A Vow to Secure His Legacy

by Annie West

  ‘No rush. So long as I get it by this evening.’

  Imogen frowned. An hour ago the report had been urgent. But her thoughts frayed when Thierry put a hand under her elbow as she stood.

  Once she’d loved those little courtesies. Now they were exquisite torture.

  ‘You want me for something?’ Her voice was only a little husky.

  ‘I do.’ To her surprise, he escorted her out to the car park where the sun shone warm on her face. ‘I suppose I’ll need to get another car,’ he murmured as they approached his.

  ‘You will?’ The words flummoxed her. He adored his low-slung sports car.

  ‘There’s no room for a baby seat in this.’

  The idea of Thierry replacing his streamlined beast with a family sedan stunned her. He really was serious about being an involved father.

  If she stayed.

  ‘Why are we here?’ She stood back when he opened the passenger door. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘You’ve done your share today.’

  Imogen shook her head. ‘It’s early—’

  ‘You married the boss, so there are perks. Besides...’ his expression turned serious ‘...you need to look after yourself. You’re still getting morning sickness.’

  ‘Only a little.’ She found it better if she kept herself busy. Between the accountancy work, intensive French lessons and the hours she spent with Jeanne learning the secrets of French baking, every waking hour was filled. Soon she’d have to decide whether to leave, but having time on her hands hadn’t helped her reach a decision. All it had done was depress her.

  ‘Well, today we have somewhere else to be.’ He held open the door. Imogen wavered, for suddenly it hit her—she’d deliberately arranged her days to spend as little time as possible with her husband.

  Because she was afraid he’d convince her to stay?

  ‘Please, Imogen. It’s important.’ His mouth flattened. Curiously, she read strain in his proud features and restlessness in the way his hand slid along the open door.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Anxiety leapt into her chest. She’d learned no one was immune to bad news and she’d never seen Thierry look this way, as if suppressing agitation.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Can’t you just trust me?’

  Imogen looked into the face of the man she loved and knew that was the one thing she’d always done. He’d never deliberately hurt her. He’d gone to remarkable lengths to protect her.

  She laid her hand on his where it shifted along the door. Instantly, he stilled, and she felt the familiar thrill of connection. ‘Of course I trust you.’ Whatever Thierry wanted, she’d help him if she could. She owed him that.

  Yet she was careful not to meet that gleaming gaze as she slid into the passenger seat.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t believe it. This is amazing!’ The wind caught her words as hair streamed across her face. Imogen laughed, lifting her free hand to pull her hair back.

  The air rushed around her, skimming her body just as the small sailing boat skimmed the lake’s sparkling waters. The sensation of speed, the huff and ripple of the wind against canvas and the joyous sense of adventure were like champagne in her blood. Her skin tingled, and her heart felt lighter than it had in months.

  Thierry beamed, his face creasing into grooves that accentuated his devastating appeal. He looked totally at ease, his long frame swaying, adjusting easily each time the small boat shifted. Yet she’d seen how quickly he could move, coming to her aid whenever an unexpected change in conditions threatened her fragile confidence. She was a complete novice.

  But he’d made sailing so easy.

  Her hand clenched on the tiller. That was what he’d always done, wasn’t it? Make things easy for her. Their affair. Their baby. Even dying. No matter what she’d faced, he’d been at her side.

  Her heart lurched against her ribs. She loved him so much. How was she supposed to walk away? Was she mad, even considering it?

  ‘I knew you’d take to it.’ He linked his arms behind his head, stretching those long legs towards her till they almost touched.

  ‘You couldn’t possibly know that.’

  ‘Of course I did. Face it, Imogen, we’re the same. Both with a taste for adventure.’

  Automatically, she shook her head. She wasn’t like Thierry. Those extreme sports he enjoyed made her hair curl. ‘You’ve got me wrong, Thierry. I’m ordinary and cautious. I’m an accountant, remember? Until recently I’d never done anything exciting. Only the threat of dying got me out of Australia.’

  ‘But it did, didn’t it? You didn’t stay, waiting for the end, but went out and found your true self.’ He sounded satisfied, almost smug, as if today’s surprise sailing treat was a major win in some way she couldn’t fathom.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ How could he have got her so wrong? ‘My true self belongs at home or in an office. This is just...’ She shrugged. ‘My sister was the courageous one, not me.’

  The wind shifted and the little boat shivered as Imogen struggled to guide it. Instantly, Thierry was beside her, his shoulder against hers, his hand over hers on the tiller. Seconds later they were gliding easily over the water again. He lifted his hand but didn’t move away.

  A sense of wellbeing filled her, and for once Imogen didn’t fight it, just accepted this glorious moment, with the rush of wind, the thrill of sailing and Thierry beside her.

  ‘You don’t think it took courage to look after your dying mother? Even though it cost you your lover? You don’t think you were courageous when you faced what you thought was your own death? Or when you planned to face pregnancy alone?’

  ‘I didn’t have any choice. That wasn’t courage. That was necessity.’

  Thierry lifted her free hand to his lips and her heart sang. ‘You’re wrong, Imogen. You’re exciting and marvellous and brave. We’re well matched—because we both have a taste for life.’

