Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written over one hundred and forty books for Mills & Boon. Carole has four sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy and Peter, and a bearded collie called Merlyn. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

A Heavenly Christmas

by

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU wanted me?’

Mrs Heavenly was aware of the soft, fluttering sensation behind her that told her she was no longer alone. But her attention was so intent upon the vision that she didn’t want to leave it, even for a second!

At last! She had waited a long time for this particular plea for help to come. Almost too long, she acknowledged ruefully. But at last it had come.

She looked up to smile warmly at the young angel who stood before her. Faith. Yes, she would be perfect for this particular assignment. Warm, compassionate, and with a mischievous sense of humour that had almost been her undoing a couple of times in the past. But in this particular case Faith’s qualities were more suited to the problem than the equally admirable ones of Hope or Charity.

‘Come and look at this, my dear.’ Mrs Heavenly encouraged the angel to step forward and share the vision with her. ‘It will help you to understand the problem that has—thankfully!—been presented to us.’

Faith stepped into Mrs Heavenly’s vision, eager to learn what her assignment was to be. Christmas was only two days away—always a fraught time of year for humans, when the inadequacies in their normally busy lives often became glaringly obvious. It was also a time when they often cried out for help to cope with those difficulties.

‘This incident happened a short time ago,’ Mrs Heavenly told her softly, a smile on her cherubic face.

Faith gazed down interestedly at the scene being enacted below them.

A tiny woman of about thirty—startlingly beautiful, her fine-boned body clothed in a black trouser suit and cream blouse, and with golden-blonde hair cropped close to her head—was stepping lithely out of a lift, her expression one of determination as she marched down the carpeted corridor to rap sharply on an oak door at the end of the hallway.

‘She looks rather angry,’ Faith murmured.

Mrs Heavenly nodded unconcernedly. ‘She invariably is,’ she informed Faith lightly.

‘Why—? Goodness, who is that?’ Faith gasped as the oak door swung open to reveal a man almost as handsome as Gabriel himself.

Or Lucifer, she decided as an afterthought. His hair was so dark it was almost black, his eyes so dark a brown it was difficult to see where the iris stopped and the pupil began. As for his looks—they could only be described as devilishly attractive.

‘Is he her husband?’ Faith prompted breathlessly.

‘Hardly.’ Mrs Heavenly smiled. ‘Listen,’ she encouraged softly.

* * *

‘Ms Hardy,’ the man greeted dryly. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

Olivia, despite the obvious derision in his tone, stared back at him unmovingly. Ethan Sherbourne had occupied the apartment directly above hers for over a year now. But apart from an occasional greeting to him—on the rare occasion they happened to get into the lift together—or to one of the constant stream of women that seemed to flow in and out of his apartment, Olivia had remained firmly detached from the man.

The only other exception being when his mail became confused with her own. Which it had already several times this Christmas.

‘Yours, I believe.’ She held up the pink envelope she carried with her.

He raised dark brows as he reached out a lean hand and took the envelope, checking the writing on the front before holding it up in front of his nose and sniffing appreciatively.

‘Gwendoline,’ he announced knowingly.

Olivia repressed a delicate shudder. ‘I didn’t realise women still did that sort of thing,’ she commented scathingly.

Neither did Olivia understand why Mr Pulman, the caretaker of this exclusive apartment building, should think she might be the recipient of a scented Christmas card!

Ethan Sherbourne gave a roguish smile. ‘Only certain women,’ he drawled huskily.

Utterly stupid ones, in Olivia’s opinion. But she was sure Ethan Sherbourne wasn’t in the least interested in her opinion. She wasn’t tall, willowy—or young!—as the majority of women trooping in and out of his apartment seemed to be.

She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘I’ll leave you to open your card—’ She broke off with a frown as the lift doors opened down the corridor, immediately releasing the ear-splitting wail of a baby. A very young baby, by the sound of it, Olivia realised, wincingly.

She turned slowly in the direction of the cry, just in time to move out of the way of the young woman striding purposefully towards Ethan Sherbourne’s apartment.

The roguish smile had been wiped off Ethan Sherbourne’s face the moment he looked at the approaching virago. ‘Shelley…?’ He betrayed his uncertainty with a frown.

The tall, youthfully leggy blonde, looking not much more than a child herself, gave him a humourless smile, the screaming baby held firmly in her arms. ‘I’m surprised you remember me,’ she snapped. ‘We met so briefly.’

‘Of course I remember you,’ Ethan Sherbourne returned smoothly, sparing a reluctant glance for the shawl-wrapped bundle in the girl’s arms. ‘And this is…?’

