The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy

The first thing he did was switch off his phone, and that small gesture told her they would not be interrupted.

‘Well, here we are,’ Ethan said and they clinked glasses. ‘It’s good to be back.’

‘Back?’ Merida checked. ‘D you come here a lot, then?’

‘I meant back in New York. I’ve been away for a few weeks.’

‘On holiday?’ Merida asked, but he gave a small shake of his head.

‘Work,’ Ethan said. It always was.

The food was delectable, but it wasn’t the hors d’oeuvres Merida had consumed that killed her appetite, it was the overwhelming presence of him. He didn’t put her at instant ease; instead he kept her on a delicious edge.

Merida chose a burnt butter and sage ravioli, and Ethan ordered steak. She noted that the waiter didn’t ask how he would like it done. He already knew.

It was the tiniest detail, yet it served as a reminder for Merida that this was not new to him as it was to her.

‘So you’ve been at the gallery for nearly a year?’ Ethan prompted, as if their earlier conversation was still left unfinished.

‘For ten months,’ Merida said. ‘As I said, I’m just there part-time. I’m actually an actress.’

Ethan looked over, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction. He had dated more than a few actresses in his time, and was generally suspicious of them. Most wanted to hook their rising star into his or milk their fifteen minutes of fame when things ended between them.

As they inevitably did.

‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,’ Merida admitted. ‘I wasn’t getting very far back home, so I decided to try my luck here.’

‘Home being England?’ he checked.

‘Yes.’ Merida nodded. ‘London. Although, as my father pointed out, if I can’t get work in London then why should New York be any different?’

Ethan raised an eyebrow. Her father didn’t sound particularly encouraging, but he made no comment, just listened.

‘Still, it’s the dream. Right now I’ve got a small part in an even smaller production.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Near Miss.’

He gave a shake of his head, to indicate that he’d never heard of it. ‘And what part do you play?’

‘Arrow,’ Merida said, and then clarified a touch. ‘I’m an arrow. And I keep missing my mark.’

‘Are you dressed as an arrow?’

‘No. I’m dressed from head to toe in black. I wear a black leotard and tights and a long black wig.’

He looked at her lovely red hair and, although he knew little about acting or costumes, he was an expert at opinions. ‘I think they might have missed an opportunity there.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’d have thought that a red-headed arrow would be more telling.’

‘The lead wears a red wig.’ Merida smiled. ‘The arrow is more like her shadow self. A smaller part.’

‘But a very important one,’ Ethan said. ‘Though of course I may be somewhat biased.’

Merida’s hand shook a little as she took a sip of water. He was so subtle, so sparing with his words, that his suggestion of bias towards her had come from left field.

Ethan made her his sole focus, and that was rare. He made it clear there was nowhere else he wanted to be, Merida thought as their meals arrived. There was no feeling that he would soon have to dash, as her parents often did when she called. Reece too, come to that. And there was no looking over his shoulder to check who might appear, as so many in the acting world did.

‘Do you miss your family?’

‘Sometimes.’ Merida nodded again. ‘My parents are divorced, and both have remarried...’ Her voice trailed off and she didn’t elaborate.

Ethan wanted her to. It was rare that he wanted to know more about any woman he would soon bed.

And bed her he would.

That decision had been made when he had dismissed his driver and walked back towards the gallery.

At first he had thought he had left it too late, as the gallery had appeared closed, but on looking in he had seen her sitting at the high desk.

She was beautiful.

Nothing like the coiffed, sophisticated beauties he usually dated. Her riot of hair and that full mouth entranced him almost as much as those bewitching green eyes. Yes, he wanted to know more about her—but it was not just for that reason alone he decided to share a part of himself.

He wanted to talk.

Tonight he would kill for normality, to be able to admit to another person from where he had just come. To speak, as anyone else would, when they were worried about a family member.

But that type of conversation was off-limits when you were a Devereux.

And so he spoke of the past—of things that were more freely known.

‘I know all about divorce,’ he said. ‘My father’s been married a few times. Once before my mother died and twice since.’

‘Do you ever see your stepmothers?’

‘God, no,’ Ethan said, and gave a little shudder at the thought. ‘All those marriages, apart from my parents’, were pretty short-lived.’

‘So you didn’t get close to any of them?’

‘Not at all.’ Ethan shook his head and gave a small mirthless laugh. ‘I don’t think they were ever love-matches. It was more financial bliss those women were seeking. Mind you, I can hardly blame them. My father just wanted a wife on his arm for functions. He was never home.’

‘Who brought you up, then?’

‘Draconian nannies,’ Ethan said, and then he halted, realising he had said far more than he usually would. He turned the conversation back to Merida. ‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’