SUV at the curb on her first pass down the street. She had also detected the faint glow of light sliding through the wide wooden slats of the shutters covering the long, narrow front windows on either side of the equally long, narrow front door. No doubt about it, at least in her mind. Her husband was most certainly at home on this stormy night.

But was he home alone?

Never in the past had Sean given Charlotte reason to believe that he would be anything but faithful to her and the vows of their marriage. But the distance between them had grown so great lately that she could no longer be absolutely sure of him in any way.

Unclasping her hands, Charlotte reached across the car’s console, picked up the bulky brown envelope she’d tossed on the passenger seat less than five minutes after retrieving it from her mailbox in Mayfair, and rubbed a finger over the neatly printed return address on the shiny white label.

After ripping the envelope open and scanning the contents, she hadn’t even thought about continuing up the long gravel drive to the old plantation house she and Sean had so lovingly restored early in their marriage. She had wanted only to show the paperwork enclosed to her husband and know that he felt the same excitement and the same joy that had blossomed in her soul, as she’d quickly read through the various documents.

Though it had already been early evening and a steady rain had been sluicing down relentlessly, Charlotte had wheeled her car into a narrow U-turn and headed back to the two-lane highway that would take her to the interstate leading straight to the city.

More than once along the way, she had considered turning around and returning home again. The storm had made driving slow and tedious. And though flooding wasn’t likely in the French Quarter, Charlotte was nervous about traveling through the rest of the city, post-Hurricane Katrina.

Her initial impulse to share with her husband what had been good news to her had also faded, taking with it the flurry of hope in her heart, and the sense of urgency that hope had engendered.

Pragmatic once again, Charlotte had acknowledged that the sheaf of papers and the small glossy photograph in the plain brown envelope she now held in her hands contained no magic elixir that could remedy all that had gone wrong with her marriage. But there was also the promise of a dream about to finally come true and with it the opportunity for another kind of happiness—her happiness, at least.

A gust of wind rattled up the narrow street, rocking Charlotte’s car. The gaslight half a block away flickered ominously, sending shadows scuttling along the deserted sidewalk. Instead of letting up as she had been hoping, the rain drummed even more insistently outside her meager, not to mention increasingly cold and damp, little shelter.

Though her hasty drive to New Orleans now seemed rather foolish, she had no desire to drive all the way back to Mayfair without talking to Sean. She not only had important news to share with him—news that affected him as well as her—but also a duty to do so without delay. She wouldn’t intrude for long. She would simply state the facts of the matter. Then she would express her need for his assistance, and hope for at least some consideration from him in return.

As she tucked the envelope inside a zippered pocket of her tote, then fished for the compact collapsible umbrella she’d stashed under her car seat, Charlotte knew that approaching Sean wouldn’t be such a big deal if she could anticipate how he would respond. But after half a year apart there was very little she knew for sure about how her husband felt about anything or anyone, including her.

The umbrella was all but useless in the face of the stormy onslaught she battled from car to curb, then along the slick sidewalk and up the three narrow stone steps to the front door of the town house. Though her calf-length black wool coat worn over gray wool pants and a turtleneck sweater kept her mostly dry, her feet, shod in black leather pumps, were soaked after only a few steps.

Finally standing on the small stone porch, her hands numbed by the cold and damp, she almost lost her grip on the handle of her umbrella as another blast of wind swirled around her.

Too bad she hadn’t thought to take her gloves from her tote when she’d tucked the envelope safely inside it. Bundling her chin-length chocolate-brown curls into a headscarf wouldn’t have been a bad idea, either—if only she’d had one with her. She would have preferred not to look like a mad woman tonight, but there was little she could do about that now.

Pressing one trembling finger against the brass button that rang the doorbell, Charlotte reminded herself that her appearance mattered not at all. Sean had seen her in a worse state on more than one occasion in the past, and hadn’t shunned her. Of course, he had still been in love with her those other times that she hadn’t been at her best—

Without any warning—not even the sound of the bolt sliding in the lock—the front door of the town house swung open. Huddled close to the facade, as she was, not to mention totally unprepared for her husband’s sudden looming presence in the doorway, Charlotte took a startled step back.

At the same instant that the heel of her right shoe slid over the rain-slick stone, another gust of wind caught the umbrella. Thrown completely off balance, Charlotte let go of the umbrella, and as it sailed into the night, she stumbled again and started to fall.

Sure that she was about to land in a heap halfway down the porch steps, she uttered a small, frightened cry. Then, as suddenly as she’d begun to go down, she found herself caught up in the grip of her husband’s arms. With a smooth, steady swoop, he lifted her neatly off her feet, then cradled her securely against his chest.

Blinking up at Sean in dismay, the full force of the rain soaking her hair, her face and her coat, as well as his hair and face and rumpled white dress shirt, Charlotte was overcome by the most disconcerting urge to…giggle. The situation into which she’d gotten herself was so utterly unexpected and so utterly ridiculous that despite the stern and disapproving look on her husband’s face, she really couldn’t help but laugh.

Not a little burble, either, but an irreverent, unrestrained ripple of hilarity that first brought tears to her eyes, and then with a startling shift, drew darker, more painful tears from her soul.

Sean swung around with her still in his arms, a muttered curse rattling deep in his throat, walked back into the town house and unceremoniously kicked the door shut with one well-placed foot. Caught up so protectively in his firm yet gentle grip, Charlotte leaned her head on his shoulder and sobbed like an exhausted, overwrought child.

Though she knew she was making a spectacle of herself, she couldn’t seem to stop the tears pouring from her eyes. She had dammed them up deep inside of her for so long that getting a grip on her runaway emotions now seemed all but impossible.

As if oblivious to the fact that they were both sopping wet, Sean strode through the entryway, heels rapping on the hardwood floor, crossed the very old, very exquisite Oriental carpet in the living room, then settled on the equally old, equally exquisite burnished brown leather sofa.

His hold on her remained determined, perhaps even a little tender. But as her sobs finally began to subside, he spoke to her in a tone that blended exasperation, anger and reproach in an all too familiar way.

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what, exactly, is going on here, Charlotte.” His slow, deep, delectably Southern voice drawled over her, around her, inside of her, soothing her, although likely not by design. “Are you all right?”

She hadn’t been all right for longer than she could remember. Living through six months of long, lonely days and even longer, lonelier nights had left her feeling bruised and battered.

But she knew that wasn’t what Sean had meant, and even if it had been, making such a reply wouldn’t have garnered her the least bit of sympathy. Not when she had been glad to see him go that sunny Sunday afternoon just days before they would have celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary, and, much to her regret, had made no effort to hide her feelings from him.

“I’m okay, really—okay…”

Not quite able to look at her husband eye to eye yet, Charlotte breathed in his familiar scent as she rubbed her cheek against the rough wet texture of his cotton shirt.

“You didn’t sound okay a few minutes ago,” Sean pointed out, not unkindly.

“I’m perfectly fine. I just need to…to talk to you about something,” she said, finally shifting in his embrace so that she could look up at him and meet his questioning gaze.

She’d had no more than a glimpse of him before she’d slipped on the step and he’d so gallantly saved her from a nasty fall. With the light at his back, he’d been only a silhouette then, mostly shadowed by the darkness of the night. In the soft glow of the living-room lamps, Charlotte now had a chance to study his features for the first time in half a year.

His appearance hadn’t changed much in the time they’d lived apart. His face—defined by high cheekbones, square jaw and hawk-like nose—was still as ruggedly handsome as ever. But his short, thick, very wet, raven-black hair was more liberally salted with silver than she remembered.

There was also more than a hint of weariness evident in his expression and wariness in his pale gray eyes that held, as well, a definite chill.

“Must be something serious or you wouldn’t have driven two hundred miles in the middle of a rainstorm on a weeknight,” he said. “I seem to remember that you don’t like being on the road in bad weather and that your workload at the high school rarely allows you an evening off.”

Sean was right. Whenever possible, she avoided driving any distance at all during stormy weather. She was also extremely conscientious about her job at Mayfair High School. One of three guidance counselors, she was quite busy during the spring semester when the eleventh graders were busy sending out college applications and the twelfth graders were engaged in a scramble to find student loans and/or jobs at local businesses around town.