  She opened her mouth to disagree but his finger on her lips stopped her. ‘We are, Imogen. Don’t you feel it whenever we’re together?’

  The trouble was she did. But she told herself it was because she’d fallen for him, hook, line and sinker. Whereas he— Well, Thierry wouldn’t fall for someone like her.

  ‘You’re talking to a woman who has just spent days learning how to make the perfect choux pastry. I’m no daredevil.’

  Thierry shook his head. ‘You think it’s so black and white? That we aren’t all complex? I might love motor rallies and alpine climbing but I never spent all my time doing that. Do you know how many hours I spent beneath the engine of my rally car, getting it tuned to perfection? Or planning the optimal route for a trek?’ He slipped his arm around her, his embrace warming her in places she couldn’t name.

  ‘You don’t understand. I’m not the woman you think I am. That woman in Paris wasn’t the real Imogen.’

  ‘Wasn’t she?’ His voice was a deep burr that did wicked things to her heart and her self-control. ‘You’ve spent so long putting yourself in a pigeonhole you can’t see that you’re more complex than you ever imagined.’ He paused. ‘I think that’s why you’re afraid to take a chance on me.’

  Before she could say anything he rose and took up a position just far enough away that she couldn’t touch him. But his eyes held hers, bright and challenging.

  ‘We have so much going for us, Imogen. Why won’t you give us a chance? Us and our child?’

  Because I’m scared. I’m terrified to love you when you don’t love me back.

  ‘Trust your instincts, Imogen. Think of the good times we could have together.’ His was the voice of temptation, coursing through her like liquid chocolate.

  Of course she wanted to stay. That was the trouble. It was too easy to imagine being with him, spending time together, not just at the château or in his arms, but
living, sharing adventures like this.

  ‘All you have to do is let go of your fear and trust in us.’

  Let go of her fear! After living with fear so long that was easier said than done. Yet the temptation to trust in him was almost overwhelming. Only a lifetime’s caution held her back.

  But what was she holding back from? Fear of not being loved? If she walked away from Thierry she’d sever whatever bond they already had. Plus she’d destroy any chance that he’d ever love her.

  Did she ask too much, expecting him to love after such a short time, just because she loved him? Imogen frowned. Looked at that way, she seemed impatient and greedy.

  Imogen stared at his sprawled body, apparently relaxed, yet with eyes so watchful. He’d deliberately distanced himself when it would be easy to persuade her with his arm around her. Her mind always went to mush when he touched her.

  He was being noble, damn him, and to her chagrin that only made it harder to deny him. But he wouldn’t be the man she adored if he wasn’t decent and caring. Look at today—giving her this first exhilarating taste of sailing.

  Her thoughts stuck and circled. Thierry had shared his love of the outdoors with her, his delight in speed and adventure.

  He wasn’t blocking her out of his life, or taking her for granted like the convenient bride she’d imagined herself.

  He was letting her in.

  Imogen stared hard at the man before her, the tautness of his shoulders and hands revealing he was anything but relaxed. He wasn’t cold-blooded. He might see marriage as a pragmatic solution to their situation but Thierry was passionate and caring. He didn’t love her but surely there was a chance he might one day?

  If she stayed.

  Her heart pounded like stampeding wild animals and she blinked, blinded by the sudden brightness of sunshine on glittering water.

  ‘Watch out!’ A moment later he was with her again, his firm body hot beside her, his strong hand guiding hers.

  The boat shifted, poised for a moment, then turned and caught the wind, flying across the water.

  But it wasn’t the speed that caught the breath in Imogen’s throat.

  She sank against him, her head against his chest, his tantalising scent stimulating her senses. She closed her eyes and felt the tension leave her.

  Really, she had only one choice.

  ‘You win, Thierry. I’ll stay.’

  It might be the biggest gamble of her life, the only gamble, but she’d play it to the end.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THIERRY’S HANDS CAME around her waist, pulling her back against him. In the mirror she read that familiar smile, and her stomach tumbled over itself as it had that first night in Paris.

  ‘You look good enough to eat.’ He pressed a kiss to her neck, and she shivered as desire spiked.

  ‘Seriously, this dress is right for tonight?’ It was her first formal event as Thierry’s hostess and nerves had struck. When he’d mentioned it a month ago she’d told herself wearing one of Izzy’s creations would be perfect. The full-length white satin with crimson flowers would give her confidence. It was the dress she’d worn the night she’d met Thierry and it felt like a lucky talisman.

  Should she have taken his offer to buy something new?

  ‘This dress is perfect.’ He spread his palm over her belly, now rounded just enough that she’d had to find a dressmaker to let out the dress a little.

  ‘Even if I’m making it strain at the seams?’ Surely she’d put on weight in the past week? Soon she’d need new bras too.

  Thierry’s hand slid up to her breasts straining against the satin. His light touch made her knees quiver. ‘The only problem will be the disgruntled women when all men watch you, ma chérie.’

  Imogen’s lips twitched. ‘Sweet talker.’