Olivia stood to one side of the hallway now, an unwilling but at the same time fascinated eavesdropper on this conversation.

The girl—for, on closer inspection, she most certainly was a girl, probably no older than twenty or so—was gazing down at the screaming baby with a look that somehow managed to combine motherly love and sheer terror at the same time.

‘Here.’ She thrust the child into Ethan Sherbourne’s unsuspecting arms.

The screaming—to its mother’s obvious frustration—instantly ceased, although emotional hiccups quickly followed.

‘She obviously prefers you to me, anyway,’ the young woman choked tearfully—as if this was the final straw as far as she was concerned. ‘Her name is Andrea. Everything she needs is in here.’ She took a holdall off her shoulder and dropped it onto the floor. ‘She will want feeding in about an hour. I just can’t cope any more.’

With a last heart-wrenching glance at the baby she turned on her heel and ran back into the lift, desperately pressing the button to close the doors.

‘Shelley—!’ Ethan Sherbourne’s cry of protest died in his throat as the lift doors closed on the distraught mother, followed by the sound of its descent.

At the same time his raised voice startled the baby in his arms, and it began crying again.

Its obviously distressed cry shot through Olivia’s nerve-endings with the sharpness of a knife, and her face was pale as she grimaced painfully.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Ethan Sherbourne demanded grimly, his voice raised above the baby’s wail.

Olivia had turned, intending to follow the young mother’s example and escape from the situation!

She turned back to Ethan Sherbourne, her brows raised. ‘I’ve delivered your card—which I received by mistake.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought I would leave you to deal with this…second delivery of the day alone,’ she explained dryly.

Dark brown eyes narrowed icily at her obvious sarcasm. ‘Don’t be so damned stupid,’ he snapped, striding out of the apartment to move forward to the lift and press the button for its return, the pink-wrapped bundle—still crying—held awkwardly in his arms.

Olivia gave him a considering look. ‘Where are you going?’ Not too far, she didn’t think; she doubted this baby was going to wait for another hour to be fed.

‘After Shelley, of course.’ He rasped his impatience, looking more harassed by the second. The baby’s initial response to being held in his arms rather than its mother’s was definitely gone for good. ‘What the hell is wrong with her?’ he demanded exasperatedly of Olivia.

Olivia looked stunned by the question. ‘What on earth makes you think I would know?’

‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’ Ethan’s agitation was fast reaching danger level. ‘At least…’ his gaze moved over her trouser suit ‘…I presume you are. Where the hell is the damned lift?’ he grated between clenched teeth.

‘Maybe if you stopped swearing—’

‘You think that might stop the baby screaming?’ He conveyed his doubt with another frown.

‘No,’ Olivia answered reasonably. ‘I would just prefer it if you did.’

If looks alone could kill, Olivia knew she would have been struck down in that moment. She only just stopped herself from taking a step backwards as Ethan Sherbourne took a threatening step towards her.

‘Er—your lift seems finally to have arrived.’ She pointed past him with some relief to the waiting elevator, its doors open invitingly.

He glanced from the open lift to Olivia, and back again. ‘So it has,’ he acknowledged. ‘Here,’ he offered.

And promptly deposited the baby into Olivia’s arms!

Not welcoming arms. Not waiting. Not even willing. In fact, her initial feelings of satisfaction at one of this man’s past relationships having caught up with him—with a vengeance—disappeared totally as she found she was the one left holding the baby!

‘Mr Sherbourne—’

‘I have to try and catch up with Shelley,’ he told her firmly before stepping into the lift. ‘Take care of the baby until I get back with her mother.’

Take care of—!

The lift doors closed, leaving Olivia alone in the hallway.

No, not alone…

A now silent baby lay in her arms, staring up at her with unblinking trust, Olivia realised as she reluctantly looked down at Andrea.

Olivia’s legs began to shake, quickly followed by the rest of her body, until she knew she was actually in danger of collapsing completely. But with a very young baby in her arms that was not a good idea.

The door to Ethan Sherbourne’s apartment still stood wide open. Not particularly inviting, but this baby was, after all, Ethan’s responsibility.

Olivia managed to reach one of the armchairs in the ultra-modern lounge before her legs collapsed beneath her. But only just. She was shaking all over, her breath coming in short, hyperventilating gasps.

How dared Ethan Sherbourne do this to her?

How dared he?

* * *

’Mr Sherbourne is certainly in need of a little divine intervention,’ Faith murmured sympathetically as the vision in the apartment stilled.

Mrs Heavenly straightened, shaking her head. ‘Mr Sherbourne isn’t the one requesting our help, my dear.’