“Yes, it’s serious, at least to me,” Charlotte replied. “Very serious…”

“I’m assuming it’s not a simple matter, though—something we could have discussed over the telephone.” Sean hesitated, eyeing her with the first indication of alarm, the frown already furrowing his forehead deepening incrementally. “Are you ill, Charlotte? All those fertility drugs— have they caused a problem with your health?”

He paused again, the brush of his fingertips against her cheek as soft, and fleeting, as a butterfly’s wings, reminding her of the warmth and tenderness he had once shown her so freely.

Then he added with very real concern, “You have to know I would certainly take something like an illness seriously.”

The hope that all was not lost between them after so many months spent apart sparked anew in Charlotte’s heart. Obviously, Sean hadn’t stopped caring about her completely, though she had given him good reason to do just that during those last few weeks before he’d finally walked out on her.

Of course, he had been the one to call a permanent halt to what he’d so inelegantly termed their baby chase. And he had been the one to say with undeniable certainty that perhaps it was just as well that they weren’t able to have a child—the child she’d wanted so desperately for so long. He couldn’t have said anything more hurtful to her if he’d tried.

Charlotte had always believed that she was meant to be a mother. Her mother and grandmother—now deceased— had told her so many times. Yet she had failed to live up to the legacy left to her by the two strong women who had devoted their lives to raising her after her father’s death. She had accomplished everything else she had ever set out to do; everything except conceiving a child. Now she might have one last chance at motherhood, but she had to play her cards just right.

“I know you would take it seriously if I were ill, but I’m not.” Charlotte offered her husband a slight smile meant to be reassuring. Then, in an attempt at levity, she added, “But I’m likely to end up with a raging head cold before the week is over if I don’t get out of these wet clothes soon.” She pushed a lock of dripping hair away from her face, shivering as a few drops of icy water trickled down the side of her neck. “You wouldn’t by any chance have a spare pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and some heavy socks I could borrow, would you?”

At five foot eight, Charlotte was only a few inches shorter than Sean, and with her slim, boyish figure she could also wear some of the same clothes he did, and in the past, often had.

“Of course, I would.” Though he didn’t actually return her smile, the grim lines on either side of his mouth softened just a bit. “I’d also like to suggest that we each take a shower then meet in the kitchen for sandwiches and coffee. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed. “I haven’t eaten yet, either.”

Looking away from him, she scooted off his lap as gracefully as possible, encumbered as she was by the wet wool of her coat, pants and turtleneck sweater. She also tried to ignore, as best she could, the painful stab to her heart as she recalled all those nights in the past when they had showered together.

Sean stood, too, shoved his hands in the side pockets of his suit pants, and shifted a little uncomfortably. Charlotte risked another glance at him, but he kept his gaze averted, obviously as ill at ease with their situation as she admittedly was.

“There are fresh towels, soap and shampoo in the bathroom on the second floor. I’ll get some sweats and socks for you and put them in the guest room,” he said, then finally turned to lead the way to the narrow staircase off the entryway.

“Thanks, Sean—thanks a lot,” Charlotte murmured as she followed him up the stairs.

Once upon a time, she would have gone with him to the master suite—complete with its own tiny fireplace—that took up the entire third floor of the town house that had been Sean’s boyhood home. She would have stood with him under a rain-shower spray of hot water in the separate glass-enclosed stall in the master bathroom, or soaked with him in the huge, old-fashioned, claw-footed tub.

But tonight she walked alone down the dimly lit second- floor hallway to the bland, yet tidy, guest room and the small, serviceable bathroom as her husband continued up the staircase without so much as a backward glance.

Had he gotten so used to living on his own since they’d been apart that he no longer missed her? Or had he been so glad to get away from the turmoil rocking their marriage during those awful weeks before he’d left that he had never really missed her at all?

Stepping into the bathroom and closing the door, Charlotte caught sight of herself in the oval mirror above the freestanding white porcelain sink. Thankfully she didn’t look as bad as she’d thought she did, but she didn’t look especially good, either.

With all trace of her makeup washed off by the rain, her face was paler than she would have liked. The dark shadows that seemed to have taken up permanent residence under her wide, golden-brown eyes also stood out prominently. Her normally curly brown hair hung flat and wet against her head, as well, making her appear downright woebegone.

Which she wasn’t really, and refused to pretend to be with Sean.

In fact, she wasn’t a pathetic person by any stretch of the imagination. She was a strong, independent, intelligent woman who’d just happened to get soaked during a rainstorm. The last thing she wanted to stir in her husband was pity, and the best way to avoid doing that, she decided, was to pull herself together and put on a happy face just as quickly as she could.

Shivering despite the blast of hot air coming from the vent in the ceiling, Charlotte turned on the taps in the shower, then undressed quickly, piling her wet clothes in a neat-as-possible heap atop the wicker hamper. Once she was warm and dry again, she’d hang everything up, but for now, her major goal was to chase the damp chill from the marrow of her bones.

She stood for a long time under the pounding, steamy spray, content just to let the soothing flow ripple over her. Her physical discomfort began to retreat and so, too, did the threads of tension stiffening her shoulders and knotting the small of her back until she could finally luxuriate in a froth of cleansing bubbles. The familiar scent of the lavender soap and shampoo she’d chosen in another lifetime soothed her, as well, not only revitalizing her, but also putting her in touch with her femininity once again.

Feeling infinitely better, Charlotte stepped out of the shower stall at last, swaddled her hair in one big, fluffy white towel, and used another to blot the moisture from her skin. Gathering her wet clothes, she returned to the guest room, hung everything on the padded hangers she found in the closet, then dressed in the dark gray sweats and wool socks Sean had left for her on the bed as promised.

She took a few moments more to towel-dry her hair, finger-combing her damp curls into some semblance of order. Then, with more than a modicum of her confidence restored, she unzipped her tote and took from it the brown envelope. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she opened the clasp, pulled out the sheaf of papers and scanned them one last time before putting them away again.

Smiling to herself, Charlotte headed out of the bedroom, moving silently across the deep pile of the carpet, then grinned outright as she inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven. She hadn’t had one of those since the last time she and Sean had been together in New Orleans almost nine months ago.

That night they had sat together in the kitchen and shared the round loaf of Italian bread stuffed with ham, salami, provolone cheese and savory olive salad. That night, she had assumed that they’d also shared the hope that she would soon be pregnant with their child. But sadly, she had discovered how wrong she’d been on that account just three months later.

Apparently her beloved husband had simply been humoring her. Tired of the pretense he’d upheld for almost two years, he’d expressed his wishes in no uncertain terms, and when she’d failed to go along with what he wanted, he’d packed up his belongings and moved into the New Orleans town house without even the slightest hint of regret.

Charlotte had been so devastated by his betrayal that she’d been almost glad to see him go. For a long time afterward, she hadn’t really missed him much, either.

With her hopes and dreams of having a child dashed completely, it had also been all she could do to get through each day. The only way she’d thought she could be a mother was with Sean’s cooperation, and he’d refused to continue giving it.

That was still true, of course. But now all it would have to cost him was a little of his time.

As she started down the staircase, Charlotte wanted to believe that her husband hadn’t hardened his heart to her so much that he would withhold from her that one small gift. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a lot to offer him in return. But maybe, just maybe, the promise that she would never ask anything else of him again in her life would be enough to convince him that they would both be winners in the end.


Chapter Two

Sean had intentionally made short work of his shower, then quickly pulled on faded jeans and a black cashmere sweater before heading downstairs again. He had needed some time alone in the small, modern kitchen of the town house while the muffuletta sandwich he’d bought on his way home from the office warmed in the oven.

Time to brace himself with a stiff drink and gather his scattered wits so that he’d be ready to face Charlotte with a measure of calm.

She had been just about the last person that he’d expected to find standing on his doorstep on this stormy January night. Not only for the reasons he’d given her— her dislike of driving in bad weather and her stressful, time- consuming job at Mayfair High School—but also because of the emotional distance that had grown so impossibly great between them in the half year they had lived apart.

