“Do you get to see her very often?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d like. Adrienne’s husband owns a vineyard in the Okanagan, down near Osoyoos, which is a fair drive from Vancouver as I’m sure you know. Anything else?”
“Yes,” she said, as if she were mentally ticking items off a list. “Why did your marriage end?”
He frowned and set down his glass. He’d always fancied himself pretty good at steering a conversation in the direction he wanted it to go, but he was beginning to think he’d met his match in her. “Why do you care?”
“Well, you already know plenty about me,” she said, all big, innocent eyes and artless demeanor, neither of which had him fooled for a minute. There was a lot more going on here than she was telling! “So it seems a fair exchange that you tell me something about you. Unless, of course, you have something to hide.”
“Not a darn thing, sweet pea,” he said, adopting the same guileless expression she was working so hard to maintain. “Adrienne was from a small town not far from where she’s living now. She came to Vancouver because she thought the big city would be more glamorous and exciting. We met, fell in love, made plans, got married, and had a baby, in that order. In other words, did all the right things for what appeared to be the right reasons.”
“So what went wrong?”
“Ultimately, our goals and expectations didn’t mesh. She found it too lonely staying home with a baby all day and started making noises about us moving closer to her parents. But I had a business to run here so I suggested she go home and spend a couple of days with her family every once in a while. Once in a while turned into every second week, though, and next she started hinting that, since I was out at work Monday through Friday, she might as well just come back here on the weekends. The feelings—love, if you like—changed, eventually died, our marriage went down the tubes, she met someone else better able to give her the kind of life she wanted, and married him.”
“Just like that?”
“No,” he said, beginning to get irritated. “Not just like that. Relationships aren’t built in a day and they don’t break down that fast, either. A lot of resentment and a whole whack of guilt enter the picture, especially when a child’s involved. So if you’re asking me if I have any regrets, the answer’s yes. I regret not having my daughter live with me. I resent the fact that she lives too far away for me to see her every day, to read to her at bedtime, to take her to the park. And it drives me nuts to know she’s calling some other man ‘Daddy.’ Does that answer all your questions?”
“Not quite.”
He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I could be home in the peace and quiet of my own apartment, doing nothing more strenuous than watching TV,” he informed the world at large. “Why did I think coming here instead was a good idea?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face the picture of remorse. “I wish there was some other way to do this.”
“Do what, for crying out loud? Where are all these questions leading?”
She hopped out of her chair as if she’d just found herself sharing space with a pit viper, and if she’d been edgy before, she was verging on nervous hysteria now. “I’ll tell you, I will! As soon as you tell me what you do for a living.”
“I’m gainfully self-employed.”
“Doing what?”
Exasperated, he plunked his glass down and strode to where she stood. “Cripes, Jenna!” he snapped. “Is this about how much money I make? Would you like to see my bank statements? Run a credit check on me? Or are you trying to touch me up for a loan?”
She shrank away from him. “No. And I don’t mean to pry,” she mumbled, eyes downcast.
“Gee, you could’ve fooled me! If there’s something I’ve done that’s bugging you, just spit it out and have done with, instead of beating around the bush like this.”
She lifted her gaze to his at that, and he was reminded of a deer caught in the headlights of a trucker’s rig speeding down the freeway. She looked trapped and she looked terrified. “I apologize,” she said, so contritely that he immediately felt as if he’d just kicked a helpless puppy out into the teeth of a winter storm. “It’s just that I don’t know how else to go about this.”
“Go about what? What the devil’s riding you so hard that you’re almost hyperventilating? Is Armstrong harassing you, is that it?”
“No,” she said in a small voice.
“Then what? Hell, Jenna, just say the words. It’s probably not nearly as bad as your imagination’s making it out to be.”
“Oh, it’s bad,” she said tremulously. “Because, you see, I’m…pregnant.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE word dropped like a pebble in a pond, the ramifications spreading in ever-expanding circles. As if she hadn’t already been through enough, without having this dumped on her…!
“Pregnant?” he echoed, in hushed sympathy, stroking his hands up and down her bare arms. For all that the temperature on the balcony must have been over seventy, she was cold as ice to the touch. “Jeez, small wonder you’re in such a state then! Just when you thought your life was your own again, this happens. And I suppose, given his previous track record, that Armstrong’s backing away from taking any responsibility?”
Mutely, she stared at him, the glazed, cornered-doe look in her eyes more pronounced than ever. She gulped, tried to speak, and couldn’t. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin and she started to shake uncontrollably.
A red fury rode through Edmund. Someone needed to teach Armstrong a lesson and he was just the man for the job! Catching both her hands in his, he said, “Is he trying to coerce you into having an abortion, Jenna? Because if he is, I’ll see to it that he—”
“No!” she burst out. “Mark doesn’t even…know I’m pregnant.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said.
“Because?” He gave her a little shake. “That’s no answer, Jenna. He’s got to know. Why haven’t you told him?”
She swallowed painfully. “Because,” she said again, “it isn’t his baby.”
Dumbfounded, he stared at her. “Not his? Then whose…?
