The Right Bride? (13 page)

There was an endless, breathless pause. She could hear the thunder of her own heart. Then he raised his head slowly and looked at her, and she took a pace backwards, recoiling from what she saw in his eyes, putting up her hands as if to ward him off, although he hadn’t taken a step.

His voice was quiet. ‘So I have a son.’ He paused. ‘And when, precisely,
madame,
did you plan to tell me this?’

She felt sick with fear, and a mixture of other emotions, but she managed to lift her chin defiantly. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A little honesty at last. I congratulate you.’

‘Because,’ she said, ‘I thought I’d never see you again—if you remember?’

‘I have forgotten nothing. I recall in particular that you
did
see me, only yesterday.’

‘Yes.’ Allie set her jaw.

‘And still you did not tell me.’ The statement simmered with pent-up anger.

‘No.’

‘But why? Why did you not speak?’ His voice rose, and Tom lifted his head from the curve of his father’s shoulder.

‘Maman…’ he whimpered.

‘We’re frightening him.’ Allie put out a hand. ‘Give him back to me, please.’

‘He is also tired,’ Remy said curtly. ‘But you are right. He should not be here—for this. Show me where he sleeps.’

Allie hesitated, then reluctantly led the way into the house.

We were lovers, and you used to carry me up these stairs to this very room. Now you’re carrying our child, and we’re enemies.

For a moment Remy paused on the threshold as he recognised where they were, and she saw his face harden as he glanced fleetingly towards the bed.

Then he recovered himself and walked forward. He put Tom gently down in the cot, in spite of his drowsily bad-tempered objections, murmuring to him softly in his own language until the little boy seemed to accept the situation, his thumb returning to his mouth.

Allie turned away, feeling her throat tighten as she grabbed almost blindly for her robe and put it on. She couldn’t afford to be half-naked in front of him. It made her vulnerable, and for this confrontation she needed all the barriers she could get, she thought, hastily knotting the sash round her waist.

Remy looked round as he straightened—and she moved hurriedly towards the door, stumbling a little as her foot caught in the trailing hem of her robe.

His mouth curled contemptuously. ‘You are trembling,
madame.
You think you are in some kind of danger? That I want, perhaps, to kill you for what you have done?’

‘No.’ There were, she thought, far worse things than death. Abruptly she left the room, leading the way downstairs and
out once more into the small furnace of the garden. Where she faced him, eyes wary, hands clenched beside her.

‘What is his name?’ The question was almost conversational in tone, but she wasn’t deceived.

‘Thomas,’ she said clearly. ‘Thomas Marchington.
Sir
Thomas, if you want to be strictly accurate.’

His brows snapped together. ‘He has your husband’s title?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And the house, and the land, and the money. He—he’s a very wealthy little boy.’

‘Mon Dieu.’
He whispered the words. For a moment he was silent, then he said slowly, as if the words were being torn from him in some terrible way, ‘So you deliberately deceived this man—your husband—you let him think the baby was his—for gain—?’

‘No.’ She cut across him, her voice shaking. ‘I didn’t—I swear it. You have to believe me.’

‘Why should I believe anything you say?’

She swallowed. ‘There isn’t a reason in the world, and I know that. But Hugo—couldn’t have a child of his own. Not after his accident. He knew it, but because he wanted an heir—a son for Marchington—he wouldn’t admit it. Ever.’

She looked away. ‘Instead, he said it was my fault. Because I didn’t know what to do in bed—how to perform the miracle that would finally arouse him and make me pregnant. Only it was—impossible. And he hated me for it.’

She ran her tongue round her dry lips. ‘Eventually, I was at desperation point—worn out with being ignored all day—and then, at night, having to deal with his anger and frustration—the names he called me. I—I had to get away.’

‘And so you came here, and found me.’ His short laugh was like the lash of a whip across her senses. ‘A willing stud to solve the little problem with your bloodline,
enfin
.’

‘No-o-o!’ It was a tortured sound, wrung from the depths of her. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was never like that.’

‘We had unprotected sex, Alys, because you told me that there was no problem.’ His voice was inimical. ‘That was another lie.’