Faith blinked. ‘Well, of course Shelley is very troubled—obviously overwhelmed by motherhood—No?’ She frowned as Mrs Heavenly shook her head again. ‘Surely not baby Andrea…? No, of course not,’ she answered herself. ‘But that only leaves…’

‘Olivia,’ Mrs Heavenly confirmed with satisfaction. ‘Yes, my dear, it’s Olivia Hardy who needs our help this Christmas.’

Faith glanced back to the woman stilled in the frame. Beautiful, and obviously successful, as she lived in such a luxurious apartment building; in what way, Faith wondered, did such a woman need the help of one of Mrs Heavenly’s angels?

CHAPTER TWO

FAITH continued to look at the frozen vision of Olivia. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said after some time had elapsed. ‘Olivia appears to have everything going for her.’

Mrs Heavenly gave a sad shake of her head. ‘Appearances can sometimes be deceptive, my dear.’

‘But she is successful in her career?’

‘Very. Junior partner in a very prestigious law firm.’

‘And beautiful, by earthly standards, too.’ Faith studied the image before her; to her Olivia looked very beautiful indeed. ‘Is she married?’

‘No,’ Mrs Heavenly answered slowly. ‘Nor does she have any children.’ She pre-empted what she thought might be Faith’s next question.

‘Ah,’ the young angel murmured with satisfaction.

‘Nor does she want a husband or children,’ Mrs Heavenly added pointedly.

Faith felt more puzzled than ever. ‘But she has asked for our help?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mrs Heavenly sighed her satisfaction. ‘For the first time in ten years Olivia has sent up a prayer. And I don’t intend letting this opportunity pass us by.’

Faith felt no nearer to knowing in exactly what way Olivia Hardy needed their help, but she trusted Mrs Heavenly’s instincts implicitly. If she said Olivia Hardy had not only asked for help but was also deserving of it, that was good enough for Faith. If only she knew in what way she could help…!

‘Watch what happens next,’ Mrs Heavenly invited as she saw Faith’s continued confusion.

The frame in the vision instantly shifted, and the sound came back too—the tiny baby was hiccupping again in between drawing in shuddering breaths.

Olivia looked down at the tiny being in her arms. The baby, although still very young, looked well cared for; her cheeks were round, her skin a healthy pink, and her blue eyes gazed back unfocused at Olivia.

The pink blanket Andrea was wrapped in was clean, and she wore a pretty pink woollen suit beneath, plus a matching hat that hid the colour of her hair. If she had any!

‘You’re going to get too hot in all this wool, aren’t you, poppet?’ Olivia spoke gently to the baby even as she eased herself up out of the chair to lie Andrea down on the thickly carpeted floor and began slowly unwrapping her.

Almost like a Christmas present—except a baby was the very last thing Olivia wanted, for Christmas or at any other time!

The hair beneath the woollen hat, Olivia discovered a few seconds later, was a startling black. Exactly like her father’s, she realised with a disapproving tightening of her mouth.

She wasn’t a prude, by any means—in her career it was best not to be! But Shelley had looked no older than twenty at most—possibly even younger than that—and Ethan Sherbourne, although very attractive in a devilish sort of way, and obviously physically fit, was a man in his early forties. And, from the little Shelley had said before her abrupt departure, the relationship between the two of them had been so fleeting the young girl had been doubtful that Ethan Sherbourne would even remember her!

To Olivia this whole situation seemed just so irresponsible. It was also one that could easily have been avoided. In her opinion, Ethan Sherbourne, with his obvious maturity, should have been the one to avoid it!

Selfish, Olivia instantly decided. Totally lacking in thought for anyone but himself and his own pleasure. He lived here, in sumptuous luxury, with a harem of women at his beck and call, while a young girl like Shelley, obviously not in the same financial bracket at all, by the look of her worn clothing, was left to bring up her child—and Ethan Sherbourne’s!—completely on her own. It was men like him who—

‘She had already disappeared by the time I got downstairs.’ A disgruntled Ethan Sherbourne strode forcefully into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

‘Why didn’t you just follow her back to her home?’ Olivia reasoned—it was what she had expected him to do, after all.

‘For the simple reason that I have no idea where she lives!’ He scowled darkly at Olivia as she stood up with the baby held in her arms, now minus her blanket, hat and woollen outer suit. The pink Babygro that she wore beneath was slightly too large for her. ‘How old do you think she is?’ Ethan frowned.

Olivia raised blonde brows, already disgusted enough by the fact that he had no idea where Shelley lived without this too! ‘Don’t you know?’ After all, if the relationship had been as fleeting as Shelley had implied it was, then it shouldn’t be too difficult for Ethan Sherbourne to take a guess at his daughter’s age!

