“Right. But I’ve always felt children are better and happier when raised by happy parents – even if they’re separate parents.” She gnawed on her lip, her mind running over the possibilities. “Why don’t I just stay in Swan on Green another six months or so? We can get to know each other slowly, then, if you still feel the same, I’ll move to London. To an apartment near here. But my own apartment.”
“No.”
“No?” She curled her fingers around her tea to hide the way they were shaking. “What do you mean, ‘no’? That’s a reasonable suggestion. Aren’t you at least going to think about it?”
“I told you, I want to look after you while you’re pregnant.” He walked around the bench, coming to stand right in front of her. “If you find me unbearable to live with, then I’ll buy you a place near me and pack your bags for you. But I promise, I’m not so bad.” His voice was gruff, resonating with a depth that was making her stomach flip-flop. “We owe it to the baby to give it a try.”
He put a hand on her arm and the butterflies were back, swirling through Imogen like leaves in the breeze. She shivered involuntarily, lifting her eyes to his face. “And what if things between us get complicated?”
“Complicated? You mean like two virtual-strangers having a baby together?”
“No. I mean like falling-back-into-bed together complicated.” Surprised by her bullishness, she refused to back down. Her face was tense, her chin tilted angrily, her eyes full of strength. “We did that once before, remember? How do we know it’s not going to happen again?”
“Because you’re off-limits,” he said softly, and, Imogen chose to believe, with a hint of regret. “You’re no longer a desirable woman to me – though I can see how I found you so before. You’re the mother of my child, and I want to wrap you in cotton wool and take care of you. I want to get you tea when you’re thirsty and rub your feet when they’re sore. I want to hold your hand when you’re scared and put together nursery furniture for you.”
He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, something in his face showing reluctance. “I want to support you and help you and make your life easier. Whatever we shared, that one night; that’s in the past. I promise you, Imogen, I’m not going to be looking for opportunities to get you into my bed, or to climb into yours.”
Disappointment was sharp in her chest; unmistakable too. She smiled to hide it, but it was there, raw and thick.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armour. I can take care of myself.”
He tilted his head forward and for one perfect, hopeful second, she thought he might actually kiss her. But then he grinned, and whispered into her ear. “You are woman; I hear you roar.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Just a little bit,” he promised. “I know you can take care of yourself. But let me. This is my responsibility too.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, everything that could go wrong flashing at her like an enormous, angry warning beacon. “It’s crazy.”
“Crazy like having a baby with a guy you barely know?” He prompted. “This whole thing is crazy. So roll with it. Embrace the crazy, baby. We’re going to do this and make it work.”
“What if we don’t? What if this is some social science experiment gone wrong?”
“In what way could it fail? I’ve told you, if you’re miserable, we’ll deal with that. I don’t want to trap you or imprison you.” He expelled a sigh; it ruffled her fair hair. “But…”
“But?”
“Forget it. It’s not … necessary.”
“What? What were you going to say?”
“It’s just a part of who I am that I get what I want. And I want this baby. I want to be in its life. If we can’t make this work, I should warn you that I would have every intention of suing for custody.”
The words were strangely discordant with the promise he’d made moments earlier, of wanting to care for her and help her. Visions of foot-rubs danced from her head.
“You mean you want access? Because I’ve already told you…”
“Full access.” His lips were grim in his face. “I don’t want a judge telling me when I can and cannot see my own child. I want you and our baby to live here, with me. I want us to be together in this. I cannot think of anything worse than watching a clock and counting down the minutes I have left with my own son or daughter.”
“God, Theo,” Imogen dipped her head forward, simultaneously putting some angry distance between them. “I thought this was up to me.”
“It is up to you. But don’t you think we owe it to the child to at least try to make this work?”
“And if we can’t? You’re going to bully me into staying here even if I hate it? And hate you?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he urged softly, shaking his head.
“I can’t help it.” A sob bubbled inside of her chest. “I’m pregnant. And emotional. And this baby is just the size of citrus and you’re threatening to take… to take…” she sobbed uncontrollably now and strong, firm hands pulled her against his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He smoothed her hair, holding her tight to his warmth. “That was thoughtless of me. I’m still reeling a little from this; I had no intention of upsetting you.”
“You’re going to sue me for custody and you’re going to win because you have lots of money and this fancy-schmancy apartment and probably amazing lawyers and…”
“Shhh, shhhhh.” He lifted a finger to her lips, silencing her with the gesture. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a mistake. Let’s focus on the good that can come out of this.” He lifted a hand and stroked her hair. “Let’s focus on the fact I can make your pregnancy easier and provide you with anything you need when he or she is born. Focus on the fact that I’m going to love this baby right alongside you. We’re going to watch it take its first steps together. You’re not alone, Imogen. I’m here with you. Okay?”
“I don’t understand. Is this because your family is ancient and you need an heir?”
“Need an heir?” He laughed, putting some space between them. Space she instantly resented for it brought with it coldness and detachment. “Why do you think I need an heir?”
