Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby (14 page)

‘Stand with your legs slightly apart for balance. Then you push the pole all the way down until it touches the bottom. Push hard then pull it all the way up. No, that’s not enough.’ His hands were on hers, guiding them, and she could feel the heat of his body as he stood behind her. It was making her flustered. ‘You have to pull the pole through your hands until you’re almost gripping the bottom. And if you want to steer, you push the pole, when it’s in the water, to the left or the right. Got it?’

It was much more difficult than Jonathan had made it look. The pole was heavy, unwieldy and Rose was glad Jonathan stayed where he was to help her. Nevertheless, she was determined to do it on her own, and after a little while she got into a rhythm.

‘I can manage by myself from here on,’ she told Jonathan. ‘You sit down.’

‘Er, are you sure? It can be hard work.’

She turned to look into his face. ‘I can do this. Now, scoot. Go and relax.’

Okay, so their progress wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been. The punt had a disconcerting habit of weaving from one side of the river bank to another, almost as if the damn thing had a life of its own, but at least she hadn’t crashed it, and they were heading in the right general direction.

‘The bridge we’re passing under now is called the mathematical bridge,’ Jonathan said. Rose allowed herself a quick glance up and away from what she was doing. The bridge was an odd-looking wooden affair, as if a child had taken giant wooden Meccano and stuck it all together. It didn’t look very mathematical.

‘Why do they call it that?’

‘I’m not absolutely sure. Rumour has it that it was originally
put together without nuts and bolts and a mathematician at one of the colleges wanted to know how it was done. So he pulled it apart. Only he couldn’t get it to go back together without nuts and bolts.’

Rose peered at the bridge again, trying to see better. But with her attention distracted, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten to lift the pole from the water and it was now behind her. Panicking lest she drop the pole into the river, she held on for dear life. But all that happened was that she was pulled out of the punt and into the water.

She shrieked as she was submerged in water the colour of pea soup. Disoriented, she bobbed to the surface, gasping.

Jonathan had retrieved an oar from the bottom of the punt and was making his way back to her.

‘You should have told me you fancied a swim,’ he said, reaching an arm out to her. ‘I would have found a better place.’

Rose was mortified and scowled when she saw the broad grin on his face.

She grabbed his hand and found herself unceremoniously hauled back into the punt where she lay gasping like a fish that had just been landed.

‘Are you okay?’ Jonathan had lost the smile and was looking concerned. But Rose could have sworn there was a hint of laughter in his words.

‘Apart from the fact I feel like a prize idiot and that I’m soaked, yes, I’m fine. You could even say I’ve never been better.’ She glared at him, but then despite herself she had to laugh. It hadn’t been Jonathan’s fault and from his point of view it must have been funny.

Jonathan retrieved the pole from the water.

‘Shall we go back?’

‘I’d rather get dried out first. I don’t fancy having to walk through Cambridge town centre like this.’

‘The place I was going to stop is just a little further.’

A few metres on and Rose was being helped out of the punt onto dry land. Jonathan heaved the picnic basket on shore and opened it. He pulled out a white linen tablecloth.

‘Take this,’ he said ‘Remove your wet things and wrap this around you.’ He pointed to some trees. ‘There’s a little hollow over there. You can’t be seen unless someone actually stands over you. Your things will dry out in the sun.’

It was getting worse and worse. But Rose knew the sensible thing was to do as he suggested. The alternative, waiting for her clothes to dry while she was actually in them, wasn’t really an option. She would freeze.

In the relative privacy of the hollow, she slipped out of her sundress. Leaving on her bra and pants, she wrapped the sheet around her toga style. Making sure the ends were firmly tucked in, she laid her dress on the grass to dry. At least she had taken her shoes off when she had first stepped on to the punt, otherwise they’d be ruined.

By the time she returned, Jonathan had emptied the picnic basket. He raised an eye at her unconventional outfit before opening a Thermos flask and pouring a cup of steaming-hot coffee.

‘Here, this will warm you up.’ Then he laughed. ‘You look like a Greek goddess in that get-up.’

