One-Night Pregnancy (8 page)

She broke off her thoughts to bite her lip, and felt a little hot at the memory of being in Adam’s presence. Then she realised that being alone in her apartment was another matter.

Alone in her apartment she was able to examine the events of the previous day in detail. Such as how she’d gone from anger, disbelief and hurt—from the conviction that she’d be far better off having her baby on her own—to allowing him to make love to her and loving every minute of it.

Would the Adam she remembered from the shed always have the power to seduce her?

And always be able to make her feel lonely and as if something precious was missing from her life when he wasn’t there?

The other thing that perturbed her was the fact that she’d been able to take an impartial view of a woman Adam’s brother had stolen from him—even offer advice
on the subject—but now she could only think of her with a little bubble of dread.

She was ready when Adam pressed her doorbell.

She’d been to the hairdresser and had her hair styled. She’d chosen a cropped jacket in a fine wool plaid, black on blue-green, over a short fitted black dress. With it she wore sheer black stockings and black suede shoes.

When she stared at herself in the mirror and thought she didn’t look right—smart, yes, but too formal—she sternly took herself to task and refused, simply refused, to indulge in an orgy of redressing. Which was just as well, because Adam arrived early, bearing a bottle of French champagne.

His reaction was satisfying and vindicated that decision.

‘How utterly elegant, Mrs Smith,’ he murmured in the moments before he kissed her. ‘And how wise to have waited to apply your lipstick,’ he added, as he lifted his head with points of laugher dancing in his eyes.

‘It’s not that I waited. I just hadn’t got around to it,’ she denied. ‘Truly! You’re early.’

‘I know,’ he murmured, and pulled a long, slim box from the pocket of his beautiful grey suit, worn with a navy shirt. ‘But I thought we might need a few minutes to sort this out.’ He put the box and the bottle on the dining room table. ‘Glasses?’

‘Oh. I’ll get them—but I shouldn’t drink.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not even half a glass?’

Bridget moved into the kitchen and took two glasses out of a cupboard. She brought them back to the table as he expertly removed the foil and popped the cork. ‘As a toast to us?’ he added.

‘Half a glass, then. Thank you.’

She accepted the champagne from him and they solemnly raised their glasses.

‘To us,’ he said.

‘To us,’ Bridget agreed, and took a sip.

‘Open the box.’

Bridget hesitated. It couldn’t be a ring box, it was too long, but it
was
obviously a jewellery box. Did she want jewellery from him? she found herself wondering.

She put her glass down and picked up the box. And she caught her breath as she flicked the catch. It wasn’t a single ring box. There were four rings in it, all emeralds in different settings.

‘I thought you might like to choose,’ he said as she raised her stunned eyes to his. ‘With those eyes I couldn’t go past emeralds,’ he murmured. ‘But for the rest of it, it’s up to you.’

Bridget dropped her gaze to the rings and licked her lips. ‘They—they’re all beautiful,’ she said huskily. ‘But I’m not sure I deserve an engagement ring like this—like these.’

‘Why ever not?’ he countered with a faint frown.

‘I don’t know,’ she was forced to concede. ‘I guess—perhaps I just wasn’t expecting it.’

‘Bridget.’ He put his glass down on the table. ‘We
have an agreement. We have more than an agreement, don’t we?’

She looked up at him to find him studying her intently. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We not only went through all the pros and cons yesterday, we also sealed it, I would have thought, in a way that was essentially romantic.’

‘Well, yes, it was…’ She trailed off and blushed as his blue gaze seemed to strip away her smart outfit and expose the slender curves of her body.

‘So what’s wrong with the next step being an engagement ring, and shortly a wedding ring?’ he asked quietly, but with a glint of sheer—sheer what? she wondered. Sheer determination?

Her shoulders sagged suddenly, because it felt as if she’d walked into a battering ram and didn’t know how to deal with it at all. Why should she feel there was anything to deal with over this issue? It was only an engagement ring. The much more telling circumstance was going to be whether she allowed him to put a wedding ring on her finger. But hadn’t she banished that dilemma yesterday?

‘More fears, Bridget?’ he said.

