you think,’ she said feebly, looking painfully up at him, ‘That by getting me pregnant you’ve got me at yours?’
His soft leather shoes made only a light sound over the varnished floor. ‘You aren’t at my mercy, Grace. Just at the mercy of your inability to resist whatever this thing is between us. Just as I am.’ The curl of his mouth was self-mocking. ‘And right now, yes, you are carrying my child. But don’t worry. The situation can be easily remedied.’
She jumped up, and wished she hadn’t when her head felt as though it had just exploded. Even so, that didn’t stop her tossing back, ‘That’s about the sort of reasoning I’d expect from you! If you think I’m going to simply take the easy way out just because you can’t bear to think of your enemy presenting you with a baby—wasn’t that what you said we were the day you took over the company? Enemies?—you’ve got another thing coming! I don’t want anything from you beyond a little recognition that you’re its father. You can play around with whoever you want to, just so long as you acknowledge that. It makes no difference to me.’
‘On the contrary.’ His slow stride over the immaculate floor was measured, predatory. ‘I find your being pregnant with my child rather satisfying.’
Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
‘Why?’ she asked guardedly. ‘Because you think it would be one in the eye for the Culverwells to have to acknowledge your offspring as one of theirs?’
She meant because of the desire he’d been nursing all these years to avenge his family for the way they had suffered. Too late, though, she realised how it had sounded, as if he’d be tainting the pedigree blood of her family with the questionable origins of his.
For a moment his eyes blazed, but then his lashes came down and something like self-satisfaction shaped that hard mouth as he said, ‘If it pulls you down off that class-conscious cloud you’re obviously still clinging to, then, yes, I can’t deny that it’s a rather ironic twist of fate—don’t you think?’
Because he hated snobbery, Grace knew, as much as she did now, although she knew she could never convince him of that in a million years.
‘And you will have something from me, Grace. I’m not asking you to take the easy way out. In fact, I strictly forbid you to do anything that would harm our child. No, we’re going to assume responsibility for this little one’s life—together. And that means a marriage licence.’
‘A marriage licence?’ She was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, her heart seeming to stand still. ‘You can’t be serious?’
There was no humour in his face as he advised, ‘Believe me, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. There’s no way any child of mine will grow up without the close presence of a father in its life.’
‘As you did.’
‘And as you did, I believe. After what Corinne told me about your own father deserting you, I’m surprised you’d even consider denying your own child that right.’
She had never talked about her father to Corinne, so the woman had obviously gleaned that information from Lance Culverwell.
‘Well, you certainly had a good chin-wag about me, the pair of you, didn’t you?’ she accused in a wounded voice.
Seth’s grimace said it all. Her grandfather’s widow was garrulous enough without any help from him.
Amazingly, in spite of everything, some deep-boned intuition told Grace that Seth Mason would never be a party to idle gossip, and once again she found herself coming to believe that his dealings with Corinne were purely professional.
‘The fact remains,’ he said, ‘that you were abandoned by your father, and through whatever circumstances he scarcely figured in your life. Don’t let that happen to your own baby.’
Her head was banging so much she was beginning to feel sick; she didn’t feel up to having this conversation with him.
Still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had actually proposed, unable to quite believe it, she said quickly, ‘A lot of women manage perfectly well as single parents today.’
A shoulder moved beneath the superb tailoring of his jacket. ‘It’s up to you, but I’d like to think that you wouldn’t be that selfish.’
When he was prepared to marry a woman he didn’t love for the protection and well-being of his child.
‘You make me feel I have no choice,’ she uttered, feeling the strands of a silken web being slowly but insidiously woven around her.
‘You do have a choice. I’m just asking you to make the right one.’ A few lithe steps brought him within heart-stopping distance of her. ‘Oh, come on, Grace.’ His voice was soft, sultry, deep, like a jungle cat purring. ‘It won’t be so bad.’ The fingers suddenly lifting her chin up, compelling her to look at him, were excruciatingly tender. ‘Maybe I’m not the lawyer-doctor-accountant type you’ve always dreamed you’d be marrying.’ As if! she thought almost hysterically. ‘But we’ve got something that will ensure that any union between us will never be dull.’
He meant in bed.
A wave of excitement curled along her veins, a silent betrayal by her body of all it wanted—no, needed—from him, no matter how strongly her brain tried to deny the fact.
The shock and emotion were too much for her in her present state. As the room seemed to go wavy before her eyes, she dropped her head into her hands with an involuntary little groan, trying to stave off the threatening nausea.
She heard the low invective Seth uttered and could do nothing to resist the arms that were sweeping her effortlessly off her feet. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?’ he scolded softly.
Caught against his hard, warm strength, her mind and body reeling with myriad sensations, somehow Grace managed a pained little smile. ‘You only seemed concerned with what was going to happen to your baby.’
Those masculine lips curled in self-derision. ‘Believe it or not, I do have a vested interest in its mother, too.’
He carried her through into the quiet luxury of the master bedroom. Compared to hers it was a sanctum of modern living, from the sinking carpet that bore his silent, effortless steps, to the monstrous bed with its very masculine but state-of-the-art cushions and covers that he dragged aside before setting her down on the dark-burgundy sheet covering the mattress.
Helping her out of her coat and jacket and then stooping to remove her shoes, he pressed her gently back on the pillow and pulled the duvet up around her.
‘If you want anything,’ he told her quietly, ‘I’ll be in the next room.’ The degree of solicitude behind that simple statement brought a painful lump to her throat.
‘A vested interest’, he had said, but only because she was having his baby. He didn’t care about her for herself. So why was she letting herself imagine such depth of emotion in his voice?
Nevertheless, no matter how much he had wanted to hurt her and her family, she thought, there was no doubt that he would accept his paternal responsibilities. The hardship and the poverty he had endured as a child and then, thanks to her,
