by Sandra Field
“You are. Of course.”
“Of course?” he said silkily. “I don’t know the first thing about you—you could be sleeping with a dozen other men.”
“I told you it had been a long time for me.”
“Remember the wedding, Devon? How dizzy you were when the scallops were put in front of you? Were you pregnant then?”
Appalled, she gaped at him. More than once, she’d tried to picture Jared’s response to her news. But she’d never come up with this: an outright denial that the child could be his. “Jared, I was jet-lagged and emotionally over-wrought that day. I was not pregnant!”
“Of course you’re going to say that. I’m a lot richer than any of the other men in your life, I’m sure.”
“Oh, stop it!” she cried. “There aren’t any other men, and do you think I want to be pregnant by you? That I’m trying to trap you into marriage? Believe me, you’re the last man on earth I’d ever want to marry.”
His leather boots rustling in the leaves, he closed the gap between them, his face a rictus of fury. Quailing inwardly, Devon fought for breath. “So what are you going to do?” he said with icy precision. “Have a convenient abortion?”
She grabbed the nearest branch, his features wavering in her vision, and spoke the literal truth. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“What’s my role—to rescue you from that dilemma?”
“The child is yours. Any DNA test will tell you so.”
His breath hissed between his teeth. “You said you were protected against pregnancy.”
“I thought I was.”
“How convenient. Do you know how much I’m worth, Devon?” He named a figure that made her blink. “Yeah…quite a bit, isn’t it? You think you’re the first woman to try and trap me into holy matrimony?”
In a sweep of pure rage, Devon blazed, “Keep your precious money! As I keep telling you, to the point of boredom, I don’t want it. You believed me, or so you said. Which shows how much your word is worth. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So just you listen to me, Jared Holt— I’ll go away for a year. And when I come back I’ll tell your father and my mother that the baby’s father is from Australia. Or the jungles of Borneo. You’d just better pray it doesn’t look like you, okay?”
Jared said, a peculiar look on his face, “It’s their grandchild. The one they wanted.”
“Go to the top of the class.”
“We’ll have to get married—there’s no other choice.”
“We are not getting married,” she said ferociously. “You’re supposed to be some kind of business genius; surely you can come up with a more original strategy than that?”
“For at least the last five generations, the Holt men have had black hair and dark blue eyes,” he snarled. “I won’t allow you to make a fool of me in public.”
“And what if it’s a girl? With blond hair? What do we do then? Have a quickie divorce?”
Lines scoring his cheeks, he said softly, “When we get married, there’ll be no divorce.”
She said in a surge of hope, “But that would be one way out of this, don’t you see? We’ll marry and get a divorce a year later—why didn’t I think of that before?”
“So you can marry again?” Jared lashed.
“I don’t want to marry anyone—for the first time or the second. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“No child of mine is going to be brought up by a step-parent.”
His eyes, she thought unwillingly, looked like those of a man in torment. “You had a stepmother, didn’t you?”
“If I did, that’s no—”
“What went wrong, Jared?”
His lips narrowed. “I’ll tell you what went wrong,” he rasped. “Beatrice hated my guts. She was so jealous of me that she sent me off at the age of six to a fancy boarding school where I got bullied by the big boys and I was so lonely and homesick I thought I’d die.” Jared raked his fingers through his black hair. “My father was too wrapped up in her to have a clue what was going on, and I was too proud and too stubborn to tell him. And why the devil am I telling you this? I never talk about that time. Not to anyone.”
“You just did. To me,” Devon said. It was the first clue she’d received to the demons that drove Jared. In her mind’s eye she could see a little black-haired boy backed against a wall, surrounded by the bigger boys, and despite her anger felt her heart ache for him.
“You make me break every goddamned rule in the book.”
“And you hate me for it,” she faltered, close to tears.
He took her by the elbows. “Tell me the truth—are you planning an abortion?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I couldn’t do that.” She saw his features relax infinitesimally. “I can’t put the baby out for adoption, either. I’m going to keep it, Jared. I’ll manage.”
“Yes, you will. Because you’ll be my wife.”
She was trembling very lightly. “We mustn’t do that. We hate each other; you know we do. And, if I’m to be honest, I don’t want a divorce any more than you do. My mother had three of them, I know what it’s like. I won’t put a child of mine through that.”
He said harshly, “So we’ll get married until—how does it go?—death do us part.”
“Jared, we can’t! Divorce is bad enough. But it’s far worse to live in the same household with a man and a woman who can’t stand each other. Like my mother and the Italian count. And then the English earl and the Texas oil baron. I loathed it! All the tensions and fights and infidelities. The unending court battles, all of them over money. You wonder why I go off like a firecracker every time you wave your money in front of me? It’s because I’ve seen what money can do to people.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “I won’t put my child through any of that; I refuse to.”
“It’s our child, Devon. Ours. Are you forgetting that?”
She said with genuine desperation, “Do you believe me, Jared? That it is your child, and that the pregnancy was truly a mistake? I didn’t plan this—I’d have to be mad!”
“Everything in my background tells me not to believe you.”
