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After that little speech Louisa was surprised the woman had even put a question mark at the end of her sentence. It was clear the good doctor knew who was paying the bill. Louisa debated refusing to submit to the procedure. She slanted a look at Devereaux, who was watching her, his mouth set in a thin line of determination.
Not just the sperm of a bull, but the stubbornness to match.
She gave a heavy sigh. ‘All right,’ she said, standing up.
She walked to the door the doctor had indicated on watery legs.
Maybe there was still a small chance that this was all a hideous mistake, and when the doctor got her ultrasound equipment out she wouldn’t find a baby after all.
‘There’s the head and the spine,’ the doctor said enthusiastically, pointing at the sepia-toned three-dimensional image.
‘That’s incredible,’ Devereaux said in hushed tones. ‘It’s so clear.’
‘We have the newest, most state-of-the-art equipment here. We’re very proud of…’
Louisa tuned out their conversation, transfixed by the bright, incandescent image.
The coolness of the gel on her skin, the press of the ultrasound wand, even the rapid ticks of the baby’s heartbeat being monitored by the machinery faded into oblivion as Louisa stared at the tiny arms and legs, the large head, the perfectly formed little body.
I’m looking at my baby.
The words flickered in her consciousness, and then a dizzying sense of awe surged through the dense fog of self-pity.
The doctor adjusted the wand and then tapped a few buttons. A close-up of the baby’s face appeared as if by magic. Its eyes were closed, one tiny little fist covering its nose and mouth.
‘What’s it doing?’ Louisa heard her voice coming from miles away.
The doctor laughed. ‘Why, I think it’s trying to suck its thumb.’
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
Tears stung Louisa’s eyes and she tried to blink them back. All this time she’d been thinking about herself, about how this whole situation was going to affect her, when there was a much more important life at stake—that of her child.
The baby hadn’t seemed real until this moment, but now guilt engulfed her. Whatever her problems with Devereaux—however much this pregnancy would change her life, her dreams—she would never regret the miracle growing inside her. But she’d be bringing this perfect little person into the world without any of the things she herself had taken for granted—a loving two-parent home, a stable family life.
As it always did, thoughts of her childhood brought back memories of her mother. Louisa let out a shaky sigh. If only she could talk to her mother now, just one more time. She trembled, the echo of long-remembered grief making the tears spill over her lids and run down her face. She reached up to wipe her cheeks, but strong fingers took hold of her wrist.
She looked up to see Devereaux staring down at her from his seat beside the couch, his expression unreadable in the darkened room. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at her hairline, then skimmed the clean-smelling linen across her temples. When he’d finished, he put the handkerchief in her hand and closed his fist around her shaking fingers.
He squeezed and let go. ‘You okay?’ he asked quietly.
Hardly, she thought, but sniffed, burying her nose in his handkerchief to buy time. All she needed now was for him to be nice to her and she’d turn into a gibbering wreck.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, as soon as she could speak, struggling to sound as matter-of-fact as possible while her insides were turning to mush.
He watched her a moment longer, those steely eyes giving absolutely nothing away, then turned back to the doctor, who was busy fiddling with her state-of-the-art equipment.
‘Right, I’ve checked all the vital organs and everything seems to be developing well,’ the doctor said at last, swinging round to address them both. ‘I must say the foetus is a little long for dates.’ She smiled benignly at Louisa, then spoke to Devereaux. ‘Can I ask how tall you are, Lord Berwick?’
‘Call me Luke,’ he said absently. ‘I’m six-three.’
‘That explains it, then,’ the doctor said, putting the ultrasound wand back in its holder. She wiped the remaining gel off Louisa’s belly and then gave her an indulgent smile. ‘As long as Miss DiMarco’s sure she couldn’t have conceived a week or so earlier?’
Try three years, Louisa thought grimly.
‘The baby’s mine,’ Devereaux said with absolute certainty, before Louisa had a chance to answer. ‘It was conceived on the twenty-fifth of May.’