‘No. No. Uh…’ she scanned the rings, and her fingers hovered over them. For some reason—because it might have been the least expensive?—it was the smallest she was drawn to: a baguette-cut central emerald flanked by two smaller round diamonds on a gold band. She took it out and slipped it onto her ring finger. It fitted perfectly, and seemed to be just right for the size and shape of her hand.

She studied it, holding it up to the light, admiring the green depths of the central stone and the fire of the two diamonds. ‘This one,’ she said.

‘Don’t you want to try the others?’

‘No, thank you. This is—very lovely.’

‘And very discerning of you, Mrs Smith,’ he murmured as he closed the box on the other rings. ‘It’s the best emerald, and the diamonds are flawless.’

Bridget took a frustrated breath. ‘Well, maybe I will try the others.’

‘Why?’

‘They may not be as expensive.’

He looked at her wryly. ‘Too late—but take the ring off for a moment.’

Bridget did so, and handed it to him.

He picked up her hand. ‘Bridget Tully-Smith, will you marry me?’ He held the ring, poised to slip it back on her finger. ‘I know I haven’t exorcised all your fears,’ he added. ‘But I do believe it’s what we should do, and I have your welfare very much at heart.’

It was the last thing Bridget had expected to burst into her mind at this point, but it did, and it articulated her deepest fear: she didn’t want to be married for her welfare, she wanted to be married because he was deeply, hopelessly in love with her—
as she was with him
.

Her lips parted and her eyes darkened as the knowledge slammed into her heart, almost taking her breath away. How had this happened to her? she wondered a little desperately. In such a short time? Was it the wonderful sex? The fact that he’d saved her life a couple of
times? No, not only that, she acknowledged. Love was the simple factor that explained why she wanted to be with him, why she felt lonely without him even when she felt like fighting him—or throwing grapes around because he frustrated her at times—it made no difference.

It was why she’d been restless and edgy all day, why she’d missed Adam Beaumont as she would always miss him when he was gone from her—and why it might be more than she could bear if she ever lost him…She loved him with all her heart.

‘Bridget?’

He was frowning down at her, and she was forced to hide her inner amazement at what had happened to her, the storm of incredible self-knowledge that was so much more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced.

‘Yes…’ she said. What else could she say? ‘I mean—
yes
.’

He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Then why don’t you put your lipstick on and we’ll go and see my uncle Julius?’

She was quiet in the car, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He did say, as he parked the car, ‘Don’t take any nonsense from my uncle.’

She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘What kind of nonsense?’

‘He can be a pretty straight shooter. And this—’ he switched off the engine and reached for her left hand to toy with the ring ‘—has come as a bit of a surprise to him.’

‘Not only to him,’ Bridget murmured.

‘You mean your mother? Have you told her?’

‘No.’ Bridget explained about the message she’d received. ‘But I was actually thinking of me. I feel a little shell-shocked. And I’m not sure if I feel like facing—anyone.’

‘He’s not well, Bridget. His doctors reckon he’s living on borrowed time. But he’s important to me, and I know this will mean a lot to him—the thought of me being settled.’ He grimaced and released her hand, but took her chin in his fingers so he could look into her eyes.

‘What if he doesn’t like me?’

‘What’s not to like?’ he queried, his lips twisting. ‘Trust me, he’ll like you. Just be yourself.’

Julius Beaumont stared at Bridget, then at Adam in turn, his bushy white eyebrows almost up to his hairline. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, young lady. Sit down and tell me about yourself. All I got from Adam were the bare facts.’

Bridget relaxed a little, and she exchanged a little glance with Adam that Julius correctly interpreted as containing relief on her part and encouragement on his.

So, Julius found himself thinking, there
is
a bond of some kind between them. Not that I really believed he went out and chose the first girl he could find—or did I? Adam was a mixture of inspired long-term insight and the odd completely off-the-cuff, out-of-the-blue action…

‘Thank you,’ Bridget said, mercifully unaware of these thoughts, but warming to the old man. She sank
onto a settee next to the wheelchair and accepted a glass of juice from Adam, who handed his great-uncle the one Scotch he was allowed.

