Christine Rimmer - The Earl's Pregnant Bride

The phone rang at eight, jarring her from much-needed sleep. It was Rafe, calling to remind her to set up the talk with her parents. “And don’t tell them about the baby, or that we’ll be married, until I’m there with you.”

She grumbled at his bossiness. “I already said I wouldn’t.”

“Excellent.” He made the single word sound almost affectionate. And that made her feel a little better about everything.

“Did you call Eloise yet?”

“I’m doing that next.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should wait. We should tell her together.”

A pause on his end of the line, then, “Gen, the wedding will be Saturday. I’m sure your parents will want to be there. Someone has to make the arrangements.” He was right, of course. And his grandmother was a rock. She would take care of everything.

Genny answered with a sigh. “All right.”

He instructed, “Call me as soon as you’ve set up the meeting.”

“I will, yes.”

They hung up and she showered, ate a light breakfast and was waiting in the reception area of her mother’s office at the palace when her mother arrived at nine.

Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne, looking ageless and elegant as always in one of her classic Chanel suits, smiled at her fondly, agreed to the meeting with her and Rafe and then asked, “Darling, what is this meeting to be about?”

Genny knew that her mother would understand. She longed to just get it over with, to tell all. But she’d told Rafe that she would wait. He would soon be her husband. She wanted him to feel he could trust her to keep her agreements with him.

Rafe. Her husband...

Dear Lord. Was this really happening?

Her mother touched her arm. “Darling? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. And we’ll explain everything when Rafe is here, I promise.” She asked that her father be there, too.

And her mother asked again what exactly was going on.

Genny hugged her and whispered, “Two o’clock. We’ll tell you all of it then.” And she escaped before her mother could ask any more questions.

Back in her apartment, she called Rafe and told him when to be there. He arrived at one-thirty and came straight to her rooms as she’d asked him to do.

She gestured him in. “It’s good you’re here early. We’ll have a little time to plan.”

“There’s more to plan?” He sounded doubtful.

She stepped back to get a good look at him. “You look...terrific.” She felt oddly breathless suddenly. Because he did look wonderful in a fine lightweight jacket and trousers. Wonderful in a completely feral, un-English way, with his thick black curls, full lips, black velvet eyes and huge, hard body. A savage in a suit. The scar only added to the impression of otherness.

“And you are beautiful,” he said in that carefully controlled, formal way he had.

She wasn’t, not really. Her mother was beautiful. And her four sisters, too. Genny was the most ordinary looking of all of them. With wispy blond hair and brown eyes, she was pretty enough, but nothing spectacular. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her fitted white jacket, which she’d worn over a simple jewel-blue shirtwaist dress, an outfit she’d deemed demure and appropriate for this particular meeting. “Thank you—did you reach Eloise?”

“I did.”

“Did you tell her there will be a baby?”

“Yes.”

Genny gulped. “How did she take it?”

“She was pleased on all counts.”

“She wasn’t surprised...you know, that you and I were, um, lovers?”

He looked at her with infinite patience. “Nothing surprises my grandmother. You should know that.”

“I...” She started to say something vague and dishonest. But why lie about it? “Yes. I suppose I do.” Eloise had never made a secret of her desire to have Genny join the DeValery family and had openly encouraged a union between Genny and the lost Edward.

Not only did Genny adore the DeValerys and Hartmore, she had money. Pots of it—and giant old places like Hartmore needed serious infusions of cash on a regular basis. The lion’s share of Genny’s money came down to her from her godmother and namesake, Genevra DeVries. Aunt Genevra had never married. She’d had no children of her own and had always considered Genny the daughter of her heart.

Now that Edward was gone, the supremely practical Eloise would see nothing wrong with Genny marrying her other grandson, the new heir. Genny only wished that she could be half as indomitable as Eloise.

“Grandmother loves you,” Rafe said. “Never doubt that.”

“I don’t. Of course I don’t....”

He watched her steadily. She had that feeling she too often had with him. That he could see not only through her clothes to her naked body beneath, but even deeper, right into her heart and mind. And then he said, “Now. What are these ‘plans’ you need to discuss with me?”

She stared at him, chewing her lip, trying to decide how to begin.

He shook his head. “You had better just tell me.”

“Ahem.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, I’ve...I’ve been thinking that we shouldn’t actually come right out today and tell my parents that I’m pregnant.” He arched a thick black brow, but said nothing. She added airily, “I’m thinking we can do that later.”

“When is later?”

“Oh, well. You know, after we’ve settled in at Hartmore. One thing at a time, I was thinking...”

He gave her one of his deep and oh-so-patient looks. “You don’t think they’ll wonder why the rush to the altar? Why you’re suddenly marrying me, of all people?”

“What do you mean, ‘of all people?’” she demanded sourly, as though she didn’t know exactly what he meant.

Edward. She was supposed to have married Edward.

Rafe regarded her solemnly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She could almost become annoyed with him. After all, he was the one who’d asked her to wait until he was with her to speak of the baby. If she’d just gone ahead and told her mother that morning, it would all be out in the open now. Her mother would have told her father and it wouldn’t really be necessary to say much more about it.

Now Rafe would be there for the big reveal. And her father, too. Dear Lord. She should have thought this through earlier. Because she realized now that she just wasn’t ready to sit in her mother’s office and look in her father’s face and tell him about the baby.

He was a wonderful man, her father. He was the best. She couldn’t bear to think he might be disappointed in her.

Rafe caught her arm and she realized she’d been swaying on her feet the tiniest bit. “Gen. Do you need to sit down?”

She blinked up at him, all too aware of his touch, of the heat of him so close, of his tempting scent. Of the velvet darkness of his eyes. Carefully, she eased her arm from his grip. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I just want you to let me do the talking, let me handle it with my parents.”

He studied her from under the heavy shelf of his brow. Evidently, he believed that she wasn’t going to faint, because he didn’t try to steady hear again, but only lifted one huge shoulder in a shrug. “You don’t want me to ask for your hand?” He was teasing.

Or was he?

She really couldn’t tell. “I... No, of course not. It’s already decided. We’re just sharing our plans.” For that, she got another unreadable look, one that had her waving a nervous hand. “More or less. Can we not overthink it, please?”

He captured her hand as it fluttered between them and pressed his lips to the back of it. A warm, delicious shiver danced up her arm. For such a giant rock of a man, he did have the softest, supplest mouth. “As you wish, love,” he said.