The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy

CHAPTER TWO

AS MERIDA STEPPED out of the draped tunnel and into the semi-dark space, which twinkled with jewels, she found herself a little breathless.

There were no windows, no signs of the outside world to orientate oneself. The subtle bergamot and woody notes of Ethan Devereux’s cologne were richer as she moved to where he stood, staring into the first display.

Merida cleared her throat and broke the heavy silence.

‘These are the Amulets of Al-Zahan.’

Ethan had expected jewellery, or ancient carved tokens, but instead there was an array of gemstones, embedded in rocks, still in their original form. Each was a mini-galaxy in itself, and, far from being bored, he had rarely been so entranced as Merida started to tell their tale.

‘The collection and its history was a passion of the late Queen Dalila of Al-Zahan. Right up to her death, some twenty years ago, she was still unearthing long-forgotten treasures.’

‘How did she die?’ Ethan asked.

‘In childbirth. I believe it was her fourth child...’ She faltered a little over a detail she did not know. ‘I can check.’

‘No need.’

Merida wasn’t so sure. She felt as if she were being tested.

‘On her marriage, she was given this amulet...’

In the first display cabinet was an intricate knot of emerald and ore. Beautifully lit, it turned slowly, and Ethan gazed upon it for a considerable time. The stone was practically bursting out of the ore.

‘Amulets are a gift of potential,’ Merida explained.

‘Potential for what?’

‘Marriages were, and still are, arranged in Al-Zahan. The amulets celebrate a future love, and also promote fertility. It is said that they are a gift of possibilities not yet fulfilled. To cut and polish the stone would reveal too many secrets.’

He seemed interested now, Merida thought as they moved on.

‘The next amulet is Lapis Lazuli. Lapis was, and still is, ground to create a pigment for ultramarine—the colour used in Van Gogh’s Starry Night painting. When the then Sheikha Princess was studying here in Manhattan she saw the painting on display. It is said it was the recollection of the painting that started her on a mission to find the missing amulets.’

‘And did she find many?’

‘Indeed.’ Merida nodded. ‘At the time of her death she had made significant inroads—though of course there are many gaps.’

‘And she studied here?’ Ethan checked, more than interested now.

‘Yes—at Columbia.’

It was the same college where Khalid and Ethan had met. He had known that the amulets belonged to Khalid’s family, but he had not known that the late Queen had studied at Columbia too. It struck Ethan that he had learned more about the enigmatic Khalid from a stranger than from the man himself. He was more than intrigued as Merida spoke on.

‘Princess Dalila returned to Al-Zahan to marry. However, her fondness for New York City was the reason that her son, Sheikh Khalid, agreed to the amulets being displayed here.’

Ethan moved on—but not out of boredom this time, more out of interest. He stood peering into the next display. Embedded within a large, egg-shaped piece of marble was a ruby.

‘This one is my favourite,’ Merida admitted.

She took out some black gloves and handed him a pair, then, as she put on her own gloves, Merida told him its story.

‘Three hundred years ago in Al-Zahan there was a secret wedding,’ she explained, and Ethan found he was drawing nearer to hear her low voice, as if she were sharing a secret only with him. ‘Due to feuding between the two families there was no amulet given. Peace was finally restored, but after two years, when there were still no signs of a baby, it was decided that this was the reason. The Sheikh King, desperate for the lineage to continue, asked that the best stones be excavated. It took three years until what he considered a suitable offering was found.’

‘It’s stunning,’ Ethan said, and so was the voice that told the tale.

She handed the large stone to him; he weighed it in his hand and then held it between finger and thumb, bringing it nearer to his eyes to examine it more closely.

‘Careful,’ Merida said, and drew on yet another of her well-worn lines. ‘It ensures fertility.’

‘For a hen, perhaps,’ Ethan mused.

That tiny glint of humour made her smile. It reached her eyes, and they shone as beguiling as any amulet, and there was a single perfect moment when he forgot his hellish day.

Hellish because he should be in Dubai, finally kicking back, but instead would be heading to the hospital soon, where his father had been admitted in advance of some exploratory surgery that morning.

Ethan knew no more than that.

In an hour or so he would glean what he could, but for a moment or two he forgot the troubles awaiting him in the world outside. For now he focused on her smoky voice and the history of this beautiful stone, said to promote both love and fertility—two things he did not want.

‘And did it work?’ Ethan asked, handing the amulet back to her.

Merida nodded. ‘Yes, the Sheikha Princess went on to have the first set of royal twins.’

The tour continued to its conclusion and, having seen and held some more amulets, Ethan handed the final piece to her and watched as she carefully replaced it in the display.

‘The amulets really are beautiful—though it’s all fairy tales of course.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Merida said. ‘All the marriages attached to these amulets were seemingly happy ones.’

