He left the meeting flanked by his guards on all sides. Though Amir had tried to chastise him for the little stunt he’d pulled the night of Gabrielle’s exhibition, Sebastian had been far from intimidated. Amir, in reply, had only tightened the security around him and now there seemed to be some sort of standing competition between them to see who came out on top.
When Sebastian pulled his phone from his pocket, he frowned at several missed calls from his mother. He was coming up on the date he was supposed to return to England and she was already trying to set him up with a number of dull young ladies who she planned to have him marry. Really, her obsession with matrimony and heirs was enough to give him a migraine of epic proportions. It was two thousand fifteen, not fourteen hundred fifteen. It really was unhealthy for her to be so preoccupied with duty and family lines.
However, Sebastian knew that for his mother, image was everything. She had long been in favor with the queen and didn’t want to lose that standing, meaning that she and the entire family had to be nothing less than proper members of the upper crust. Which, of course, meant his marrying some dry tea-biscuit of a woman, rearing a child to take the place that he was going to be muscled into.
He would have to appease her, and sooner than he’d like. While he might not be crazy about the station he’d been born into, his parents had raised him the best they could and he owed them respect and loyalty. And so, grudgingly, he agreed to tea with a Lady Matilde Branscombe, daughter of Duke Something or the other of Chevigny. Honestly, what did titles even matter in this day and age? They were more of a nuisance than any distinguishing feature.
So absorbed was Sebastian in his task that he stepped from the curb long before the light turned green – and just in time for the roaring honk of a delivery truck to capture his undivided attention.
**
Gabrielle stood in front of her most recent half-finished work. The vivid purples and lime greens stood out wonderfully, and as she stared at them, she contemplated her next move. She had a lot of space to fill; after all, she hadn’t expected for her exhibition to be near the success that it had been.
After Tristan had reprimanded her for sneaking out on her own event – something for which Gabby had felt not the smallest bit of guilt, still being wrapped in the glow of Sebastian’s sexual attentions – he had revealed to her that she had sold her paintings. Excited, the young woman had of course demanded to know exactly which paintings she’d sold.
When Tristan had told her, absolutely deadpan, that all of them were gone, she’d been shocked beyond all belief. All twenty pieces! It was impossible! She knew she’d generated a buzz at Estelle’s, but for all the paintings to be sold? That was well over ten thousand dollar profit.
She hadn’t been able to believe it until Phillip had presented her with the check. Even now, weeks later, she was over the moon about actually having some padding in her account. For once, she was able to eat more than instant noodles and honey buns. She only had to wonder if she’d ever be able to book another exhibition with the same success.
Tristan hadn’t been able to tell her much about who’d bought her paintings; all he knew himself was that all twenty pieces had been bought by a solitary anonymous and very wealthy soul. As Gabby reviewed the faces she’d encountered at the event, she tried to guess who it might be.
This was a bit difficult, as it was very hard to remember much else besides the time she had spent with the engaging Sebastian. The mere memory of the suave, sophisticated, gorgeous man was enough to break her out in goose bumps. And the things he’d done to her body? Positively sinful. Gabby wagered she was ruined for every man in her foreseeable future.
“How’s work coming?” She looked over her shoulder to see Tristan entering with his customary tray. However, instead of inciting her hunger, the smell of the soup and sandwich he’d brought immediately turned her stomach. As it lurched, Gabby swallowed thickly. It had seemed as of late that her sense of smell and taste were inexplicably heightened. Things that hadn’t bothered her in the least before now sent her out of the room. She’d become very picky about textures – and the decadent deserts that used to tempt now made her queasy.
It was an incredibly odd phenomenon, even effecting her at work. Right after she had eaten was out of the question, as most of the time she wasn’t sure whether or not the meal she’d consumed would stay down.
“It’s…it’s fine.” She eyed the tray wearily as Tristan set it on a table nearby. For a moment, the room before her wobbled precariously and a low sound of dismay escaped her. Christ, what was the matter with her? She’d never been prone to sickness. She might have come down with a common cold three or four times over the course of her entire life. If this was some kind of stomach virus, it was damned inconvenient. She couldn’t work when she pleased and she was damned tired of her stomach being in perpetual disarray.
“Are you alright? You don’t look well, darling.”
As Tristan stepped toward her, a sudden weakness seeped through her and she swayed on the spot, clutching the table beside her for purchase. That only worsened the sensation, however, as the savory smell of the soup struck her head on and her stomach turned. Raising her hand to her mouth, Gabby rushed unsteadily down the stairs and into the toilet in the landing, where she proceeded to promptly empty the contents of her belly.
Within moments, Tristan appeared in the doorway to watch her, his expression one of grave concern. “How long has this been going on, Gabby?”
She couldn’t very well answer him while she was heaving up her breakfast, and so Gabby waited for a lull in the deluge before she spoke weakly. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be ok in a few minutes.”
“You haven’t been eating lately. I would have thought you’d be going to dinner with Phillip and me every night after the success of your show but you’ve lost weight. And don’t deny it, because I know you.”