Charlotte had been so obviously glad to see him move out of the house in Mayfair six months ago, and since then, she hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in having him move back home again. Even over the holidays she had seemed more than content to be alone—although technically she hadn’t exactly been alone.

She had spent Thanksgiving with her friend Ellen Herrington, and Ellen’s family, then she’d gone on a ski trip to Colorado with another friend, Quinn Sutton, during the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

Not that Sean had begrudged his wife having the companionship of her friends during what was a typically lonely time of year for adults on their own. He certainly hadn’t wanted her to spend the season feeling as miserable as he had.

But Charlotte had always talked about how important it was to her to share special occasions like Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s with family. And he was her only family now, just as she was his only family, or had been until anger, fatigue and frustration had forced him to call a time-out in their ten-year marriage.

Granted he could have gone about it with more consideration. But at the time, tensions had been running so high between them that he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight. All he’d really known for sure during those last few days they’d been together was that he was very close to losing his wife completely. Leaving on his own had seemed a wiser choice than being asked, or even told, to go.

Sean had only meant for the separation to be temporary, though. He’d been sure that a short period of time apart would be good for both of them—a time during which they could each adjust to and accept the prospect of a different kind of future together. Especially since the alternate future he’d had in mind could be as fulfilling as the one they’d once anticipated having.

But somehow he’d screwed up big time, simply by expressing what he had honestly and truthfully come to believe. A lot of couples didn’t have children, often by choice, and they remained happily married.

How awful had it been to acknowledge that as far as he was concerned, he and Charlotte didn’t have to have a child in order to be content with the life they’d made together?

Neither one of them had been uplifted in any way by their consistent failure to conceive a child. How much more agony had Charlotte expected them to suffer in search of the one goal they had seemed destined never to attain? Why hadn’t she been able to see, as he had, that maybe they just weren’t meant to be parents?

Sean certainly hadn’t had the first clue about how to be a father. His own had been away on business so much that he hadn’t been much of a role model. His father’s cool, distant and demanding demeanor had been extremely off- putting, as well. Though Sean had done his best to please him as a child, he hadn’t ever really wanted to pattern his own behavior after his father’s.

There was also the fact that Sean’s doting mother had often treated his father like the odd man out on those rare occasions when he had been at home with them.

During those last few months when he and Charlotte had been together, she had become so completely focused on baby making that Sean had experienced a similar sense of exclusion. And he had begun to suspect that he might be in for an even worse fate once a child was added to the increasingly dissatisfying mix of his marriage.

Charlotte, too, had grown up without a father. But unlike Sean, she never seemed to have experienced any sense of loss or to have missed the presence of a man about the house. He could see where maybe one day she would be so devoted to loving and caring for a child, as her mother and grandmother had been devoted to her, that she wouldn’t miss the presence of a husband, either.

Calling a halt to the fertility treatments and the in vitro procedures so that they could reassess their situation had seemed like a better idea than continuing to attempt to conceive a baby with so much uncertainty eating away at his heart. But had he realized six months ago that his abrupt decision to move out of the house in Mayfair, albeit temporarily, would cause such a rift between him and Charlotte, he never would have done it.

He would have tried instead to convince his wife that they could be as happy together as a childless couple as they’d been during the eight years they’d shared before she’d insisted that it was time for them to have a baby. Of course, such an attempt would have been frustrating at best, if not downright futile, Sean reminded himself as he added a little more whiskey to the ice cubes in his glass.

His determination not to pursue the possibility of parenthood any further had created an impasse unlike any other he and Charlotte had faced during their marriage. And Charlotte’s refusal to at least try to understand, much less accept, his reasoning had only made bad matters worse.

All of which brought Sean back to the same conclusion he’d come to over and over again during the time he and Charlotte had lived apart.

Despite his own diffidence about becoming a father, he had gone along with Charlotte’s desire to have a baby because he had loved her enough to respect her wants and needs. But every attempt to conceive a child had ended in failure.

As he had told her before he’d moved to New Orleans in June, and as far as he was still concerned, unless and until she could show the same respect for his wants and needs, they really were better off apart.

So, Sean wondered, yet again, what had brought his wife to their town house in the French Quarter on such a dark and stormy night?

Apparently not the threat of a serious illness, much to his relief, he acknowledged. But the possibility that she’d come here to personally present him with a formal request for a divorce was almost as painful for him to contemplate.

Maybe he was dwelling too much on negatives, though. Maybe what Charlotte wanted from him was reconciliation, and maybe, just maybe she’d finally come to terms with the agreement she’d have to make in order to have that happen.

The alcohol buzzing through Sean’s system had eased somewhat the initial tumble of emotions he’d experienced upon first seeing his wife outside his door. But the sudden thought that Charlotte might want to give their marriage another chance made his heart pound and his gut clench all over again.

Such an offer from her would go a long way toward dispelling the anger and disappointment that still lingered, haunting him—

“Either my senses are deceiving me, or you have a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven.”

The sound of Charlotte’s voice, just a little too cheerful, startled Sean from his reverie. He had been standing at the counter, head bent, contemplating the whiskey and ice in the glass he held, and so hadn’t seen her approach through the doorway that connected the long living/dining room and the kitchen.

Now eyeing her as she hesitated uncertainly a few steps away from him, he wished that he’d focused more fully on the moment at hand. Remembering the past had been all good and well, but his introspection had left him far more vulnerable than he wanted to be to his wife’s considerable charms.

Gazing at Charlotte for a long, steady moment, Sean experienced the same stirring of physical desire that had caught him unawares when he’d first swept her into his arms on the front doorstep. Even dressed in baggy sweats and floppy socks, with her dark hair curling damply against her much-too-pale face, she looked sexy as hell to him.

He’d like to blame the six months of celibacy he’d endured for his response to her allure, but Sean knew there was much more to it than raging testosterone. No other woman he had ever met—no matter how poised, polished, glamorous or willing—had ever appealed to him in quite the same way that his wife did, even when she was barely pulled together.

This wasn’t the time to let her know it, though. Until he found out what she wanted from him, Sean deemed it better to mask his intimate thoughts and desires behind a cool and businesslike facade than risk being hurt by her yet again.

“Yes, there’s a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven,” he confirmed in a polite tone of voice. “I bought it at Central Market on my way home from work.”

Having gathered his wits about him, he resisted the urge to return her slight smile. There was no sense encouraging the kind of camaraderie they would have once shared. Not if she was about to ask him for a divorce, he thought, eyeing the brown envelope she held so tightly, clutched to her chest.

“I haven’t had one of those since…since the last time we were here together,” Charlotte said, her smile turning wistful.

“Lately I’ve been buying only a half sandwich,” Sean admitted. “Otherwise I’m too tempted to eat the whole thing myself, usually in one sitting. I asked for a whole one tonight, although I’m not sure why.”

“Lucky for me you did, or you’d probably be serving me peanut butter and jelly.”

“Oh, I would have been able to produce a fairly good grilled-cheese sandwich for you,” Sean advised her, finally allowing himself the barest hint of a smile.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Charlotte walked to the island that took the place of a kitchen table, slid onto one of the tall black enamel stools and carefully set the envelope facedown in front of her.

“The sandwich should be ready in a few minutes.” Sean turned to the counter, set aside his glass and took the carafe off the stand of the coffeemaker. “I’ll make some coffee for you, too.”

“Actually what I’d really like right now, Sean, is a little whiskey on ice,” she said, surprising him not only with her brusque tone, but also with her unapologetic air.

While Charlotte had never been a teetotaler, she had always preferred a modest glass of wine to hard liquor. Since she’d given up even wine during the two years she’d been trying to conceive, Sean hadn’t seen her drink anything stronger than club soda in quite a while.

“I have some wine—” he began, glancing back at her.

“Thanks, but I’d prefer the whiskey tonight. It will take away the chill in my bones a little faster.”

“I can turn up the thermostat if you’re cold.”

“Just give me the whiskey, Sean,” she said, suddenly sounding exasperated. “I promise I won’t get all goofy on you. One bout of hysterical laughing and crying is enough for one night, even for me.”

Sean was about to state that he hadn’t been concerned about a repeat of her earlier behavior, but he knew that he’d be lying. The more relaxed Charlotte became, the more likely she’d be ruled by her emotions.