‘Tell me how you met?’ Julius continued.

Bridget did so, leaving out the finer points. ‘He saved my life—not once but twice,’ she finished simply.

Julius Beaumont sipped his Scotch as his internal musing ran on…Not a bad beginning. In fact a whole lot better than he’d hoped for! ‘Go on,’ he encouraged. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he repeated.

And then Bridget surprised him even further—but she also surprised herself, as his horse paintings caught her eye and dredged something up from the back of her mind, something she could share with this old man.

She said whimsically, ‘I haven’t done a whole lot with my life yet, although that could be about to change, but I believe we might have something in common. I can tell you the last twenty Melbourne Cup winners in chronological order.’

Not only Julius but Adam Beaumont stared at her in surprise.

‘My father was fanatical about thoroughbreds,’ Bridget went on. ‘It was his hobby. Not that he was much of a gambler. Ten dollars each way was his maximum bet, but it was impossible to live in the same house with him and not imbibe some of that fanaticism.’ She paused and her lips curved into a smile. ‘And because my birthday is in the first week of November—Cup time—we used to study the Cup form together and he’d put an extra ten dollars on our choice for me, for my birthday present.’

‘How often did you win?’ Adam asked with a chuckle.

‘Not always, of course, but over the years I totalled quite a nice, tidy sum.’

‘Then you’d better come and study the form with me!’ Julius remarked enthusiastically. ‘My record has been abysmal lately.’ He turned to Adam. ‘Did you know this about this girl?’ he barked.

‘No,’ Adam confessed. ‘She keeps surprising me.’

Better and better! Julius thought, as Mervyn came to call them to dinner.

Before they sat down to eat, there was a surprise waiting for Bridget in the dining room. A wall of pictures that might have been gold-framed and artistically placed but weren’t actually paintings. They were photos of Melbourne Cup winners.

And Julius Beaumont wasn’t content to start his meal until she’d pinpointed all the ones she’d won on!

The meal flowed smoothly, and the conversation didn’t flag.

But Bridget did look a little tired at the end of it, and Adam asked her in a quiet aside if she was all right.

She nodded, but he slipped her hand into his as they stood to say their farewells, and promised to come back soon.

Julius saw that little gesture, and it was on his mind after they’d left. Although there had been no other lover-like gestures, Adam did care about her welfare, he thought. And the absence of anything else lover-like might just have been a matter of good taste, he mused.
In fact there had been a lot of good taste about Bridget Tully-Smith, he reflected. No pretensions, no bravado, her own nails, no excessive make-up. In all probability a thoroughly nice girl.

So what could go wrong?

A face swam into his mind’s eye: Marie-Claire Beaumont’s. A flawlessly beautiful face, he had to admit, even although he didn’t like the girl.

And it frustrated him unbearably for a moment to think that there was no way he could keep Adam and Marie-Claire apart if they chose otherwise.

But there is something I can do, he said to himself. If you think I’m going to tamely accept
all
your dictates, Adam Beaumont, think again. He rang the bell for Mervyn.

‘You called?’ Mervyn stuck his head around the lounge door. ‘Ready for bed?’

‘No, I am not, Merv.’ Julius was the only one who had the temerity to shorten Mervyn’s name. ‘Get me my solicitor.’

Mervyn came fully into the room. ‘You want to speak to him?’

‘No, I want to dance the Irish Jig with him—of course I want to speak to him,’ Julius said testily. ‘Here. In person.’

Mervyn consulted the grandfather clock. ‘It’s ten o’clock. He may be in bed.’

‘Then get him out of bed! And don’t you go anywhere. I may need you.’

‘I do live here,’ Mervyn pointed out. ‘And I don’t
think it’s a good idea to get worked up over anything. We could regret it, you know.’

‘Just do as you’re told, Merv!’ Julius ordered. ‘And stop calling me
we
. It drives me insane. Pour me a Scotch while you’re about it.’

‘No,’ Mervyn said. ‘That I do refuse to do.’

B
RIDGET
stirred the next morning and discovered herself to be loosely wrapped in Adam’s arms in her own bed.

