Her Pregnancy Surprise

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘You’ve gone awfully quiet.’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ she croaked.

  ‘Thinking what?’

  ‘Thinking great sex isn’t a sound basis for a long-lasting relationship, but we might as well enjoy it while it lasts.’ Megan was pleased that she’d managed to inject the right light-hearted note into her response.

  Luc’s jaw tightened as he gazed grimly ahead. ‘It’s going to last a hell of a long time.’

  He was wrong, of course; it didn’t. Though for a while there she had started believing him, they were the best three months of her life. They were also some of the busiest.

  The first month she was still commuting up to London and then the next two months there were the inevitable teething problems that came about from the upheaval of the transfer. She had to work late frequently and arrived home depressed and tired.

  Luc didn’t complain about the hour or demand to know where she had been. He would take one look at her pale, exhausted face and tell her she looked like hell, then he’d kiss her until the colour returned to her cheeks.

  Luc knew a lot about kissing; even thinking about his mouth made her insides melt.

  On a typical evening, while she soaked in a scented bath with her non-alcoholic drink he would sit on the edge and sip his wine while he coaxed the details of her days from her. He had a unique ability to make her see the funny side of things that had seemed like major disasters. Then he would tell her about his day, things that had happened in the estate or the entire chapter that had been consigned to the bin.

  Like their love making, no two evenings together were the same, but they were all magical to Megan who had never experienced this sort of sharing with anyone before.

  The magic was short-lived. At the beginning of November she was searching for a piece of paper that she had scribbled down a friend’s change of address on when she saw THE LETTER. She always thought of THE LETTER in capital letters. She had only needed to read one line and the signature: ‘I will always love you. Grace.’ This had been enough to send her little world crashing around her ears.

  Had she imagined that Luc was happy because she was? The irony was she had begun to think lately that he really might actually share her feelings…that he really might be in love with her. On one or two occasions she had even imagined that he had been on the brink of saying something; now she knew for sure that this had been wishful thinking.

  Humiliated and hurting, she had taken immediate and drastic action. The result was that she now slept alone in the big bed that they had once shared.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘DON’T worry, the boss has already been down,’ the man who had been given the roofing contract had said when she’d appeared on site.

  Megan’s chin lifted at the patronising tone. ‘I am the boss,’ she told him before she asked exhaustive questions about every detail of the project.

  As she made her way back up to the house using the short cut through the wood she turned the interchange over in her head, getting madder and madder. Of course she was glad Luc had fitted into estate life so easily. It was just he fitted in so well that there were occasions when she felt as though she was surplus to requirements.

  It would have been nice to be needed, she reflected with a self-pitying sigh. As she reached the kitchen door John saw her and came across.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ He addressed the question to her bump, not her, but Megan didn’t mind this. She had got used to being the uninteresting part of a joint package.

  ‘Fine, thank you.’ She patted her stomach with a smile. ‘But I’m looking forward to meeting this little one.’

  ‘If you’re looking for Luc, he’s over at the old stables.’

  ‘Is there a problem, John?’ Megan had been as excited as everyone else when a Sunday supplement had expressed an interest in doing a piece on the old stable workshops—work on the extension was due to be finished the next month and this opportunity to publicise the place was heaven-sent.

  The newspaper people were due this morning and the last thing they needed was any last-minute hitch.

  The older man shook his head. ‘Not now. There was a power problem,’ he admitted. ‘That looked like really throwing a spanner in the works, but that man of yours,’ he conceded, ‘can turn his hand to most things. He’s still got a lot to learn, but he’s willing, and he doesn’t mind admitting when he’s wrong.’

  Megan stared at him. Were they both talking about the same man…? The Luc she knew had an inability to even realise when he was wrong, let alone admit it!

  ‘I admit,’ John admitted, ‘that I had my doubts when he first arrived, but I was wrong. No, I’d say you’ve got a first-rate man there, Megan, lass.’

  Megan just restrained herself from denying ownership.

  His comments echoed almost exactly the words her mother had used when they’d spoken on the phone the previous evening—‘I hate not being able to see you, but I can relax knowing that Luc is there to look after you, Megan. He really is one in a million.’

  ‘He’s driving me mad; he won’t let me lift a finger!’ Megan complained.

  ‘Isn’t that a good thing? I really don’t see what your problem is, dear,’ Laura responded in a bewildered voice. ‘From what you say, he’s thrown himself into the place and, quite frankly, supplied what it’s been lacking since your father died. I think you’ve fallen on your feet there.’

  Everyone loves Luc, she thought…including me. But Luc loves Grace, who loves him right back.

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s so busy making himself indispensable around here that we barely see one another. That,’ she added bitterly, ‘is probably the idea.’ Megan listened to the loud silence on the other end of the line and covered her mouth to stifle the groan that rose to her lips.

  Her waistline might be a distant memory, she might waddle and not walk, but some things didn’t change—such as her unerring ability to say the wrong thing at the even wronger time.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Megan, the man is obviously deeply in love with you.’

  If she hadn’t felt so miserable she might have laughed.

  ‘Are you and Luc having problems…?’ her mother wanted to know.