Louisa’s fingers clutched the robe as she wrapped it around her abdomen, all her soft feelings towards him squashed flat. He really was the most arrogant man on the planet. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his assumptions, but she couldn’t. Unfortunately he was right. The beautiful little human being on the screen in front of her was his child.
Louisa sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly.
As the doctor began to waffle on about due dates, percentile growth scales and antenatal vitamins, Louisa watched Devereaux listening to the doctor’s instructions, his harshly handsome face illuminated by the frozen image of their baby.
Their baby.
She sighed and stared at the screen again. The child growing in her womb meant that no matter what she did, no matter where she went, she would always have a connection to this man. This demanding, domineering, ruthless man who had hurt her so terribly once. A man who had tricked her into thinking he was the man of her dreams and then made her feel like a fool.
Exactly what kind of father had she given her unborn child?
Tears clogged her throat again. She couldn’t think about that now; it was too big a question to contemplate and far too soon to worry about it. She gulped the tears down hastily.
How ironic, though, that the most incredible, the most amazing moment of her life had also turned out to be the most devastating. Now she knew how David must have felt when he was aiming his pea-shooter at Goliath.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUKE shifted into second gear to take the turn into Regent’s Park and glanced at the woman sitting silently in the passenger seat. Only the high curve of her cheekbone was visible behind the glossy curtain of hair. The burnished blonde highlights haloed round her head in the sunshine. She’d been staring out the window for the last ten minutes. Not only that, but she’d said barely three words since they’d left the ultrasound suite.
It was starting to worry him.
From his short association with Louisa DiMarco he knew she wasn’t the quiet type. On their one and only date he’d been captivated by her bright, sharply witty and pretty much non-stop chatter despite himself. Of course he’d witnessed a much sharper side to her tongue once he’d told her who he was. But he’d still prefer those rapier-sharp barbs to this oppressive silence.
He pressed his foot on the accelerator. The park had a twenty-mile-per-hour speed limit, but at three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and with the weathermen forecasting glorious sunshine across the country for the whole weekend, the sweltering city was already deserted.
As the majestic avenue of oak and maple trees whisked past, the dappled shade bringing some respite from the afternoon heat, Luke contemplated Louisa’s reaction. Maybe her silence was a blessing in disguise. He needed a chance to regroup, reanalyse the situation, rethink his position as well.
In all the time he’d spent brooding since yesterday—his resentment building at her irresponsible behaviour—it had never even occurred to him that she might not know she was expecting a child. Weren’t women supposed to have a sixth sense about this sort of thing?
But she’d had absolutely no clue—no inkling. As she’d lain on the doctor’s couch, looking fragile in the oversized robe, the naked shock on her face had been genuine.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked from beside him, interrupting his train of thought. She still wasn’t looking at him.
‘To your place,’ he said.
She turned, then, looking mildly surprised. ‘Do you remember where it is?’
He nodded, not quite able to speak as he took in the stunning face that he could now admit had been lodged in his brain for twelve agonising weeks—the rich chocolate-brown eyes, the full lips, the high cheekbones and the honey-toned skin that he knew tasted as sweet as it looked.
He remembered every detail from that night—not just her address. The chilly spring air as they had strolled through Regent’s Park after leaving Mel and Jack’s. The feel of her warm, lush young body pressed against his side. The fresh scent of the petal blossom that had blown over them in the breeze. Her captivating laughter when she’d tried to catch it as she danced down the path in front of him, her arms outstretched. The rich taste of the late-night cappuccino they’d shared on Camden High Street, and the flirtatious way she’d licked the milky foam off her lips.
And even more devastating than those memories were the ones that had come after.
Her arms clinging around his neck as he carried her into her tiny flat. The taste of her mouth on his—strong coffee and sultry innocence—as he bared her breasts in the cramped hallway. Those shocked sobs she’d given as he’d stroked her to her first climax, and then the feel of her, tight as a velvet fist around him, as he rocked them both to a brutal, devastating finish.
Yes, he remembered a lot more than just her address.
She stared out the window again. ‘I need to go back to the office, actually. I’d appreciate it if you’d drop me there.’