‘The Queen died in childbirth,’ Ethan pointed out.

‘They don’t promise eternal life.’ Merida smiled. ‘I still think there’s something rather magical about them.’

‘Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.’

Ethan didn’t believe in love. Full stop.

But as for lust? Absolutely.

He was almost tempted to tell her now that he knew Khalid—that the Sheikh was, in fact, himself a twin. Though only to prolong the discussion. To talk with her some more.

‘How long have you worked at the gallery?’ he asked as they headed back up the stairs.

‘Almost a year.’

Merida certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had been hauled in this afternoon at the last moment, but as they came out from the tunnel she did admit that this wasn’t her full-time job.

‘Though I only work here part-time.’

‘More of a hobby, then?’ he asked, or rather assumed, for he was more than used to women whose daddies found them a ‘little job’ until a suitable husband came along.

‘Not quite,’ Merida said, and gave him a tight smile without elaborating further.

Ethan Devereux was here to see the gallery, not hear her life story.

They walked past the displays where he had stood bored, and then came back to the desk. Of course she offered him a drink once more, and waved a hand over the nibbles.

Again, he declined.

‘Do you have any more questions?’ Merida asked, just as she always did, and yet it felt a little different this time. The beguiling, sensual air surrounding the amulet display seemed still to cling, and she found that she held her breath as she awaited his response.

‘Just one...’ Ethan said.

He saw her blink rapidly, and rather thought that she’d guessed what his question was.

Dinner.

And it should be as seamless as that—because for Ethan it always was.

Yet he hesitated, and did not know why.

It wasn’t the fact that he had to head to the hospital that halted him from asking. He could offer to pick her up in an hour.

Yet he didn’t.

Instead he reminded himself he was here for Khalid.

‘The rugs,’ he said. ‘If I were to order one, how long would it take to make?’

‘It would depend on the size.’

‘One like that.’

Merida should be dancing on the spot at the unexpected chance of earning some commission. A commissioned rug was worth a fortune, and she should be engaging him and wowing him with details. Yet all she could think of was dinner. Or rather, the lack of it.

Which was just as well, given Reece’s warning that he would crush her in the palm of his hand.

Yet Merida suddenly wanted to experience the feel of his palm more than she had wanted anything before in her life.

Except Broadway, which she had dreamed of all her life.

Ethan Devereux, whom she had only just met, suddenly came a very close second.

Merida stood there, trying to unscramble her mind so she could answer his question as to how long a commissioned rug would take to make.

‘I would think around eighteen months.’

‘What if I wanted it sooner?’

‘Ubaid has many artisans. If they were focused on one piece, perhaps a year...’

‘And what if I wanted it sooner than that?’ he pushed.

‘I’m afraid it would take time. Patience.’

Reece might never forgive her, but instead of promising limitless artisans, all devoted to pleasing this man who could name his price, she told him instead that he would have to wait.

Only they weren’t talking about rugs. She was quite sure of that.

And so was he.

‘I don’t have patience,’ Ethan said, and the words were delivered with a slight snap, for he knew now why he hadn’t invited her to dinner.

For it would be just dinner.

And then another dinner.

No, he did not have the patience for that.

He wanted to know how she tasted rather than where she was from and what she was like.

And so, instead of pushing, he ended the encounter.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you for the tour. It’s been interesting.’

Unexpectedly so. And in unexpected ways, he thought.

Merida saw him to the door and then stood, her smile fixed, as they shook hands again, but for a dangerous second longer than the first time.

She did not glance down at his hands but she could feel each of his fingers, long and slender, as they closed around hers. And she breathed through her mouth, rather than her nose, for the scent of him had her wanting to draw closer.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Merida said through lips that did not want to talk. It was as if they yearned to meet his.

She wanted to return to the dark velvet space from which they had so recently emerged.

What the hell was happening to her?

‘Thank you for visiting,’ Merida said calmly, when Get out, get out, get out was what she wanted to scream. Only her acting experience allowed composure to reign on her features.

He didn’t say thank you again.

And he didn’t wish her a good evening.

Ethan Devereux simply left.

And he left behind a vortex within her.

She watched the doorman farewell him, and the driver open his car door, and as he disappeared inside Merida learned that she could breathe again.

The devil had left the building.

CHAPTER THREE

HIS DRIVER TOOK him the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.

This must not get out.

Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.

Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.

His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.

His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.

Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.

‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’

Do for him?

There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.

The Devereux men were all private, but they all had an intrinsic licentious edge.

His father, though, had done nothing in his life to curb it.

‘I came to see you.’ Ethan did his best to keep his voice even. ‘And to see if there was anything I could do to help.’

‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ Jobe said. ‘I’ll be back in the office on Monday.’

‘How was Dubai?’ Abe asked as he closed his laptop, clearly just about to leave. ‘Did you look at the hotel site?’

