The Seduction Scheme

‘Why the hell did you go to him, not me?’ he demanded in an anguished voice. He swept an impatient hand through his hair—hair that had been soaked by the light summer shower. Dampness made his shirt cling to the contours of his upper body, emphasising his powerful physique.

Rachel’s confusion deepened. For some reason he seemed to think she’d instigated the interview. Was it possible that Sir Stuart had, for his own reasons, made her the instigator?

‘I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you, but you can’t blame me.’

‘Blame you?’ he echoed blankly. The deep red coloration seeped slowly until it covered every scrap of his skin she could see. ‘Is that what you think of me?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘You thought I’d be angry?’

‘Well, you are angry, aren’t you?’ she pointed out, somewhat mystified by his reaction.

‘Because you didn’t tell me, not because you’re—’

‘But couldn’t this have waited until morning, or better still Monday? I really do think you’re overreacting, Ben.’ Her thoughts raced as she tried to quell the rising sense of panic. If he came in, if he touched her… She had no will-power where he was concerned. One thing she knew she couldn’t do was say goodbye again.

‘You think I’m…’ Words appeared to fail him at this point. ‘I’m sorry if my emotional outburst offends you but it’s not every day I learn I’m about to be a father. Perhaps you can be blasé about it, having been there once, but this is the first time for me.’

It was Rachel’s turn to be rendered speechless. She tried to interpret his words first one way then another way, but the meaning kept coming out the same.

‘You think I’m…? Your father told you I’m…?’

‘For once in his life my father did the decent thing. Something you obviously don’t think I’m capable of.’

The irony struck her as being hilariously funny. She laughed, a wobbly giggle that swiftly crossed the border into hysteria. In her youth she’d had to overcome this embarrassing response to moments of high emotional drama. Laughter had frequently caused offence at numerous delicate moments and she could see she hadn’t lost her knack—he looked ready to throttle her!

‘You find this situation funny?’ he enquired coldly.

She gasped for breath. ‘I’m hysterical, you idiot!’ she gasped. She clutched her aching stomach muscles as tears began to run down her cheeks.

‘Do you prefer right cheek or left?’ he asked, touching her chin and examining each profile in turn. ‘Isn’t that the traditional remedy?’

‘You w-wouldn’t dare!’ She hiccuped as she gradually regained control. He didn’t deny or confirm this accusation, just smiled in what she considered to be a sinister manner.

‘Didn’t you think I had a right to know? Didn’t you think I was sufficiently involved to be informed?’ he grated sarcastically. ‘You’ve already deprived one child of her father. I can’t believe you were going to do it again. Well, whatever plans you had, Rachel, you’d better include me.’

‘This is ridiculous, Ben. Will you listen to me?’

‘I’ve accepted you think I’m some lightweight party animal with no depth, but did you really imagine that I wouldn’t care if a woman was carrying my child?’

The way his eyes ran over her body and came to rest on her flat belly with a fierce, possessive expression made her feel…excited? That’s sick, Rachel—stop it! she told herself firmly. This wasn’t the time to forget this pregnancy was a fantasy spun by a devious, warped mind.

‘Or did you just not take my feelings into consideration?’

‘Oh, so this is all about you, is it?’ Hands on her hips, she let her scornful glance travel to the top of his dark head. ‘Your fragile male pride.’

‘Miss French, are you all right?’ Clad in pyjamas, the occupant of the ground-floor flat opened his door. ‘It’s just I heard some noise…’ The retired accountant had to take a step back to see Benedict’s face. He pushed his wire-framed spectacles up his thin nose and devoutly hoped Miss French wouldn’t want any help.

‘I’m really sorry we disturbed you and Mrs Rose,’ Rachel began, wiping away the last remnants of moisture from her face. That might be the last time she laughed in a long time, she thought bleakly.

‘I told her not to have the second bottle of wine. She gets a little…shrill when she’s over-indulged,’ Benedict said in conspiratorial undertones. ‘We’ll take ourselves upstairs. Do you need a hand, my love?’ he enquired solicitously.