‘I would hardly have asked if I already knew, now, would I?’ he snapped, moving to the array of drinks that stood on the side dresser, pouring out a large measure of whisky into one of the glasses and taking a large swallow before holding the decanter up in invitation to Olivia.

‘No, thank you,’ she refused coldly; she didn’t think his getting drunk was going to help the situation at all!

‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged before downing the rest of the whisky in the glass. ‘At a guess, I would say she’s somewhere between two and four months old,’ he decided.

Perhaps not so fleeting a relationship, after all. Certainly not the one-night-stand that Olivia had been imagining. ‘Her name is Andrea,’ she bit out caustically. ‘And I would agree—she’s about three months old.’

Ethan’s mouth twisted scornfully. ‘In your expert opinion?’

Olivia drew in a sharp breath at his insulting tone. ‘Now, look, Mr Sherbourne—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, call me Ethan,’ he retorted impatiently. ‘After all, with Shelley’s abrupt departure, we seem to have been left joint custodians of a very young baby!’

‘We most certainly have not!’ Olivia walked determinedly across the room, putting the baby firmly into Ethan’s arms. ‘In her mother’s absence, Andrea is one hundred per cent your responsibility.’ She stepped back pointedly. ‘And, as such, I think you should be aware of the fact that Andrea needs her nappy changed,’ she added with satisfaction. ‘It’s probably the reason she’s so upset,’ she guessed shrewdly.

Ethan raised the tiny baby slightly, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the obvious aroma that came up to greet him.

‘I presume her nappies are in the bag—along with her food.’ Olivia moved to pick up the shoulder-bag Shelley had dropped earlier, unzipping it to find everything in there that baby Andrea would need for an indefinite stay: several changes of clothes, uncountable nappies, and enough formula and bottles to feed her for a week. ‘Here.’ She handed Ethan one of the tiny disposable nappies, wipes, and barrier cream, and was completely unsympathetic as he tried to balance those as well as hold the baby.

Dark brown eyes opened wide. ‘You expect me to change Andrea’s nappy?’ he said with obvious disbelief.

‘I don’t expect you to do anything,’ Olivia assured him lightly. ‘But I think Shelley does!’

Ethan gave up all pretence of holding on to the things she had just handed him, dropping them—but fortunately not the baby!—onto the carpeted floor. ‘Well, let me inform you—and Shelley too, if she were here—’

‘I think that’s probably the appropriate word—if Shelley were here,’ Olivia said sweetly. ‘Which she isn’t. Which only leaves you—’

‘And you,’ he pounced quickly.

‘No way.’ Olivia shook her head decisively. ‘Shelley obviously believes you are more than capable of caring for Andrea.’ Although in the same circumstances Olivia didn’t believe she would have been so positive! ‘I suggest you start fulfilling that belief by changing the baby’s nappy.’

Those dark brown eyes looked at her suspiciously. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he finally said slowly.

When it came to the distressing circumstances of Shelley being put in a position where she didn’t know where else to turn to for help—no. But the fact that this arrogant Casanova had finally been given his comeuppance—yes, she was enjoying that!

Ethan Sherbourne was everything Olivia disliked in a man: arrogant, self-satisfied, too good-looking for his own and everyone else’s good. And on today’s evidence—totally amoral.

‘What I happen to think about this situation isn’t important,’ she dismissed. ‘Making the baby comfortable is, however. I’ll just get a towel from the bathroom for you to lie her down on.’ Which she did with no trouble whatsoever—the lay-out to this apartment was exactly the same as her own on the floor below. ‘There.’ She doubled the dark blue towel, placing it on the floor before looking expectantly at Ethan Sherbourne.

His cheeks were flushed as he scowled back at her darkly. ‘I am not—’ The baby began to cry once again. ‘Maybe I am,’ he muttered between clenched teeth, before moving down onto his knees and lying the baby gently down on the towel. ‘How do I get into this thing?’ He pulled ineffectually at the Babygro, turning the baby from side to side in his effort to find an opening.

‘There are usually poppers on the insides of the legs—Oh, for goodness’ sake…!’ Olivia showed her impatience as he lifted the baby’s legs to the left and then the right, almost turning the poor little thing over onto her face in the process. ‘She’s a baby, not a sack of potatoes!’ Olivia bit out as she dropped down onto her knees beside him.

‘Sacks of potatoes only need opening and the contents peeling—not having their nappies changed,’ Ethan muttered with distaste as Olivia easily released the hidden poppers and freed the baby from the lower half of the all-in-one garment before moving out of the way. The pungent aroma was much stronger now. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said a few minutes later, the soiled nappy discarded, one of the wipes held gingerly in his hand.