  ‘No, we are not having problems,’ her daughter gritted. How could you have problems when you never saw one another? When Luc wasn’t writing he was busy inspiring admiration and devotion with his enthusiasm. Before she had started her maternity leave it had been easier. Now she saw him all the time and it hurt.

  ‘Because if you are you should talk. It’s not good bottling things up.’

  On this subject at least her mum was right—things surely couldn’t go on like this for much longer. She was pretty certain that Luc was feeling the strain too. Why else did he avoid being alone with her? He was thoughtful, kind, concerned for her welfare, but all this tender loving care was inspired, she was sure, from a strong sense of duty, not love.

  At her last appointment with her obstetrician Megan had listened to one heavily pregnant woman confiding to another that her husband expected a medal if he whisked a duster around the living room and, she’d complained, barely able to restrain her smugness, ‘…he can’t get enough of me. We’ve had more early nights than you would believe!’

  Megan would have welcomed some slackness with the household chores if Luc had suggested a few early nights, but Luc kept late nights; sometimes it was two or three in the morning when she heard him coming up. She heard him because she was listening out for his tread as he walked past her door. Sometimes as she lay there in the dark, her breath coming fast, she thought she heard his footsteps stop outside her door, but they never did.

  Pretending never had been Megan’s strong suit. It was ironic really—she had secretly hoped that Luc would fall in love with her and he had actually fallen in love with the damned estate. She had to be realistic: things were not going to change and she would be a fool to pretend otherwise.

  Well, he could stay, she’d probably have to cont
end with a workers’ revolt if she asked him to leave, but she couldn’t keep up the illusion they were a couple. Luc would probably prefer to stop pretending too, she realised. It couldn’t be much fun for him either. If he agreed, he could move into the newly renovated farmhouse by the river next month.

  It wasn’t ideal, but this situation required some compromise…mostly on her part, admittedly. As far as she could see her plan provided the best of both worlds for Luc; he would be on hand for the baby, but he would be a free agent.

  Of course there were drawbacks to this arrangement, especially as his freedom would no doubt involve the reappearance of Grace. So long as he didn’t flaunt her under her nose she could cope. After all, they were both adults…

  ‘Is anything wrong, lass?’

  Megan pushed aside the nagging concern that her coping mechanisms might not be up to dealing with the reality of Luc having sex with another woman five minutes’ walk from where she was sleeping and shook her head.

  ‘I’m fine. The stables, you say…?’

  ‘I suppose you know that this is bribery?’

  ‘So long as it’s not extortion.’

  Megan, who had taken the shortcut, was halfway through the ivy-covered door when she identified the owner of the ironic tone. She came to a halt and glanced at her wristwatch. How typical—she had finally made a decision and worked up the courage to carry it through and Luc had company. If she hadn’t already done the entire I’ll-definitely-speak-to-him-later thing and known for a fact that when later came she wouldn’t, Megan would have gone back to the house.

  ‘You can laugh about it.’ The stranger’s voice was lifted in wonder. ‘Does this mean we’re quits?’

  ‘Let me see,’ she heard Luc muse. ‘A double-paged feature for a reputation ruined…?’ There was a pause and he added in a voice that was chill and contemptuous, ‘I don’t think so, Malone.’

  Megan stepped back into the shadows, feeling guilty as hell for eavesdropping, but unable not to. She had never heard Luc sound like that; she hardly recognised his hard voice. She knew she ought to reveal herself, but ‘reputation ruined’—what was that about?

  ‘It was nothing personal, Lucas,’ she heard the other man placate.

  ‘Strange that it felt pretty personal from where I was standing.’

  ‘Yeah, well…it’s a tough old world, and we did print an apology.’

  ‘Two lines on an inside page?’

  ‘All right, I still owe you,’ came the reluctant admission. ‘But just don’t let on I’ve got a conscience or my career will be over.’

  The men must have begun to walk away, because she could hear the deep, distinctive sound of Luc’s voice, but, frustratingly, not what he was saying. She stood there for a couple of minutes waiting to be sure that they had gone before she emerged.

  Her head was in a whirl. One thing was pretty clear—this newspaper article hadn’t been the marvellous piece of unsolicited good fortune they had all imagined. Luc had arranged it. Clearly he felt that this journalist owed him for his ruined reputation and he was calling in that favour.

  Now she owed Luc and she couldn’t even let on she knew, let alone thank him—not without giving away the fact that she had dragged the story from Uncle Malcolm.

  Her mind bent to this new dilemma, she walked through the arch into the courtyard and straight into the solid chest of a tall figure. Even with her eyes closed she would have recognised that very individual scent, a mingling of soap and the warm male and totally unique fragrance of his skin.

  Megan’s eyes weren’t closed. At the moment of collision she had automatically tilted her face up to him and found herself looking straight into those scarily penetrating eyes of his…eyes that had as many moods as the stormy sea they reminded her of at that moment.

  Luc’s hands came up to steady her. She was very conscious of them lying heavily on her shoulders.

  ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

  Megan fought her way out of the soft fog of desire that misted her vision and made her thought processes slow and sluggish. This was physically the closest they had been in several weeks and the desire to lean into his warm, gloriously hard body threatened to overwhelm her.