Rose squirmed with embarrassment under his gaze. Greek goddess, her foot. More like a drowned rat, she would have thought.

He handed her his shirt. ‘Put this round your shoulders. It will help keep you warm.’

Rose shrugged into the shirt, which smelled faintly of
him. It came to just above her knees and realising it would cover the essentials she slithered out of the tablecloth. Now she felt almost normal again. She used the tablecloth to blot the worst of the river from her hair.

‘So much for the tablecloth, I’m afraid.’ She laid it next to her dress. The sun would dry it along with her clothes.

‘You’re still cold.’ Jonathan reached out and took her feet in his hands. He began massaging them with the pads of his thumbs. Delicious ripples ran from her feet before pooling in her belly. She tried to pull her feet away, but Jonathan held them firmly. Giving up, she relaxed, propping herself on her elbows and closing her eyes, giving in to the interesting sensations his touch was provoking. The sun emerged from the clouds, warming her face. In the distance she could hear laughter as children played and the gentle sound of the breeze through the leaves of the tree. In all her dreams she would never have imagined this scenario. She and Jonathan, just the two of them, as if they were meant to be together, for ever. If she had known, she would have run and kept on running. Fate was cruel. To show her love now, to give her a glimpse of what might have been, was so unfair.

‘That’s better,’ Jonathan said, releasing her feet. ‘Now, what about something to eat?’

Rose wasn’t sure whether she could eat anything. Her mouth was as dry as dust. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Jonathan unpacked the basket, laying out a bottle of wine, glasses, china plates and cutlery. Next came the food. There were tiny quiches, olives, crusty bread, cheese, cold meats. As Rose had suspected, there was enough to feed an army. Her mouth began to water. It had been a long time since breakfast.

Jonathan lifted an olive. ‘You like?’ he asked with a quirk of his lips. Rose nodded.

He held the olive to her lips. Her eyes looked into his and her breath stopped in her throat as her chest tightened. Involuntarily her lips parted and he popped the olive into her mouth. He watched as she chewed slowly, never taking his eyes off her. Rose’s heart was beating like a pneumatic drill and she couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it. He trailed a finger across her lips, catching a slick of olive oil. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned forward and placed his mouth gently on hers. Her head swam as she tasted him. The firm pressure of his mouth. His tongue flicking across hers. He groaned and pulled her into his arms where she rested between his long legs. His kisses grew more demanding. Rose gave in to the sensations coursing through her body, returning kiss for kiss. Letting her hands drift behind his head to pull him closer, revelling in the taste of him, the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of his muscles.

He trailed a hand across her neck, sending sparks of desire coursing through her. His hand slipped under the shirt she was wearing, searching, caressing her skin until she thought she would go mad with her need from him.

They lay down, stretching their bodies along each other, straining to meet along their whole length. She could feel the hardness of his desire for her against her hips and she shifted her body so that she fitted against him perfectly.

‘I’ve never met anyone like you,’ Jonathan said eventually. ‘I can’t believe I’ve lived almost thirty years without meeting you. I think I’ve been looking for you all my life.’

A cold breeze fluttered down Rose’s spine. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him, or him with her. It was meant to be harmless fun.
No broken hearts on either side. A few more days, then she’d be out of his life for good. The sun vanished behind a cloud. She shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ Jonathan said. He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Why don’t we take the rest of this back to my place? I can light a fire, and we can eat the rest of the picnic in bed.’ His eyes were glowing. There was no mistaking his intent. His green eyes were dark, almost pleading.

Rose knew she should run, but she also knew she couldn’t. If all she had was this one night, then she had to have it. She could no more deny herself than fly to the moon.

Jonathan watched as Rose packed the food back into the basket. When he had seen her emerge from behind the tree, her damp hair in disarray, he had thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful, or more desirable. Then when she had slipped into his shirt, her long legs appearing to go for miles where his shirt skimmed her bottom, her nipples evident through the sheer fabric, she had sent his libido into overdrive. He much preferred this Rose even to the elegant woman of the fundraising dinner. Damn. He much preferred this woman to any of the sleek, polished women he had been out with over the years. What he had felt for them had been lust, pure and simple. What he felt for Rose was different. Desire, yes. So much it hit him like a punch to his solar plexus. But so much more. Tenderness. Joy in her company. Delight in seeing his world through her eyes. He reeled from the mixture of fear and excitement as he realised the truth. He loved Rose Taylor. He had been waiting for her all his life, and from now on nothing would ever be the same.

