The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride

“Is that so?”

“No one will believe that I love you. Everyone knows how we feel about each other.”

“That’s fine. It isn’t my reputation that will suffer as a result. You were the one who was engaged. You are the woman. Therefore, all of the judgment will be heaped on top of you.”

She snorted. “It’s already being heaped upon me. In case you hadn’t checked out a headline recently.”

“It may surprise you to hear this, but my life does not revolve around reading news stories concerning your exploits.

“Why should I read the tabloids? I went to Renzo instead and he knew much more than any of the so-called breaking news.”

She recoiled. “Does that mean that... Does Renzo know?”

“Renzo is not an idiot. I assume that once I began questioning him about what costume you had worn to the ball, and then stormed out after the revelation of your pregnancy—combining that with your inquiries about me earlier—he was able to do a bit of simple math.”

“But you’re still alive,” she said, confident that if her brother truly knew that she had made love to Cristian, Cristian would, in fact, be dead.

“Of course. I’m sure it only makes sense to him that I had no idea it was you. He knows that under normal circumstances I would never consider touching you.”

Rage and wounded feminine pride poured through Allegra like a toxic elixir. “Well, he must be very proud that your standards are so high. I’m so sorry that my identity was a disappointment to you. However, we both know that you quite enjoyed what happened. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that it was extremely brief.”

His top lip curled. “You enjoyed it no less for the brief nature of it.”

“So confident?”

“I have a very strong memory of how intensely you came around me, Allegra,” he said, his voice rough. “You cannot fake that.”

“Women,” she said, her voice trembling, “can fake things.”

“Women can only fake things if their partner is stupid, or inexperienced. I am neither.” He took a step toward her. “I felt you. I felt you trembling. I felt the waves as they washed through you. I felt your pleasure as keenly as I felt my own. Do not pretend it was somehow less than satisfying now that you know my identity.”

“It’s so important for you to have your male ego stroked, and yet you can barely stand the sight of me. That’s sort of twisted, Cristian.”

He laughed, dark, merciless. “I never claimed to be anything else.”

“You don’t want me. I doubt you want the baby.”

“Oh,” he said, “that’s where you’re wrong. I need the baby.”

“If you need him for some kind of ritual sacrifice then you’re definitely out of luck.”

“No, thank you. My life has quite enough death in it without adding any more, thank you. That was very poor humor.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me now. You don’t mean it.”

“Why do you need the baby?”

“Because. For as humbly as I present myself, I am in fact an aristocrat. A duke.”

“I did know. Your arrogance announces it before you walk into a room.”

“Then you must surely understand that I require an heir. A legitimate heir. My child cannot be born a bastard, Allegra. Neither can I afford to miss this opportunity.”

“Our...baby is an opportunity?”

“Certainly it is an opportunity for my bloodline. I am a widower, and thanks to those circumstances I have failed to produce an heir. As I am now in my thirties, it becomes yet more and more important. Of course, my own father produced his heir quite by accident. But in spite of the fact that my mother was nothing more than a washed-up model, he still did the right thing by her, by me and by the dukedom dependent upon the bloodline continuing. I can do no less. Don’t you agree?”

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Exactly that. I am proposing.”

“What?” Her heart was thundering so hard, her blood pouring through her ears. She felt like she was underwater. Could hardly breathe, could scarcely hear anything.

“Allegra Valenti, you are having my baby. And you will be my wife.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_51b642bd-490f-5aaa-88c9-7faa3d9d7c5e)

CRISTIAN STARED AT the recalcitrant woman sitting across from him on his private plane. He could not remember a woman ever looking quite so angry when in the presence of such luxury. At least, as far back as he could remember. It had been quite some time since he’d had a woman on his plane in that sense of the word.

Quite some time since he’d had a lover.

Not that Allegra was his lover. She absolutely was not. A quick screw against the wall didn’t make her anything. It simply made him weak.

Three years of celibacy. It was to be expected, he supposed. And yet, he had not imagined that he would be punished quite so spectacularly for his loss of control. He felt as though he had been punished enough.

Clearly, there was a particularly capricious deity somewhere that disagreed.

And such a punishment was Allegra Valenti.

She was looking particularly pretty and sulky, nearly curling in on herself as she leaned against the window, as though she would rather be thrown through it and hurled down to the earth than spend one more moment in his presence.

“Have you anything to say, Allegra?”

“Why? I believe I shouted it all at you in the apartment. And again when we got into the car. I could shout the same things at you, but I fear it would be repetitive.”

“Oh, please do. I never tire of your excuses. All of which are incredibly selfish.”

“It isn’t selfish to think perhaps it isn’t the best idea for two people who can’t stand the sight of each other to get married.”

“Why not? Plenty of people do it. You only have to survive it until death separates us.”

“How easy is it to get a hold of arsenic in Spain?”

“Such a delight, Allegra. How is it that you and I never acted on our feelings for each other before?”

“You mean the arsenic feelings?”