‘I did.’ Ethan nodded. ‘But I was thinking...’ He paused. Ethan was rather more interested in the potential of Al-Zahan, but decided now wasn’t the time to talk about it. ‘Helene’s writing up the report.’

‘Good,’ Abe said. ‘Maurice and I are going to get dinner—are you coming?’

Ethan shook his head. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

He hadn’t actually eaten since the plane, and that had been several hours ago, but Ethan simply wasn’t in the mood for more business talk, and with Maurice and Abe that was all it would be.

Once he was alone with his father it was somewhat awkward.

While it might look like a plush office or a hotel room, Ethan could now see the room held subtly placed equipment, and the antiseptic in the air gave it a slight nauseating edge.

‘Where’s Chantelle?’

Ethan didn’t generally enquire about the whereabouts of his father’s latest lover, but five minutes into his visit the conversation had already run out.

‘We broke up.’

‘When?’

‘Do I ask you about your love life?’ Jobe barked.

‘No, but only because I don’t have one,’ Ethan said.

He had a sex life, and fully intended to keep it at that. He’d seen the damage relationships caused. His father’s marital history was on par with Henry VIII’s. Well, minus the beheadings and with the added fact that not one of Jobe’s marriages had survived.

But there had been plenty of divorces.

And his mother had died.

Ethan could not forgive his father for that.

Not her death. More the circumstances.

Ethan had been five when she’d died, but he had been ten, maybe eleven, when he’d finally decided to find out for himself if the rumours about his father having an affair with their nanny were true.

Sure enough, the papers at the time had spoken of a huge argument, and Elizabeth Devereux leaving home sobbing and heading for JFK.

He’d looked at endless photos of the happy family they had once been and had confronted his father.

‘You had everything and you ruined it. Is that why Meghan left?’ he’d asked.

Jobe had sat silently nursing a drink as his youngest son had raged. Only as he’d stormed off had he called out.

‘Ethan! Get back here!’

‘Go to hell!’ He had run upstairs, taking down one of family pictures that hung on the wall and throwing it at him. ‘I hate you for what you did.’

It had never been spoken of again. The picture had been rehung, and to this day remained in its place on the wall, and still they avoided any topics of the personal kind.

But now, given his father was having surgery, Ethan tried.

‘So, what’s happening tomorrow?’

Ethan wanted specifics. But Jobe refused to give them.

‘It’s just a minor procedure.’ His father shrugged. ‘Exploratory.’

‘Can’t they just do a scan or something?’

‘Oh, so you went to med school now?’

‘I’m just saying I don’t understand what you’re going to theatre for.’

‘That’s what we’re finding out.’

They went in ever-widening circles, talking about everything and nothing and getting nowhere fast.

‘I’m going down at eight in the morning and I’ll be back up here by nine. I wanted to stay home the night before the op, but Prof Jacobs insisted I came in.’

‘Because had you been at home you would have ignored his instructions to have only a light supper and forgo your nightcap,’ Ethan said.

‘True,’ Jobe admitted. ‘Look, if you really want to do something for me then you can attend the Carmody function.’

If Ethan hadn’t known already that something was seriously wrong with his father, he knew it then. The Carmody function had been an annual feature on his father’s calendar for as long as Ethan could recall. Amongst the many pictures on the walls of his father’s home was one of his parents standing on the red carpet there.

The ball was more than two weeks away. For his father to be pulling out now sent a shiver of dread down Ethan’s spine. Not that he showed it. Instead, he agreed to attend in his father’s place.

‘You’ll need a date to take with you,’ Jobe huffed.

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ There was nothing left to say. ‘I’ll come and see you in the morning.’

‘No, don’t,’ Jobe warned. ‘The damn press is on to me. I’m sure of it.’

‘On to what?’ Ethan challenged.

For a moment near identical black eyes met, but Jobe wasn’t about to open up to anyone.

‘Just carry on as normal. The professor will let one of you boys know when I’m back from the OR.’

Boys.

His father still referred to him and Abe as boys, when they were thirty and thirty-four respectively, but there was no affection in the term. If anything, it was said dismissively.

With the duty visit done, Ethan walked through the private wing and towards the elevator, turning right with little thought even though he’d never been there before.

Then he halted.

Ethan had been there before.

Shards of memory felt as if they were working their way to the surface of his brain as he stood waiting for the elevator. He looked down the corridor and could almost see himself—five years old and dressed in his new school uniform, accompanied by his new nanny and walking beside Abe as they headed out from a waiting room to go and visit their mother.

To say goodbye.

He took the elevator, trying to banish the memory, yet as he stepped out into the brightly lit foyer he recalled it again. The press had been waiting outside, but their instructions that day had been different from usual—Don’t wave or smile. Look sad.

