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“I intend both to have this baby, and keep it.”
Adam stared down at her, his eyes oddly blank. “I see. It’s ultimatum time.” He shrugged. “All right. You leave me with no choice. We get married.”
“Oh, please,” she said scathingly. “Right from the beginning you made it clear that marriage and a family are the last things you want. Besides, shotgun weddings are a bit out-of-date, Adam. Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll manage on my own.”
Adam’s mouth tightened. “You’re being stupid again, Lowri. There’s nothing else for it. I’ll arrange a quiet wedding as quickly as possible.”
Dear Reader,
A special delivery—our bouncing baby series. Every month we’ve been bringing you your very own bundle of joy—a cute and delightful romance by one of your favorite authors. This series is all about the true labor of love— parenthood and how to survive it! Because, as our heroes and heroines have been discovering, two’s company and three (or four…or five) is a family!
This month, with the last arrival in our series, comes a triple (or should that be triplet) helping of pleasure—a baby, a miracle for Christmas and a new story set in Pennington, Catherine George’s delightful English town.
Season’s Greetings!
Harlequin Romance
Reform of the Rake
Catherine George
LOWRI gave her distinguished, grey-haired male customer a friendly, courteous smile, her amusement well hidden as she gift-wrapped expensive scraps of sexy underwear so very obviously intended for someone other than his wife. When he’d gone she exchanged a grin with her nearest colleague.
‘End of the lunchtime rush?’ She cast a hopeful eye round the suddenly deserted underwear department.
‘Give it five minutes, then it’ll be the afternoon surge of mothers and daughters.’
‘Plain cotton for school,’ agreed Lowri, tidying a rack of lacy silk teddies. ‘I wish I hadn’t taken early lunch— I’m starving already.’
‘Then you’d better have tea with me later,’ said a voice with a familiar, attractive lilt, and Lowri looked up in astonishment to meet a pair of blue eyes bright with accusation.
‘Sarah!’
‘In person. And I hope that blush is guilt, Lowri Morgan,’ said her cousin, plainly incensed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Working,’ said Lowri lamely.
‘I managed to puzzle that out for myself,’ retorted Sarah. ‘When did all this happen, may I ask? And why didn’t you let me know?’
Lowri cast a hunted eye at some approaching customers. ‘I meant to soon, cross my heart. Look, I can’t talk now. I get a tea-break at three. Could you meet me upstairs at the coffee-shop?’
‘You bet I could—ask for extra time.’ Sarah fixed her young cousin with a steely eye. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, young lady. In the meantime I’ll take one of these in thirty-four. And I’ll come back to collect you at three. Be ready.’
Lowri found the required size quickly, wrapped the purchase and took her cousin’s money, promising to see her later, then dealt with a pack of skinny, black-clad girls in leather jackets, all demanding the same make of maximum-bounce, minimum-price bra. For the next hour or so Lowri sold underwear of every category from sensible cotton sports to shameless see-through numbers of the type she’d never possessed herself nor ever dared to. It was some time before she got the chance to beg an extra ten minutes to add on to her tea-break. She hurried back to her post afterwards to attend to a tall man who was contemplating a display of astronomically pricey trifles with no hint of the dogged embarrassment most male customers displayed in the same circumstances.