As he’d discovered more than once already, that would then make it almost impossible for him to deal with her in a rational manner.

Trying not to appear too obvious, he took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, wordlessly poured the smallest measure of whiskey possible into it, then set it in front of her.

She met his gaze with a slight arch of her eyebrows, just enough to let him know she wasn’t stupid. Then she lifted the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip without the least hint of a grimace.

For just an instant, Sean wanted to reach across the island counter, put his hands on her shoulders and—what? Shake her senseless or pull her into his arms and kiss the smirk off her lips?

He’d be damned if he knew for sure.

“Do you think our sandwich is ready yet?” she asked as he turned to fill the coffeemaker with water, a spark of humor evident in her softly teasing tone.

Our sandwich? It was his sandwich, and he damn well didn’t appreciate her proprietary air. But to say so would only reveal to her the emotional turmoil roiling in his belly.

“Why don’t you set out some plates and napkins for us while I put the coffee on?”

“Okay….”

Charlotte slipped off her stool and next thing Sean knew she was standing mere inches away from him, her arm brushing against his as she reached up to open a cabinet door. Had he realized ahead of time that asking her for a little help would put her in such close proximity to him, he would have never done it.

His intention had been to keep relative peace between them, and he’d succeeded…to a point. Busy with dishes and napkins, Charlotte was neither guzzling whiskey nor ragging his butt. Moving around the narrow confines of the kitchen, though, she arrested his senses completely, making him just as crazy, only in another kind of way.

The scent of her favorite soap and shampoo drifted all around him, a pleasant counterpart to the spicy aroma of the sandwich coming from the oven. The subtle waft of flowery fragrance had an equal ability to stir up memories of better days…and nights, as well.

And the nudge of her hip—surely accidental—reminded him of how lithe and firm her body was beneath the sweats she wore. Fragile, too, he added to himself as he gave in to temptation and watched her arrange the plates and napkins on the island counter—not across from each other as he would have preferred, but more intimately side by side.

He had been almost sure earlier, carrying her to the living-room sofa, that she had lost weight during the months of their separation. Not a lot, but enough so that it had been evident in the sharper angles of her bones as well as in the slightly narrower shape of her face.

“All ready if you are,” Charlotte said, glancing up at him as she sat on her stool again.

Her expression shifted from open, almost eager, to wary and uncertain in an instant, warning Sean that his concern for her had likely shown on his face as something more akin to anger. No big surprise, since he didn’t like the idea that she might not have been taking adequate care of herself the past six months. But neither stirring her apprehension nor putting her on guard would do either of them any good.

“Would you like me to freshen your drink?” he asked, the echo of false cheer in his voice signaling that he was in danger of overcorrecting.

“I’m fine for now,” she answered quietly, obviously even more leery of him.

“I’ll just get the sandwich out of the oven, then.”

Relieved to have something to do, Sean slid the muffuletta off the cookie sheet onto the cutting board, deftly sliced it into quarters, then transferred it onto a serving plate that he deposited on the island counter with the merest hint of a flourish.

“Mmm, it looks as good as it smells,” Charlotte murmured, helping herself to a piece of the sandwich, careful to capture all of the melted cheese that oozed out of the bread. One bite later, she smiled at him blissfully. “Tastes as good as it smells, too.”

Trying to ignore the arrow-to-heart effect of the dreamy look in her dark eyes, Sean slid onto one of the stools across from her. He moved his plate and napkin in front of him, then took a quarter of the sandwich for himself.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone once again cool.

The look she shot at him in return held the smallest measure of disappointment.

“What’s not to like? It’s hot and fresh and full of good stuff, and I’m really hungry.”

Sliding her gaze away, Charlotte reached for her drink, took a fortifying swallow, then silently tucked into her sandwich.

Sean gladly followed her lead, though his eyes lit more than once on the brown envelope she had yet to mention. Much as he wanted to know what it held, there was a part of him that dreaded the moment when he’d find out.

Without the give and take of conversation to slow them down, they polished off their meal in a matter of minutes. Still quietly introspective, Sean rinsed their empty plates and put them in the dishwasher. He then added ice and another small measure of whiskey to each of their glasses, and finally sat across from Charlotte once again.

She had her hands clasped tightly atop the island counter. At the base of her throat, her pulse fluttered, and she seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. Her sudden anxiety fed Sean’s, making him fear again for the true state of her health.

Other than having to deal with a serious illness, what else could tie her in such knots?

Not the decision to file for divorce—she had to know he wouldn’t argue with her about it if that was what she really wanted. Not the decision to ask him to come home again, either—again, she had to know he would move back to Mayfair in a minute, as long as she agreed to his terms regarding any further pursuit of parenthood.

Finally unable to wait any longer for Charlotte to begin on her own, Sean put a hand over hers. With the other he tapped the brown envelope once, his heart hammering inside his chest.

“Now that we’ve finished eating, do you want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked as gently as he could.

“That would probably be a good idea, wouldn’t it?”

Charlotte opened her clasped hands, holding on to him for a long moment as she sent an inquiring yet apprehensive smile his way.

“Yes, that would be a very good idea.”

Sean gave her hands an encouraging squeeze. Then he let go of her and sat back on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lowering her gaze, Charlotte picked up the envelope and fumbled with the clasp, her fingers trembling enough for him to notice. He was half tempted to take the damn thing away from her and rip it open himself, but she was jittery enough already.

He expected her to pull out all of the paperwork the envelope obviously held. Instead she removed only a single sheet to which something was attached with a paper clip. She gazed at the paper for several moments, her expression softening perceptively. Finally she looked up at him again, and Sean saw the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. Yet again, he couldn’t help but fear the worst.

“Just tell me, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a ragged, insistent growl filled with more menace than he’d intended. “Whatever it is you’ve come here to tell me, please…just do it now.”

Charlotte sat back on her stool and blinked at him, momentarily looking as if she’d been struck a blow. Then she tilted her chin defensively and eyed him with sudden, steely resolve. All trace of her earlier fragility, as well as her uncertainty, disappeared in an instant.

“Do you remember that we talked about adoption last year?” she asked, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact.

“Yes, of course, I remember. We even filled out some forms and agreed to have a home study done by an agency here in New Orleans that arranges adoptions of foreign children.”

Sean hesitated, confused by the tack Charlotte had taken. The home study had been done long before he’d moved out of the Mayfair house. But they had been so focused on their last, ultimately unsuccessful in vitro procedure that they really hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further.

Or rather he hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further, Sean amended.

Realization suddenly dawning as to where Charlotte must be headed, he pushed away from the island counter, stood and raised his hands in an emphatic gesture meant to fend her off.

“No, Charlotte,” he continued with a mix of anger and frustration. “No way am I going to agree to adopt a baby. I made my feelings about parenthood very clear six months ago. We gave it our best shot and we failed and enough is enough. I haven’t changed my mind about that since then, and I’m not going to change my mind about it now.”

There was no denying the flash of hurt in his wife’s eyes as she stared at him reproachfully, but he braced himself against the pain he knew his words had caused her. Unwilling to hear any defense she might choose to offer, he allowed her no chance to speak.

“I went along with the testing, not to mention the fertility treatments, the scheduled sex and the in vitro procedures even though none of the doctors we consulted could give us any concrete reason why we were having trouble conceiving on our own. I did it all for you because you wanted a baby so much. But as I tried to tell you six months ago, in the process I realized that I’m just not cut out to be a father. I also asked you to try to accept and understand my feelings, but you refused to do it.”

“Believe me, Sean, I have accepted how you feel about being a father,” Charlotte insisted, her voice a firm, quiet counterpoint to the echo of his own rising tone.

Sean had always prided himself on his ability to handle problems in his personal life in the same businesslike manner in which he dealt with professional problems. He counted his quiet competence as one of the main reasons why he’d had such success with the corporate security company he’d started after he’d completed his service in the military.

He knew from long experience that flying off the handle rarely earned anyone anything they really wanted. In fact, he only had to look back half a year to be reminded of where the last volatile confrontation he’d had with his wife had gotten him.

Marshaling his resources, he picked up his glass, looked away from Charlotte and took a long swallow of whiskey as he quickly counted to ten. Then he set aside his glass, took a steadying breath and spoke again.