‘That’s brilliant,’ she murmured as she revelled in it.

He opened one eye. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘You don’t have to. You did enough last night. I’m enjoying things just as they are.’

He touched his forefinger to her mouth. ‘You’re easy to please.’ He hugged her, then hitched the pillows up and sat back against them. They were both naked beneath the sheet and coverlet. She snuggled up against him and rested her cheek on his chest.

He stroked her hair. ‘You were inspired last night with my uncle.’

‘That was pure fluke. Seeing his horse paintings reminded me of what you’d told me about his passion for the Melbourne Cup.’ She paused. ‘I liked him.’

‘He liked you.’

‘You could tell?’ she queried.

‘Yes. What do you want to do today?’

Bridget sat up. ‘You have a day off?’ she asked, on a note of excitement.

He fluffed her fringe up with his fingers. ‘Yes. Well, I’m taking one anyway. I thought we could—’

‘Why did you ask me what I wanted to do if you’ve already got something in mind?’ she broke in, and eyed him sternly.

‘I…’ He paused and rubbed the blue shadows on his jaw, then shrugged. ‘You go ahead. I must tell you that you look like a disapproving governess, though.’ His lips quirked.

‘And I’ll tell you about my parents. My father used to drive my mother mad doing something very similar.’

‘He did?’

She nodded solemnly.

‘What?’ he asked, with an expression of mock fear.

‘He used to say to her “We can do A or B. It’s up to you.” Then, when she chose B, say, he would agree, but add the rider that on the other hand A would be the more sensible choice, leaving her in no doubt that A was what he’d always wanted to do. “Why didn’t you just come out and say so?” she would cry in frustration.’

‘Ah. All right. What would
you
like to do today, Bridget?’ he asked with elaborate courtesy.

Bridget pretended to mull over the possibilities. ‘There is one thing,’ she said at last. ‘I’d just like to spend the day with you. That’s all.’

‘You’re a tease, Mrs Smith,’ he said ruefully. ‘Well, I had this thought. Since I spend all my spare time up at Mount Grace, I don’t actually have a house on the Coast.
I stay in hotels. So I thought we might look around for one—a house, not a hotel. Somewhere you’d be happy to call home while we’re not up there. The question is, though, would you like a house or an apartment?’

‘If by an apartment you mean a penthouse in the sky,’ Bridget said thoughtfully, ‘I think I’d rather have a house. Seems more appropriate for a child, and I’m not a fan of having to get into a lift every time you want to go out. It’s also nice to have grass beneath your feet—I can’t believe I’m saying this.’ She looked conscience-struck.

‘Why not? It makes sense.’

‘Yes, but it’s—well, I’m sure there’s going to be an awful lot of money involved—your money—and it’s going to be such a change of lifestyle for me.’ Her eyes widened at the thought.

‘Talking about a change of lifestyle…’ He put his hand gently on her tummy beneath the sheet. ‘When is this baby due?’

She told him a date in December. ‘But that’s by my reckoning. I haven’t seen a doctor yet.’

‘OK. That’s something else we can do today.’

‘Oh, but we might not get an appointment!’

‘With my doctor, we will,’ he said with a lurking grin.

‘Life is so much simpler when you’re a millionaire,’ she responded with a faint frown. ‘Nothing ever seems to stand in your way.’

‘Things do, believe me.’

‘Large things, maybe, but not small things?’ she suggested.

He shrugged, but didn’t comment on that. He said instead, ‘We also have to set a wedding date.’

‘Not today, we don’t,’ Bridget heard herself say. ‘We have plenty of time for that.’

‘But since we
are
getting married we may as well—in the next few days at least,’ he replied.

She was silent as she grappled with a feeling she’d experienced before in relation to Adam Beaumont—the feeling that she was up against a battering ram. Yet since she
had
agreed to marry him, and since she
was
pregnant, what was the point in delaying it?

But it was a lot more than that, wasn’t it? Last night she’d been struck by the knowledge that she’d fallen deeply in love with him. Last night she’d gone to bed with him willingly and loved every minute of it. Especially since she had been tired and a bit strung-up, so had really appreciated the gently warm experience he’d made it rather than the fireworks of the last time they’d slept together.

