exhaled. “So you admit you were lying? The baby will fail the test.”
She stiffened, her eyes looking large and luminous in the moonlight. “He won’t fail. He’s your son. But I wish to God he weren’t. All I want now is for us both to be free of you forever.” She turned her face, looking wistfully out into the night. “And we were so close …”
Free of him?
Théo stared at her in shock. Free of him. What a strange idea. Women always tried to stay in his life as long as possible. They wept when he left. And yet Carrie Powell was acting as if she truly didn’t want him in her life—or her child’s.
It wasn’t a pretense or a game. He saw that in her eyes. She was truly praying that he would let her go.
“If I’m really his father,” he said evenly, “I have no choice but to take responsibility.”
“You haven’t taken responsibility for a year, and we’ve all been very happy without you,” she said coolly.
“I don’t think you understand,” he bit out. “I would take care of the child. Financially.”
“I’m not interested in your money. I just want to go home.”
“If Henry is my son, your home is here.”
With an intake of breath, she looked around the fragrant green garden and shook her head. “There’s no love here.”
For a long moment their eyes locked. The two of them seemed suspended in time. Above them, unseen night birds sang mournfully from the black trees against the violet horizon, and his heart slowed in his chest.
Then his lip curled. “You would decide a baby’s fate on something that does not last? You would base your life on a fantasy like love?”
“It’s not a fantasy!” she cried. “It’s real. Love is the only thing that makes a home!”
Scornfully, he shook his head, exhaling with a flare of his nostrils. “I’m not letting you leave until I have proof whether or not he is my son.”
Her eyes went wide, as if he’d just suggested she swim naked in a crocodile-infested moat. “But a paternity test could take days! Weeks!”
Théo suspected that for the right price he could have an answer far sooner than that, but he didn’t share that information with her. “However long it takes, you will stay.”
Trembling, she lifted her chin. “You can’t keep me here.”
“No?”
“This isn’t the Dark Ages. I’m not some serf on your estate, Monsieur le Comte. You can’t hold me against my will, I’m not your slave!”
Théo’s lips curved upward. “Slave? No.” He came toward her. He saw the effort it took for her to stand her ground as he bent and whispered, “But I could make you my prisoner.”
He felt her tremble as his lips brushed against the flesh of her ear. Satisfied, he drew away.
She shrank back, even as she tried to toss her head. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” He walked around her, slowly looking her up and down. “Do you understand what I do for a living? How I’ve made my fortune?”
“You buy struggling companies and break them up for parts. For profit.”
“Oui. I buy things. I buy people.” He paused. “That family you love so much in Seattle. What do you think I could do to them if I chose?”
She sucked in her breath, searching his gaze. “Nothing!”
He lifted a tranquil dark eyebrow. “Nothing?”
“It’s an empty threat! You couldn’t touch them!”
He looked down at her in amusement. “You really are an innocent.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea of the influence I could wield against … peut-être … the bank that holds your parents’ loans? Or the companies that employ your brothers?”
Carrie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath near her baby’s soft dark hair. When she opened her eyes, they were full of grief. “To think I once loved you. I was a fool to ever think you were a knight in shining armor, or even a decent man.”
The same strange pang went through his chest. He pushed the feeling away, setting his jaw. “Decide.”
“I won’t let you blackmail me. I’m not afraid of you.” She lifted her chin. “I’m leaving. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
“So brave,” he murmured, “and so reckless. It would be better for you to give in to my wishes. Keep your family safe. Does one of your brothers need a job, perhaps? A loan? A gift? I could be a valuable friend.”
“You’re no one’s friend.”
“And all I want in return,” he said silkily, “is for you to stay here at the château until we get the results of a paternity test. Surely that is not so unreasonable?”
He felt her hesitate, felt her caught between her hatred for him and her love for her family. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. They were hazel-green, like a cool, shadowy forest.
“Why are you doing this?” she said in a low voice. “We both know you have no interest in being a real father to Henry. You’ve barely looked at him—”
He held out his arms. “Give him to me.”
Instinctively she tightened her hold on the baby. Then she gave a sigh and, as he’d known she would, came toward him, her expression resigned. She hesitated, then gently placed the baby in his arms, against his chest.
“Lean back a bit,” she said anxiously. “Be sure to support his head—yes. Like that. Good.” She paused. “Have you ever held a baby before?”
“No.”
“So you’re a natural,” she said softly. She looked from Théo to the baby in his arms, and a smile traced her pink lips.
His heart did a strange twist in his chest. She hated him, perhaps—but he saw how much she loved this baby.
Théo looked down at Henry and gently stroked his dark, downy head. The baby frowned up at him, bemused. Théo almost laughed. The expression made the baby look almost exactly like Théo’s father, when he’d lost his glasses. The baby blinked, then returned his smile. And Théo suddenly lost his breath.
Could this child really be his son? Slowly he looked up at Carrie, his jaw set. “You will allow me to take a paternity test.” It was a statement, not a question.
She sighed. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re the only man who could be his father.”
“How can you be so sure?” he demanded.
Her dark eyelashes fluttered
