‘My father has a gift with words,’ Benedict admitted wryly.
‘You must be relieved.’
‘Must I?’ The way he was looking at her made her sluggish heart shift into a higher gear. Other parts of her body followed suit and she rubbed the sudden rash of gooseflesh over her upper arms briskly. She dropped her eyes self-consciously from his and laughed lightly.
‘It’s quite funny when you think about it.’
‘The humour escapes me right now.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him; I think he genuinely thinks he was doing what was best for you.’
‘He always does. You seem very forgiving considering what a hard time I gave you because of his manipulative power games.’
She shrugged lightly and realised she was clinging again to his shirt-front. She let go and made an attempt to smooth down the crumpled areas. ‘Sorry; it looks like you’ve been mauled,’ she fretted.
He captured her hand mid-pat. ‘I’ve got one or two others.’
‘Of course you have.’
‘And you can maul me whenever you feel the urge.’
The words turned on that X-rated Technicolor projector in her head and it became necessary to talk. It didn’t much matter what she said or if it made sense; she just had to do something to distract herself.
‘You can start your new life with a clean slate now. Just the way you planned. You’re not…lumbered with excess baggage.’ She tried to sound generous and optimistic even if the idea made her feel wretched inside.
‘Would it have been so very terrible?’ His warm fingers curled around her chin again. His dark, beloved face swam mistily through the fog of hot, unshed tears.
‘I don’t have the excuse of youth this time.’
‘Do you need an excuse?’
‘To do what? Be reckless and irresponsible?’
‘No, to have my baby.’ His hand slid down to rest on her flat stomach. Her eyes were riveted on the warm, intimate image. Her body was screaming out with need. The tears she’d held back successfully suddenly began to fall in earnest.
‘You don’t know how horrible I am,’ she sobbed. ‘I wished it was true.’ She bent her head and burrowed into the hard, unyielding wall of his chest. The solidity and strength of it were somehow comforting. ‘I was actually tempted to let you believe…’ She bit down hard on her quivering lower lip and lifted her head, prepared for his scorn. ‘Your father is a good judge of character.’ There, it was out! Her dark secret was there for all to see.
‘So did I.’ Benedict was clearly still fixated on her earlier comment.
‘You…? I don’t understand,’ she faltered. The solid ground she was standing on suddenly felt like shifting sand. What he was saying made no sense, unless…? No. She closed her mind firmly against this miraculous, impossible idea.
‘I wished it was true too. That’s why it took so long for me to see you were telling the truth. I wanted you to be carrying my baby. I thought I could use it as a lever to make you stay with me. Every time I tried to tell you how I felt you pushed me further away. I was so frightened of pushing too hard and losing you completely.’ The memory of the pain still lingered like a shadow in his dark eyes.
He caught hold of her cold hand and raised it to his mouth. His eyes were half closed as his open lips moved over her palm. ‘Marry me, Rachel,’ he said, his voice throbbing with emotion. ‘If you really hate the idea of Connor’s Creek we could stay here in England. It doesn’t really matter where we are so long as we’re together,’ he said urgently.
‘I love you, darling, and I want you, Charlie and me to be a family. Is it the idea of Fauré that stops you speaking?’ he demanded roughly. ‘You deserve better than some other woman’s left-overs!’ he ground out passionately. ‘Give me the chance and I’ll make you happy, Rachel—happier than he ever could!’
Benedict loved her; he was prepared to stay in England and live a life that stifled him. Getting her head around these fantastic revelations required more mental agility than her punch drunk-brain was capable of.
‘You can’t love me. I’m…’
‘The woman who haunts my dreams,’ he said fiercely. His arms closed so tightly around her, she could hardly breathe. The compelling message in his eyes distracted her from such mundane necessities. Who needed to breathe when the man you loved looked at you with such fierce, possessive tenderness?
‘The woman I want to live with, grow old with—the woman I want to love if she’ll let me. Will you?’ he growled throatily. She could feel the tension stretching the muscles of his lean body.