“Was it?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was.”
Rafe looked at her for a long moment, waiting for her to say more, to tell him that going to bed with him had been different because—because it had been different.
He felt his stomach knot.
Why had it been different? Was she going to speak of love? To say that she loved him, or that he loved her? No. There was no such emotion as “love.” And if she spoke of it, told him that what had happened between them was love, he would tell her…he would tell her…
“How was it different?” he said, and hated the coldness of his voice and the way his heart was banging in his throat, but suddenly he knew her answer would be the most important one in his life. “Tell me,” he said roughly, “how was making love with me different?”
Carin wrenched her hand from his. She stood straight and tall, her dreams lying like a shattered mirror at her feet.
“It was different,” she said, because all she had left was her pride, and the lie that would allow her to keep it, “because you made me pregnant.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PALE sunlight, too weak to give life to the autumn leaves, filtered through the trees in Central Park and barely penetrated the windows of the guest suite in Amanda’s New York City penthouse.
The room, ordinarily bright and cheerful, seemed filled with gloom.
Amanda, who had just entered, stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Carin. Her sister was seated in a blue velvet armchair with Amy in her arms. She was nursing her—or trying to nurse her, with what appeared to be little success.
Amanda gently touched her own swollen belly. Then she fixed a smile to her lips, walked briskly into the room and switched on a lamp.
“It’s dark as a dungeon in here,” she said brightly. She went to the windows, drew the blue velvet drapes and turned on another lamp. “I swear, if this keeps up we’re all going to need sunlamps.”
She looked across the room at Carin, but she was devoting all her attention to Amy. The baby was fussing unhappily, nuzzling Carin’s breast and making annoyed little cries. Carin looked as if she was certain she’d failed at being a mother.
Amanda watched for a while. If at first you don’t succeed, she thought, and sighed, and decided to give it one more try.
“Carin?”
“Hmm?”
“Honey, why not try her on a bottle?”
“She had a bottle, this morning.”
“Well, sure. But if you’re having, uh, having trouble…”
“I am not having trouble. I’m just going through a phase where things are taking longer. It’s perfectly normal.”
“So is supplementing more of Amy’s feedings with a bottle, or even switching entirely, if you have to. The book says—”
“I know what the book says.” Carin shifted the baby in her arms. “I bought it, remember?”
“Well, sure, but…”
Carin looked up, eyes narrowed. Okay, Amanda told herself, okay, be diplomatic. Remember what Nick told you he does when he’s dealing with a thickheaded government official. Say what needs saying, but do it with a smile.
“I mean, I know you know what the book says. I just, uh, I just think you might have skimmed over some stuff, you know? Or maybe misread—”
“I don’t believe this.” Carin glared at her sister. “You read one book on babies, your own isn’t even born yet, and, poof, you’re an expert?”
“Poof,” Amanda said, trying to hang on to her patience, “I’m your sister. I love you. And I love my niece.”
“So?”
“So, I think you should reconsider putting Amy on bottles. And that you should stop looking at me as if you’d like to murder me. You’re stressed enough—”
“I am not stressed.”
“—stressed enough, without getting ticked off at me.”
“Ticked off? Do I sound ‘ticked off’?”
“No,” Amanda said sharply, “actually, you sound like a jerk.” Oh, hell. So much for patience and diplomacy. Amanda lifted her eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea for composure. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. You’re not a jerk. I am, for giving you such a hard time.”
“No, you’re not,” Carin said, her voice wobbling. “You were right the first time. Come take the baby, will you?”
Amanda hurried across the room and took Amy in her arms. “That’s my good girl,” she cooed, but the baby was only interested in getting a meal. “Oh, sweetheart, Aunt Ammy can’t help you…”
“Aunt Ammy?” Carin said, with a little smile.
Amanda looked up. “Well, I can’t see a baby going around saying ‘Aunt Amanda…’ It’s good to see you smile, Sis.”
“Yeah.” Carin buttoned her blouse and got to her feet. “Okay,” she said briskly, “let’s go find the kitchen in this place and I’ll get Amy a bottle.”
“What do you mean, find the kitchen?” Amanda looped her arm through Carin’s. “It’s right where it’s supposed to be, downstairs, tucked in among the trillion other rooms.” She grinned. “Would you believe this place is smaller than Nick’s palace?”
“Would you believe you’d ever have seen anything bigger than Espada?”
Amanda smiled as the women traipsed down the stairs. “No. And I’d never have believed I’d end up living in a penthouse—”
“Don’t forget that palace!”
Amanda laughed, handed the baby to Carin and set about preparing a bottle. “I’ll never forget it. Nick made certain of that, when he had me locked away in the harem. The crazy things men will do, when they’re in lo…” She bit her lip. “Damn! Sorry about that.”
“About what?” Carin’s smile was very bright. “I don’t expect people to censor their conversation, just because I left Rafe. Nick did something nuts because he loved you, and he thought you didn’t love him. So? Are you supposed to pretend it never happened, whenever you’re talking to me?”
“Well, yes. While the wound’s still fresh, anyway.”
“What wound?” Carin laughed. “Honestly, there is no wound. I told you everything, Amanda. ‘Love’ had nothing to do with my marriage. Rafe married me because of Amy
, and he made it clear what a martyr he was, for having taken me as a wife.”
“Bastard,” Amanda said, and took Amy from Carin’s arms. “Here you go, sweetie. Aunt Ammy has your supper, all nice and warm.”
“Don’t call him that,” Carin said sharply.
“Call him what? A bastard? For goodness’ sake, Carin, I’m only calling it as I see it. The man’s a—”
“It’s a horrible word.”
“Well, he’s a horrible—”
“I never said he was horrible, did I?”
“If he’s such a saint, why are you going to divorce him?”
“I never said he was a saint, either. He’s just—he’s a man, that’s all. Rafe is just—”
“Excuse me. Senhora Carin?”
Amy’s nanny looked from Carin to Amanda, then back again. “I thought I would take Amy upstairs now, if that is all right with you.”
Carin nodded. Gently, she took her daughter from Amanda’s arms. The baby had fallen asleep with the nipple from the bottle in her mouth. Carin kissed the top of her head, then carefully handed her to the nanny.
“She’s been a little fretful.”
“Sim, senhora.”
“So, she might wake up. The way she used to, remember?”
“Sim.”
“If she does—”
“If she does,” the nanny said politely, “I will call you at once.”
Carin sighed. “Thank you, Teresa. Obrigado.”
Amanda waited until the nanny carried the baby from the kitchen. Then she smiled at Carin.
“Teresa seems very nice.”
“Oh, she is.”
“Capable, too.”
“Definitely.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
Amanda busied herself at the stove. Carin took the cream pitcher from the refrigerator, the sugar from the cupboard. Minutes later, the sisters sat across from each other, sipping their coffee.
“Good coffee.”
“My only culinary talent.” Amanda grinned. “The cook is very relaxed about taking her day off. She knows she has nothing to fear from me.”
“Is she the same cook you had before?”
“Oh, sure. She’s been with Nick a long time.”
“Mmm.” Carin drank some more coffee. “I remember those cookies you used to bake, when we were kids.”