She articulated the thought that had been at the back of her mind ever since all this had come up. ‘Let me tell my mother first.’

‘Is she liable to change your mind?’

Bridget hesitated. ‘She’s liable to preach caution.’

He sat up abruptly and eased her up beside him. ‘It’s too late for that, Bridget.’

She said nothing, but pleated the sheet between her fingers.

‘I know it’s all a huge change for you…’ He paused and studied the top of her head. ‘But the sooner we get
it under way, the sooner you’ll get used to it and the easier it’s going to be for you.’

She looked up at last, but he couldn’t read her eyes.

‘You don’t rewrite your life without some upheavals,’ he said quietly.

‘I suppose not.’ But she didn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘Is it not going to be a rather huge upheaval for you too?’

‘Of course. But I’m looking forward to it more and more. And our own place—our very own, one you can fit out to your heart’s content—will help.’

She looked around and thought of Mount Grace. She had to agree. Her mother’s shadow seemed to hover over her in
this
flat; his mother’s ghost—much as she’d fallen in love with Mount Grace—had to linger there.

She came to a sudden decision. ‘All right. I’ll look at houses with you, and I’ll see your doctor today. But I’d still like to speak to my mother—no,’ she said as he moved restlessly. ‘I’m not going to let her change my mind, but I would like her to be here for the wedding, so any date needs to be one she can fit in with.’

‘So long as it’s not too far away.’

Bridget temporized, but he took her in his arms and lay back with her, fitting the curves of her body into the lean planes and angles of his. ‘How right does that feel?’ he queried, with a wicked little glint in his eyes as he cupped her breast.

‘That feels like pure blackmail,’ she replied, but a little breathlessly.

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘You seem to have brought out a
pirate-like streak in me, Mrs Smith. Is that the right word?’ he mused.

‘Pirate-like? Well, devious also springs to mind.’

He kissed the tip of her nose.

‘I give up,’ she said on a gurgle of laughter. ‘You’re a hard man to say no to, Mr Beaumont.’

A little later, far from feeling drowsy, Adam got energetically out of bed and announced that he was starving.

‘Ah,’ she said, curling up in his space. ‘Yesterday I experimented with black tea and dry toast, and I didn’t have any morning sickness, so I think I may stick to that. I don’t think I should even
think
about cooking breakfast.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all—including the black tea.’ He headed for the shower.

‘You cook?’ Bridget asked with a tinge of surprise.

He turned back to her. ‘In a limited sort of way. I spent a year after school jackerooing on a cattle station in the Northern Territory. Bacon and eggs is one of my strengths. Damper is another, but I’ll make do with bread this morning. Do you have any plum jam?’

‘Er—no. Do you like it?’

‘I became addicted to it on damper. We used to get it in big tins and, apart from sugar, it was just about the only sweet thing we got.’

‘How about strawberry jam?’ she asked gravely.

He grinned. ‘That’ll do.’

‘So that’s where you got your expertise with ropes and axes and so on? Jackerooing?’ she hazarded.

‘Yes.’ He grimaced. ‘Such as it is.’

On his way to the shower he stopped and studied a painting on the wall—one of hers. A delicate study of some coral-pink ixora blooms on a velvety midnight background.

He turned back to her. ‘I thought you said you weren’t any good?’

‘I’m average,’ she answered.

‘I disagree. In fact, I would be surprised if your new career
isn’t
based on art. Have you started painting yet?’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t had time.’

He squinted at the tiny initials in the corner—B T-S—then went to take his shower.

Bridget stayed cuddled up in bed and listened to him singing snatches of a sea shanty in a pleasant, husky voice.

It brought her a feeling of real contentment, although she smiled to herself to think of him as a closet shower singer. But
he
must be feeling contented, at least, she reasoned, even if she wasn’t the love of his life…

She saw his doctor later in the day, and had her pregnancy officially confirmed. She also saw a number of houses, and fell in love with one of them.

