Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition (10 page)

L
OUISA
dug into her meal with gusto. She really had been famished, and the delicious fare helped to bolster her spirits. It couldn’t do a great deal for the little jumps in her stomach, though.

Her host didn’t seem to mind the silence, making no attempt to fill the gap with pointless small talk. But several times she looked up from her plate to find him watching her—and the little jumps got a whole lot bigger.

His watchfulness reminded her of their first night together. He hadn’t talked much then either—apart from the odd wry quip. Probably one of the reasons she knew so little about him now. Most of the time he’d looked and listened, with a concentration that had been a major turn on at the time.

Afterwards she’d assumed his apparent fascination with her had all been an act, but now she knew better. It was all part of that single-mindedness that was an integral part of his personality. He’d wanted her that night so he’d gone after her—seducing her with a ruthless efficiency that had left her powerless to resist him. And he’d come pretty close to doing the same thing this morning.

As she finished her meal, she began to wonder what his
next move was going to be. Did he have a plan of action for their baby all figured out?

She ignored the ripple of panic. Remember you’re setting the agenda now. Not him.

‘Louisa, I’ve been thinking about our situation—with the baby.’

Her fork clattered onto her plate. Good grief, had he just read her mind?

‘Oh, really?’ she said, as casually as she could manage. Why was he looking at her so intently? She felt a barrage of butterflies flutter to life in her stomach. Obviously the pleasantries were over with.

‘I have an obvious solution that should satisfy us both,’ he said easily.

I can just imagine.
She picked up her glass to buy time. ‘That sounds intriguing.’

‘We should get married.’

The sip of lemonade Louisa had just swallowed hit her tonsils as shock reverberated through her. She tried to grab a breath as a coughing fit raked her body. He passed her his napkin, leaning over to pat her back, cooler than any cucumber.

Eventually the hacking coughs stopped. His warm palm stayed heavy on her spine.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked calmly—too calmly for a man who ought to be certified.

She nodded, not quite able to speak.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, resting one ankle on his knee. He studied her. ‘It’s the obvious solution. It’s important to me to give the baby my name, and I intend to support you both.’ His lips lifted in a sensual smile. ‘I don’t think it would be a hardship for either of us
to spend time together in the months ahead—our schedules permitting.’

‘Have you completely lost your marbles?’ she croaked.

He sighed. ‘Somehow I guessed you wouldn’t do this the easy way.’

She didn’t like the condescending tone, but decided to ignore it. Surely he couldn’t have thought this through? ‘Luke, we hardly know each other. The idea of us getting married is preposterous.’

‘So we get to know each other once we’re married.’

‘No,’ she said, the butterflies ready to fly right out of her ears. He was actually serious about this.

His eyebrow winged up. ‘What do you mean, no?’

‘No, I’m not marrying you.’

Annoyance flashed in his eyes.

She had the errant thought that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. As a girl she’d fantasised often about how the man of her dreams was going to sweep her off her feet when he asked her to marry him—and Luke Devereaux’s perfunctory proposal didn’t even come close.

There was supposed to be a diamond ring, flowers, flickering candlelight and romance. Louisa dismissed the sharp stab of disappointment as self-pity. She had more important things to deal with right now than shattered dreams.

‘You’re having my child,’ he said, as if he were dictating a business memo. ‘We know each other well enough.’

‘Luke, we’ve spent less than a full day in each other’s company—and we’ve spent most of the time arguing,’ she finished with an exasperated huff.

He laughed. ‘Not all of the time, though.’ His hand covered hers on the table, making her jump. ‘You wouldn’t be pregnant now if we had.’

She felt the sizzle of awareness as his thumb brushed the back of her hand. She grabbed her hand away, buried it in her lap.

‘Sexual attraction isn’t enough for a marriage.’ She fisted her hands. So much for setting the agenda. He’d just torpedoed her modest little scheme—to see how they got along in the coming days—right out of the water.

‘It’s a start,’ he said, the beguiling smile making her heart stutter. ‘One we can build on.’

She cocked her head to one side, and a little spurt of hope wheedled its way past the panic. Was this his heavy-handed way of saying he wanted to give their relationship a chance?

‘We don’t have to get married to get to know each other,’ she said.

‘Yes, we do,’ he said. ‘There’s a child involved, remember?’

She frowned. Had she time-travelled back to the Victorian era? ‘In case you haven’t noticed, we’re living in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. Children are born out of wedlock all the time.’

He straightened, and the tempting smile disappeared. ‘Not my children.’

She’d hit a nerve—and the urge to probe was irresistible. Maybe she’d finally get an answer to the question that had been bugging her since he’d stormed into her office. ‘Why not your children? Why are you so determined to give this baby your name?’