“So why are you bringing up the subject of adoption now?” he asked, pleased that he managed to sound reasonable once again.

“Because I still want to be a mother—I still need to be a mother—and now I have the chance. But only if you’ll help me,” Charlotte answered in a rush, the look in her eyes one of pleading. “We’ve been approved to adopt a baby girl—as a couple.”

She set the paper and attached photograph on the island countertop and pushed it toward him with a fingertip. But Sean was too stunned by what she’d just said to acknowledge it even with a glance.

Adopt a baby girl? Was Charlotte nuts?

“All I’m asking is that you go with me to Kazakhstan to complete the adoption process,” she added, so amazingly calm and collected that all he could do was stare at her in disbelief. “Of course, we’ll have to pretend that we’re still happily married and living together in Mayfair, but only for a few months. Then you can move back here again and file for divorce if that’s what you want to do. I promise that I’ll agree to whatever terms you choose, and I won’t ask you for anything more ever again—not even child support.”

“Surely you can’t be serious—” Sean began, still unable to believe that she was not only asking something so preposterous of him, but also doing it in such an amazingly blithe manner.

He had prepared himself for the revelation of a serious illness, a request for a divorce, or in the best of all possible worlds, an offer of reconciliation on his terms. But to even suggest that he travel halfway around the world with her— to Kazakhstan, of all places—to adopt a foreign child he neither wanted nor needed in his life… She couldn’t possibly be thinking straight, could she?

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Charlotte assured him, her voice wavering, but not her gaze. “Please, Sean…please, please help me bring our little girl home.”

“She’s not our little girl, Charlotte—”

“Yes…yes, she is. Just look at her—she’s beautiful….”

Sean didn’t want to do it—didn’t want to look at the small color photograph attached to the sheet of paper lying on the countertop. But neither could he ignore completely the desperate urgency he heard in his wife’s voice.

Obviously she was well on the way to irrationality regarding this business of adoption. Maybe by cooperating with her just a little he’d eventually be able to calm her down enough to make her see reason.

His mouth set in a grim line, Sean stared at Charlotte for a long, unhappy moment. She continued to meet his gaze without flinching, and at the same time, pushed the photograph a tad closer to him across the countertop.

With a reluctance much greater than he should have been experiencing under the circumstances, Sean finally shifted his gaze to the small photograph. His eyes focused on the child’s face captured on it and his breath caught in his throat.

Not a tiny baby, but a toddler of more than a year in age, the little girl in the photo was beautiful, indeed. But she was also so much more than that. With her wispy brown hair and wide brown eyes, her pale porcelain skin and bow-shaped lips, she was the very image of his wife. There was something about the tilt of her little chin and the calm, direct expression on her face that also reminded him of…himself.

She could have been Charlotte’s child—and his, Sean thought, his heart softening unexpectedly. Anyone who saw the three of them together would easily assume Charlotte and he were the child’s biological parents.

For a long moment, he wondered why she looked so serious, then imagined how much fun it would be to make her giggle, just like Charlotte often did when he said something amusing. Surely that was a familiar spark of mischief he saw in the little girl’s big brown eyes.

Only he hadn’t the first clue how to make a child giggle, Sean realized. More than likely, with his background and upbringing, he’d actually be more apt to make her cry. Then Charlotte would sweep her off to cuddle and coddle, leaving him on the outside looking in.

Reminded all over again of the perils inherent in his vision of fatherhood, Sean gave himself a firm mental shake. He simply couldn’t afford to waver any further from the position he’d already taken. Bad as it was to be alone, being hurt and alone would be even worse.

“You’re not going to help with the adoption, are you?” Charlotte asked, the threat of tears evident in her quiet voice.

Having judged his mood all too accurately, she stood now, too, and reached for the photograph with a trembling hand.

Sean wanted to give Charlotte all the reasons why he couldn’t help her. He wanted to ask her, yet again, to understand and accept how he felt about being a father. But what he found himself actually saying surprised him as much as it must surely have surprised his wife.

Catching her hand in his, he stopped her from picking up the photograph. Then, in a gruff voice he barely recognized as his own, he made the only offer he could in good conscience.

“If adopting this child is that important to you, then I will help you in any way I can,” he said.

“Oh, Sean—” Charlotte began, the smile lighting up her face a glorious thing to behold.

“But,” he interrupted her, his voice flat and his gaze steady as he held up a warning hand to her.

He refused to be diverted from the course he’d chosen by either acknowledging or encouraging her initial joy.

“What?” she asked with confusion, her smile quickly fading.

Sean hesitated for the space of a heartbeat. Then he laid out his terms in a steely tone.

“I’ll help you only with the understanding that once we’re home again and you’re settled with the child, our marriage will be over, and I’ll be filing for divorce.”


Chapter Three

Charlotte stared at Sean, the echo of his last words resounding between them in the brightly lit kitchen, punctuated only by the still steady drumbeat of rain against the window above the sink.

She felt as if she’d just been treated to a wild, unwanted roller-coaster ride. The emotional ups and downs she’d experienced in the space of just a few minutes had taken her from hope to disappointment, joy to confusion, then to the final rattling halt of sad realization.

Charlotte had seen the way Sean’s expression had warmed and softened when he’d first allowed himself to look at the photograph of the little girl they’d been chosen to adopt. She had sensed, as well, the melting of his heart as he’d wordlessly acknowledged how eerily the child’s physical features resembled their own.

She had been so sure that he must have thought—as she had—that the toddler in the photo had been born halfway around the world, in answer to all her prayers, especially for them.

In all honesty, his reaction to the photograph had seemed to mirror hers so completely that Charlotte had been certain that Sean would be able to set aside his concerns about his ability to be a good father at last and gladly agree to pursue the adoption with her. He had to have seen, as she had, that here was the child she had been meant to mother. Here, indeed, was the child she had been meant to call her own.

But in the blink of an eye, he’d withdrawn into himself again, the lines and angles of his handsome face deepening. Having obviously reminded himself that by adopting a child he would also be taking on the burden of fatherhood— a burden he no longer wanted—he had visibly hardened his heart to her.

Charlotte had been ready to put away the photograph, to admit defeat and start the long drive back to Mayfair. Sean had always been a decisive man. Once his mind was made up, he rarely, if ever, changed it.

The six months he’d chosen to live in the New Orleans town house rather than with her in Mayfair were proof enough of how true that simple fact remained. Had she remembered how unwavering he could be several hours earlier as she stood beside her mailbox back home, she likely could have saved herself a lot of grief.

He had surprised her, though, with a one-two punch that had momentarily rendered her speechless. First he had offered to help her with the adoption in any way he could, sending a shaft of joyous hope straight to her heart. But then he had laid out his terms in such a cool, calm, businesslike manner that Charlotte had barely been able to swallow around the clog of anguish that lodged in her throat.

She knew that she shouldn’t have been all that surprised by the bargain Sean expected her to make with him. Six months ago he had stated very clearly how he’d felt about continuing their seemingly futile quest to conceive a child. He had also warned her only a few minutes ago that his feeling on the subject hadn’t changed.

But apparently Sean had made a decision regarding their marriage, as well. A firm decision, in fact, since he hadn’t given her any choice in the matter, had he?

He hadn’t said that she could either adopt the child or work with him to put their life together back on track again. He had simply offered to help her with the adoption, and then he’d said he would be filing for divorce.

Charlotte wasn’t sure what she would have done if Sean had actually asked her to choose between him and the child. She still loved him, just as she had almost since the first day she’d met him, and surely would until the day she died.

They had been so happy together for such a long time. He hadn’t been wrong back in June, either, when he’d insisted that they could be happy together again without the baby she’d been so desperate to have.

Only then she’d been in the midst of a hormone-induced emotional turmoil that hadn’t allowed her to see reason in anything he’d had to say to her.

No, Charlotte didn’t think she would have ended her marriage to Sean in exchange for the chance to have a child. But if their marriage was already over in his mind, as it certainly seemed to be, then she might as well do whatever she could to at least have the child she’d always wanted, and had always believed she was meant to have.