She stared right back and didn’t say a word.
“Oh, no! Oh, no!” He backed away, palms raised in protest, as understanding sank home and the pieces fell into place. “You’re not trying to tell me it’s mine?”
She looked about ready to keel over. “I’m afraid so.”
“What makes you so sure?” he blustered, even as part of his mind was telling him, Why wouldn’t it be yours? You went after her like a randy rabbit and you didn’t use anything….
“Because you’re the only one who possibly could be the father.”
“Bull!” he said bluntly. “You told me yourself you and Armstrong were lovers. We met when you were supposed to be on your honeymoon. Presumably you were on the pill. And if you weren’t, that’s even more reason to think that he—”
“There was no need for contraception. Mark can’t have children,” she said, nailing him straight between the eyes with such utter sincerity that he knew he didn’t need medical proof to support her allegation. “He’s sterile. So that leaves you as the only other candidate.”
For a long moment, heavy silence hung in the air between them, muffling the sounds of the city below. He was aware of his heart thudding, of a bird flitting through the air, of the distant blast of a car horn. And of her, all terrified eyes and quivering mouth.
“Why didn’t you say something at the time then?” he finally exploded, fit to tear his hair out. “I could have taken care of things…seen to it this didn’t happen!”
“I wasn’t thinking straight,” she cried, shaken to retaliation by his anger. “If I had been, do you think I would have thrown myself at you the way I did?”
“Oh, hell!” Enraged as much with himself as with her, he slammed one fist against the other palm. “If this isn’t enough to drive a man to drink!”
“I’m very sorry,” she said, her vo
ice breaking. “I know this must be very upsetting for you.”
“Upsetting?” He spun back to her scornfully. “Try ‘shocked,’ Jenna! Try ‘outraged!’ Try ‘disbelieving!”’
“I’m telling you the truth, Edmund! I wouldn’t lie about a thing like this.”
“So how come it took you so long to get around to sharing the happy news? You must be what…ten, eleven weeks along?”
“For a start,” she said, “you disappeared. And even if you hadn’t, I’d planned not to involve you.”
“What changed your mind? Finding out I didn’t have a criminal record as long as your arm and could afford to support a child, is that it?”
“I changed my mind when I learned that telling you wouldn’t cause your marriage to break up.”
“Well, aren’t you the noble one!”
“I was trying to do what was best for everyone. I still am. When you showed up last week and told me you were divorced, I thought—”
“What? That it left the field clear for you to move in?”
“No! But it did seem to indicate you were interested in furthering our…relationship.”
He heard her sniff, and ventured a glance at her. Worry shadowed her eyes. Her lip quivered like a leaf in a gale. She looked as distraught as the night he’d met her. And look where things had gone from there!
“I need a refill!” he said, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know now why you’re sticking to Perrier, but if it’s all the same to you, I could use another scotch.”
“Help yourself. And if you’d like to be alone for a while, I can make myself scarce in the kitchen. The chicken’s probably ready to come out of the oven by now anyway, and I still haven’t tossed the salad.”
“You running out of the room isn’t going to change anything,” he informed her, splashing a good inch of liquor into his glass and downing half. “And quite frankly, I’ve lost my appetite for chicken. As far as I’m concerned, the whole evening’s gone down the tubes. Talk about a total screw-up!”
She bit her lip and fiddled around with her ring finger again. She’d pull the damned thing off one day, if she wasn’t careful! “I see,” she said stiffly. “Well, before you dash off, there’s something else I want to tell you.”
“You’re having triplets,” he said with gloomy sarcasm. “Go ahead, Jenna. Hit me with your best shot!”
“No, Edmund,” she returned, with such quiet dignity that he wished he’d shown himself capable of one-tenth as much class. “Just this—I finally decided to tell you about the pregnancy not because I expect anything from you that you don’t want to give, but because I thought you’d want to know. If my questions tonight seemed intrusive, it was because I was trying to determine how you might react to the news. If I’d had reason to believe you were the kind of man who’d prefer to…remain in ignorance, I’d not have breathed a word. But the way you feel about Molly and your unwillingness to relinquish your parental rights and obligations convinced me you’d want to know about this baby.”
“What you really mean is you were testing me to see if I’m fit to have my name on the birth certificate. Hell, Jenna, don’t go all diplomatic on me now!”
“All right, I won’t. That’s exactly what I was trying to find out,” she admitted, the guilt and remorse on her face pulverizing his insides. “I’d rather my child have no father at all than one who resents him.”
“And good old Delaney passed the test with flying colors!”
“If that’s the way you want to look at it, yes.”
“Peachy,” he said grimly. “So now that that’s settled, what do we do next?”
“What do you want to do?”
Raise hell and put a lid on it! Lambaste you for being so damned needy! Kick myself in the rear for being such a prize idiot!
He drew in a deep breath. “This isn’t a good time to ask leading questions like that, Jenna.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, tilting one shoulder in a faint shrug, “the best thing might be for you to leave.”
Damn right! In his present state, he was liable to say things better left unsaid and make a bad situation worse. He needed to clear his head, get a handle on things, and he couldn’t do either with her big gray eyes fixed on him and gleaming with unshed tears.