Not until he spoke did Devon realize how deeply she’d longed for him to trust her. Her shoulders sagged. “If we got married,” she said in a low voice, “we’d be tied to each other for life. It would be awful.”
The words forced themselves through his lips. “Do you really hate me that much?”
She’d been scuffing at the ground with the toe of her boot. What she felt for Jared wasn’t as simple as hatred. No, it was far more complex than that. Struggling to be as honest as she could, Devon said, “You betrayed something basic that night in New York. So now I can’t trust you—what you do or what you say. Trust’s basic, too, Jared.” She kicked at a rock. “I don’t know what I feel for you. I do know I can’t bear the thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage.”
“We’ve got no choice.”
His voice was as hard as granite, and his face, when she looked up, was equally unyielding. He was offering no explanations for the night in New York, no apology. And no choice other than marriage…hadn’t her lack of choice been the crux of the matter ever since the doctor had told her she was pregnant? Devon said in a rush, “Would you want me to have an abortion?”
“No!”
The word had burst from him. With the smallest of smiles, she said, “Well, that’s something… Jared, let’s go back to the house. We’ve got the rest of the weekend, maybe one of us will have a brainwave and figure a way out of all this.”
“You really don’t want to marry me, do you?”
There hadn’t been a trace of emotion in his voice. “I can’t take any more of this,” Devon said thinly, and reached for the reins.
“You’ll walk the horse back to the stables.”
“What did you say?”
“Devon, you’re pregnant—you think I’m going to let you take every ditch between here and the house at a dead gall
op? Or are you hoping you’ll fall off and that’ll solve all your problems?”
In pure rage Devon flared, “Let’s get something straight, Jared Holt. I’m not one of your employees and I don’t have to take orders from you. I’m an extremely good rider, I’m physically fit, and the last thing I’d do is put my child in any jeopardy.” Her face changed. With sudden urgency, she said, “Is Starlight loose?”
As Jared swung round, she leaped into the saddle, finding the stirrups with the ease of long practise, and took Rajah in a wide loop around him and around Starlight, who was, of course, still tied to the tree. Then, at an easy canter, she headed back across the fields.
Jared wasn’t long in catching up. She gave him a gamine grin over her shoulder and said cordially, “Oldest trick in the book—I didn’t think you’d fall for it.”
“And you knew I wouldn’t risk chasing you, not when you’re pregnant,” he said smoothly. “Well done, Devon. You’re quite a woman.”
“Aren’t I?” she said amiably. “Let me tell you something—I may be pregnant but I have no intentions of spending the next seven months reclining on a couch.”
“Doing embroidery.”
She gave a choke of laughter. “I don’t even know which end of a needle is which.”
He said evenly, “When’s the baby due, Devon?”
The smile died from her face. “April.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Of course not.”
He muttered, “I wish I— Oh, to hell with all this. I’m going to take Starlight to the lake. I’ll see you back at the house.”
He dug his heels into Starlight’s flanks. The stallion took off in a smooth surge of energy that was beautiful to watch. As Devon dissuaded Rajah from following, her eyes were glued to the man on the stallion’s back. He, too, was beautiful to watch, she thought reluctantly. Hate him? No matter what he’d done, she didn’t hate him.
But he’d soon grow to hate her, trapped in a marriage he didn’t want with a child he hadn’t planned for.
Married to Jared for the rest of her life? It was out of the question.
For the next twenty-four hours Devon was aware of Jared watching her. Watching her but making no attempt to talk to her about anything other than trivia. After a late brunch, the four of them went for a walk, gathering armloads of scarlet leaves to decorate the dining room, then Devon disappeared for a rest. Dinner was more formal; she wore a purple dress that swirled around her hips and ate her way through the menu. Jared didn’t even try to detain her before she went to bed, and when she went for an early-morning ride he was nowhere to be seen.
But when she came downstairs after lunch, carrying her overnight bag, he was waiting for her in the hall. He said harshly, “Are you in Toronto next weekend?”
“I go to Calgary Wednesday. But I’m back on Friday.”
“I’ll meet you for lunch on Saturday—I’ll be on my way to Hong Kong—and we’ll talk. Give me your phone number.”
Her hesitation must have been obvious to him. He said in a savage undertone, “You’re carrying my child, Devon, and you’re worrying about a phone number?”
My child…
She reeled off the numbers. Then, to her great relief, she heard Benson and Alicia coming to wish her goodbye. She hugged them both and kissed her mother. Jared gave her a formal nod; he’d disappeared by the time she drove away in her red Mazda.
My child… Did that mean Jared did believe her? But he hadn’t as much as touched her all weekend. In spite of all their conflict, she’d wanted him to kiss her goodbye, even if it was only on the cheek. Or at the very least to take her hand, acknowledging in some way that their fates were bound together. Sex, she thought despairingly, winding between the white fences, was the only thing that might hold them together. The one place where, just possibly, they could meet.
If that was taken away, what was left?
