THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (2 page)

“My God, Gen.” He said it softly, almost reverently. “How? We were careful.”

“Not careful enough, evidently—and if you want a paternity test, I’ll be happy to—”

“No test is necessary. I believe you.”

I believe you.
The soft-spoken, calm words echoed in her head.

And she knew relief, just a hint of it, like a slight breeze in a close room. So, then. She had told him at last. And he hadn’t denied her, hadn’t turned away from her. He was still standing there right in front of her, still watching her patiently without a hint of rancor or accusation.

Letting her head drop against the soft back of the white chair, she closed her eyes and released a long sigh. “Well. There. It’s out at last.”

“Are you well?” His voice came from down at her level again.

She opened her eyes to find he had dropped to his knees in front of her once more. “Perfectly,” she told him.

“Have you been to your doctor?”

“Not yet. But I took four home tests. They were all positive. And the instructions on the box promised that the test was completely dependable.”

“You should see a doctor.”

“I know. I’ll do that soon—but I’m perfectly healthy.” She frowned. “Or maybe you somehow think I’m not pregnant after all.”

“I told you, I believe you. But I think a visit to the doctor is in order.”

“I... Yes. Of course. All right.”

“I’ll take care of everything.” His gaze never wavered.

Her stomach lurched. “What does that mean?”

“We’ll be married.” He said it without a pause, without the slightest hesitation.

And she wanted to cry again—partly from another, stronger wave of relief. And partly because, really, it was all wrong.

Once she’d dreamed of marrying his brother. It had to be beyond inappropriate simply to switch brothers. And since those four magnificent days two months ago, Rafe had made something of an art form of avoiding her. A man you marry shouldn’t spend weeks dodging you—and then at the mention of a baby drop right to his knees and propose.

“Rafe. Honestly. I don’t know if...”

“Of course you know. It’s the right thing.”

She should be stronger. Prouder. And seriously. Nobody married just because there was a baby coming, not anymore—well, except maybe for her brother Alex. And possibly her sister Rhia.

And come to think of it, both of those marriages were turning out just fine.

And she had such a
thing
for him now. Plus, their baby had a right to be the Hartmore heir, and to be the heir required legitimacy—or at least, it would all go much more smoothly, if the baby was legitimate. There would be absolutely no question then of who should inherit.

And then there was Hartmore itself. Her beloved Hartmore...

Mistress of Hartmore,
temptation whispered in her ear. She could have her dream come true after all, though she’d been so certain it was lost to her forever with Edward’s death.

Edward.

Just thinking his name made her heart heavy with guilt and confusion. She really had thought that she loved him, that she was only waiting for him to make a move toward her so they could begin to forge the life they were born to have together.

Now, feeling as she did about Rafe, she wasn’t so sure about Edward, about all those plans she’d had to be Edward’s bride. She wasn’t sure about
anything
anymore.

“Say yes,” the giant, seductive stranger who was once her dear friend commanded in a tone both tender and merciless.

She stared at him, trembling. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Say yes.”

The word was there, inside her, waiting. She simply pushed her guilt and confusion aside and let that word get free. “Yes.”

Chapter Two

B
efore Genny left the villa that night, they agreed to be married at Hartmore on the following Saturday. He said he would call his grandmother first thing in the morning; Eloise would make all the arrangements. He also got her to promise that they would face her mother and father, the sovereign princess and prince consort, right away.

“And we will face them together,” he added, dark eyes determined, that wonderful soft mouth of his set.

It really wasn’t necessary and she tried to tell him so. “Rafe, you know how my parents are. They’re not going to disown me or anything. They’ll be on our side and they’ll just want to be sure we’re making the right choice.”

“We
are
making the right choice.” He said it flatly.

“I’m only saying that you really don’t have to—”

He put up his big hand. “Yes, I do.”

As he seemed so inflexible on the subject, she agreed—after which he called a car and sent her home.

Home for Genny was the Prince’s Palace, perched high on Cap Royale, overlooking the Mediterranean, where she had her own apartment. She was up half the night worrying, second-guessing her decision to marry Rafe, feeling guilty and confused. Very late, she finally drifted off.

The phone rang at eight, jarring her from much-needed sleep. It was Rafe, calling to remind her to set up the talk with her parents. “And don’t tell them about the baby, or that we’ll be married, until I’m there with you.”

She grumbled at his bossiness. “I already said I wouldn’t.”

“Excellent.” He made the single word sound almost affectionate. And that made her feel a little better about everything.

“Did you call Eloise yet?”

“I’m doing that next.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should wait. We should tell her together.”

A pause on his end of the line, then, “Gen, the wedding will be Saturday. I’m sure your parents will want to be there. Someone has to make the arrangements.” He was right, of course. And his grandmother was a rock. She would take care of everything.

Genny answered with a sigh. “All right.”

He instructed, “Call me as soon as you’ve set up the meeting.”

“I will, yes.”

