the glove compartment. ‘Stop being melodramatic,’ he said, not even sparing her a glance as he put the glasses on.
‘Me-lo-dra…!’ She sputtered to a stop. No one but her father had ever treated her with such high-handedness. And she’d put a stop to that when she was a teenager. She certainly wasn’t going to put up with it now. ‘How dare you?’
He slowed the car to stop at a traffic light and turned to her, an annoyingly assured smile on his face. ‘I think we’ve already established that I would dare. Now, if you want we can have another tussle—which you won’t win,’ he added with complete certainty. ‘Or you can do what you’re told and save a little of your precious dignity.’
Before she could think of a pithy enough reply, he’d shifted into First and accelerated across the intersection.
Drat, she’d missed her chance to leap out.
‘Put your belt on.’ He repeated the words as he shot up a side street, narrowly missing some ambling pedestrians.
Grudgingly she put the belt on—not quite angry enough yet to get killed for the sake of her pride. He’d have to stop eventually, and then she’d let him have it. Until then she’d give him the silent treatment.
That plan worked for about five minutes. But after they’d wound their way through the back streets of Camden, sped down the wide tree-lined outer circle of Regent’s Park and crossed Euston Road into Bloomsbury, her curiosity had got the better of her.
‘Where exactly are we going? If lowly little me is allowed to ask, that is.’
The quick smile he flashed suggested he found her sarcasm amusing. ‘Lowly? You?’
She didn’t dignify that with a reply. ‘I have a right to know where you’re taking me.’ Forget sarcasm—he obviously didn’t have the intelligence to process it.
He made one more turn, braked, and then backed into a parking space outside a six-storey Georgian terraced house. He switched off the engine and, slinging his arm over the steering wheel, angled his body towards her. His shoulders looked even broader than she remembered them in the expertly fitted linen jacket and white shirt. Intimidated despite herself, she had to force herself not to shrink back into the seat.
‘We’re here. The appointment’s not for another—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—ten minutes,’ he announced, as if that explained everything.
She peered past him and read the street sign on the corner. ‘What are we doing in Harley Street?’
The house he’d stopped in front of had an ornate brass plaque listing two doctors’ names. That made sense. Harley Street was the domain of London’s most exclusive private medical practitioners. But nothing else did. Why had he brought her here?
He took his sunglasses off, flung them into the back seat. ‘Answer me one question,’ he said, his voice tight with annoyance. ‘Were you ever going to tell me about it?’
‘Tell you about what?’ Why was he looking at her as if she’d tried to steal the crown jewels and he’d caught her red-handed?
His gaze wandered down to her abdomen. She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive.
Fierce grey eyes met hers. They looked colder than ever.
‘About my child, of course. What else?’
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR what? What child?’ Had she just entered The Twilight Zone? ‘Have you gone mad?’
Louisa turned to grab the door handle, determined to get out of the car before he started speaking in tongues or something.
His fingers clamped on her wrist. ‘Don’t act the innocent. I know about the pregnancy. I know about your mood swings, the supposed stomach bug you had a month ago, and the fact that you haven’t had a period in months.’ His eyes dipped to her breasts. ‘And there’s a few other giveaways I can see for myself.’
She wrestled her hand out of his grasp. ‘What have you been doing? Staking out my toilet?’
‘Jack told me.’
‘Jack Devlin told you I was pregnant?’ she shouted, past caring if the whole of Harley Street heard her.
The mention of her best friend Mel’s husband was the last straw. She’d forgotten that Jack and Devereaux were friends. It was how she and Devereaux had met—at a dinner party at Mel’s house. And now Jack had told Devereaux she was pregnant. Next time she saw Jack she would have to kill him.
‘Not in so many words,’ Devereaux said, impatience sharpening his voice. ‘We were talking about Mel’s pregnancy and he mentioned you. Seems Mel thinks you’re pregnant but that you’re keeping it a secret for some reason.’
Okay, now she would have to kill Mel too. ‘Please tell me you didn’t tell Jack about us.’
She’d been so humiliated she hadn’t told anyone. Not even Mel, and she usually told Mel everything.
But how did you tell your best friend that you’d slept with a man on a first date, that you’d discovered how incredible, how amazing sex could really be, that for ten rosy minutes of afterglow you’d deluded yourself into thinking you’d found the love of your life—and then been brought crashing down to earth when you discovered the truth. That Mr Right was actually Mr Dead Wrong in disguise. That he wasn’t the sexy, flirtatious, easy-going ordinary guy he’d pretended to be all evening, but rather a cold, manipulative, controlling member of the aristocracy, who’d seduced you for writing an article about him he didn’t like.
Humiliation didn’t even begin to cover it.
‘I didn’t talk to Jack about us,’ he snarled. ‘I was much more interested in hearing what he had to say about you.’ He was looking at her as if he had a right to his anger.
Suddenly sick of him, and his attitude, and the whole stupid mess, Louisa knew she just wanted to get away from him. ‘I’m not pregnant. Now, I’ve had enough of this idiotic conversation. I’m going back to work.’ She tried to turn away from him, but he grasped her wrist again. ‘Let go of me.’
‘When did you have your last period?’
‘I’m not answering that.’
She struggled. His fingers tightened on her wrist.
‘You’re not going anywhere until you do,’ he said firmly.
She stopped struggling. This was ridiculous. What were they arguing about?
Dropping her head back on the seat, she let her hand go limp and closed her eyes against the bright cloudless August afternoon. She wasn’t pregnant. All she had to do was convince him and he’d let her go. And then this whole horrible scene would be over. She’d never have to see him again.
Shielding her eyes, she rolled her head towards him. He looked as implacable and determined as ever. She tried to remember when her last period had been. A flush crept up her neck. Okay, maybe it had been a while ago. But she’d always had wildly irregular periods. It didn’t mean a thing. And anyway, she had definitely had one