“Isn’t that how families like yours work, Lord Trevalyen?”
“My father is Lord Trevalyen, I’m simply Theo,” he said with a wink. His manner was dismissive but somehow the question seemed to score more deeply than that. “And no, I don’t ‘need’ an heir.”
“Because I don’t want to be some pawn in your family lineage. And our baby…”
“Is just a baby. Not even, yet. Believe me, this has more to do with the child than with anything else.” His smile was reassuring, and she felt that connection that had run so deep when they’d first met. It was as undeniable as the fact that day would follow night.
“I was an only child,” he said after a moment. “And my childhood was far from ideal. I wasn’t close to either of my parents, really. I was lonely a lot of the time. Until I went to boarding school, and found a type of brotherhood I hadn’t known existed. But the idea of a baby… of having my own family finally. It’s something I want. I want this, just as much as you do. The same instincts that make you curl your hand over your stomach when we speak runs through me. Can’t you see that you have a part of me inside you now? A part of me that I want to protect and adore? That I already love?”
Tears formed a lump in her throat. What had she expected when she’d walked into the bar? Certainly not this.
Memories of their night seared into her mind. She had thought she knew him back to front; that she inherently understood him and the ghosts that moved within his soul. But she hadn’t recognized this trait.
He’d been all hard, determined, sexy-as-hell, arrogant, commanding tycoon that night. Funny, too, but there had been a darkness she hadn’t understood yet had been strangely drawn to. Not because she loved the idea of a ‘bad boy’, but because she knew somehow she could lighten that darkness. Just a little, just f
or a night.
But this?
Passionate declarations of love for a baby he’d just heard about?
“What do you have to lose, agape?”
Looking into his eyes, the answer terrified Imogen. At the time, that seemed obvious. Surely her heart was the only thing that was on the line. It never occurred to her that anything more sinister could come from agreeing to his proposal.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll give it a try.”
His smile was earth-shattering. Even, white-teeth revealed by fully parted lips, and a dimple on one cheek. “You won’t regret it.”
Imogen just hoped they wouldn’t be famous last words.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT HAD BEEN a mistake.
It was the first thing he thought when he arrived home and saw her through the glass balcony, propped beside the pool in just an emerald-green bikini. She was still slim, but he could detect the hint of roundness in her stomach that spoke of the growing life inside of her.
And his gut clenched.
Did she have any idea how much her pregnancy meant to him? This baby. This little life that he would love and protect with all of him?
She had earphones in and her eyes were shut, which allowed him extra time and space to observe her.
Her blonde hair was piled high on her head in a sort of bun, with little spikes coming out of it at erratic angles. It was chaotic and soft, a little like Imogen. In the weeks since she’d moved in with him, he’d come to know three things for certain.
She really did rise at dawn, every day. Those early hours when he usually did a work-out and read the paper solo were now accompanied by the silent heating of the kettle, and the yoga stretches she did in the lounge area. She was diligent with her yoga, and very, very bendy. He’d even walked in on her standing on her head one morning and it had taken all his will-power not to tickle her small, bare feet.
He also knew that she liked to read, and her tastes were as varied as they were voracious. He’d found books on child-rearing, London history, fiction novels that were either horror or romance, and a text book on architecture scattered through the apartment. And she was a bit of a scatterer. The apartment had more of a lived-in feel than ever before. Her sweater tossed over the back of the lounge, a blanket discarded on a seat, books littering tables. Somehow these little signs of occupation made him smile, almost as much as the discovery that she’d sourced her books from the local library. She’d joined up on her first day in town, she’d told him.
The third thing he knew, and it was something that had started to worry him, was that he could see why he’d got her into bed. Even in his ridiculously inebriated state, he’d wanted her.
And that same desire was curling incessantly around him now, digging her into his mind in a way that was dangerously close to an obsession. Surely it was just because of the baby growing in her belly. That was doing strange things to his biology, making him obsess about the fact he’d possessed her and given her this child.
That was all. Some strange, genetic, pre-programmed throw-back of masculinity and ownership. Something almost animalistic; it was beneath him. He wouldn’t indulge it.
As he watched, she stretched her arms high over her head, her body tensing as she breathed in deep, her breasts thrusting forward, her tummy sucked in, a relaxed, beatific smile playing about her rosebud lips, and then she breathed out, and blinked her eyes open at the same time.
By some twist of accident rather than design, they landed straight on him, catching him staring from just inside the glass doors, as though he’d temporarily become incapable of movement or speech.
Her lips parted slightly and colour stole into her cheeks.
Jesus.
This idea had definitely been a mistake. He pushed outside reluctantly, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“You’re not too warm?” He asked, rushing over the awkwardness of the moment.
“Uh uh,” she shook her head, and now her smile was more natural, as though she too was willing to gloss over the way he’d been drooling. “How was work?”
“Fine.” He waved a hand through the air, dismissing the day. “The usual.”