Was it possible that he already loved it? Wanted it as much as she did?

‘Because it’s mine,’ he said coldly.

The hope fizzled out. It wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for. ‘The baby’s a person. It doesn’t belong to anyone.’

‘I know that,’ he said, but there was still no warmth in his voice. ‘I want it to have my name. To achieve that we have to get married.’

‘No, we don’t,’ she said, silently amazed at how stubborn he was being. ‘You could be named on the birth certificate as the father. There’s no need to—’

‘That would still make it a bastard,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s not an option. We have to get married.’

She heard the tiny crack in his voice, noticed the hard line of his jaw and realised this was more than stubbornness. ‘Luke, marriage is a lifelong commitment—or it should be. I’m not prepared to have a marriage of convenience with someone I hardly know to pander to some out-of-date sense of propriety.’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Louisa, you’re not what anyone would call
convenient.
’

The casual barb stung. ‘Well, neither are you. Which is all the more reason not to…’

‘Okay, okay.’ He lifted his hand to silence her. ‘We’d better not argue about this. It’ll only turn us on.’

She gasped. How could he be so crass? She opened her mouth to object, but he propped his elbow on the table and skimmed his hand down her hair. The tenderness of the gesture and the fierce approval in his gaze shocked her so much she lost her train of thought.

‘We’ve got a week,’ he said gently, his hand cupping her cheek. ‘I say we use the time to get to know each other.’ His thumb pressed her bottom lip. ‘In every way possible.’

He traced his thumb down the side of her neck. Her breath gushed out, the pulse of arousal detonating at her core. She grasped his hand, dragged it away from her face.

She wanted to take what he offered at face value, but
she’d been burnt once before by her overwhelming attraction to this man and she knew she couldn’t. Where sex was involved he had a power over her she wasn’t sure she could control—and she wasn’t about to be seduced into marriage.

‘I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to sleep with you,’ she murmured. He’d know she was lying. ‘But I need time. I’m not going to be rushed. We’re virtual strangers, Luke—and that scares me.’

His brow wrinkled. ‘How much time? We’ve only got a week.’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But I want a truce tonight. I’m still shattered from yesterday.’

It wasn’t strictly speaking the truth. She was a little tired, but what was bothering her a lot more was the sudden swirl of conflicting emotions at his marriage proposal. Her mind had rejected it out of hand, but in some small corner of her heart she could feel a tiny little flicker of expectancy, of excitement, which could easily flare out of control if she wasn’t careful.

‘What kind of truce?’ He eyed her suspiciously.

‘No more talking about sex,’ she replied quickly. ‘And no touching.’

His eyebrows shot up and then he laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘We’re not schoolchildren.’

She stood, brushed off her trousers to disguise the trembling in her hands. ‘Fine, if that’s the way you feel then I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow morning.’

He got up too and snagged her wrist. ‘What are you planning to do?’ he teased. ‘Lock yourself in your room?’

She thrust her chin out. ‘If I have to.’ She hoped she sounded as if she meant it. The feel of his thumb rubbing the inside of her wrist wasn’t doing much for her resolve.
‘I need some alone time this afternoon. But I’ll come down for dinner if you promise not to pressure me. I’m not sleeping with you tonight. I’m not ready.’

He scanned her face, still stroking. Could he feel the betraying rabbit punches of her pulse? She hoped not.

‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want.’ He lifted a sceptical eyebrow.

‘I’m absolutely positive that’s what I want,’ she lied.

She tried to step past him, but his fingers remained clamped on her wrist. ‘Not so fast,’ he said. ‘I want a promise in return.’

‘What is it?’ she said, the blasted rabbit now pummelling her wrist as if it was training for the world heavyweight boxing championships.

‘I won’t touch as long as you don’t.’ There was that seductive smile again, and the promise of something particularly carnal in his eyes.

Her knees went to jelly.

She nodded, knowing she couldn’t trust her voice.

Who had won that round? she wondered as she walked away on unsteady legs.

Given her senses were already in full revolt at the prospect of the evening’s ‘no-touch’ ordeal, she had the distinct impression it wasn’t her. Somehow the wily, intractable and devilishly sexy Lord Berwick had got the better of her again.

What she needed now was sensible, partisan advice from someone who knew what they were talking about. Her best friend Mel Rourke Devlin had two children and five years of marital bliss with a gorgeous husband who had once virtually kidnapped her too. If Mel didn’t know what Louisa should do now, no one would.

Time to use her ‘phone a friend’ option.