Jared phoned on Friday evening, a conversation so brief and businesslike that Devon felt she was talking to a stranger. Since she couldn’t imagine that anything she and Jared had to say would be suitable for a public place, she invited him to her condo for lunch. On Saturday morning she made carrot soup and bought crunchy rolls from the nearby bakery. Then she got dressed in tailored trousers with a crisp white shirt and an embroidered vest from Tibet, and pulled her hair back into a ruthlessly smooth braid. The waistband of the trousers was snug. Quelling pure panic, she set the table.
Promptly at noon the downstairs buzzer sounded and a few minutes later she opened the door to Jared. As he stepped across her threshold, she had the crazy sense that she was letting the enemy in. That her personal space, so important to her, was no longer inviolate.
Jared put his bags on the floor and handed her his coat. His suit was impeccably tailored. He looked exactly what he was: a powerful, sophisticated and ruthless man who, because of her carelessness, now had a hold over her. Still without saying a word, he handed her a florist’s box.
Inside was a single exquisite spray of orchids, the petals a delicate pink, the centres carmine, frilled and sensual. “Why are you giving me this?” Devon said baldly.
“You stepped on the last lot.”
The bouquet at the wedding. “So I did,” Devon gulped. “Is that the only reason?”
“I don’t know…I saw them in the window of the flower shop at the airport and they made me think of you.”
“They’re beautiful,” she muttered, then flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Jared said.
His dark eyes were fastened on her face; she ached to be held by him, to feel the comfort and strength and heat of his embrace. She said hastily, “I’ll put them in water. Make yourself at home.”
When she rejoined him, he was looking around with genuine interest. Her living room was high-ceilinged with tall windows; her few paintings and the sculptures she’d collected on her travels made clear statements against the ivory walls. An Indian silk carpet lay on the hardwood floor. He said appreciatively, “Space and light…it’s a lovely room, Devon.”
“Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Thanks.”
He was examining a small jade Buddha when she came back. “I don’t have long,” he said. “Maybe we could eat and talk?”
Had she been afraid that he’d sweep her off to bed and make glorious love to her? Not a chance, by the look of him. “Sure,” Devon said, and fled to the kitchen. She served the soup, heated the rolls and put out the pâté and crisp vegetables she’d bought at the market. Then she sat down across from Jared.
For a moment he looked down at the steaming bowl of soup, decorated with parsley sprinkled on a swirl of sour cream, then he looked across at Devon. Her living space intrigued him; it took confidence and a clear sense of self to live with space. Lise’s apartment was such a clutter of theater memorabilia that he felt stifled there.
He could have arrived here earlier this morning. But he knew himself well enough to realize that if he had, he’d have ended up in bed with Devon. The waters were muddied enough as it was. He couldn’t afford to go to bed with her, no matter how much his body craved to do so. He took a sip of the soup, not surprised to find it exotically spiced, and said, “During the last few days I’ve had you investigated.”
“You what?”
“They turned up a man called Peter Damien—you gave him the boot in May when you found out he was engaged—and a cardiologist called Steve Danford seven years ago. No one else.”
Devon had had time to recover. She said coldly, “The baby, in other words, is yours.”
“Right.” He buttered a roll with a deliberation that set her teeth on edge. “You were an excellent student and you’re highly thought of at your office. Both the kids’ drop-in center and the women’s shelter sang your praises.” His smile was mocking. “A blameless life, Devon.”
“How reassuring for you.”
He said sharply, “I’m being honest with you. I could hav
e kept the investigation a secret.”
“You could have trusted me!”
He could have. She was right. “I wasn’t ready to. We’ll get married at ‘The Oaks’ in two weeks. Our respective parents can be the witnesses and we’ll pray Aunt Bessie doesn’t get wind of it.”
Devon looked ready, he thought with wintry amusement, to dump her entire bowl of soup on his head. “Have you taken it upon yourself to tell my mother?” she flashed.
“I thought I’d leave that up to you. I’m out of the country for the next ten days.”
“And do I tell them I’m pregnant?”
He glanced at the curves of her breasts under her white shirt. “I would think so. It’s not something you’re going to be able to hide.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to buy me off! As you did my mother.”
“What’s the point, the way you feel about my money? Anyway, this isn’t nearly as simple a situation. You’re carrying my child, Devon. My son or my daughter.”
His voice sounded as though he was discussing commodity options; Devon’s cheeks reddened with fury. “If I could think of any other way out of this, I wouldn’t even be sitting here,” she flared. “But I can’t. I’m trapped.”
He might as well go for broke. “One more thing,” Jared said. “Your job. Now that you’re pregnant, I don’t want you exposing yourself to all the risks of the tropics. And once the baby’s born you won’t be able to be away so much. You’d better hand in your notice.”
Through gritted teeth, Devon said, “Oddly enough, I’d already thought of that. I can take a year’s leave of absence with an option to do translation and interpretation when I go back. And how dare you try and run my life?”
He said with furious emphasis, “Why do you have to argue all the time?”
“So you won’t swallow me alive,” she announced, and tore off a hunk of roll, jabbing it with the butter knife.
She had a crumb on her lower lip. Her infinitely kissable lip. Jared kept his hands on his side of the table and said, “We’ll take four or five days after the wedding and go down to the Bahamas.”