Olivia felt it diplomatic to take the nappy to the kitchen and dispose of it at that moment. Mainly because she didn’t think Ethan Sherbourne would appreciate seeing her bent over in hysterical laughter—at his expense!

He had looked so ridiculous kneeling there on the carpet, wearing what looked to be—and probably was!—a black silk shirt and tailored black trousers, as a happy Andrea blew bubbles up at him, her joyfully kicking legs making it difficult for him to finish what he had started.

If one of his harem could only see him now—if all of them could see him now—they might not be quite so available to him!

That thought had the effect of sobering Olivia, if nothing else. She washed her hands before returning to the sitting room, and came to an abrupt halt as she saw Andrea was still minus her nappy while Ethan Sherbourne lay on the carpet beside her, copying her bubble-blowing antics.

Olivia felt a sudden tightness in her chest. Ethan didn’t look so ridiculous any more. In fact he looked as if he was definitely enjoying himself.

He glanced across at Olivia as he sensed her standing there, his expression softened from playing with the baby. ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said huskily.

Olivia didn’t even glance at the contented baby. ‘All babies are beautiful, Mr Sherbourne,’ she told him hardily.

‘I thought I asked you to call me Ethan,’ he reminded her softly. ‘And you are…?’

‘Olivia,’ she provided stiffly, knowing it would be completely churlish to refuse to give him her first name—as well as non-productive; he only had to ask Mr Pulman for it if he really wanted to know.

‘Olivia Hardy,’ Ethan repeated mockingly as he sat up to look at her with laughing brown eyes. ‘It sounds like one half of a comedy duo!’

Angry colour darkened her cheeks. ‘In the circumstances, what does that make you?’ she returned scathingly. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she added abruptly, before he could come out with some clever reply, ‘I have some case notes I need to go over this evening.’ She moved towards the door, anxious to escape now.

‘Of course,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Exactly what sort of lawyer?’ He followed her over to the door, standing in the doorway as she stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

‘A good one,’ Olivia came back derisively, glancing back at him in surprise as she heard him chuckle.

‘I’ll just bet you are too,’ he replied appreciatively. ‘Olivia—’ He broke off as the sound of the baby whimpering could be heard behind him.

Olivia’s mouth thinned humourlessly. ‘I believe that is your cue to feed her,’ she told him as she stepped inside the lift. ‘Good luck!’

Ethan grimaced. ‘I think Andrea is going to need that more than I am!’

He was probably right, Olivia decided as the lift began its descent. Sorry as she felt for Shelley in her obvious desperation, she couldn’t help thinking that the other woman should have chosen someone with more competence at the task than Ethan Sherbourne obviously had. Even though, as Andrea’s father, a more appropriate minder couldn’t be found!

As she let herself into her own silent apartment she could still hear the baby’s cries, whether real or imagined, so she moved to switch on the television and drown out the noise—instantly turning the volume down as she realised she was probably the one responsible for disturbing the neighbours now! Besides, no matter how loud the television, it didn’t stop Olivia from worrying about the baby.

Would Ethan Sherbourne know how to feed Andrea properly? Did he know how to make up the formula? To use sterilised water and not some straight from the tap? To tell if the milk was the right temperature for Andrea to drink? That he had to wind the baby after every ounce or so to prevent her getting tummy ache?

Olivia switched off the television impatiently, striding through to her bathroom to turn on the shower before going into the adjoining bedroom to undress. A shower might help to relax her. Anything to take her mind off what might be going wrong in the apartment above her.

Except that it didn’t.

She stood under the punishing jet of the power shower for over ten minutes, desperately trying to channel her thoughts into the case she was working on at the moment. And failing miserably. How could she possibly think of work after the disturbing sequence of events earlier this evening?

Finally she came back through to her bedroom, wearing a peach-coloured silk robe, and looked around her appreciatively at the lovely things she had bought to surround and calm her. It was all the best that money could buy: a Mediterranean-style kitchen, antique furniture in every room, brocade drapes at the windows, luxuriously sumptuous carpets on the floors, several original paintings hanging on the cream-coloured walls.

And yet as Olivia looked around her she knew that it wasn’t enough. That it never had been…

She sat down on the side of the bed, knowing exactly what she was going to do now and powerless to stop herself.

The photograph lay in the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet—the only thing in that particular drawer. Her hand shook slightly as she picked it up, the tears streaming hotly down her cheeks even before she looked down at the picture.

Oh, God, Olivia pleaded emotionally, please, please help me to get through this!

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