Christmas Child

‘Why? Is something wrong?’ He looked disappointed, she conceded. Because, after his intimate tête-à-tête with the love of his life, he had been looking forward to telling her, the stand-in, to hop it, softening her up with good food and lashings of wine first. As she herself had planned on doing before she broke her own news.

‘I’m too tired,’ she said, diving into the back of the taxi. Time enough to tell him exactly what was wrong when they were guaranteed some privacy. She was pregnant, that was what was wrong. If he’d threatened Fiona with instant desertion if she ‘accidentally’ fell pregnant, what chance did she have of his support?

None whatsoever. She hadn’t realised his anti-children feelings were so deep, so strong. He was damaged material.

Yet she still loved him.

No, she didn’t, she came back at herself, desperately trying to harden a heart that already felt as if it had been put through a mincer, all small, broken, quivery pieces. She squeezed herself up into the far corner as he joined her after giving the driver their Belgravia address. And he did look concerned, his brows meeting, his mouth a straight line as he said, ‘If you’re feeling unwell, tell me.’

Concern? Hardly. She was misreading him. He was simply puzzled, even annoyed. He expected compliance from her, an easy passage, no female mood swings, no hassle. Sex on tap. Just sex, with no messy emotions attached. And up until now that had been exactly what he had got.

‘I’m not ill,’ she said through her teeth. ‘Just tired, as I told you.’ Tired of being second best, tired of loving with no hope of it ever being returned. And an impulse she couldn’t quell made her add

, ‘Did you have a nice chat with Fiona? I thought she looked particularly—spectacular—this evening!’

She wasn’t going to say she looked like a strumpet out on the pull! She wouldn’t demean herself by letting her jealousy show through. She did have some pride.

‘Ah.’ Just a small sound, but it said it all. He didn’t need to elaborate. She’d heard the complacent smile in his voice, felt the release of the tension that had made the air surrounding them feel prickly.

The intimate tête-à-tête she had just reminded him of must have been entirely satisfactory.

The traffic had been relatively light and while he was paying off the driver she let herself into the silent house and went through to the drawing room, the sight of the bowls of flowers that reminded her of their beautiful time in Barbados, the flowers she’d insisted on having here ever since she’d taken over as mistress of his house, irritating her.

They represented the sham her life had become.

Moments later, he followed her. He removed his dark jacket, the soft white fabric of his shirt clinging to the width of his shoulders, tucked into the narrow trousers that clipped his taut waist, skimmed the hard muscles of his thighs.

Mattie closed her eyes. Looking at him hurt her. Would he really wash his hands of her because she’d got pregnant, broken his rules? Even though he was just as much to blame? She recalled the vehemence of his ‘Hell, no!’ when she’d reminded him that he hadn’t taken precautions that first time and rather supposed he would.

After all, she had assured him—believed herself—that there had been little risk of her getting pregnant at that time.

‘You’re very pale, Matts,’ he said, moving closer. ‘Would a brandy help?’

She shook her head. She didn’t want his polite kindness, his spurious concern. She wanted something real for a change. A true emotion. And that was precisely what she’d get when she broke her news. The way he took it would decide her whole future, and that of their child.

Although, remembering exactly what Fiona had said, she was pretty sure what that future would be.

Suddenly, her legs began to shake. She took a step backwards and sank down onto one of the brocade-covered sofas, her mouth dry as she forced herself to ask, ‘When you proposed to Fiona, did you tell her you didn’t want children?’

He’d been prowling the room, switching on table lamps, drawing the summer-weight gauzy curtains across the long windows because it was dusky outside now. But he stopped, as if briefly frozen, then slowly turned, his expression quellingly cold.

‘As it happens, yes.’ His voice was even colder than his narrowed silver eyes. ‘Why ask?’

‘Because it happens to be important,’ she got out with difficulty. She had known Fiona had been telling the truth. It tied in so neatly with everything she knew herself. The only difference being that he hadn’t warned her against being sneaky, and accidentally getting pregnant.

Because the marriage wouldn’t have been consummated so the situation wouldn’t have arisen. Then things had changed and he’d wanted sex. And apart from that first time, when he’d obviously been feeling deprived after a long stretch of celibacy, he’d been meticulous about taking precautions.

She got to her feet. The rest of her life began right here. She had to start the way she meant to go on. With dignity and courage.

‘I want a divorce,’ she told him, the unexpected steadiness of her voice comforting her a little. She did have the strength to do this; she’d been so afraid she wouldn’t, that she’d be weak enough to beg him to let her stay, to love their child even if he couldn’t love her.

‘I had my pregnancy confirmed this morning,’ she told him tonelessly. ‘And there’s no need to tell me you wash your hands of me because I’ve broken your precious rules, because tomorrow I’m leaving you. There’s no way I want my child to have anything to do with a father who doesn’t want it, someone as sick, bitter and twisted as you seem to be.’ She walked to the door. ‘I’ll use one of the spare rooms tonight, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring Fiona here until after I’ve gone.’

She turned to look at him for one last time. She didn’t know what would happen if he asked her not to go. In all probability she’d cave in. But he didn’t. His features might have been carved from stone, his eyes just as hard.

He was letting her go without a single word. At that moment she hated him almost as much as she had ever loved him.

She walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.