‘I’m taking you to Havensmere.’ He might have to rethink a few things, but his main plan was still solid. ‘We’re only stopping at your place to pick up your stuff.’
Her head whipped round, her eyes darkening to a vivid black. He braced himself, more than ready for the onslaught.
Louisa’s insides were still pretty much mush, but the indignation sprinting up her backbone gave her energy levels a considerable boost. ‘You know what, Devereaux? I don’t have to do what you tell me. So you’d better get over that little delusion right now.’
She watched him brake at the lights. His eyes flicked to her waist. ‘Under the circumstances, you should call me Luke,’ he said calmly.
‘I’ll call you what I like, Devereaux.’ It was petty and rude, and she knew it, but she didn’t want to call him Luke. She’d called him Luke that night.
He didn’t rise to the challenge, didn’t even bother to reply, but left her fuming until he whipped the car onto her street and parked a few doors down from her flat.
‘You’re tired and you’re over-emotional,’ he said, in the same measured tone that so infuriated her. ‘You’ve had a shock. I understand that.’
He certainly had a lot to learn about her, she thought, if he figured accusing her of being virtually hysterical was going to calm her down. She crossed her arms and fumed in stony silence.
‘I don’t want to fight with you about this,’ he continued. ‘But we’ve got a lot to discuss, and Havensmere is where we’re going to do it.’
She straightened, uncrossing her arms and bracing them on the seat, ready for battle. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’
He pushed the thick hair off his brow, pulled the key out of the ignition and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I know.’
For the first time she noticed the lines of fatigue around his eyes. When he looked at her she noticed something else—something that surprised her. Was that concern? Had he been as deeply affected by today’s events as she had? she wondered.
‘Whether we like it or not,’ he continued, his tone rigid, ‘we’ve made a child together, and we’re going to have to deal with the consequences. You need to lose the hostility. It’s counterproductive.’
Good grief, he’d done it again. Just when she was starting to feel ever so slightly sympathetic towards him, he’d made her mad. It was as if he had an innate skill for winding her up. But she held on to the caustic retort that wanted to spit out.
Something he’d said had sent a tremor of fear skidding down her spine. What did he mean by ‘dealing with the consequences’? He was rich, influential, and he’d already taken the initiative with her medical treatment. She’d been in a trance back at the doctor’s office, but she had heard him setting up another appointment with the receptionist.
Was he even now planning to pressure her into an abortion?
The thought that he might not want this baby should have made her angry, but instead it made her feel unbearably sad—and bone-sappingly weary. The brief spurt of temper that had sustained her fizzled out.
As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about a few things. She was tired and over-emotional—and frankly in shock. All of which meant she was in no fit state to argue with him now—a man who was obviously an expert at getting his own way. She needed to get a decent night’s sleep first—marshal her forces. Going to his stately home in Wiltshire would buy her some time in that regard.
But there was one thing she wanted to get clear before she gave in to any more of his demands.
‘Frankly, I find your patronising, pushy behaviour “counterproductive”. Maybe if you stopped treating me as if you owned me, I’d “lose the hostility”.’ Well, a bit of it, at any rate.
His eyebrow shot up, and she could see he wasn’t pleased with her assessment of his character. His jaw hardened as he controlled his response.
The muscle twitching in his cheek brought on a brutal flash of memory from that night. He’d looked exactly the same when he’d been buried inside her, filling her unbearably, desperately holding back his orgasm while her body burst into flames. The physical reaction that followed the blast of memory shocked Louisa into silence. Her thigh muscles loosened, her nipples hardened and she felt a long liquid pull low in her belly that could only mean one thing.
Arousal.
She clenched her thigh muscles, wrapped her arms round her waist. What was wrong with her? He’d used her, hurt her, and now he was about to try and force her to abort her baby and still her body yearned for him.
Ignore it.
‘What’s wrong?’ His deep, urgent voice reached her through the turmoil. ‘Are you sick?’
Louisa forced the panic down. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured.
He brushed his fingertip down her cheek. ‘You look pale. Are you still suffering from morning sickness?’
She pulled away from the electric touch. ‘No.’ She certainly wasn’t feeling sick at the moment. Far from it.
