Dangerous Ladies (69 page)

Coming to the bed, he sat on the side and put his arm around her.

She put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him.

Yes. Trust. At last
. “If you hadn’t turned off the security system, we would know who hit you,” he said softly.

She lifted her head. “I didn’t!”

“Are you sure?”

“I would surely remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Really. I didn’t do it!”

“I believe you.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He didn’t intend to tell her the truth about Four. Not yet. He knew her well enough to realize Four’s treachery would break her heart.

Then she smiled at him so sweetly, he felt like the bastard he was. Because she thought he believed her because he had faith in her word.

And he did. But proof helped.

“We’re going to have to talk about this painting,” he said.

“I know. But you’ll understand.”

Dr. Apps cleared her throat. “I have some news about your condition, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, which I think might be a surprise.”

What the hell . . . ?
Devlin’s arm tightened around Meadow.

“Last night, among the other tests we ran, we ran a pregnancy test.”

He couldn’t move.

Meadow didn’t move.

“It was positive.” Their stunned silence spoke volumes to Dr. Apps, and she added hastily, “But you don’t need to be concerned about the effects of the fall. The baby is fine, you’re in good health, and it should be a successful pregnancy. As soon as you’re home, call my office and I’ll give you a recommendation for a good ob-gyn. You should make your first appointment immediately, and the doctor will figure out your due date. Do you have any questions?”

Meadow shook her head no.

Devlin still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

“Then I’ll give you a few minutes to get yourself together. Just let them know at the nurses’ station when you’re ready for a wheelchair to take you down to the entrance.” Dr. Apps backed out of a room so thick with atmosphere she almost choked.

“A baby,” Meadow whispered, and pressed her hand to her stomach.

They’d made a baby. They’d made a miracle.

“I’ll bet it happened that night in the moonlight. Don’t you think it had to be that night?” Devlin didn’t answer, but Meadow was thinking out loud, thinking of herself and how this affected her. “I know you don’t know this, but my mother has cancer.”

“What happened to your amnesia? Did you
forget
about your mother?” His sarcasm cut right through her reverie.

“What?” She blinked at him.

His face was blank, his eyes impassive. He was in shock, poor guy.

Taking his hand, she smiled. “I sort of lied about having amnesia. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I knew. That’s why I
sort of
lied when I said we were married.” His voice had an edge she couldn’t define.

But remembering that moment when they met, when their falsehoods had topped each other, made her chuckle. “When you said we were married, I didn’t know what to do. I thought the situation
would be temporary, that I could find the painting, take it out of the house, and you’d never know. Then I found out about your security and all the people working at the hotel, and things got more and more difficult.”

“You were going to steal from me.”

“Not really
steal
. My grandmother left it in the house in case of an emergency, like my mom’s illness. So it was my legacy, but I had the bad luck to arrive about a year too late. You already owned Waldemar. I walked into a secure place, fell and hit my head, saw stars . . . and haven’t been the same since.” She placed her hand on his. “Because I’ve gotten to know you. Being with you has been wonderful, an experience like no other in my life. So like so many things, what looked like bad luck actually became good luck.”

“By what stretch of the imagination do you think this is good luck?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you
enjoyed
our time together?” He had. She knew it.

“Yes. But we’re having a baby.” Abruptly she remembered his panic when they’d failed to use protection. She remembered his illegitimacy and the taunting he’d had to face as a child, and from people—like Bradley Benjamin—who should know better.

“I know we didn’t plan it, and you don’t like it because you’ve got these archaic notions about what it means to be illegitimate—”

“Archaic notions? Lady, I have walked the walk and talked the talk.”

“I know,” she said hastily.
He’s sensitive, Meadow. You be sensitive, too.
“That was patronizing. But what I mean is, a baby always brings such joy. And when you think about how many blessings we have in our lives—the grand opening was a huge success, my mom’s in remission. . . .”

He stirred beside her, looked at her hard.

Meadow kept talking. “It makes me realize why our baby came along now. If Mom gets sick again, a baby will give her something to live for.”

“What an
incredibly
stupid reason to have a baby.”

His words, his tone, slapped her across the face. Still, she tried to be upbeat. “You’re right. I didn’t set out to do this on purpose—neither of us did—but since it’s happened, shouldn’t we find every reason to rejoice?”

He stood up and moved away from her touch. “Rejoice? About bringing a child into the world with a sometime father and a disgruntled mother?”

Obviously this was not a subject to be easily managed with compassionate words and a loving touch. “I am not disgruntled, and you have no reason to be a sometime father.”

“Oh, really? Where are we going to live so that I can be a full-time father—
Natalie Meadow Szarvas
?” His eyes blazed with an eerie triumph as he produced her name and placed it between them like a hot coal.

He was really angry. At her? At him? At their baby? Whatever it was, she didn’t like this side of him. He roiled with fury and old, dark, angry memories.

And she . . . she fought a feeling of betrayal. “How long have you known my name?”

“I learned it the day my mother came with those glass pieces. I realized you were an expert; then it didn’t take much research to find out your name or where you lived—which is the issue here.” He leaned toward her. “We live on different coasts. Unless you’ve got some brilliant solution, one of us is going to have to move. I’ve got a business that is centered here. You’ve got a mother who’s critically ill. Which one of us do you think it’ll be?”

“You know my name. You’ve known it for weeks.” For some reason, that made her feel as if he’d been laughing at her. “You lied to me about . . . me.”