“I realize that my terms probably seem harsh to you,” Sean added, finally breaking the silence that had stretched between them so uncomfortably for the past few minutes.

Letting go of her wrist, he took a step back from the island that separated them and crossed his arms over his chest again. Charlotte saw in his stance a reflection of the brook-no-argument mentality he’d adopted six months ago, and allowed herself a small inner sigh of resignation.

No sense making things more difficult than they had to be. He was willing to give her some of what she wanted from him, some of what she needed. Why risk having him withdraw the offer he’d willingly made by voicing an all-or-nothing demand that he obviously didn’t have the heart to honor?

“No, not really, all things considered,” she replied, sitting on her stood again.

She tried to smile so that he would know she understood and accepted the decision he’d made, and harbored no ill will as a result. But she couldn’t be sure if she’d succeeded as he continued to eye her in a grim, uncompromising manner.

“I realize that I’m asking an awful lot of you,” she continued. “I want you to know how grateful I am that you’re going to help me. I also want you to know that I’ll try to make it as easy as possible for you to get through the whole…process—”

“Before we go any further here just tell me one thing, will you?” Sean cut in. “Did you move forward with this business of adopting a foreign baby after I left Mayfair back in June?”

“No, of course not,” she answered without hesitation, stung by the accusation of equivocation on her part underlying his question. “For the first few weeks after you left me, it was all I could do to get out of bed each morning. Then I had to focus as much energy as I possibly could on getting ready for the start of the school year.”

She paused and drew a quick, angry breath.

“I certainly wasn’t plotting to thwart you in any way,” she added. “I’m not that kind of person, and you, of all people, should know that by now. I wasn’t expecting to find this in my mailbox.” Charlotte tapped a hand on the envelope for emphasis, and tipped her chin up angrily. “But I am happy that I did, and I don’t intend to pretend otherwise.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Typically, Sean didn’t attempt to defend his questioning of her or to backpedal even the slightest bit. But for just an instant, Charlotte was sure that she saw the merest flicker of hurt in his pale gray eyes.

Her response must have touched a nerve with him, as well. Though how exactly, she couldn’t really be sure. Unless he had meant to offer her an ultimatum earlier— either go forward with adopting the child or work together to save their marriage.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider—” Charlotte began, then looked away when his expression hardened again.

He hadn’t said that reconciliation was an option. In fact, he’d been quite firm about his intention to file for divorce once the adoption process had been completed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, pushing away from the counter, envelope in hand.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know right now? Otherwise, I’ll just run upstairs, collect my clothes and head on back to Mayfair. We can discuss the adoption again in a few days—”

“You are not driving back to Mayfair tonight,” Sean said. “The weather has only gotten worse since you’ve been here, and that’s going to make it even more dangerous for you to be on the road than it was earlier, especially on the interstate.”

“I’ll be fine—” Charlotte assured him.

She didn’t really want to drive home tonight. But neither did she want to spend the night in the town house with her husband, knowing as she now did that their marriage was over.

“There’s also a lot more I want to know about this adoption business,” Sean added, riding over her feeble protest. “Do you have any idea of exactly what we’re going to have to do? Has the agency given you any information on where we’re supposed to go to collect the child and a specific time frame for doing so?”

Charlotte didn’t much care for the way he phrased his rapid-fire questions—adoption business, process, collecting of a child. He made it sound so cold, so…clinical—as if becoming the parents of the precious little girl in the photograph were just another transaction to be brokered as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But she also had to admit that he had a right to know up-front all that he would be required to do.

Unfortunately, Charlotte couldn’t provide him with the information he wanted in the same concise manner he’d just requested it, though she was sure most, if not all, of it was contained in the envelope.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t had a chance to look through all of the paperwork the agency sent us.”

“All the more reason for you to spend the night here. That will give us a chance to sort through the packet together,” Sean said amenably enough, then added, “unless you’re ready to call it a night, in which case I don’t mind reading over the information on my own.”

Deftly outmaneuvered, Charlotte realized that Sean had given her two choices, neither of which would allow her to leave New Orleans that night.

Going through the adoption-agency information was going to take awhile, and according to the clock on the kitchen wall it was after ten o’clock already. She was barely alert enough to drive now, although with a little coffee she’d probably be good to go. But a couple of hours from now even coffee wouldn’t help her to stay awake during what would be a long, tedious drive in stormy weather.

The only way she could possibly get away that night would be to leave the envelope with Sean so he could review the contents on his own, and she certainly wasn’t prepared to do that.

“I suppose we might as well go over everything together,” she said at last, though not nearly as graciously as she should have.

“Would you like some coffee before we get started?” Sean offered with the benevolence of one who had triumphed.

“Yes, please.”

Charlotte sat on her stool again, making an effort to tamp down her irritation. How bad could spending one night in the guest room of the town house really be when it would also give her a chance to cement her new affiliation with her soon to be ex-husband?

Obviously, she was about to find out.

“Do you still take cream and sugar?”

“Do you still make coffee strong enough to hold a spoon upright?”

“Cream and sugar it is,” Sean acknowledged with the first hint of humor in his voice that she’d heard all evening.

Reminded of how charming he could be when he put his mind to it—as he was apt to do whenever he’d gotten his way—Charlotte was tempted to lower her guard just a little.

She was stuck in the town house with him for the night, so why not relax and enjoy the companionship Sean now seemed willing to offer her? With the rain still thundering down outside, the small kitchen, light and bright, provided a warm and cozy haven for the two of them.

Only by Sean’s choice they weren’t really a couple anymore—at least not in the same sense that they’d once been. If she allowed herself to pretend otherwise even for an evening, she knew that she would find it even more painful to face the reality awaiting her in the not-too- distant future.

Better to think of her husband as a business partner from now on, Charlotte warned herself as she took the sheaf of paperwork from the envelope and laid it out on the island countertop. A temporary partner with whom she would have dealings for only a short time before he walked out of her life for good.

“You’re looking just a mite grim all of a sudden,” Sean observed as he set two steaming mugs of café au lait on the counter, then sat on the stool across from her again. “Have you come upon something disturbing among all those papers from the adoption agency?”

“The number of forms alone that we’re supposed to complete is daunting,” Charlotte replied, glad to have something to use as a blind for her disquieting emotions.

She took a swallow of the hot, sweet, creamy coffee laced with chicory. Then she spread the various forms out in front of her, reading headings aloud as she turned them toward Sean for his perusal.

“To start, we need a written referral from the adoption agency in New Orleans, criminal background checks from the local and state police, and clearance from Immigration and Naturalization to bring the child into the country. Then we have to apply for approval from the adoption agency’s sister agency in Kazakhstan, as well as from the orphanage there. There’s also a form requesting a formal invitation from the orphanage to adopt the child and another one requesting a visa from the Kazakhstan government allowing us to travel to the city of Almaty where the orphanage is located.”

Charlotte risked a quick glance at her husband. She was afraid that the sheer volume of paperwork required to set the adoption process in motion would be enough to make him change his mind. Even with the agency’s help in assembling the necessary dossier—a service they offered that had been included in the fees she and Sean had already paid—the work involved would be time consuming.

Then they would have to spend approximately four weeks in Kazakhstan, meeting with agency and orphanage personnel and bonding with the child. Only after significant bonding between the adoptive parents and the child had occurred would their request for adoption be presented to the court and approval finally be given.

“They’re quite thorough, aren’t they?” Sean glanced at her, then focused on the forms again, adding, “That’s reassuring, at least to me.”

“Me, too,” Charlotte agreed, releasing with relief the breath she’d been holding.

Sean hadn’t sounded as if he’d been thinking about backing out of his end of the bargain they’d made…at least not yet.

“With so many checks and balances in place, once the adoption has been completed and we’re home again, there shouldn’t be any problem with anyone challenging our rights as the child’s parents,” he continued, surprising Charlotte with his use of we and our, and the plural parents.

Just a slip of the tongue, she told herself, trying hard not to get her hopes up again. But she had to admit that Sean wasn’t distancing himself nearly as much as he’d led her to believe he would earlier. Especially considering the fact that he wasn’t planning on sticking around to be a full-time, or even part-time, father once they’d finished with the business of adopting the child.