She looked at him incredulously. ‘You mean you were just
enquiring if I was on the Pill?’ She pressed her hands against burning cheeks. ‘I—I didn’t understand. I thought stupidly that you were asking if you’d hurt me—if I wanted you to go on.’

‘A convenient mistake for someone who needed so badly to have a baby.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps so—if I’d been thinking that clearly. But I wasn’t. You see—it was the dream.’

‘What is this?’ he asked harshly. ‘Another excuse?’

‘I don’t think I even know any longer.’ Ally turned away, leaning against the trunk of the tree, feeling the bark scraping her skin through the thin robe. One pain, she thought, to cancel out another. ‘But, that’s how it seemed then—being with you—being happy and loved. Loving you so much I thought I’d die with the joy of it. And feeling safe—from that other dreadful existence. From Hugo and his mother, and everything waiting for me back in England.’

She stared down at the grass. ‘I knew I should tell you that I was married, but that would have forced me to face reality again. And I—I didn’t want my dream to end. It was too precious. The one marvellous, shining thing in the mess I’d made of my life, and I was terrified I’d lose it—that I’d lose you.’

Her laugh cracked in the middle. ‘And then I did anyway. But at least I had my memories—everything you’d said—everything you’d done. Or that’s what I told myself—until I realised I was going to have a baby.’

‘And still you said nothing.’ His voice was grim. ‘Sent me no word.’

‘I wanted to.’ She didn’t tell him about the phone call to Trehel, his father’s dismissal of her. What good could it do now? she thought wearily. Just make more trouble. ‘But you were thousands of miles away, gone from my life for ever, or so I thought. I had to assume sole responsibility for our child. And part of that was being honest with Hugo. I went to him—told him I was pregnant, fully expecting that he’d throw me out—divorce me. But instead he—he just—pretended that the baby was his. That I’d finally done my duty by the family. And by him. That everything was perfect.’

‘And you allowed this?’ He was incredulous. ‘You—went along with this delusion?’

‘I had a choice,’ she said stonily. ‘To struggle as a single parent or know that my child would be brought up with every material advantage—his security guaranteed for his entire life.’

She bent her head. ‘He was all I had, Remy, and I—I wanted the best for him. At the time it seemed—the right thing to do.’

‘The
right thing
?’ His voice bit. ‘To let him live a lie? Or did you plan to tell him one day that he had a real father—a true family?’

‘You want the truth?’ She turned to face him, eyes glittering in her white face. ‘I don’t know, Remy. I just don’t know. That’s something I’ll have to decide when the time comes.’

‘The time is already here, Alys.’

‘What do you mean? He’s far too young. He couldn’t possibly understand.’

‘You are the one who must understand,’ he said, and his voice chilled her to the bone. ‘Thomas is my son,
madame,
and I want him. And this English estate and its money, and the title, can all go to hell. Because the lying stops now.’

The blue eyes burned into her. ‘Our child will stay here, Alys. With me. Where he belongs.’

There was a stunned silence, then she said hoarsely, ‘No, Remy. You don’t mean that. You—you can’t…’

‘And who will stop me?’

‘I shall,’ she said. ‘And Lady Marchington. Do you really think she’ll let her grandchild go? She’ll fight you every step of the way—and she can afford it, even if it goes to court. Because that’s what it will mean. Down to the wire.’

He looked at her scornfully. ‘You think I cannot match her? You are wrong, Alys. My mother was her father’s only child, and he was a very rich man. Through her, his money has now come to me. I work in medicine because I wish, not because I must.

‘But it will never come to court,’ he added. ‘The simplest DNA test will prove my son’s paternity. This lady will not
proceed, because she will not wish the truth to be known. And nor, I think, will you.’

‘But what about you?’ She spread impassioned hands in a pleading gesture. ‘I admit—I never meant you to know. Because—yes—I was afraid of what you might do. But also I couldn’t see what good it could possibly achieve.’

‘Are you quite mad?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to be sane—for both of us.’ She paused. ‘Oh, Remy—think. What will people say—how will they react—your family—your patients—when they discover you have an illegitimate son? The—the wife you may take in the future. What about her? Will—will she want to take on the responsibility of another woman’s child?’