She took in the frown on his face and noticed the clean, lemony scent of his soap. Of course. That was it. The sudden jolt of desire had to be the pregnancy hormones mucking about with her libido. Hadn’t she read somewhere that pregnant women responded instinctively to the scent of their child’s father? Something to do with pheromones? The panic edged back and she eased the death grip of her arms around her midriff. She wasn’t attracted to him. It was just some weird chemical reaction. But as she tried to relax in her seat her erogenous zones continued to rebel.
‘I have staff at the house,’ he said, watching her intently. ‘The place has close to sixty rooms and over a hundred acres of grounds. We’ll have the time, space and privacy we need to discuss this properly and make the necessary arrangements.’
‘I’m not in the mood to talk tonight,’ she blurted out, panic seizing her at the thought of what he might mean by ‘necessary arrangements’.
His lips lifted in a wry grin and she realised she’d just agreed to go. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Neither am I. But I want to drive down tonight, and I’d like you to come with me.’ He hesitated. ‘Please.’
After her ridiculous reaction to him Louisa wasn’t so sure agreeing to spend the weekend with him was the smart choice, but the look in his eyes when he said please tipped the balance. She had the distinct impression it wasn’t a word he was all that familiar with. That he’d said it to her made her feel as if she’d won some monumental victory. Added to that, exhaustion was beginning to settle over her like a heavy blanket. She didn’t have the strength to argue with him. ‘Okay, I’ll come. But only for one night.’
He nodded, got out of the car. She bent to gather her bag. He’d walked around the car and whisked the passenger door open before she had a chance to do it herself. He took her elbow as she stepped out. She dismissed the flutter in her stomach at his gallantry. She’d been fooled into thinking his good manners meant something once before.
He fell into step beside her as she walked to the Georgian terraced house where she rented the top-floor flat.
‘You should wait by the car,’ she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to come into her flat. The memories of that night were far too fresh already. ‘You’ll get a parking ticket if you don’t have a permit.’
He didn’t even break stride. ‘I’ll risk it.’
She stopped at the door, fiddled with the strap of her bag. He was going to make her say it. ‘I’d like to get my stuff alone, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer you didn’t come up to the flat.’
He studied her for several agonising seconds. ‘All right, I’ll wait here,’ he said, then tucked his forefinger under her chin. He stroked his thumb along her jaw. ‘But don’t be too long.’
She twisted her head away, disturbed by the sizzle of sensation the slight touch had caused. ‘I’ll take as long as I like, Devereaux.’
As a parting shot it wasn’t great, but it would have to do.
She stomped into the house and tried to concentrate on her irritation as she tramped wearily up the two flights of stairs to her flat. But as she threw some clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag she found she couldn’t block out the residual hum of arousal making her ache.
Louisa locked the front door to the house and picked up her overnight bag with a tired sigh. She spied Devereaux leaning on his flashy car, his butt perched on the glossy black paintwork and his face in profile as he spoke quietly into his mobile phone. From this distance she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but with his legs crossed at the ankles, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his sunglasses on he looked relaxed and confident. The thought made Louisa’s temper kick in at last. Here she was, facing the biggest, scariest, most awe-inspiring challenge of her life, and the man responsible was conducting business as usual. Her world had changed beyond all recognition in the space of an afternoon and he looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The fact that he looked so dashing, the insouciant pose accentuating his tall, lean build and the August sunshine highlighting that dramatic face and the perfectly cut waves of dark hair, only pushed Louisa’s temper further over the edge. How could he look so composed when she felt as if she’d been through an emotional wringer in the last hour?
Bolstering her exhaustion with resentment, Louisa marched to the car, her boot heels clacking on the pavement like a warning volley.
‘We’ll probably get there around eight,’ Luke said to his housekeeper. ‘Prepare the adjoining suite. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Mrs Roberts.’ He ended the call and turned to watch Louisa’s approach, alerted by the harsh click of her heels in the summer stillness. With her head held high, her eyes boring holes into him and her hips swaying enticingly in the skimpy dress, she looked like an enraged Amazon.
