The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2)

by Suzette de Borja

  She had seen his wild expression when she had told him she was pregnant. A text to his brother confirmed that Gray hadn’t said anything about her condition to Julian prior to that night. Imogen had no reason to believe Gray would lie about it. It was to his favor if Julian never learned about her pregnancy, at all. The only mystery was why Gray had even told Julian where she was.

  Had Julian actually thought she would buy into all his violent protestations about not being able to give her what she needed? She almost did, last night. His words made sure there wouldn’t be any doubt about him not being able to love her back. But Imogen replayed their conversation in her mind, and in the quiet of the night, she chose to listen with her heart.

  She heard the layers of fear and denial through all that blustering. If he cared less, he wouldn’t be so voluble about not giving her what she needed. He was protesting too much.

  Imogen exhaled heavily. She had to think that, or else she’d sink into despair. She wouldn’t give them up without a fight. Their baby deserved more from his parents.

  A frantic knocking on her door gave her a start. It was ten in the morning. She had tossed and turned last night, her back aching from all the lying down she had been doing, and had overslept as consequence.

  It was Mrs. Nero, wringing her hands and looking frazzled.

  “What is it, Mrs. Nero?”

  “Mr. Graham is here and Sir Julian is not pleased.”

  Gray’s here? Imogen had a bad feeling about it.

  She threw the covers off the bed, stooping to find her slippers. The sudden movement made her cramp low on her belly.

  “The bambino?” Mrs. Nero glanced worriedly to where she had laid her hand on top of her belly.

  “He or she is fine.” The cramping was fleeting. She sighed in relief and followed Mrs. Nero out of her room. The housekeeper stopped outside the closed door of Julian’s study, her eyes growing wide in alarm at the raised voices inside.

  Imogen flung the door open and stepped inside.

  Julian not pleased was an understatement. He was livid.

  “How long have you known where she was hiding?” His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a tangled mess. He was facing Gray down in the middle of the room. The younger, nattily dressed man was a contrast to Julian’s disheveled, unshaved appearance. He was shirtless. Of course.

  Imogen spied a toppled, empty liquor bottle on the floor.

  Gray was smirking and it didn’t bode well at all. “I didn’t know you were looking for her.”

  “You didn’t know?” Julian said quietly, too quietly, and then he roared. “How the hell could you not bloody know? It was all over the stinking press!”

  Imogen flinched at the thunder in his voice. With their ruckus, her presence hadn’t registered.

  “She called me. Said you had parted ways and needed help finding her friend where she could stay for awhile.” He shrugged.

  Julian looked murderous.

  Oh, dear.

  “But when I found out she was pregnant…” Gray trailed off, as if that explained everything.

  “And you had no intention of telling me this important little tidbit before you so cleverly let me know her whereabouts?” Julian’s voice had dropped again. He was slurring just a little, and Imogen wondered how long the calm would last before the storm hit again.

  “I didn’t want to interfere.” Gray shrugged again, but Imogen saw the devilish, calculating glint in his eyes. “Besides, I didn’t even know if the baby was yours.”

  With an inhuman cry, Julian launched himself at Gray, who, unprepared for the attack, wobbled precariously and then fell like a lamppost to the floor.

  “You fucking bastard!” Julian cried, straddling his brother. He was so drunk Gray managed to avoid the first blow.

  “Julian! Stop it!” Imogen shrieked.

  Julian lifted his head at the sound of her screaming, his maniacal eyes zeroing on her. Graham took the chance to try to shove his brother off him. Julian swung his attention back to his brother, managing to cling on to him like he was riding a rodeo horse. He lifted his arm to strike a blow.

  “No!” Imogen rushed to stop him. In her haste, she stepped on the whiskey bottle on the floor. She landed with a strong, jarring thump on her back. “AArggh!”

  Her cry of pain penetrated Julian’s fog of anger as he and Graham flew to her side, alarm etched on their faces.

  The cramps came several hours later.

  By the next day, she had lost the baby

  Chapter 28

  “Your allowance is not due yet,” Julian said tonelessly as Gray entered his office. He shut the lid of his laptop. He’d been staring blankly at the screen for hours.

  The whole building was deserted. It was past eight in the evening. Julian couldn’t bring himself to go home just yet. In fact, he couldn’t bring himself to go home for the last few days. Couldn’t bear to see her so silent, so devastated.

  “Do you think that’s the only reason why I come and see you?” Gray approached the floor-to-ceiling window and stared out, keeping his back to Julian.

  “Isn’t it?” he shot back.

  Julian heard the derisive tone in Gray’s voice. “I earn more than that paltry thing you call my allowance.”

  “Then you better say what the bloody hell you really came here for,” Julian snapped, “because I’m not in the mood for company.”

  Gray turned around and faced him, his eyes glittering in the darkened office. “You never were in the mood for my company.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” Julian bit out, rising from the chair in one angry movement. His despair needed an outlet and since he refused to drink, anger was his choice of poison. Anger was safer. Being angry was better than giving in to the black hole of depression that threatened to consume him. Being angry at Imogen for continuing to shut him out was better than begging on his knees trying to ask for her forgiveness, only to be turned away.