They hung up and she showered, ate a light breakfast and was waiting in the reception area of her mother’s office at the palace when her mother arrived at nine.

Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne, looking ageless and elegant as always in one of her classic Chanel suits, smiled at her fondly, agreed to the meeting with her and Rafe and then asked, “Darling, what is this meeting to be about?”

Genny knew that her mother would understand. She longed to just get it over with, to tell all. But she’d told Rafe that she would wait. He would soon be her husband. She wanted him to feel he could trust her to keep her agreements with him.

Rafe. Her husband...

Dear Lord. Was this really happening?

Her mother touched her arm. “Darling? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. And we’ll explain everything when Rafe is here, I promise.” She asked that her father be there, too.

And her mother asked again what exactly was going on.

Genny hugged her and whispered, “Two o’clock. We’ll tell you all of it then.” And she escaped before her mother could ask any more questions.

Back in her apartment, she called Rafe and told him when to be there. He arrived at one-thirty and came straight to her rooms as she’d asked him to do.

She gestured him in. “It’s good you’re here early. We’ll have a little time to plan.”

“There’s more to plan?” He sounded doubtful.

She stepped back to get a good look at him. “You look...terrific.” She felt oddly breathless suddenly. Because he did look wonderful in a fine lightweight jacket and trousers. Wonderful in a completely feral, un-English way, with his thick black curls, full lips, black velvet eyes and huge, hard body. A savage in a suit. The scar only added to the impression of otherness.

“And you are beautiful,” he said in that carefully controlled, formal way he had.

She wasn’t, not really. Her mother was beautiful. And her four sisters, too. Genny was the most ordinary looking of all of them. With wispy blond hair and brown eyes, she was pretty enough, but nothing spectacular. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her fitted white jacket, which she’d worn over a simple jewel-blue shirtwaist dress, an outfit she’d deemed demure and appropriate for this particular meeting. “Thank you—did you reach Eloise?”

“I did.”

“Did you tell her there will be a baby?”

“Yes.”

Genny gulped. “How did she take it?”

“She was pleased on all counts.”

“She wasn’t surprised...you know, that you and I were, um, lovers?”

He looked at her with infinite patience. “Nothing surprises my grandmother. You should know that.”

“I...” She started to say something vague and dishonest. But why lie about it? “Yes. I suppose I do.” Eloise had never made a secret of her desire to have Genny join the DeValery family and had openly encouraged a union between Genny and the lost Edward.

Not only did Genny adore the DeValerys and Hartmore, she had money. Pots of it—and giant old places like Hartmore needed serious infusions of cash on a regular basis. The lion’s share of Genny’s money came down to her from her godmother and namesake, Genevra DeVries. Aunt Genevra had never married. She’d had no children of her own and had always considered Genny the daughter of her heart.

Now that Edward was gone, the supremely practical Eloise would see nothing wrong with Genny marrying her other grandson, the new heir. Genny only wished that she could be half as indomitable as Eloise.

“Grandmother loves you,” Rafe said. “Never doubt that.”

“I don’t. Of course I don’t....”

He watched her steadily. She had that feeling she too often had with him. That he could see not only through her clothes to her naked body beneath, but even deeper, right into her heart and mind. And then he said, “Now. What are these ‘plans’ you need to discuss with me?”

She stared at him, chewing her lip, trying to decide how to begin.

He shook his head. “You had better just tell me.”

“Ahem.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, I’ve...I’ve been thinking that we shouldn’t actually come right out today and tell my parents that I’m pregnant.” He arched a thick black brow, but said nothing. She added airily, “I’m thinking we can do that later.”

“When is later?”

“Oh, well. You know, after we’ve settled in at Hartmore. One thing at a time, I was thinking...”

He gave her one of his deep and oh-so-patient looks. “You don’t think they’ll wonder why the rush to the altar? Why you’re suddenly marrying me, of all people?”

“What do you mean, ‘of all people?’” she demanded sourly, as though she didn’t know exactly what he meant.

Edward.
She was supposed to have married Edward.

Rafe regarded her solemnly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She could almost become annoyed with him. After all, he was the one who’d asked her to wait until he was with her to speak of the baby. If she’d just gone ahead and told her mother that morning, it would all be out in the open now. Her mother would have told her father and it wouldn’t really be necessary to say much more about it.

Now Rafe would be there for the big reveal. And her father, too. Dear Lord. She should have thought this through earlier. Because she realized now that she just wasn’t ready to sit in her mother’s office and look in her father’s face and tell him about the baby.

He was a wonderful man, her father. He was the best. She couldn’t bear to think he might be disappointed in her.

Rafe caught her arm and she realized she’d been swaying on her feet the tiniest bit. “Gen. Do you need to sit down?”

She blinked up at him, all too aware of his touch, of the heat of him so close, of his tempting scent. Of the velvet darkness of his eyes. Carefully, she eased her arm from his grip. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I just want you to let me do the talking, let me handle it with my parents.”