They were silent in the drive to his house. Rose kept sneaking little glances at Jonathan. The air between them sizzled with anticipation. Every time he caught her looking at him he would smile and her heart would flutter as if a hundred butterflies were trapped within her chest.

Inside his house, Jonathan closed the door and, taking her by the hand, led her to the bedroom. Kicking the bedroom door closed, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms.

‘I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, Rose,’ he said hoarsely.

Rose raised her face to his, knowing that whatever the next few days, weeks and months brought, she was exactly where she wanted to be for the rest of her life.

She wound her arms around his neck then his mouth was on hers and she gave herself up to him.

Much later they cuddled up in front of the fire, and finished off their picnic.

Rose leaned against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her as they watched the flickering flames.

‘It won’t be long before I go back,’ she said quietly.

She sensed him take a deep intake of breath. ‘You don’t have to go. Stay with me.’

She twisted her head until she could see his face. ‘I’m not talking just about tonight. I mean go back to Edinburgh. I have a life there. A home. Friends. Whatever this is, you and I know it can’t last.’

‘What do you mean? It can last as long as we both want it to.’

Sadness washed over her. Jonathan couldn’t know that each moment could be their last. He couldn’t know and, what was more, she was determined he would never know. She knew she could never hurt him like that. This thing in
her brain could burst at any time. If it didn’t kill her, it could leave her helpless and she would never be a burden on anyone. It scared her more than death.

‘We’re different, you and I,’ she said softly. ‘You have your life and I have mine. That’s okay.’

Jonathan threw back his head and laughed. ‘You think because I’m the son of a lord, because I’ll inherit a title one day, that that means we can’t be together. My God, Rose. This is the twenty-first century. Even princes marry who they want.’

‘But we’re not talking marriage, are we? We hardly know each other.’ She shook her head, forcing a laugh. ‘Let’s not make more of this than it is.’ She turned away so she couldn’t see his eyes, knowing she was hurting him.

‘I know you well enough to know you are everything I ever wanted. But I don’t expect you to feel the same. That’s why we need time. Time for me to convince you that I’m not beyond redemption.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Somehow I know my partying days are behind me.’ He hugged her tighter. ‘Don’t give up on me, Rose. Not yet.’

His hands were on her body again. She wished he wouldn’t do that. How was she expected to think clearly when her head was full of him? Her body burning at his touch, her need for him so strong? But this right now was all she could offer him. All she had. She turned around and sat facing him, wrapping her legs around his hips.

‘Enough talking,’ she said, before pulling his face towards hers.

The next days were the most bitter-sweet of Rose’s life. She burned every memory of Jonathan into her head. During the day, they would steal kisses, small touches and
share glances. Then at night, after she’d been home to check up on her father, he would collect her from her parents’ house and drive her back to his town house. As soon as the door closed behind them, they would be in each other’s arms, tearing at each other’s clothes, often not even making it to the bedroom.

On the rare occasions they didn’t see other she would sit in her room, strumming her guitar, composing lyrics to new songs in her head. It was the happiest time of her life—and the saddest. Sometimes her head would ache and she would be terrified it was a sign the aneurysm was going to burst. She spent hours on the internet going over the options, but if she was hoping to find an easy solution she was disappointed. As the doctors had pointed out, there were only two. She could have surgery. Or not. Whatever she decided, the outcome could be the same. Paralysis, possibly death.

Not much of a choice, then. Do nothing and continue to live as she had been. Making the most of every day. But it was a life without a future. A day-to-day existence. A life where she wouldn’t marry, have children or, worst of all, Jonathan. And the other option? Have the operation, knowing the consequences, but also knowing it offered at least a chance for a future. One where she was free to love and be loved. Have children. Grow old.