  His footsteps were heavy and purposeful as he walked over to Gray. His brother stood taller than him by an inch or two.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gray dismissed.

  “No. I think it does. Tell me,” he demanded.

  “I said it doesn’t matter,” Gray said tightly. “I don’t have to do every bloody thing you say, Julian.”

  Julian laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it. “When have you ever listened to what I’ve said?”

  Gray looked at him unflinchingly. “I stayed away from Imogen when you told me to.”

  His eyes strayed to the scar on Gray’s cheek. “You had to. I threatened to cut off your allowance,” he lashed out, hating his brother for bringing her name into the conversation.

  Gray shook his head. “It wasn’t the money. You think Mother would have let me starve if I’d chosen to defy you?”

  Olga was a lot of things, but she did love her son fiercely.

  “I stayed away because I couldn’t bear the thought of coming in second with her.” Gray turned to the window once more. Julian couldn’t see his face, but he heard the pain in his voice. “She tried to hide it, but I knew. I kept looking at her and every bloody time you were around, she only had eyes for you.”

  Julian didn’t want to hear this. Not now. “Gray, I don’t−”

  “I didn’t come here to sob on your shoulder.” He attempted to sound flippant but failed. “I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry about the baby.”

  Julian sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “It just wasn’t meant to be. I’m sorry, too, for losing control that day.”

  “I deserved it. I was being an arse.”

  Julian chuckled. It sounded rusty, but it was the genuine article. “That sounded like something I’ve said to Imogen before.”

  Gray snorted. “What did she say?”

  “She agreed. Then said I was twice an arse.”

  They laughed together, the unfamiliar sound bouncing off the walls. Julian realized he had never laughed with Gray before. He had been carted off to
boarding school before he had a chance to have gotten to know his brother. When he was in Trennery Court, he had been too busy pursuing his own thing, not bothering to spend time with his attention-seeking, spoiled brother. Perhaps if he’d managed to actually know him, he’d have been able to repair what Olga’s permissive parenting had wrought. Ah, regrets. How they always appeared in hindsight.

  “About Lolita Andalus,” Gray cleared his throat. “You don’t need to worry about it. We hadn’t seen each other in years. What I’m meaning to say is the baby’s not mine.”

  For once there was no defiance or belligerence in Gray’s eyes. “I believe you.” He sighed tiredly, wondering how to bridge the gap between him and his brother. “I may come across as dictatorial and overbearing at times,” Gray snorted again and Julian shot him a quelling look, “but I only wanted what’s best for you.”

  Silence reigned for a few seconds. The brothers looked anywhere but at each other.

  Gray swallowed. “Are we having a fucking moment?”

  “Hell no,” Julian denied, but his voice was gruff.

  “Well, I have to go. Stuff to do.” Gray thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels.

  It was an impulse decision. “There’s a very good steak restaurant downstairs. I was just heading down to grab some dinner. Care to join me?”

  Gray blinked twice as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Julian would force down every biteful of meat he didn’t feel like eating. “Fantastic.” He clapped Gray on the shoulder. It was awkward as hell, but Julian had to start somewhere.

  Chapter 29

  “I’ll take care of the loose ends from here,” Lukas said, shutting his laptop, surreptitiously eyeing him with the same wary and sympathetic look he had been receiving from the rest of the partners of the firm for the past month.

  No one had said a word about the baby. Rumors about Imogen’s pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage floated in the media but since Julian had neither denied nor confirmed it, no one had dared to bring it up.

  The conference table was littered with dirty coffee cups, half-filled bottles of water, and fair trade green tea in ceramic tea cups. The youthful bio-enterprenuers who had been in the meeting, brimming with ideas and life, were long gone.

  Julian felt old. Hell, he probably looked it, too. He was traveling every week, to the London office, to Silicon Valley, to Hong Kong. His body clock was out of sync. He could only sleep in snatches. A polo tournament in Deauville was coming up, but he was always too tired to practice. He ran instead but found that the adrenaline high afterwards made sleeping more difficult.

  Some of the meetings he could have delegated, but he knew with stark honesty it was so he couldn’t go home and see her.

  See her ignore him. See her flinch from his voice. See her growing sadder and sadder.

  It was to be his punishment. He bore it because it was the only way to deal with his guilt. But he couldn’t bear it any longer. For both their sakes. Sooner or later, something had to give.

  “Yes, thank you, Lukas,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral, but something must have filtered through, a tiny crack in his voice, a hitch in his breathing−a hint of pain.

  “Are you alright?” The question was studiedly casual. As if Lukas had to ask but really wouldn’t know what to do if he spilled his guts right there and then.

  “Smashing,” he answered, injecting just the proper amount of sarcasm, sangfroid, and humor that would show he still had it. Whatever it was. He sat up straighter from his seat at the head of the table. “Make sure you send the partners a copy of the proposed business plan.”

  “Will do.” The young man gathered his laptop and placed it inside his bag, something that looked like it was made of patches of commercial food-product foil wrappers. Lukas opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and just bid him goodbye. He made his way towards the door, glanced around, and then went back near the table. He reached for a gadget that looked like a TV remote control and pushed a button. The conference room windows immediately turned opaque, shielding the room from the cubicles and office workers outside. He then left without a word.