“I wouldn’t start flinging accusations around, Meadow, or Natalie, or whatever you like to be called.” He mocked her with her own names. “There’s plenty of reason for finger-pointing.”

“You know what I do for a living. You know about my family.”
Her breath came in uneven gasps and burned in her chest. There was an issue here, a bigger issue. She knew it, but she was afraid to look at it. But she had to.

“I know your age, your weight, your IQ.”

“You knew about my
mother
?” And that was the real issue. He had known about her mother’s illness, and he’d let the farce go on.

He lifted his chin. He stared down his nose.

“You did know. You knew and you didn’t offer to help? You knew I was looking for the painting that would pay her bills—and you just let me look?”

In her eyes, Devlin subtly shifted shape. He was no longer the man who frolicked with her in the moonlight, who teased her at dinner, who watched her eat an ice cream cone with a hunger that had nothing to do with the ice cream and everything to do with her. He had become cruel, indifferent, unyielding in his determination to win.

They stood on the chessboard, and she was a pawn.

She had feared that, but she had imagined she could change him, teach him that life was more than winning or losing. She’d fallen in love with him; he was the father of her child—and he was a monster.

Suddenly she found herself reclining on the bed. A red mist swam before her eyes, and her stomach roiled, but as the buzzing in her ears cleared, she could hear him saying, “I found out about your mother yesterday. I was going to offer to help, but I never had the chance. Then
this
happened.”

She turned away. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She didn’t want to hear him talk about their baby as a
this.

Maybe he’d been wounded by his father’s indifference and his mother’s coolness. Maybe he’d been wounded so much he was an emotional cripple. Maybe . . . maybe Meadow had made the ultimate bad choice in men.

“Look, the solution is clear.” He walked away, but not far enough—she could still hear him talking.

“We’ll sneak off and get married so no one knows we conceived this child out of wedlock.”

“Out of wedlock?” She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. “I can’t believe you care about such a minor matter.”

“You wouldn’t think it was a minor matter if you’d spent your childhood fighting little snots who called you a bastard.” He ran water. “After we’re married, I’ll build you a studio. The child will have a home with two parents.” His voice grew near. He placed a cold wet towel on Meadow’s forehead, and directly above her he said, “We’ll make the best of a bad situation.”

She clenched her teeth against a wave of nausea. Her face flushed; sweat broke out on her forehead. She fought her way back from the brink. “I will not marry you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“My marriage is not going to be ‘making the best of a bad situation.’ ”

“Possibly I phrased that badly.”

“Perhaps you did. And perhaps you meant it just the way you said it.”

“Meadow . . .” He tried to take her hand.

She jerked it away. “It doesn’t matter. I will never marry you. Not because you’re illegitimate, but because what the gossips say about you is true. You really are a bastard.”

M
eadow stalked into the house ahead of Devlin. “I am not going to discuss it anymore.”

“You haven’t discussed it at all.” He followed her in and slammed the door. “You simply keep saying no.”

“Which part of
no
do you not understand?”

“You’re not being logical.” And that heated his temper to a simmer. She had to be logical. How else was he going to keep her?

“Logic is overrated,” Meadow said coolly. “And superfluous when it comes to love. My grandmother taught me that, and she was the bravest woman I know.”

“But not the smartest,” he said in frustration.

“No. That would be my mother.”

“What’s going on?” Grace stood in the doorway of the library, looking from one to the other in alarm.

“Nothing, Mother.”

“I’m leaving your son,” Meadow said.

“Damn it!” He didn’t need the whole household in on this fight.

“Leaving him?” Grace held out her hand to Meadow. “Why?”

“Because like a free-range chicken, I managed to get pregnant.” But for all her ire, Meadow couldn’t resist Grace’s outstretched hand.

“A baby? You’re going to have a baby?” Grace held Meadow’s arm out and gazed at her midsection, searching for proof. “I’m going to be a . . .”

“A grandmother.” From inside the library, Bradley Benjamin cackled. “Did you hear that, Osgood? Grace Fitzwilliam is going to be a grandmother, and to the child of someone named
Meadow.
”

“That is too rich,” Osgood said.

Great.
Just what Devlin needed. The old farts were still here.

Grace walked back into the library, dragging Meadow with her. “You leave her alone, Bradley Benjamin. If you want to take out your nastiness on someone, you take it out on me. I’m not in a delicate condition!”

Devlin followed and found only two old farts—Bradley sitting in the alcove in a brown leather recliner, smoke curling up from the cigar in the ashtray, and Osgood, on Bradley’s right, sitting on a straight-backed dining chair, shoulders slumped, hands folded in his lap, his brown eyes wide behind his heavy glass lenses.

Osgood didn’t matter. He blended into the scenery. Always had. Always would.

But Bradley sat like a petty god in his own fine heaven, breathing fire as his pretended indifference crumbled one feeble brick at a time.

“Don’t worry about him, Grace,” Meadow dismissed Bradley. “I have to go pack, anyway.”

“No, you don’t,” Devlin said.

“Please, no,” Grace said.

“You don’t understand, Grace,” Meadow began.

“Make her understand, and maybe I’ll get it then, too.” Devlin’s voice rose with his frustration. “Because right now, I sure as hell do not know why you insist on leaving me.”

Meadow interrupted at full volume. “Because I am not raising my child with a man who doesn’t understand the difference between right and wrong. You only understand winning and losing.”