“Good idea. I’ll…” What? Change history? Fat chance!
He lifted his hand, hoping inspiration would fall out of the sky and he’d find the right words to say. But there weren’t any right words. Nothing about the situation was right. He’d screwed up. Badly. He blew out a breath and turned away. “I’ll…see you,” he finished lamely.
She changed into her old pink bathrobe, and huddled on the chaise on the balcony, and heard the night sink slowly into silence. Saw the windows in nearby buildings grow dark one by one until only patches of light from the street lamps were left. Gazed up at the distant stars and wished there was some way she could latch onto one and begin all over again in a faraway place where no one knew her.
The grandmother clock in the hall struck midnight. One. Two. Three.
Edmund’s half-drunk tumbler of scotch remained where he’d left it on the table, just before he’d stormed out. In the kitchen, the overcooked chicken lay cold and congealed in lemon sauce. The table, still set for two, with candles and a vase of yellow rosebuds, stood undisturbed in the dining room.
And her plan, which had seemed so foolproof in theory, had proved disastrous in fact, and been reduced to a shambles. What she’d intended as a tactful probe into his background had turned into a clumsy, insulting interrogation. The calm revelation that she was pregnant had emerged full of unspoken accusation.
Instead of his embracing the news that they’d made a baby together, he’d seen it as a disaster, an attempt to rope him into something he had absolutely no interest in being a part of. He hadn’t been able to wait to escape before she sprang another trap.
She stared up at a winking star and tried telling herself it was for the best. If he wasn’t prepared to be there for the long haul, better he wasn’t there at all. It would be too easy to become dependent on him; too easy to be crushed if he eventually bowed out.
But she was crushed anyway because his reaction had laid bare a truth she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge before. When she’d set up tonight’s invitation, she’d been hoping for a miracle. Hoping, after the initial shock wore off, that he’d be glad she was having his baby and insist on being part of its life. Instead, he’d done neither and she’d lost a friend.
The realization shredded her courage to coleslaw. If she’d found other people’s pity hard to take when Mark left her, how much worse it would surely be when she could no longer keep her pregnancy a secret. Poor, stupid Jenna! they’d whisper, with that mixture of compassion and malice another person’s misfortunes so often provoked. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire! What next, do you suppose?
Knowing she had Edmund’s support would have made all the difference. With him on her side, the rest of the world could have done its worst and she would have survived. But now…
Too beset to think straight, she leaned her head on her knees and pressed her fingers to her temples. It might have helped if she could cry, but tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford. The mess she was in was all of her own making, and weeping wasn’t going to clean it up.
Perhaps moving away was the answer. A fresh start in some place where no one knew her, where no memories lingered to remind her of the mistakes she’d made, might be best for her and the baby.
Tucking her feet under the hem of her robe, she curled up on her side. Tomorrow, she’d give the idea more thought. Tomorrow when she wasn’t so weary, things wouldn’t seem so hopeless.
She awoke hours later, thoroughly chilled, numb down one side, and with a cramp in her leg and a mosquito bite on her ankle. Long fingers of sunlight painted shadows on the lawns and turned the dew to spun silver. A phone rang in the next door apartment, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee waft
ed on the air. And someone was knocking repeatedly at her door.
Bleary-eyed, she hobbled down the hall, squinting at the clock as she passed by. Barely six in the morning and she had a visitor already? Either the building was on fire or else…
Or else it could be Edmund! Given the nature of the unfinished business between them, who else was it likely to be at such an hour?
Her heart was in her throat as she inched open the door.
Unsmiling, with a five o’clock shadow blurring his jaw and eyes ringed with fatigue, he stood on the threshold, cardboard tray holding tall paper cups in one hand, paper bag containing heaven knew what in the other.
“Gad,” he said, pushing past her and nudging the door closed with his hip, “you look even worse than I do! What happened to your face?”
Perplexed, she shot a glance at herself in the gilt mirror hanging on the wall and wished she hadn’t bothered. Not only was her right cheek all creased from where she’d spent the night on the chaise, her hair was plastered to the side of her head and her mascara from yesterday had smeared itself halfway to her chin, prompting her spiteful alter ego to inquire spitefully, Who let you out of your cage, dearie?
“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, surreptitiously wiping a fingertip beneath each eye. “In fact, you woke me up. How did you get in the building, anyway?”
“Some early bird jogger let me in on his way out. And I’m glad one of us had a restful night!”
“I’d hardly call falling asleep just before dawn ‘a restful night’!” she snapped, in the face of his unalloyed bad temper. “So if you’ve come here to berate me some more, you can leave. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what a perfect dolt I am. I already gave myself that lecture a dozen times over.”
“Oh, for the love of God!” He rolled his eyes and made a visible effort to collect himself. “Look, I’m here because I was hoping we could talk without getting all exercised. I even brought breakfast as a peace offering, see?” He waved the paper cups under her nose. “Fresh coffee and Danish pastries.”
The Pregnant Bride Page 7