  Left in the sudden privacy of the room, Julian bowed his head into his hands and knew what he had to do to make it right.

  * * *

  “Get yourself dressed. We’re going out.”

  It was the first time in a month Julian had spoken to Imogen directly since the miscarriage. She had avoided him just as she was sure he had avoided her. He had just arrived from the office, still wearing his jacket, his tie loosened. He loomed by the doorway to her room.

  “I don’t feel like it,” she said flatly, holding her sketchbook protectively close to her middle.

  “I really don’t care what you think,” he bit out. “I’m sick of you moping around the house wandering like a ghost. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “What do you care?” She felt mean and petty and she wanted to stay in that dark, mean, and petty corner and never come out. In fact, she wanted to drag him into her dark, little corner. Make him feel how angry and devastated she felt.

  “You can blame me all you want, Imogen, but it’s not going to change anything.” His eyes were bleak. “We lost a baby. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to grieve.”

  The doctor had said there was nothing that could have been done to stop what had been inevitable. In her mind she knew this. But in her heart, it was a different matter.

  If only she hadn’t stressed herself out on that waitressing job.

  If only she had remained in bed and followed her doctor’s orders to the letter, then she wouldn’t have stepped on that bottle.

  If only he had taken her in his arms while she had sobbed her heart out those first few days after losing the baby. Or during those days when she walked like the living dead around the house, only her drawings managing to anchor her to reality.

  But he had left her to deal with it alone. Keeping his distance, holing himself up in his blasted study whenever he was back from his innumerable trips.

  Once she had overheard Mrs. Nero talking to him on the phone, reporting to him. “Yes, she has eaten. No, she hasn’t come out of her room.”

  He couldn’t even be bothered to talk to her himself?

  Oh, she thought on a silent cry of pain, if only you had loved me.

  “We can’t go on like this.” He stepped inside her room and stopped by the edge of her bed. “I can’t go on like this. Seeing you everyday−” he broke off raggedly.

  It wasn’t part of the deal. Having a wife who fell apart at the first sign of difficulty. It wasn’t part of the bargain. Julian hated messy, emotional drama. He was above it, and how she hated him for it.

  Julian took a deep breath, then he said briskly, “We’ll get a divorce as soon as it can be arranged.”

  A divorce? she thought numbly. Of course. Now that the baby was gone, there was no reason for them to remain married.

  “I’ll move out of the penthouse. You can stay here as long as you like.”

  Just continue to play numb. You can shatter later, when the anesthetic wears off. “I’ll leave tomorrow then.”

  “Tomorrow?” he glowered. “No fucking way. Not in your condition.”

  “My condition?” she bristled. Shit. The numbness was wearing off quickly. “I’m depressed, Julian, not disabled.”

  He looked like someone had punched him in the gut. He reached out to touch her but she roused herself jerkily off the bed to avoid him, scattering her loose sketches to the floor.

  “I’ll get over it,” she declared stoutly, more for her own benefit. And I’ll get over you, even if it kills me.

  He glanced at her helplessly for a few seconds, then his eyes swung to the floor and froze on a single sheet of paper. He stooped and snatched it up, studying the drawing.

  Imogen’s eyes shot to his face, which had gone deathly white. It was a sketch of a chubby-cheeked toddler on t
op of a Shetland pony. Standing next to them was Julian, his face in profile as he smiled down at the boy. He dropped the paper and strode out of her room wordlessly.

  She found him in the darkened living room, seated by the couch, staring at the goldfish tank.

  “You think our baby would have liked Clark?” He spoke without looking at her.

  And Imogen suspected why. She crossed the distance to where he was. She knelt in front of him and brushed the wetness from his cheeks. His tears thawed and cracked the ice around her heart. She placed her head on his lap. “It would have been love at first sight,” she whispered with certainty.

  He chuckled hoarsely, the sound a balm to her weary spirit. Imogen felt an answering smile tug at her lips. She felt him stroking her hair. It felt so good to be touched after so long. She lifted her head and her breath caught at the intensity in his green eyes, eyes that refused to look away. Julian was letting her peer through his soul, revealing the hurt he had been hiding all along.

  “I’m tired of fighting it, Genie. Let me hold you tonight. Please.” His voice was raw.

  As if he needed to ask. She had been his all along. She climbed on his lap, rested her head against his chest, and sighed like a mountaineer who had reached the summit. She lifted her face to his, like a sunflower seeking the sun. He claimed her mouth, searing her with the heat of his kiss.

  It wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin all over her, wanted his warmth to seek out all the dark and cold places in her and banish them.

  She frowned at all the buttons on his shirt she had to open, her nervousness making her all fingers. “Drat! Oh, why couldn’t you be shirtless now?” she joked, trying to make light of her nervousness, her need and desire for this man.

  He didn’t smile but just gazed at her gravely, his eyes roaming all over her face, as if seeing her for the first time. She worked on freeing his buttons, all the time aware of the growing bulge between her legs as she straddled him. And her answering wetness.