“You know, I don’t really have any idea what it is you do. Except, you know, buy airlines or whatever,” she said thoughtfully, then drew in a large breath and excitement ran across her features as she sat up straighter. “But, I can tell you something exciting about my day!”
“What?” How could he help but smile at the sweet innocence of her enthusiasm?
“I spoke to a woman who runs a little Montessori daycare centre just a few tube stops away and she needs someone urgently to cover for a few months. I’m going to meet with her tomorrow.”
“What?” Was she talking about a job? “What do you mean?”
“As nice as it is spending every day by the pool, reading endless books, I can’t do that forever. And the centre’s beautiful and charming and the woman who runs it sounds lovely. And once the baby’s born, I can work with the older children and the baby can be in the same centre. Presuming they still need me, of course. Isn’t that great?”
He compressed his lips, suppressing his first reaction with great difficulty. “Great?” He murmured aloud, buying for time.
“Uh huh. I didn’t expect to find something so quickly. Of course, I have to interview for the job first, and she might not like me, but she sounds nice and we kind of clicked on the phone, and I told her I’m pregnant. Oh, obviously I did because of how she said she’s happy to have the baby in the baby room. And now I’m rambling,” she said with a laugh and a shake of her head that waved some of her hair loose from the bun.
“Let me get this straight,” he murmured after a moment. “You’re talking about getting a job.”
“Maybe I didn’t ramble well enough,” Imogen laughed. “Yes, I’m talking about getting a job.”
He stared at her for a long moment and then shook his head, instantly rejecting the idea as impossible. “Why?”
“Why?” Her laugh was a short sound but it was just as he remembered it. Bells on the breeze. His gut rolled. “I told you. I can’t just sit around here all day. And I’m good at what I do; and I love it. I miss it.”
“But aren’t there risks to you? In your condition?”
“Gosh, no. All the children are vaccinated and it’s only babies that would potentially pose a risk to a pregnancy. So I’ll be with the toddlers and older. And I know the risks. I won’t lift anything too heavy.”
“You don’t have to work,” he blurted out, cutting across the terrace and crouching beside her, his haunches strong as his pants stretched to accommodate the muscles.
“Of course I do,” she said with genuine bemusement. “I have no money without an income. I mean, savings, sure, but not enough to live off.”
“Money, right.” He could have kicked himself for the oversight. “Of course I intended to set up an allowance for you, credit cards. I should have done it before now. That was remiss of me.”
“You… what?” Her eyes were huge in her face and again desire swarmed his body, thick and fast. “No way.”
“It was our arrangement,” he reminded her slowly. “You would move in with me and I would look after you.”
Imogen stared at him as though he’d utterly taken leave of his senses. “You’re kidding?”
“I’ll have the cards within the week,” he murmured, mentally scrolling through his phone to call his bank manager. “And we’ll talk about a suitable amount for maintenance.”
“Stop.” She lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest, her fingers splayed wide across his warm torso. “Stop talking.”
“Why? I told you, we’ve already agreed to this. It was an oversight of mine that I left it until now to arrange.”
“No! I didn’t agree to that.” She shook her head to emphasise the point. “I’m not letting you pay me an – an allowance! No way!”
“Well, I don’t want you working, and, a
s you so rightly point out, you do need money.”
She stood up jerkily, moving away from him as though he was threatening to whip her. “How can you think I would ever accept that?”
“I’m offering you money that you would have earned while working, because you’re pregnant with my baby. How is that a problem?”
“Because! It is!” She spun around, her breath ragged in her chest as she stared out at the City. Highrises glistened in the dusk sunlight. “I would never let you give me money. What do you think I am?” She bit down on her lip to hold the tears in check.
But his suggestion was nibbling away at her confidence, making her feel completely out of her depth.
“I know you’re rich, and I’m not, but I don’t want your money. Just because we’re having a baby together doesn’t mean I’m going to forget my values and subjugate myself completely to your wishes.” She blinked her eyes shut as pain scored deep lines through her heart. “How can you even suggest that?”
“I told you,” he groaned huskily. “I want to look after you.”
“You said that was about foot rubs and doctor’s appointments. You never mentioned anything about giving me a damned allowance or believe me, I would never have agreed to move in with you. Never. Not in a hundred billion years.”
“That’s a really long time,” he couldn’t help saying, the words soothing and low.
“I just can’t believe you’d suggest that. And like it’s no big deal. Is that what you think women want? To be handed out a little stipend for good behavior? God, no wonder you’re single.”
The retort cut more deeply than she could have known; certainly more deeply than she intended. “The stipend would be very generous, believe me. I was thinking twenty thousand pounds.”
“A year,” she shook her head, in disbelief that anyone could nonchalantly part with such a sum.
“A month,” he corrected.
Imogen gripped the railing, her mind reeling. “I could never spend that amount. Ever.”
“You wait until you step into a children’s boutique,” he said with an arched brow. “I bet you could spend that in one afternoon…”
His Nine Month Seduction Page 4
