A Vow to Secure His Legacy

He sensed, with a marrow-deep instinct he didn’t even begin to fathom, that the child was his.

Imogen lifted her head and his pulse tripped. Her eyes, more green than brown, glistened over-bright and huge in her taut face.

‘I’d hoped...’ She shrugged. ‘I want to give my baby a chance to live. Is that so wrong?’

‘Of course not.’ Her hands were cool and slight in his. He chafed them gently, telling himself relief was a natural response. ‘So you want to keep the child.’ He made it a statement.

‘Yes. I do.’ Her hands gripped his, and he was surprised at her strength. ‘I want to keep it.’

‘Good. That’s one thing sorted.’ He made his voice businesslike, as if dealing with unexpected pregnancies was no more difficult than the business challenges he handled daily.

Thierry disengaged his hands and stood. It was hard to think when Imogen clung to him, her eyes devouring him as if he were her last hope. That muddled his brain and he needed his wits.

He sank into a nearby armchair and surveyed her, wondering what it was about this woman that evoked such strong protective instincts in a man who’d spent his life avoiding any form of commitment. He’d perfected the art of being unencumbered until his grand-père’s illness and the realisation he couldn’t avoid the yoke of duty any longer.

‘You want my help.’

‘Yes. Please.’ But instead of meeting his gaze she focused on sipping from the glass of water he’d given her. Suspicion feathered through him, an inkling she was trying to hide something.

‘And what form would this assistance take?’ Now would come the appeal for money. It was only natural.

She studied the glass in her hand, one finger stroking the condensation on the outside as if it fascinated her. ‘I want your help if anything goes wrong.’

Thierry straightened, his hands gripping the plush arms of his chair. ‘Wrong? What could go wrong?’

She shrugged, an uneven little movement. ‘Things do.’

‘Not often. Not with good medical care.’ He frowned. Was she scared by pregnancy?

The idea confused him. Where was the woman who’d planned to skydive, climb a glacier and see volcanoes in Iceland? Who’d shown not one hint of fear as he’d taken her hot-air ballooning outside Paris?

Still she stared at the tall glass in her hands.

‘Do you need money for health care? Is that it?’ He’d assumed she was well-off, given where they’d met and where she’d stayed on her first visit to Paris. Now she seemed skint.

She shook her head. ‘No. I should be all right once I’m back in Australia. There’s comprehensive health care, plus I have some savings I haven’t touched.’

Once she returned to Australia.

So, she didn’t intend to stay here through her pregnancy. Thierry ignored the unfamiliar hollow sensation in his gut. It couldn’t be disappointment. His lifestyle, and especially the lifestyle he was about to return to—never in one place longer than it took to conquer the next challenge—left no room for a baby. Besides, children were better off with their mothers; everyone said so. If he really wanted he could visit after it was born.

Yet discontent niggled.

And surprise. She didn’t want to be with him. She didn’t want his money. She only wanted his help if things went wrong.

Common sense told him he was getting out of this lightly. Most men would jump at the chance to divest themselves of such responsibilities.

But Thierry couldn’t feel relief. He felt curiously deprived.

‘What, exactly, do you want from me, Imogen?’ At her name, she looked up, meeting his eyes squarely, and he felt a curious little thump in his chest, as if his heart had thudded too hard against his ribs.

Again that uneven little shrug. Her gaze swerved away, fixing on the view as if it fascinated her. ‘I want to know you’ll be there wh— if—something happens to me. I want to know you’ll take care of him or her.’

She shifted in her seat, skewering him suddenly with a look he could only describe as desperate. Thierry felt the slow crawl of an icy finger up his nape, each individual hair on his neck and arms rising in response.

Not just desperation but fear. What was going on?

‘I’m alone, you see. My mother and sister are dead. So if anything were to happen to me...’ She swiped her bottom lip with her tongue. ‘I know there are some wonderful foster parents out there, but I can’t bear the thought of my baby being put into care.’