At this point she was hardly in any shape to argue with him. Shakily, Gabby wiped her mouth before rising to her feet. She took a moment to wash her mouth out with water from the tap. “It’s just a virus.” Her voice was raw from the effect of harsh stomach acid on her throat. “It’ll pass in a few days.”
“By which point you’ll be just skin and bones. No way, darling. We’re going to the doctor and we’re going today. Phillip knows someone on the upper West Side who should be able to see us.” Gabby merely groaned as her stomach lurched once more, dropping to her knees to renew her subservience to the porcelain god. Grimacing, Tristan stepped into the bathroom to lift the young woman’s hair from the nape of her neck as he kneeled beside her, rubbing her back comfortingly.
Gabby thought that dying might be preferable to getting poked and prodded by a doctor. She hated doctors. But if she was this sick, she couldn’t work; and if she couldn’t work, she’d be miserable.
Two hours later, she was seated, half-naked and freezing, on the examination table of a very expensive physician on eighty fifth street. She’d been poked with more needles than she could count, bled, inspected and had every bodily fluid known to man taken from her. She was still nauseous, and atop that she was now irritated at the enormous and unnecessary copay she’d handed over. This woman was just going to tell her what she already knew: She had some shitty virus that she needed to take medicine for.
At this point, she was willing to do whatever they wanted if she could only get back to work.
“Ms. Arnold?” She looked up to see a graying, cheerful woman enter the room and immediately detested her. How dare she smile when she felt like her stomach was trying to claw its way out through her throat. “How are we doing?”
“Pretty shitty.” She answered truthfully. “It’d be nice to keep a meal down.”
“I’m sorry for any discomfort you may be feeling.” Damn, this woman was entirely too chipper. Not even Gabby’s intentionally brusque attitude could affect her. “But I’m pleased to tell you we’ve found the cause of your issue.”
“I know, I know.” Gabb
y groused. “I need pills. Done and done. Just give them to me.”
“Actually,” Doctor Miller’s eyes gleamed in an enthusiasm that seemed almost inhuman, “You’re right. You’ll be needing quite a few pills. Prenatal vitamins, that is.”
Gabby arched a brow. She wasn’t exactly the best versed in medical jargon. “Come again?”
“Prenatal vitamins.” The Doctor spoke more slowly this time, effectively returning her to the fifth grade. “I’m happy to tell you, Gabrielle, that you’re about a week and a half pregnant!”
For a moment, Gabby just stared, absolutely sure that she must have misheard the woman. However, when her inane smile didn‘t fade and the information actually began to sink in, the young woman’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“What did you say?”
The Doctor held up a small strip familiar to every woman in existence, marked with two obvious purple lines in its miniscule window. “You’re going to have a baby.”
If Gabby had felt on the edge of fainting all morning, now she knew she was going to. Her frantic voice carried through the Doctor’s office on the edge of a shriek.
“Tristan!”
**
Careless. He’d been utterly careless.
Cursing his own stupidity, Sebastian let Amir usher him into the Doctor’s office. It was only through his head of security’s quick reflexes that he’d suffered only a sprained wrist and a demolished phone instead of losing his head. He supposed the least he could do was let the man accompany him to a doctor.
He was still having trouble coming to terms with how he’d been so idiotic. One moment he’d been tactfully sending a message to his mother, and the next…
Thankfully, his appointment went on rather quickly. One of the perks of dropping his name was that he was in and out extremely quickly. His injured wrist was deemed too common, even, for a bandage, and he was told to remain in the waiting room while he was written a prescription for pain medication.
“Bet you’re glad you didn’t slip away today.” Amir’s smirk was enough to make Sebastian roll his eyes as he cast the man a long-suffering look.
“I don’t know how many times you want me to say it: Thank you. I was a complete oaf.”
“That you were. It never gets old, your grace.” The title was uttered teasingly, to say the least.
“Oh, shut your trap, Amir. My wrist may be sprained but I could still bloody your lip if I pleased.”
“As you say, your Grace.” In order to keep himself from bloodying Amir's lip, Sebastian gazed around the Doctor’s office, taking in its stark décor. The sooner they were out of here, the better. He had a new phone to procure, and had still yet to answer his mother’s deluge of insipid messages.
When the door leading to the examination rooms opened, he glanced up reflexively, only to freeze in place. He was greeted with a face he knew he’d never forget, despite the fact that she looked completely different.
It was Gabrielle. She was clad in a pair of paint-streaked jeans and Converse, along with a jumper, her hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Though she looked nothing like the primped and poised woman he’d met at her exhibition, she was still a vision, even disheveled and pale as she was – and she was quite pale.
A man he recognized as Tristan – her keeper, he recalled with a wry smirk – had a firm hold of her arm and led her to a nearby chair, where she sank down with a low sigh. “It’s going to be alright, darling, you’ll see. We’ll figure this out.”
What was going to be alright? Inexplicably, Sebastian was seized with sudden worry. He knew Gabrielle was no longer any of his concern, but for her to look so distraught after seeing a doctor, was she sick? Terminally ill? The idea of such a prominent artist and vivacious woman snuffed out in her prime was…displeasing, to say the least.
And so against his better judgment, Sebastian rose to cross the room and address her.