Luke watched Louisa cross the flagstones and glimpsed the edge of purple underwear peeping over the waistband of her hip-hugging trousers. He imagined running his thumb into the sensitive hollow of her spine and under the lace. He forced his eyes away, sat back down at the table and picked up his paper, the kick of arousal making a slow smile spread across his face.

The proposal had gone better than he’d expected.

His solicitor was the one who’d suggested marriage during their phone call that morning. Luke had balked at the idea at first himself, but had quickly accepted the fact that marriage was the only answer.

Despite Louisa’s refusal, he knew he’d get his ring on her finger in the end. Failure wasn’t an option—not after what he’d gone through as a child. But he could see now the process of getting Louisa to co-operate wasn’t going to be as much of a chore as he’d first thought.

He scanned the shares columns, but the numbers blurred as he contemplated Louisa’s changing expressions during their lunch—shocked, defiant, confused, and finally desperately turned on.

She could have the so-called truce she wanted tonight, he conceded magnanimously. He was a man of his word, and he never pressured women into bed—however much he might want to.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make tonight as agonising for her as it was going to be for him.

‘P
REPARE
yourself for a shock, Mel.’ Louisa’s hands shook as she gripped her mobile phone. ‘I’m pregnant, and Luke Devereaux is the father.’

Louisa heard her friend’s gasp, and then the crackle of static as she fumbled the phone.

‘Oh, my God!’ Mel shouted down the line. ‘I
knew
something happened that night. I knew it. But you were so adamant, and I was—’ She stopped in mid-stream. ‘Wait a minute. That dinner party was three months ago. Why didn’t you tell me? I asked you last week. When you said you’d been feeling sick and your bra didn’t fit I asked you if you could be pregnant and you said no way.’

‘Because I didn’t know.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. How could you not know you were—?’

‘It’s a long, boring story,’ Louisa interrupted. And one she wasn’t about to go into now.

‘Okay,’ Mel replied. ‘So when’s the baby due?’

The simple, sincere question had tears pooling in Louisa’s eyes. Emotion hit her like a tidal wave as she remembered exactly why she loved Mel—and how much she needed her now. She sniffed, tried to think. ‘It’s due the second week in February.’

‘Lou, are you crying?’

‘It’s these flipping hormones,’ Louisa said, swiping at her eyes. ‘Mel, the thing is, the baby’s not the only shock.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m at Luke’s country house at the moment,’ Louisa said, deciding she ought to lead up to shock number two gradually. Mel was seven months pregnant, after all.

‘What’s it like?’ Mel asked eagerly. ‘I’ve heard it’s incredible.’

‘It’s unbelievable. Like Buckingham Palace.’ She paused to look round the beautifully appointed bedroom suite again. ‘But more classy.’

‘That’s fantastic.’ Mel gave an excited giggle. ‘So, you guys are an item, then?’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’ She swallowed heavily, gathering her courage. ‘He’s asked me to marry him. Or rather he’s
told
me to marry him.’

There was complete silence on the other end of the line. Louisa could almost hear Mel’s brain clicking into overdrive.

‘Good grief,’ her friend said at last, sounding stunned. ‘Will that make you Lady Berwick, then?’

‘Don’t be daft. I’m not
actually
going to marry him. That would be insane.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Mel said bluntly. ‘He’s the father of your baby, he’s gorgeous, and I could have sworn I read somewhere that he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Britain. Now, I wonder where I read that?’

Louisa couldn’t believe the levity in Mel’s voice. ‘Mel, this is not funny. He kidnapped me—and now he’s planning to seduce me into marrying him. I feel like I’ve been sucked into a penny-dreadful novel. What am I supposed to do?’

‘Oh, come off it, Lou,’ Mel scoffed, obviously still unaware of the gravity of the situation. ‘There’s nothing
dreadful about Luke Devereaux. He’s a total studmuffin. Even Ella is besotted with him, and you know how picky she is.’

‘Ella’s five!’ Louisa said, shocked that Mel would talk about her daughter that way.

‘True,’ Mel said, still sounding amused. ‘And I don’t think she’s quite ready to dump Ken for him yet, but she did try to sit on his lap last time he was here.’ Mel’s voice sobered. ‘The point is she likes him—and she’s an excellent judge of character. And you must like him too, or you wouldn’t have got pregnant. So why are you so horrified at the prospect of marrying him?’

Louisa sighed. How did she even begin to describe how she felt about Luke Devereaux?

‘I’m not horrified. I’m terrified. What if I fall in love with him?’ The words popped out of her mouth before she’d even known they were there.

‘Oh, Lou.’ The gentle exclamation held a wealth of sympathy and understanding. ‘I know falling in love can be terrifying. But it’s also the most wonderful thing in the world.’