Solange
—
Solange would not even be kind. Instinct told her that.

She tried again. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to leave things as they are? I’ll be leaving soon. Can’t we please stop hurting each other and get on with our lives?’

‘It is kind of you to concern yourself with my reputation,
madame,’
Remy said coldly. ‘But I find the well-being of my son infinitely more important than any local gossip. And, for the moment, I have no wife.’

She took a step forward. ‘Remy, If you take Tom, then I’ll have nothing left in the world.’

‘Then you too will know what that is like.’ His tone was bleak. ‘How it was for me, out in that stinking rainforest, lying awake at night, not knowing whether I would ever see another day’s dawn, and realising I did not care. Because I had nothing left either, Alys. You took it all.

‘And when I returned I heard that you had had a child—that you had carried another man’s seed inside you. I thought that was bad, but now I know the truth—and that, believe me, is so much worse.’

He added quietly, ‘So this time, Alys, it is I who will take everything—from you.’

‘What do you want me to do,’ she asked tonelessly. ‘Go down on my knees and beg?’

‘And after that—what?’ His brows lifted. ‘The offer of your body, perhaps? After all, it would not be the first time—in this garden you have given yourself to me. It might even be here that Thomas was made. That would have a certain irony, I think.’

He saw the colour rush into her pale face, the uncertainty in her eyes, and his smile was mocking.

‘
Alors, ma belle,
what do you say?’

‘Is—is that what you want?’ She stared down at the grass.

He gave a slight shrug. ‘I could, perhaps, be tempted.’

Her hands went slowly to her sash, fumbling with the knot until it was loose. She shrugged the robe off her shoulders and let it fall.

Not the first time, no. But always before it was part of the dream. Whereas everything had changed now. They were different people. And this
—
this was brutal, mindnumbing reality.

The silence around them seemed suddenly heavy—pulsating.

Allie unhooked the top of her bikini. Removed it.

It occurred to her that she’d never had to do this before. Not stand in front of him and—simply strip. Being undressed by him—kissed and caressed out of her clothes—had always been part of the pleasure. She realised that even now she was expecting him to move—to come to her and take her in his arms. Complete the task for her…

Only he didn’t. And somehow she found she dared not even look at him.

Awkwardly, she slid down the tiny briefs and stepped out of them.

Stood, arms at her sides. Waited.

He’d seen her naked often, yet here, at this moment, she felt sick with self-consciousness, wanting to cover herself with her hands.

She found herself wondering how, in this blaze of sunlight, she could feel so cold.

His hand moved, gesturing her courteously towards the
rug. She walked over and sat down, trying not to curl too obviously into a ball.

The red and white horse was lying beside her, wheels in the air. She picked it up and placed it carefully at a distance.
Oh, Tom…

She saw Remy reach into the back pocket of his jeans and extract his wallet. For one dreadful moment she thought he was going to offer her money, and braced herself for the shame of it. Then she saw the tiny packet in his hand and realised.

He must have heard her slight indrawn breath, because he looked at her, his mouth twisting. ‘This time you have no husband to act as fall-guy,’ he told her unsmilingly. ‘So we must put safety before passion, hmm?’

Passion? Her dazed brain repeated the word. Is that what this is?

He walked across and knelt beside her. His hand brushed her body, passing lightly from her shoulder, over the tip of one pointed breast and down to her belly. He parted her slender thighs, his fingers questing almost insolently to ascertain her readiness.

He said, with a faint inflection of surprise, ‘So, in spite of everything, you want me.
Alors
…’

He did not attempt to undress, merely unzipping his jeans. Then she was under him, aware that he was adjusting the condom before he entered her without preliminaries—just one swift, deep thrust.

She realised he was not even looking at her as he drove into her, his body moving in its usual easy, fluid rhythm. And she closed her eyes so that she would not have to see him—endure the hurt of him not looking at her.

Not looking, not smiling, not murmuring. Not loving…

Nor did he prolong the encounter, his body swiftly almost clinically attaining its climax.

‘Merci.’
His voice was cool as he lifted himself away from her. ‘Your body is still an exquisite adventure, Alys. One would never think you had given birth to a child.’