“That was one of the things that impressed me the most about the Robideaux Agency when we first began looking into the possibility of adopting a child,” Charlotte said. “They have an excellent and well-established reputation for setting up successful legal adoptions of healthy foreign children. They also provided us with a lengthy list of references from other adoptive parents who had used their services.”

Sean shot her a long, measuring look, his pale gray eyes seeming to assess her response in a calculating manner.

“You’ve certainly done your homework,” he drawled, his tone not altogether approving.

Charlotte’s initial response to his comment was to blink at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Then she realized he was once again inferring that she’d gone behind his back somehow by contacting the Robideaux Agency without his knowledge.

“Yes, I did,” she admitted, eyeing him narrowly as she barely controlled her anger. “But that was over a year ago when we first talked about the adoption option and we realized that at our age we had a better chance of adopting a baby from a foreign country. You told me then to be very careful not to get involved with a fly-by-night organization, and I was. In fact, I told you quite a lot about the Robideaux Agency before we had our first meeting with our counselor there, and it was my understanding that you approved of the way they handled their adoptions. Although I’m thinking that you must not have paid much attention to what I told you or you would have remembered it now.”

“There was a lot going on in our lives a year ago, Charlotte,” Sean retorted defensively. “My business had almost doubled as companies around the city and state began to see the need to increase their on-site security following the hurricane. You were in the midst of another round of fertility treatments then, too, and miserable most of the time as a result. You’d end up in tears during just about every conversation I tried to have with you—”

“Probably because you so obviously resented taking any of your precious time to actually listen to me,” Charlotte cut in, no longer able to hide her ire. “How was I supposed to respond when you were constantly rattling the change in your pockets, checking your watch or staring out the window like a condemned man hoping for a reprieve every time I turned to you for comfort?”

“All you talked about was how tired you were, how sick the drugs made you feel and how depressed you were. Then there were the twice-daily reports on how your temperature had either gone up or down, and how we had to schedule down to the exact minute when I’d next be expected to perform sexually. That was really something to anticipate, too,” he snapped sarcastically. “You lying in bed about as relaxed and willing as a terrified virgin, hands gripping the sheets—”

Charlotte looked away from him, remembering how her confidence in herself as a woman had dwindled more and more as one barren month followed another. Then, smiling ruefully, she shook her head as she spoke her next thought aloud.

“Then I find out that the whole time I’ve been beating myself up for my inability to get pregnant you actually weren’t all that thrilled about the prospect of fatherhood.”

“Not the whole time,” Sean insisted quietly.

“So I was only making a fool of myself for what—six to eight months before you finally spoke up? That’s such a relief to know,” Charlotte allowed, taking her own turn at sarcasm as she gathered the forms from the adoption agency and started to stuff them into the envelope.

“I never once thought you were making a fool of yourself, Charlotte,” Sean said, his tone softening unexpectedly at the same moment she felt the touch of his hand on her wrist. “But I was worried about you—the way you kept obsessing—”

“So you left me and now I’m all better,” Charlotte interrupted him bitterly as an unexpected rush of tears stung her eyes.

“Rehashing the past isn’t really getting us anywhere now, is it?”

Again Sean’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

“I have to agree, especially since we’ll be divorced by this time next year.” Forcing herself to get a grip on her roiling emotions, Charlotte met her husband’s gaze again. “But you’ve insinuated twice already that I’ve been less than honest with you about what I might have done to further our chances of adopting a child. I’m not going to sit by quietly and let you get away with it. I’ve always been truthful with you, Sean—always—and I swear to you that I always will be. But if you can’t, or won’t, trust me—”

“I do trust you,” he cut in, tightening his hold on her wrist just enough to help to make his point. “Obviously I jumped to some wrong conclusions earlier and I apologize.”

Charlotte eyed her husband skeptically for several moments. She was still more than a little angry with him, and she was deeply hurt, too. He could say that he hadn’t thought she’d made a fool of herself by trying so desperately to have a child that she’d been completely unaware of his true feelings. But that was how he’d made her feel six months ago and that was how she felt now.

Taking the time and energy necessary to nurse her grievances against him was a luxury, though—one she couldn’t afford at the moment. Sean’s offer to help her with the adoption had been tentatively made, at best. By continuing to behave toward him in a hostile manner, especially now that he’d eaten a small slice of humble pie, she might just cause him to withdraw that offer altogether.

“Just don’t do it again, okay?” she asked, still refusing to allow her gaze to waver.

“I won’t—I promise.” He finally let go of her wrist after another small, seemingly meant-to-be-affirming squeeze. Then he stood again, looking very weary all of a sudden. “I’d really like to read through the information from the adoption agency more closely, but right now I’m beat. Is there any chance we could pick up where we left off again in the morning, more cordially? I’m not sure how anxious you are to get back to Mayfair, or how you feel about missing a day of work. But I was thinking that since you’re already here, maybe we could try to set up an appointment to meet with our counselor at the agency sometime tomorrow, too.”

Exhaustion had been creeping up on Charlotte, as well, making her much more sensitive than she should have been. A good night’s sleep would better her mood quite a bit. Since she was going to have to spend the night in New Orleans, she didn’t have any great desire to rush back to Mayfair the next day, either.

What could it hurt to stay in the city tomorrow so that she and Sean could go over the paperwork together and, if possible, talk to their counselor at the agency? She might as well take advantage of his willingness to cooperate with her while she could.

“That sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll call the school district’s automated line before I go to bed tonight and arrange for a substitute to take my place tomorrow.”

“The more we can get down now, the better.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Sean smiled approvingly as Charlotte stood, too, the envelope in hand. She thought he would say something more or, at the very least, offer to go upstairs with her as he had earlier. But he stood with his hands in his pockets, apparently content to wait for her to make the next move.

“I guess I’ll call it a night, then,” she murmured after a few more moments of silence passed between them.

Feeling oddly out of place in the once familiar and much loved old town house, Charlotte turned to leave the kitchen, walking alone through the living/dining room to the staircase off the entryway.

She and Sean had shared so many happy times here together. They had visited the town house often, especially over weekends during the fall and winter months, so that they could enjoy the city’s various cultural events. But her memories of those days and nights were now bittersweet.

There would be no going back to the life they’d once had together. Sean had made sure she understood that, and she did. She could mourn the past and the loss of his love all she wanted, but it would gain her nothing in the end.

So she would look to the future, instead, where another kind of life awaited her, and another kind of love would fill the painful emptiness that now made her heart ache.

On her own in the guest room with the door politely shut, Charlotte called to arrange for a substitute to take over for her at the high school the next day. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then turned back the serviceable navy-blue-and-white striped comforter on the bed, slipped beneath the blankets and switched off the lamp on the nightstand.

She could still hear the rain tapping against the window- panes, but more gently as the worst of the storm finally seemed to be over. The steady patter should have lulled her to sleep in short order. She was tired enough to want as well as to need the rest. But her mind still raced along too busily to shut down on her command.

Her own fault, she admitted, remembering how eagerly she had welcomed the mug of coffee Sean had set before her. Revved up by such a hearty dose of caffeine so late in the evening, she would likely toss and turn until dawn. That, in turn, would leave her at a distinct disadvantage when it was time for her to face her husband once again.

With a quiet sigh, Charlotte sat up in the bed and pushed aside the blankets. There was only one antidote she could think of for sleeplessness—a glass of warm milk dosed with a small shot of whiskey. She didn’t want to go downstairs again, especially if Sean was still in the kitchen. But suffering through a restless night would be much worse.

Still debating her alternatives, she switched on the lamp, then cocked her head to one side and looked up at the ceiling. From above came the muted sound of measured footsteps punctuated by a squeak or two as Sean walked across the floor. A few moments later, the pipes gurgled with running water and Charlotte made her decision.

She could run down to the kitchen, heat up some milk in the microwave oven, dose it with whiskey and be back in the guest room in a matter of minutes, all without Sean being any the wiser.

Feeling like a thief in the night despite her equal right to make herself at home in the town house, Charlotte crept down the hallway to the staircase. Ten minutes, at the most, and she’d be back in her bed, door shut, laughing at herself for being so apprehensive.