He studied her from under the heavy shelf of his brow. Evidently, he believed that she wasn’t going to faint, because he didn’t try to steady hear again, but only lifted one huge shoulder in a shrug. “You don’t want me to ask for your hand?” He was teasing.

Or was he?

She really couldn’t tell. “I... No, of course not. It’s already decided. We’re just sharing our plans.” For that, she got another unreadable look, one that had her waving a nervous hand. “More or less. Can we not overthink it, please?”

He captured her hand as it fluttered between them and pressed his lips to the back of it. A warm, delicious shiver danced up her arm. For such a giant rock of a man, he did have the softest, supplest mouth. “As you wish, love,” he said.

Love. He’d been calling her that forever—at least since she was thirteen or so. She’d always liked it when he called her that, and felt as cherished as a dear friend.

Now, though, it only reminded her that she
wasn’t
his love in the way that she ought to be as his bride.

She cleared her throat. “Ready?” He offered his arm. She took it. “All right, then. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

In her mother’s private office, there was tea served in the sitting area with its long velvet sofa and priceless old wing chairs.

At first, they endured the obligatory small talk—gentle condolences from her mother about the lost Edward, questions about Rafe’s injuries, inquiries about the health of Rafe’s family. He told them that his nephew, Geoffrey, whom Genny adored, had been sent up to boarding school in London “under protest.” Geoffrey’s mother, Rafe’s sister, Brooke, was getting along fine. His grandmother, he said, was in good health and as busy as always about the house and the gardens.

Too soon, it seemed to Genny, the small talk ran out. Her parents looked at her expectantly.

And she realized she had absolutely no idea how to go about this. She’d purposely
not
planned what she would say, telling herself not to make a big deal of it, that the right thing to say would come to her naturally.

Wrong.

All that came was a frantic tightness in her throat, a rapid pounding of her pulse and a scary generalized tingly feeling all over, a full-body shiver of dread. And her stomach lurched and churned, making her wonder if she was about to experience her first bout of morning sickness.

“Gen.” Rafe said it so gently. His big, hot, strong hand covered hers.

She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. “I...”

And he took over, turning to face her parents, giving a slow, solemn dip of his large dark head. “Ma’am. Sir. I know this may come as a bit of a surprise. But I love your daughter with all my heart.”

Loved her with all of his heart?
Had he actually said that? Her throat clutched. She swallowed, hard, to relax it, and tried to paste on a smile.

Rafe continued, so calmly and clearly, still clasping her hand, engulfing it in his heat and steadiness. “And Genevra has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife. We’re here today to ask for your blessing.”

Genny stared across the coffee table at her parents. They both looked surprised. But not in a bad way, really—or was that just desperate wishful thinking on her part? The two of them shared a long, speaking glance. What exactly that glance said, well, she just couldn’t tell.

And her mother said, “We had no idea.”

Rafe squeezed her hand. She knew she really
had
to say something. But she couldn’t for the life of her think what. Once again, poor Rafe had to answer for her. “It’s sudden, I know. And we’re...” He seemed to seek the right word. “We’re eager to get on with our lives together. So eager that we’re planning to marry in Saint Ann’s Chapel at Hartmore on Saturday.”

Her father frowned. “Saturday is four days away.”

“Um, five if you count today,” Genny put in helpfully.

“So quickly,” said her mother, drawing her slim hand to her throat. She looked at her father again.

Her father didn’t catch that glance. He was busy watching Genny, frowning. “Genevra, are you ill?”

And Genny knew she couldn’t just keep sitting there like a lump, trying not to throw up and letting poor Rafe lie for her. It wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. So she opened her mouth—and the truth fell out. “We were together for four days in March, when Rafe came to arrange renovations at Villa Santorno. I, um, well, I’m pregnant. And, er, Rafe insists on doing the right thing and marrying me.”

Rafe corrected stiffly, “We
both
feel it’s the right thing. And of course, I
want
to marry your daughter.”

There was a silence then. An endless one.

Finally, her mother said softly, “Oh. I see.”

Her father turned his gaze on Rafe and said in a carefully controlled tone, “You know we think the world of you, Rafael.” He went on, with growing heat, “But what in the hell were you—?”

Her mother cut him off by gently murmuring his name. “Evan.”

Her father shot her mother a furious glance—and then sighed. “Yes. Fine.”

Genny just ached for them—all three of them. Her mother and father because they’d already been through this with two of her siblings. Genny hated that she was putting them through it again. It really shouldn’t be that difficult to practice proper contraception in this day and age.

And she
had
practiced it. They’d used a condom every time.

But then, there had been a
lot
of times....

And poor Rafe. He thought so highly of her parents. It had to be awful for him, to have to face them with this news.

“Of course, you’re both adults and this is your decision, between the two of you,” said her mother, and went on to add exactly what Genny had known she would say. “We only want you to be sure this is the right choice for you.”

“It is,” Rafe said in low growl, not missing a beat.

Her mother’s legendary dark eyes were focused solely on Genny. “Darling? Is it the right choice for
you?
”