‘Not if he doesn’t love you back,’ she blurted out, and then felt pathetic. ‘And not if you’re completely incompatible.’ Which was the real problem. ‘We’ve only spent a day or so together, and we’ve already got enough issues to start an election campaign.’

‘What issues?’ Mel said, in her usual cut-to-the-chase fashion.

At last they were getting somewhere. ‘Well, for starters getting personal information out of him is harder than breaking into Fort Knox.’ Louisa paced over to the window. ‘And he’s a complete control freak—he expects to have everything his own way and doesn’t know the meaning of the word
compromise.’
She took a breath, gathering speed.
‘Plus, whenever I make a perfectly valid objection to his behaviour he deliberately distracts me—with sex.’

‘The rotter,’ Mel said, that suspicious lift in her voice again.

‘Don’t you dare laugh.’

‘I know, I know. It’s not funny. But, Lou, just tell me one thing. Is it good sex?’

‘It’s fantastic sex, but that’s not the point.’

‘He passed the Meg Ryan Test, didn’t he?’

Why on earth had she told Mel about the Meg Ryan Test? No wonder no one took her seriously. She was an idiot. ‘So what if he did? That’s not enough to make us a good match.’

‘Yes, but it’s a very good start.’

Mel’s words echoed Luke’s so closely Louisa wanted to scream. Before she could start she heard a crash on the line, and then Mel shouted, ‘Ella Valentine Devlin—stop that this instant!’

After two minutes of muffled wailing, Mel came back on the line. ‘Lou, I’m really sorry, but I can’t talk long. Ella’s given Cal a make-over with her felt-tip pens and woken him from his nap.’

Louisa could hear the toddler’s babbling and guessed he was on Mel’s hip. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll figure it out,’ she said, feeling more overwhelmed than ever.

‘Don’t panic, Lou. This is my advice, for what it’s worth.’ Another toddler babble, and then Mel’s calming
shhh.
‘I understand why the idea of marriage has freaked you out. It’s a lot to handle along with a new baby, and it does seem a little extreme if you hardly know each other.’

‘My point exactly.’ Finally her friend was getting the picture.

‘I’m assuming you told him no?’ Mel said carefully.

‘I tried to. He doesn’t exactly take no for an answer, though.’

‘So what are your plans?’

‘I said I’d stay the week.’

‘You are sleeping together, then?’

‘Not quite.’ But they soon would be.

‘Why not, if the sex is fantastic?’

Why not indeed? ‘I don’t know. I panicked. He’s so overpowering. I didn’t want to get swept away, so I told him he couldn’t touch me tonight.’ She winced. Luke was right, her request sounded juvenile.

But Mel just giggled. ‘That’s brilliant.’

‘It is?’

‘From what you’ve said, and the little I know about him myself, Luke Devereaux’s a guy who needs to be kicked right out of his comfort zone before he’ll let his guard down. If he distracts you with sex, why not distract him right back?’

A little flicker of excitement leapt up to Louisa’s breastbone and started doing the hula. ‘Mel, are you mad? It would never work.’ But then she stopped to consider Mel’s idea. The truth was, she’d tried outrage and indignation and even common sense and it had been a disaster—not to mention extremely unsatisfying. ‘How do you suggest I pull that off without bursting into flames?’

‘Phooey,’ Mel said. ‘You know how. You’re the best flirt in the Western World when you put your mind to it. Trust me, the guy’s toast.’

After her conversation with Mel, Louisa resolved to stay busy during the afternoon. She didn’t want to go into meltdown before she saw Luke again. If she was even going to consider attempting what Mel had suggested she had to stay calm and focussed—or as calm and focussed
as was humanly possible, given that she was practically on fire.

She spoke to Mrs Roberts and arranged to have one of Luke’s employees pop into her flat and get some clothes couriered down for the rest of her stay. She lay on the bed and tried to have a mid-afternoon nap, but after seventeen solid hours the night before and the anticipation making all her pulse points throb she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing that tempting, challenging look in Luke’s eyes at lunchtime. So she gave up trying.

She slipped down the corridor while the coast was clear and found the library Mrs Roberts had mentioned—which looked like something out of
My Fair Lady
—and used one of the computers there to research the first few months of pregnancy on the internet.

Discovering she was unlikely to suffer from more morning sickness at this late date was the good news. Finding out about heartburn, stretch marks, oedema, preeclampsia and the host of other ailments she might have to negotiate in the months to come was the bad. She felt she’d been holding up well at the enormity of it all when she stumbled across a picture of a foetus at six months. Tears flooded her eyes. She switched the terminal off and sniffed them back. All these things were inevitable, and she was sure she’d do just fine. She was fit, supremely healthy, and took good care of herself—now she knew she was looking after two people instead of one she would be extra careful.