It was on the Nerang River, behind Surfers Paradise, so it was peaceful but central. It had a lovely garden and a jetty, but it needed some TLC—mostly only cosmetic, so it wouldn’t be a time-consuming exercise. She specifically asked not to be told how much it cost, although she knew that its position alone would guarantee a hefty price tag.

Inwardly, she discerned that she was a little uneasy about this house—to the extent that she did say to Adam
that they had months up their sleeve and didn’t need to rush into anything.

He simply shrugged—and told her the next day that it was signed and sealed.

The next evidence she got of his determination to get his own way was over her job. She still had nearly two weeks’ leave in front of her, but happened casually to mention when she’d be going back to work.

Why not quit now and get it over with? had been his response. Why not start painting now?

She’d hesitated, and he’d reminded her that she’d been having second thoughts about it anyway. He’d also let drop that Julia had moved overseas.

‘Did you have anything to do with that?’

They were dining out at a chic Italian café. The tablecloths were red, with green over-cloths, the glassware sparkled, the air was redolent with tantalising aromas, and the menu offered a delicious variety of pasta. It all faded into the background, though, as Bridget was unable to mask her surprise at this news.

He toyed with his wine glass. ‘Yes.’

‘How so?’

‘I managed to get her a job in Singapore.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Did you coerce her?’

He rubbed his jaw. ‘To a certain extent. I pointed out to her that spreading unsubstantiated rumours was not something to be viewed lightly.’

‘They were true,’ Bridget said.

‘Not at the time, they weren’t,’ he said flatly.

‘Your brother—’ Bridget began, but he broke in.

‘Look, Bridget, Henry is a married man with two children.’ He gestured. ‘I’m not making excuses for him, but Julia was always on shaky ground there. Don’t you agree?’ And he raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I suppose so,’ she said slowly. ‘Is she all right? You must have threatened her with—something.’

‘We did a deal. Materially, she drove a fairly hard bargain. But it’s actually a much more challenging job there than doing the social rounds here.’

Bridget digested this for a long moment. They were both casually dressed, she in jeans and a blouse that matched her eyes, he in jeans and a sports jacket over a round-necked T-shirt. But it crossed her mind to think that whatever he wore these days, and even if his hair
was
wind-ruffled from their earlier stroll on the beach, there was no disguising that he was a powerful man. Capable of a lot more than railroading Julia Nixon out of town—and he had railroaded her, even if he had got her a better job.

And not only powerful, she thought, as something Julia had once said about him popped into her mind—he was as sexy as hell. She’d been so right. Apart from her own intimate knowledge of him, Bridget couldn’t fail to by struck by the reaction of women who came in contact with him—or were simply sitting a few tables away from him, as one was now. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him…

And it all caused her unease to surface again. What chance did she have of fighting him if he ever became minded to use his power against her?

‘Did she mention me?’

‘Yes.’ He paused, looking completely unamused. ‘She told me to get out of your life. It was advice I declined.’

‘Do you still want to gain control of Beaumonts?’ Bridget said slowly.

‘Oh, yes.’ He twirled some pasta round his fork. ‘But not thanks to Julia Nixon.’

‘So—so you’ve done nothing to take advantage of these rumours she spread?’

He smiled lethally. ‘I’ve been sitting on my hands, you could say, other than persuading her to leave town. But the right moment will come.’

Bridget said no more on the subject, but it occurred to her that Beaumont Minerals was a factor she shouldn’t discount in her relationship with Adam Beaumont, for the simple reason that it might mean more to him than anything.

The next day she sat down and wrote a long e-mail to her mother, who still had not returned from her ‘few days’ little break. She didn’t send it, though.

She was aware that her mother had a rather vague concept of time. She remembered that both her mother and her new husband were keen amateur archaeologists, and she could imagine them on some dig, miles from anywhere, quite oblivious of the passage of time.

But, although she wanted particularly to speak to her mother, in some ways it was easier to lay the facts out in an e-mail, and she filed it in her ‘drafts’ folder, so as to have it on hand when she did speak to her. At the same
time, seeing those facts laid out did make her stop and ponder her new life. And ponder, specifically, the speed with which it was all happening to her. Not only that, she was still unsure what to do about her job.