What was the worst that could happen to her, anyway— getting caught by her husband of ten years with the milk jug in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other?

She made it to the kitchen without a problem, prepared her nightcap and was halfway across the living room, mug in hand, when she realized that she’d much rather sip her spiked milk curled up on one of the upholstered wing chairs tucked between the front windows.

The house was peacefully quiet, the darkness of the room broken only by the pale glow of gaslight coming through the slats of the wooden shutters. The intimate ambience suited her mood so much better than that of the sterile, unfamiliar guest room.

Soothed by the hot drink, Charlotte thought back over her conversation with Sean and the angry words they’d exchanged. He had been right when he’d said rehashing the past was a waste of time, as she’d acknowledged then. Still, she couldn’t help dwelling on some of the harsher accusations he’d made. Not only had they been very revealing; they had also held more validity than she liked to admit.

She hadn’t realized at the time that she’d been so hard to live with all those months she’d been trying to get pregnant. With Sean’s comments fresh in her mind, however, she could look back now and understand how problematic her self-involvement must have been for him.

She had always been successful at everything she’d ever attempted to do. But she had consistently failed at the one thing she’d always been meant to do. So caught up in her own misery had she been that she’d stopped being the fun- loving, affectionate, desirous and desirable wife, best friend and playmate Sean had loved. Instead she had become an intense, emotional, unhappy woman with a mission, not to be diverted in any way, shape or form.

But she had thought that Sean wanted a child as much as she did. She had been so driven, so demanding of herself and of him, because she’d assumed they had the same goal in mind.

If only Sean had said something sooner about how he really felt. If only he hadn’t just packed up and left her…

The tears that had threatened earlier began to trickle down Charlotte’s cheeks as she thought of all the mistakes she’d unknowingly made, and how fatal those mistakes had been to her marriage.

She had been so sure that all she needed was a child to make her life complete. Now she realized, much too late, that her quest had cost her the one thing she would have never willingly given up in exchange—the man she loved with all her heart and soul.


Chapter Four

Never lay out the terms of a business deal unless you’re absolutely sure that you can, and will, follow through with them yourself….

That simple piece of advice, given to him by his father over a dozen years ago, echoed in Sean’s mind as he paced from one end of the master suite to the other. With only one lamp lit on the bedside table, the corners of the familiar room were bathed in dark, not altogether welcoming shadows that suited his mood much more than he would have liked.

Climbing the staircase to the third floor of the town house, he had thought that he would be asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. By the time he’d changed into a pair of fleece pants and a waffle-knit, long-sleeved T-shirt, brushed his teeth and turned back the bedcovers, though, an odd, unforeseen sense of restlessness had settled over him.

First and foremost, Sean couldn’t help but be distracted by the fact that after six long months, Charlotte was tucked into bed within incredibly easy reach, mere moments away.

If he so desired, he could go to her in the guest room, slip into the bed beside her, take her in his arms, kiss her and caress her. He could make love to her as he once had, and as he’d dreamed of doing more nights than he cared to count over the past half year.

And, oh, how he wanted to do that, as his turgid state now reminded him.

But along with his near desperate yearning to make love to his wife had come all the reasons why there could be no satisfying of his baser instincts that night, or any night for as long as he could imagine into the future. Reasons that began and ended with the terms he’d offered Charlotte in exchange for helping her go forward with the adoption of the child she wanted—apparently more than she wanted him.

She had taken no offense at all when he’d said that he would be filing for divorce after the adoption was final. Possibly she’d been a little surprised, perhaps even a little hurt, but only momentarily. With a measure of serenity and pragmatism that had left him surprised and hurt, she had offered agreement and understanding instead of the demurral that he’d fully anticipated.

Sean wasn’t sure why he’d tossed out the fillip of divorce, but the moment he’d spoken the words aloud, he’d been sorry. He didn’t want to end his marriage to Charlotte. He just wanted her to honor his wishes about having, or more precisely not having, a child.

He had thought that faced with the prospect of divorce, she would at least ask for a little time to consider the downside of going ahead with the adoption. But she hadn’t been deterred in the slightest. Which had led him to believe that she’d been pursuing the option of adopting a foreign child even after he’d revealed his true feelings about fatherhood.

Charlotte had been so hurt and so angry with him when he’d accused her of going behind his back that she’d convinced him that he had made the wrong assumption. Yet she hadn’t denied her happiness at the opportunity she’d been given to have the child she wanted, even knowing their marriage would be over as a result.

Her jibe about his lack of attention had stung him, as well, causing him to reciprocate in kind—not the wisest move he could have made under the circumstances, he now admitted to himself.

He had said a lot of things to her that he probably should have kept to himself. But continuing to hide the pain he had suffered those last few months before he’d moved out of the house in Mayfair, not to mention the sense of abandonment that had overwhelmed him at times, had no longer been possible for him to do.

Charlotte hadn’t been the only injured party in their relationship— he had been hurt, too. His tears hadn’t been shed, though. They had been swallowed along with his sense of loss, his damaged pride and his constant awareness of how powerless he was to give her the baby she wanted.

Charlotte hadn’t been the only one faced with failure on a daily basis. How had she thought he’d felt each month when she’d come to him, sobbing, to announce the start of another menstrual period? Had she never once imagined that, looking in the mirror, he saw someone so deficient that he couldn’t provide his wife with the happiness she deserved?

Sean had always hated knowing that he was at least partially to blame for Charlotte’s sadness and depression. To his way of thinking, ending their baby chase had seemed as good a way as any to go back to those days when they’d been able to laugh together, to play together, to be each others best friend and loving confidant.

But his wife hadn’t wanted that. She’d only wanted a child—a child he hadn’t been able to give her…until now.

That, Sean knew without a doubt, was why he hadn’t been able to refuse outright to help Charlotte with the adoption.

He wanted to resent everything about the orphaned little girl waiting for them in Kazakhstan, but he couldn’t be that hard-hearted. For one thing, the child would make his wife happy in a way he obviously no longer could. And for another, he liked the idea of being the one to provide the little girl with a safe and loving home where she would be nurtured with Charlotte’s love, and care and kindness.

He had no doubt that Charlotte would be a wonderful mother, and though he wouldn’t subject the child to his lack of parenting skills, he would see to it that she never lacked for anything, whether it was a secure home, clothes, toys, trips abroad, the best education available—

Not a minute too soon Sean caught himself in mid- fantasy and gave himself a firm mental shake. He’d allowed himself to get carried in a direction he’d already made clear to Charlotte that he wasn’t going. He wasn’t about to become the child’s father—at least not in any way but name only. He would provide for her, though, and for Charlotte. After all, he wasn’t selfish or cruel or mean-spirited.

Having settled that bit of business with himself, Sean sat on the edge of the bed and assessed his chances of finally being able to sleep. Still zero to none, he admitted after a minute or two, his brain buzzing in six different directions.

He thought of the contract that he had to review; a fairly simple agreement to provide a security guard for a small trucking company in Baton Rouge that had been having problems with not-so-petty theft at their warehouse. It was in the briefcase that he’d left on the dining-room table when he’d first come home, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to go down and get it. If anything was likely to put him to sleep, it was thirty-odd pages of legalese.

Sean only hesitated a moment or two on the second- floor landing. From there, he couldn’t tell whether the guest-room door was open or closed—the narrow hallway was much too dark. Not that it would have mattered to him, one way or the other.

Charlotte hadn’t seemed upset about his decision to file for divorce and she hadn’t asked him to reconsider. Their marriage must already be over as far as she was concerned, in which case, it was unlikely that she’d welcome any advances on his part. Better to keep his distance than risk the most hurtful kind of rejection he could get from her.

At the bottom of the staircase, Sean halted again, head tilted to one side. Something about the quality of the silence surrounding him gave him pause, but he wasn’t sure why. While the rain had stopped, he could still hear water dripping from the branches of the trees lining the street just outside the front door. He was sure he’d heard something else, though—a shuffling, or perhaps a snuffling sound that he couldn’t quite place.

When he heard nothing more after a minute or two, he finally moved into the living room, only to stop again, his heartbeat accelerating, not with fear but exhilaration. Charlotte was sitting in one of the wing chairs between the front windows.




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