Getting up from the desk, she glanced through the long mullioned windows. It was approaching six o’clock and the light had taken on an early-evening glow, softening the iridescent green of the summer landscape to a deep emerald. The house was surrounded by landscaped gardens, but
instead of the ordered selection of cultured blooms one might expect in a stately home, the flowers of Havensmere spilled out of their beds in cosy, comforting disarray. Lupins and buddleia vyed for attention with roses and dahlias, like ladies at a garden party flirting with their beaus. The image made Louisa smile. The place really was idyllic, for all its grandeur.

She wondered if Luke had selected any of the flowers, then dismissed the idea. Not only did he seem far too macho to know anything about flowers, she couldn’t imagine him spending his time doing anything as humble as gardening. It didn’t fit with that slick, sophisticated, captain of industry image he had going for him.

She flattened her hand against the pane, felt the heat of the day through the glass, and the buzz of anticipation pulsed even hotter under her skin. She could see the edge of the pool from this angle. The turquoise water lapped against the pale blue mosaic tiles and she imagined diving in to the cool, inviting depths. Mrs Roberts had told her they had a selection of new swimming costumes in the pool house for the use of the guests if she wanted to take a dip. The idea suddenly seemed unbearably appealing.

But did she dare take a swim? What would happen if Luke spotted her practically naked and dripping wet?

A giddy laugh popped out of her mouth, the throaty chuckle echoing round the cavernous room as the huladancers sashayed right up her throat. It would be dangerous, reckless—tantamount to tempting the devil. She’d be playing with fire, but somehow the danger only tantalised her more.

Mel was right. Luke Devereaux needed to be kicked out of his comfort zone. Way out. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t touch her tonight, probably expecting her to be
some meek little wallflower who’d be available for plucking when he felt like it.

But why shouldn’t she take the initiative for once? So long as she kept her hands to herself he’d be at a distinct disadvantage because of his promise earlier—which was just where she wanted him.

So far he’d called all the shots in their little battle of the sexes. But she had some powerful ammunition too and it was way past time she started shooting back.

She peered down the corridor as she left the library, making absolutely sure Luke wasn’t lurking anywhere. She wanted maximum impact for her little show.

She planned to have the benefit of surprise when she fired her opening volley.

He wouldn’t know what had hit him.

‘No, hold off on dumping the Westling shares. The price is going to peak on Monday or Tuesday. Don’t sell before they touch twenty.’ Luke gave a few absent grunts of assent and struggled to concentrate as his broker in New York reeled through a series of figures. He’d been on the phone for over two hours to his fund managers around the globe, getting weekly reports on his various stock options. It was a task he usually revelled in.

He had a mathematician’s love of numbers, and an almost clairvoyant ability to predict what shares would go up and which would go down, and the steeliest nerve in the business. He adored the cut and thrust of the financial markets, the rush of adrenalin that came from knowing he could wipe out a life’s work or make billions in a single heartbeat. And his passion for the fray had made him rich. But this afternoon the gambler’s zeal that usually made him so eager to discuss his investments had all but deserted
him. For the first time ever making money felt like a chore. And he knew exactly whose fault that was. Miss Louisa DiMarco. The contrary little minx had grabbed all his attention in the last few weeks—hell, the last few months—and since bringing her to Havensmere her effect on him had only got worse.

He strolled across the study as his broker’s voice droned on down the line from Manhattan. The list of figures was failing to engage him in the least.

He glanced absently out the window, spotted the woman levering herself out of the pool and almost dropped the phone.

‘Hell!’ he breathed, his fingers tightening on the handset as all the blood drained out of his head and shot straight to his groin.

Luke stared as the bane of his existence sauntered across the flagstone patio. Naturally poised, her leggy gait was as fluid and confident as any catwalk model—except this woman had curves where she was supposed to have curves. Luke swallowed convulsively, the voice of his broker receding to a distant hum.

Water ran in rivulets down Louisa’s dusky skin and glittered in the sunlight. The two minuscule scraps of scarlet material she wore clung to lush breasts and left absolutely nothing to his imagination. She reached one of the loungers and picked up a towel. Dropping her head back, she swayed it from side to side, sprinkling the parched tiles. He watched, riveted to the spot, as she grasped the long dark-blonde hair falling in wet tangles down her back, leaned to one side and squeezed it like a hunk of rope. The movement made her breasts strain against the tiny bow that fastened her bikini top.