  ‘Siren.’ His hand stroked her budding nipple, and she gasped in exquisite arousal. Pregnancy made her even more sensitive to his touch. And he knew it. In the mirror his smile was pure erotic invitation as she sank back against him.

  It had been so easy to give in and agree to live as Thierry’s wife. He made her feel desired, appreciated, supported. Even if he didn’t love her, surely that was enough to begin a marriage? And their sex life just got better and better. She read familiar heat in his expression.

  ‘Thierry! We don’t have time. And I’ve got my make-up on.’

  Firmly, she stifled a wish that he felt more than sexual attraction. She needed patience. One day surely...?

  He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck that made her shiver, then stepped back. Instantly, she felt bereft. She was as needy as ever and now she’d opened her heart to him too.

  ‘I’ll be good. Besides, I have something for you.’

  ‘You do?’ She made to turn but he stopped her.

  ‘Stand there.’ She watched, dumbfounded, as he lowered a magnificent necklace over her head. The dressing-room light flashed on brilliant gems and old gold that glowed with the patina of age. Imogen was dazzled as the weight of the necklace settled on her.

  ‘I’ve heard of rubies the size of pigeons’ eggs...’ she said shakily.

  ‘You think it too old-fashioned?’

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she murmured. ‘I just hope it’s not as precious as it looks. Tell me it’s costume jewellery.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s real. You’re my wife, my hostess. You need to look the part. This has been in the family for generations. Besides, it matches your dress.’

  He was right. The crimson glow of the central stone matched the flowers on her dress and the ornate necklace paired well with the simplicity of the strapless bodice.

  Her fingers fluttered over it, her eyes wide. She looked different—not like the woman she knew.

  Disquiet shivered through her, but she forced it aside. Naturally Thierry wanted her to do him proud tonight. The session he’d organised for her with a beautician had been a thoughtful gift. Thierry’s grandmother had spent hours coaching her on the who’s who of French society that would be at tonight’s party. Plus, with her language tutor’s help, Imogen felt reasonably competent with introductions and very basic conversation.

  She smoothed her gloved hands down her dress, telling herself she’d be fine. It wasn’t that she was scared of crowds, just that they weren’t her thing. But with Thierry at her side she’d be fine. More than fine. She’d shine.

  Only Thierry didn’t stay at her side.

  For an hour he was with her, his arm around her waist, greeting their guests, turning these sophisticated strangers into people she could relax and laugh with. Most of them, if curious about her, were friendly.

  But after a while they got separated. Occasionally he’d turn his head to check on her, his eyebrows raised in question, and she’d nod, silently letting him know she was okay.

  She was a professional woman, used to meeting strangers. She didn’t need her hand held, even if some of the glitterati were rather daunting.

  There was one woman in particular—Sandrine. A tall, slender blonde who looked like she’d stepped from a glossy magazine. She was the most beautiful woman Imogen had ever seen, with a long sweep of platinum hair, perfect features and an assurance that allowed her to wear backless silver lamé and a fortune in diamonds with casual insouciance.

  But it wasn’t the other woman’s beauty that made Imogen stare, it was the realisation that this was the woman who’d broken Thierry’s heart. Sandrine made it clear they’d known each other since the cradle. Several times in their short conversation she’d subtly reinforced the fact that Imogen was an outsider in this milieu.

  When Thierry was beside Imogen that didn’t matter. But as the evening wore on it was harder not to make comparisons between herself and the glamorous blonde so at home in these superb surroundings.

  Imo
gen dragged her attention back to the couple talking with her about Australia, reminiscing about a trip to an exclusive resort she’d heard of but never visited.

  ‘I was disappointed,’ the husband said, ‘not to see those dangerous snakes we hear about.’ The twinkle in his eyes belied the complaint.

  Imogen smiled. ‘I can recommend some nature reserves for your next visit.’ She glanced down and noticed their glasses were empty. Looking around, she couldn’t see any of the waiters brought in for tonight’s party.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll send someone over with drinks.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. It’s no trouble.’

  Nice as it was to chat, it felt good to do something practical, attending to guests’ needs. It made her feel less of an imposter in this well-heeled crowd. To be fair, though, not all the invitees were rich. There were locals and friends of Thierry who shared an interest in extreme sports.

  Imogen was moving to the end of the room where the bar was set up when a woman’s voice slowed her steps.

  ‘Of course she’s pregnant, what other reason could there be? He’s married her to make the child legitimate. She’s not Thierry’s type. When has anyone ever seen him with a brunette? And as for the rest... Thierry deserves someone with panache, someone who fits in.’

  Pale blonde hair swung across the speaker’s elegant bare back.

  Sandrine. Thierry’s old friend. His first love.

  Imogen’s chest tightened and she faltered to a stop. Was that why Thierry was adamant he’d never want a love match? Because he’d given his heart to this woman and no one else would fill her place?

  It was one thing to know her husband had once been disappointed in love. It was quite another to discover the object of his affection was the most stunningly beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

  Did she seriously expect him to love her when his taste ran to svelte goddesses?

  ‘Oh, come on, Sandrine.’ An American accent this time. ‘You can’t know that. I say it was love at first sight. You just have to look at her to know she’s head over heels in love with him. I think it’s sweet.’