The Pregnant Bride

The Pregnant Bride
Catherine Spencer

Getting jilted at the altar was bad enough, but falling for the sympathetic stranger at her honeymoon hotel was much worse!Jenna Sinclair didn't regret it, though; one passion-filled night with Edmund Delaney proved she'd never truly loved her ex-fiance. But when Jenna told Edmund she was pregnant, he was far from dismayed. It seemed he had his own agenda, and marriage to Jenna was just what he needed…. Why?

“Your tea’s made and I found the crackers. And I must say that if this is your normal diet—”

“It’s not,” Jenna said shortly. “It just happens to be brought on by the fact that I’m expecting your baby.”

“Ah, yes, the baby. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about,” Edmund said. “The way I see things, your family and friends are going to have a feeding frenzy over your latest crisis. They’ll be merciless in doling out the pity and advice.”

“If this is supposed to make me feel better, it’s not working. I’ve already come to the same conclusion, and I’d hardly call it comforting.” Jenna replied.

“So head them off at the pass. Show up with a husband.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” she said tartly, “they’re a vanishing species where I’m concerned. How do you propose I find one?”

“You’ve already got your man. I’m volunteering for the job.”

Back by popular demand…

Relax and enjoy our fabulous series about couples whose passion results in pregnancies…sometimes unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that our characters will become besotted moms and dads—but what happened in those nine months before?

Share the surprises, emotions, drama and suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms with the prospect of bringing a new life into the world. All will discover that the business of making babies brings with it the most special love of all….

Our next arrival will be For the Babies’ Sakes by Sara Wood

Harlequin Presents #2280

The Pregnant Bride

Catherine Spencer

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

EDMUND noticed her the minute she came into the dining room, not because she was beautiful, which she was, but because, in a roomful of people, she was so profoundly alone.

He was alone, too, and wallowing in it. Not so with her. The eyes staring at the menu were blank, the face wiped clean of expression. For some reason he couldn’t begin to fathom, she’d shut down inside so completely that if the room had burst into flames, she probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Not your concern, buddy, he told himself, gesturing for his bill. You’ve got enough problems of your own, without taking on a perfect stranger’s.

Still, he lingered at his table, watching her; noting the absence of rings on her fingers, the formal, upswept hairdo incongruously at odds with her sweater and slacks. When she spoke to the waiter, she cupped her chin in one hand to support her mouth because that was the only way she could control its trembling. Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong!

Her server knew it, too. He didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t hover obsequiously, reciting the chef’s special creations of the day. He wanted away from her quickly, before whatever ailed her infected him, too. Her barely contained misery was an affront. Romantic ambience were key words when it came to describing The Inn. Tragic heroines, however lovely, had no place there.

Just briefly she looked up, a glance so wary and fearful that when their gazes locked, Edmund caught himself smiling at her and shrugging conspiratorially. Hang in there, sweet pea! Don’t let him spook you. You’ve got as much right to be here as anyone.

She glared back at him and stiffened her already poker-straight spine.

He felt his face crack into a grin he couldn’t control. Damn, but he admired her spirit! Faced with personal crises, the women he’d dated over the last couple of year either fled to the therapist’s couch or a weekend at one of those fat farms where, for the price of a mere few thousand dollars, their stress and cellulite could be flushed away in one fell swoop.

But not this woman. She was the kind who’d go down fighting—or so he thought, until her drink arrived. Scotch, if he was any judge, and a double, to boot. Confronted by it, she sort of reared back in her seat and regarded the liquor suspiciously. Finally, after debating matters for a full thirty seconds or more, she picked up the glass. Her expression reminded him of a child faced with a dose of foul-tasting but good-for-you medicine, and he pretty well guessed what was coming next.

Willing her to look his way again, he shook his head. Don’t do it, lady! It’s not going to solve a thing!

Whatever mental powers he possessed failed him though, because she clearly didn’t get the message. Raising the glass, she tossed back half the contents in a single gulp.

Clearly, from the way she gagged and choked, she and whiskey weren’t on familiar terms, and the effect was immediate, devastating and irreparable. The heat of the liquor burning down her throat chewed away the icy calm in which she’d encased herself, and what started as a booze-induced sting to her eyes rapidly dissolved into silent, body-wrenching sobs.

She gulped, dipped her head to try to hide her face, struggled to draw a breath. But once started, there was no stopping the flood and the tears kept coming. Caught in the rays of the westerly sun, they splashed off the end of her nose and dribbled down her sweater like crystal beads come unstrung.

Well, hell! Hard-boiled where women and their sob sessions were concerned he might have become, but he couldn’t just sit there and watch her fall apart, especially since no one else was going to help her and she was beyond being able to help herself. “Put the lady’s drink on my bill,” he directed the waiter and, shoving back his chair, waded in to slay whatever dragons were tormenting her.

She was making a public spectacle of herself! Of all the hurt and embarrassment she’d suffered that day, the fact that she couldn’t control the hideous sobs gurgling and sputtering out of her mouth was the ultimate indignity. That morning, someone else was accountable for having humiliated her; now she was the perpetrator and had no one to blame but herself.

Knowing that and being able to do something about it, though, were two different things. Try as she might to control them, the sobs choked out and echoed around the room, a socially obscene gaffe which no one could have missed. Although too polite to stare openly, everybody was sneaking a look, from the teenage busboy in the corner, to the man seated two tables away, the one who, just minutes before, had tried to pick her up with his sly smile and the practiced shrug of his no doubt impressive shoulders.

Lounge lizard! If it weren’t that she was openly slobbering into her napkin, a sight surely guaranteed to put off even the most determined skirt-chaser, he’d no doubt have made his next move by now and offered to buy her a drink, followed by the suggestion that they go somewhere private to admire the sunset.

And part of you would have welcomed the suggestion, an obnoxious little voice inside her head sneered. Any man sparing you a second glance not dripping with pity is preferable to this morning’s unmitigated rejection.

But there was a limit to what even he was prepared to tolerate. From the corner of her eye, Jenna saw him mutter something to the waiter, then head straight past her, anxious to escape before she made an even worse exhibition of herself. And because she was a fool, too steeped in self-pity to care about the impression she was creating, her tears flowed even faster.

Then, shockingly, a hand—warm, firm and unmistakably masculine—touched her shoulder, slid down her spine almost to her waist, and urged her to her feet. And a voice, deep and resonant with authority, murmured in her ear. “Okay, sweet pea, enough of this. What say we take the rest of the show outside?”