“Gabrielle?”
Her face rose, luminous gray eyes wide as she took him in with an expression of utter shock. “Sebastian? What are you doing here?”
“Sebastian?” At her side, Tristan gave him a quick once over before his eyes widened. It was evident in his expression that while Gabby had no idea who Sebastian really was, he certainly did. “Oh, fuck.”
“Is everything alright?” The dark-haired man managed, looking curiously from one anxious face to the other. At that moment, a nurse emerged from the back of the clinic with a large bag filled with numerous bottles and a thick sheaf of information. Beaming down at Gabrielle, she handed her the massive package.
“Here you are, dear. Make sure you read through all of that information. There’s a book in there with a schedule of all your future appointments there as well, along with an explanation of all your prenatal vitamins. Congratulations!”
As she waltzed back across the clinic, Sebastian was momentarily struck dumb. Prenatal vitamins?
Bloody hell, he’d been such an idiot.
He forced himself to meet Gabrielle’s gaze, feeling an utter fool. Of course he hadn’t been the only one she’d slept with, He’d merely been too enraptured with her upon their meeting to see past that exact moment. He knew better than to judge her. He didn’t know her nearly enough to assume anything about her situation.
“You’re pregnant.” He managed weakly. “Congratulations.”
“Oh, fuck.” This time, Tristan fairly groaned the words, drawing the irate attentions of a few other patients. Without another syllable, he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth.
For a moment, Sebastian didn’t know what more to say. “Well,” he began awkwardly. “It was nice seeing you again, Gabrielle.” He turned, preparing to rejoin Amir across the office, when a low, hushed admission reached him.
“It’s yours.”
Sebastian whirled so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, staring down at her incredulously. “Pardon me?”
“It’s yours.” Despite the words Gabrielle spoke, her expression was neither ecstatic nor conniving. Quite the opposite, actually. She looked as though she’d just been served a death sentence. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“It was only three weeks ago.” The words left him in a hoarse tone. “Impossible. How could you know?”
"Well, apparently,” Gabrielle began, her words on the edge of desolation, “I am super sensitive to the hormone change in my body, so I’m having particularly bad symptoms. That tipped them off.”
Sebastian was still shaking his head, in a state of shock. “We were protected. You swore to me.”
“I know, I know!” Gabrielle threw her hands up hopelessly as her voice rose in dismay. “I was on the pill but it didn’t work – for some ungodly reason!”
“Bloody hell.” The words left him in a rush. “Bloody fucking hell.” He rarely ever cursed, but he thought this situation certainly called for it. “How do you even know it’s mine?”
Gabrielle’s expression turned from dismay to outrage in the space of two seconds.
“Excuse me?” She was loud enough for the entire office to hear now. “I know it’s yours because you’re the only man I’ve let near me in the past year!”
He held his hands up, his own ire beginning to rise. “Alright, let’s calm down here.” This was a bit much to take in. He supposed he could demand a paternity test if he needed to, but somehow, he didn’t think Gabrielle was lying. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that she didn’t often indulge in one night flings.
“Calm down? You basically just implied that I’m a whore!”
“Is everything alright here, sir?” Of course, Amir chose that moment to make his presence known. Gabby took one look at him, complete with his dark glasses and immaculate black suit, and screeched.
“Who the hell is this? Double O Seven?”
Sebastian groaned inwardly. This was very quickly getting out of hand. “This is Amir. He’s the head of my security. Amir, this is Gabby.�
�� Amir gave the enraged woman a quick once over, before nodding his head respectfully, ever unruffled.
“Charmed, madam.”
“Head of security? Why do you need a head of security? Who are you, the Sheik of Malakesh?”
Too late, he realized the slip that would give him away, and he knew he couldn’t count on Amir to keep his mouth shut. True to form, the dark-skinned man did no such thing. “He’s no Sheik. He’s Sebastian Hunter III, Earl of Raithwithe and Marquee of Evansford.”
For a moment, absolute silence reigned in the office. Nearly everyone present, including the receptionist and pharmacist, was watching the episode with rapt attention. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to punch the nearest wall – or perhaps even Amir’s smug face. Tristan, having already known this information, still had his face buried in his hands Gabrielle merely gaped at him, her expression disbelieving.
It was a moment before she found the power of speech. “He’s joking. Tell me he’s joking, Sebastian.”
The cad in him wanted to lie, but he knew that at this point, that would be tantamount to suicide. “He’s not.”
Gabrielle looked from him to Amir, and then back again. If she’d been pale before, now she was absolutely white. Quite frankly, Sebastian expected her to start spouting demands for the child while simultaneously flying off the handle completely. Instead, the young woman merely shook her head slowly. “No. No.” The gray eyes that met Sebastian’s were rife with fear disbelief. “Hell no.” With that, she grabbed the full bag the nurse had brought for her and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Almost immediately, Tristan rose with far too much poise for a man his size. He fixed Sebastian with a steady amber gaze before uttering four words. “Now, you’ve done it.” He was off after Gabby like a shot, and despite the fact that he still hadn’t received his prescription, Sebastian soon followed as well, his mind awhirl.
The British Billionaire's Baby Page 5