Who had told a couple of kids that? Ethan thought as he walked quickly to the waiting car. Who the hell had told them how to act, how to react, on the day their mother died?

His long stride halted as the answer came to him—the new nanny had.

His driver was waiting, but Ethan dismissed him. He wanted to walk—to get rid of the hospital scent which still filled his nostrils.

Suddenly, twenty-five years on, he was back to that day and the utter bewilderment he’d felt.

The grief.

And the guilt—oh, yes, the guilt.

Because he hadn’t missed his mother as everyone had assumed he must.

Meghan.

It was his nanny, Meghan, he had missed at that time.

* * *

The gallery website was a constant thorn in Merida’s side.

Clint had been supposed to update it before he’d headed off to an art fair, though of course he hadn’t.

And with Reece being away Merida needed to change the opening times advertised there. Especially as she wouldn’t be here tomorrow morning because of her audition.

It was for a prime-time television show and, while excited, Merida was incredibly nervous about it. She had to get the part. Although theatre was her passion, Merida desperately needed credits to her name—and as well as that she loved the show. It would be a huge boost for her résumé as well, and who knew what doors it might open?

So she updated the opening and closing times on the website, and a few other things, and then, instead of clicking off and closing down the computer, Merida couldn’t resist looking Ethan up.

God, he was beautiful.

His dark, slightly hooded eyes were so brooding, and in every photo she saw, that mouth utterly refused to smile.

Just as it had refused to smile with her.

For a moment she let herself wonder how it might feel to be in the path of his gentler gaze.

Merida drank the glass of champagne that Ethan hadn’t wanted and nibbled on the caviar blinis he’d declined as she gazed upon his image.

Then she ate dark-chocolate-covered blueberries and read about the man who quite simply intrigued her.

Reece had been right. His life was a quagmire indeed—and Ethan Devereux’s playboy status was well-documented. His older brother Abe’s was too, although he seemed to have settled down a touch of late. As for his father...

Goodness!

It would seem that all the Devereux men dated and discarded with ease. It was Ethan she wanted to find out more about. Yet they all seemed inextricably linked.

Merida clicked on a recent news article: Twenty-Five Years On.

There was a photo of the Devereux men in dark suits and ties at what appeared to be a memorial service. Merida read that a quarter-century ago his mother had been involved in an accident in the Caribbean. She had been flown back to New York, but had died two days later.

The country had mourned—particularly here in New York City—and there had been accusations against her husband.

Merida topped up her glass as she read about the rumours that Jobe Devereux had been embroiled in a salacious affair, rumoured to be with the nanny, and that that was the reason poor Elizabeth had fled.

Merida raised her eyebrows.

Certainly if she found out her husband was sleeping with the nanny she’d be kicking him out, rather than running off.

Still, it made good reading.

There were photos of the two Devereux children, accompanied by nannies, arriving at the hospital to say goodbye.

How awful, Merida thought, but how riveting!

So engrossed was she that she barely looked up when the gallery door opened.

‘We’re actually closed,’ Merida said—and then promptly wanted to die when she turned. Because there were few things more embarrassing than looking up to see the object of your desire at the very same time you were looking him up online.

He now had on a long dark coat, worn open over his suit. There was an emergency button under the desk and Merida was rather tempted to push it. Not because she felt threatened—not in the least. Just because every cell in her body had moved to high alert.

‘Hi,’ Merida said, and probably undid all the changes she had made to the website as she frantically clicked the mouse in an attempt to delete him from the screen. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘You know I did.’

Merida swallowed, and though she could have cast her eyes around for his keys, or a forgotten tablet, or anything else that might have forced his return, deep down she knew what he was about to ask.

And he didn’t disappoint. ‘How about dinner?’

There were many reasons that she should say no to his offer. Merida had been warned about his reputation—not just by his terrible press, but also by Reece. And possibly the hairs that stood up on her bare arms should have served as another reason to decline.

Yet that shiver was borne of awareness rather than nervousness, Merida was certain.

He made her aware of her own body.

Ethan Devereux reminded her, without a word or even a gaze in that direction, that she was not wearing a bra, because suddenly her small breasts felt tight and heavy, and her legs, even though she was sitting, felt weak.

He made her want to throw caution to the wind and say yes.

‘I have to close up first.’

‘Of course.’

Her legs felt as if they might give way as she stepped down from the stool.

Everything that she usually did so easily suddenly felt new and unfamiliar.

From walking to breathing, she had to focus anew over and over again.

She tidied up the gallery as he wandered around, looking again at the exhibitions.

‘I’ll go and get changed,’ Merida said, but he gave a brief shake of his head.

‘No need.’

In the tiny staffroom Merida wondered if Gemma would mind if the little black dress and pearls were taken out for the night. Surely any woman would understand?