  She was afraid that if she started leaning she might not be able to stop—ever! I miss you, she wanted to say, which, considering they saw one another every day, was a comment he might find strange.

  ‘Nowhere…that is here…’ Oh, God, if I look as guilty as I sound, I’m in big trouble.

  Luc, apparently satisfied she wasn’t going to fall over, allowed his hands to slide down her shoulders.

  The feeling of loss as his hands fell away was quite irrational and totally devastating.

  ‘Oh, they’ve arrived,’ she cried, affecting surprise as she observed the signs of activity in the courtyard. ‘How are things going?’

  ‘Did you miss that bit?’

  Megan gave a panic-stricken gulp and, playing for time, shook her head. ‘Pardon…?’ Had he known she was there or was her guilt making her imagine things…?

  ‘Did you miss the part of our conversation from your little hiding place?’ he enquired politely.

  To be caught listening like a naughty child by Luc, of all people, brought a mortified flush to her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, in that case, let me bring you up to date. Malone, the reporter, says it’s going well, but he thinks it would go better if our bronzed blacksmith would take his shirt off.’

  ‘Sam!’ she exclaimed, momentarily diverted. ‘You’re kidding.’

  Luc shook his head. ‘I’m not and neither,’ he added drily, ‘was Sam when he told them where to go.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘After ten minutes of negotiation he has agreed to roll up his sleeves. You know, Megan,’ he added seamlessly, ‘you don’t lie very well.’

  This wasn’t true. She had told him some big fat lies and he had swallowed them hook, line and sinker! But maybe, she thought despondently, that was because he had wanted to believe them.

  ‘Do you suggest I start to take instruction from an expert…?’

  ‘I don’t lie to you.’

  ‘No, you just don’t tell me anything. And I wasn’t hiding,’ she added with a defiant sniff.

  One satirical brow lifted. ‘No…?’

  ‘No. I came here looking for you.’

  ‘Now that’s unusual enough to merit my attention,’ he observed sardonically.

  She angled a wary look at his lean face. It was hard to gauge his mood, but then it always was. Not only did Luc have mercurial changes of mood, he was very good at hiding what he was feeling. ‘I’ve had an idea that could solve all our problems.’

  ‘It must be quite an idea.’ he drawled.

  So he wasn’t trying to pretend they didn’t have problems. This was good, she told herself firmly. They were being grown up about this.

  Megan repressed a very un-grown-up urge to stamp her feet and yell, It isn’t fair! ‘I’ve just been to see the farm; the roof’s almost finished.’

  Luc released an exasperated hiss through clenched teeth. ‘I know it’s almost finished; I went down earlier. There was no need for you to go.’

  ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you to take the Land Rover…? Or better still ask someone to drive you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ The impatient recommendation brought a glint to his deep-set eyes. ‘People have better things to do than ferry me around, and it’s only a five-minute walk.’ To drive that distance seemed to Megan the height of indolence.

  ‘A five-minute walk down a track that has a two-in-one incline and is at the moment slick with several inches of mud.’

  ‘The doctor says exercise is good for me.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s what he had in mind.’

  ‘So now you’re a doctor too, are you?’

  An amused expression settled on his lean, dark features as he took the brunt of her angry glare. ‘I’ve noti
ced you always get shrill when you’re in the wrong.’

  ‘I am not shrill…or,’ she added belatedly, ‘in the wrong.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agreed, ‘I’d noticed that too.’ His expression hardened as he went on. ‘Since last week’s rain that path is lethal. If you slip there’s a nasty…what would you say—twenty-foot drop…? Why,’ he demanded, drawing a frustrated hand through his collar-length ebony hair, ‘do you insist on taking unnecessary risks?

  ‘Risk…what risk?’ she scoffed.

  His furious glance was drawn to the pale, slender column of her neck. ‘It’s only a matter of time before you break your damned neck,’ he forecast huskily.

  Megan, recalling the path, had to admit he did have a point. ‘I didn’t fall,’ she placated. Nearly didn’t count, did it…? And there was no point winding him up. ‘It’ll be lovely when it’s finished, don’t you think?’

  ‘The only lovely thing he could think about at that moment was her neck. A muscle in his lean cheek clenched as his eyes were compulsively drawn to the blue veined delicate hollow at the base of her throat.

  ‘The renovations are a good quality.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What’s this about, Megan?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘So you like the farmhouse?’ she persisted, in a doggedly upbeat manner. ‘The lovely views,’ she enthused. ‘And the attic conversion is a very useful space, very versatile. It would make a great studio don’t you think?’

  ‘Have you decided to become an estate agent? Is that your grand idea?’

  Megan gave an exasperated sigh. Subtlety, she reflected, was wasted on Luc. ‘As us living together is not working out I thought it would be a good idea if you moved into the farmhouse when it’s finished. That way you’d have your freedom and be near enough to be involved with the baby as much as you liked.’

  The fact he hadn’t interrupted and had heard her out in attentive silence was, she decided, slanting an enquiring look at his lean, enigmatic face, encouraging. So encouraging she felt like curling up in a foetal ball of misery and crying her eyes out.