taking a step closer to the stroller.
Alice blinked at him as if he’d just said her son was next in line to the British throne.
“Figure of speech,” he clarified. “How old is the lad?”
“Four months,” she whispered. “He’s...he’s everything to me.”
“I can see why.” Charles hadn’t spent much time around babies until his siblings had started with their own progeny. He’d discovered he liked wee ones, assuming he could give them back to their parents when a nappy needed changing. He leaned over the stroller and the baby looked up at him, with blue eyes bright and clear like his nephew Ollie had at that age.
Charles felt a vise wrap around his chest. He stared at the dark-haired boy a few more seconds, then staggered back a step, clutching at his shirtfront. “That baby looks exactly like the boys in my family.” He met Alice’s gaze. “He looks like me.”
She stared at him, a mix of emotions ranging from apprehension to relief flashing across her delicate features. One hand was wrapped around the stroller’s handle, like a gust of wind was coming and she needed the buggy to ground her. “Yes,” she said simply, after an awkward moment. “He’s yours.”
A dull roar filled Charles’s head. He had a baby. A son. He was a father. It seemed impossible. Yes, he’d dated plenty of women, but he’d been careful. Always. He’d always...
“How did this happen?”
The baby made another noise, and Alice picked him up, cradling the boy in her arms. “The usual way, I guess,” she said with an almost apologetic smile. “That night at the conference—”
“I remember the bloody night,” Charles yelled, then scrubbed a hand over his jaw as Alice flinched. He took a breath, made his voice lower. “But we used protection. As I remember, the first condom was yours.”
As Alice nodded, her cheeks flamed bright pink. She lowered herself to the park bench, still holding the baby tight to her chest. “I’d been saving it,” she told him. “For my...first time. That was a mistake.”
For an instant, Charles wondered if she was referring to the old condom or choosing him to take her virginity. It had been obvious that she was inexperienced, but he hadn’t realized the full extent of her innocence until he’d pushed inside her. He’d tried to be gentle, to make it good for her, but his desire and need for her had been a force like nothing he’d experienced before.
Misinterpreting his silence, she continued, “I didn’t mean for it to happen. You have to believe me, Charles. If you want a DNA test, I understand.”
He looked at Flynn and simply knew deep in his soul. This was his son. He might be shocked, but there was no doubt she was telling the truth. “No test,” he told her curtly.
“It’s never been my intention to trap you. I just thought you should know.”
“Why now?” He paced back and forth in front of the bench, too frantic with conflicting emotions to stand still. “I should have bloody well known a year ago.”
“What would you have done?”
He stopped to consider the question and turned to Alice, who seemed to read his thoughts before even he knew them.
Her chin tipped up and her shoulders straightened. “I know who you are, Charles. I know how you live.” Gone suddenly was the nervous, shy girl he’d encountered, and in her place was a fierce, formidable mother. She adjusted the infant in her arms and leaned forward. “I loved this baby from the moment I discovered I was pregnant. I was going to be his mother, no matter what anyone else thought of the decision.”
Resolve mixed with tension in her gaze. Charles caught a brief glimpse of what a woman like Alice must have endured, making the choice to become a single mother. Who had supported her during the pregnancy and the baby’s birth? Would he have stepped into that role if she had told him?
“I didn’t say I don’t want him,” he said, the anger at not knowing disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. He sank next to her on the bench and lifted one finger to trace the top of the baby’s small head. The boy had a decent amount of hair for a little one, dark and downy soft.
“You certainly didn’t say you did,” Alice countered.
Charles nodded, willing to acknowledge that, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “I’ll admit this is quite a shock. I don’t know you well, Alice, but I’d gather a one-night stand with a stranger isn’t the way you planned to bring a child into the world.”
She let out a small, tired laugh. “Nothing about this was part of my plan, but he’s here now. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Does he have a name?”
Alice smiled. “Flynn. His name is Flynn Davis Meyers.”
“A strong name,” Charles told her. “I like it. Although I suppose it will be Flynn Davis Fortune Chesterfield now.” He closed his eyes for a moment, leaned his head back and tried to gather his roiling thoughts. “I almost understand why you didn’t tell me at first, but after he was born...”
“I’m sorry, Charles. Really, I am.” She placed a hand on his arm. The touch was light, but it reverberated through him. “I had a lot of resistance at first from my friends and family. Not only could no one believe I’d gotten pregnant, but they also didn’t think I could handle a baby on my own. Not my coworkers, friends or even my parents.” Flynn fidgeted in her arms and she drew her hand away from Charles to snuggle the baby closer, his eyes drifting shut again. “But I knew being a mother would change everything for me.”
She gazed at Flynn, her eyes full of so much affection that Charles instinctively leaned closer, wanting to be a part of that kind of love.
“It did change me,” she said. “It made me better and stronger, but I got used to being on my own. I started relying on myself and it felt like that was my only option. Until...”
“Until what?” Charles asked, so close now he could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo.
“It’s silly, but I was getting a haircut last month and saw a picture of you in an old tabloid magazine.”
Charles grimaced. “Whatever the article said, I highly doubt it was true.”
She laughed, and Charles watched as Flynn’s eyes snapped open, focusing on her face. The boy seemed as fascinated by Alice as Charles felt. How did a baby form that bond so quickly? Did Charles have it in him to be any sort of father to this child?
“It was a photo of you holding your niece, Clementine. The magazine was from last year, so she was around Flynn’s age in the picture. You looked so...” Alice searched his face, offered him another hopeful smile.
“Terrified out of my mind,” he suggested.
“Natural,” she corrected. “You looked natural holding the baby—like it made you happy.”
“Little Clementine is a fine baby.”
She shrugged. “It made me realize it wasn’t fair to keep Flynn from you. Again, I’m sorry. For the shock and for not telling
