Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition

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.