A Vow to Secure His Legacy

She dragged in a rough breath that didn’t fill her lungs. ‘All of this...us...’ she waved her hand ‘...is because I acted impulsively. I should have waited and checked my facts.’

Still he said nothing.

‘I’m sorry, Thierry. Truly sorry. You must be upset.’

‘You think I’d prefer if the doctor had confirmed today that you’re dying?’ A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘What sort of man do you think I am? You think I’m upset that you’re going to live?’ Finally, he looked her way, his gaze piercing. ‘What have I done to give you such an opinion of me?’

‘You know what I mean. If I hadn’t jumped to conclusions all this wouldn’t have happened. We wouldn’t be married. Because of that mistake, we’re stuck with each other.’

Unless, of course, they divorced. But for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to mention it. Not yet. Not till she’d had time to absorb everything.

‘What’s done is done, Imogen. There’s nothing to be gained in lashing yourself over it.’

‘You think not?’ Imogen stared. He seemed far too calm, though now she looked properly, the chiselled stillness of his profile hinted at fierce control. What was he holding back?

‘I didn’t do it deliberately.’ She reached out and placed her palm on his thigh. Instantly, she felt the long muscle beneath her hand bunch tight and solid.

It was the first time she’d reached for him since that night in her room. Imogen looked at her pale hand against the taut, dark fabric of his trousers and wondered with a catch in her chest whether it would be the last time. ‘You have to believe me. I wasn’t lying or trying to trick you. I truly believed—’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Again, Thierry’s gaze captured hers, shooting fire along veins turned frosty with shock.

‘I don’t know what you believe.’ Thierry had been so good to her, so supportive, but she’d never been able to read him fully except when they shared pleasure. Right now he was giving a good imitation of a graven image. She felt none of the closeness she’d experienced before. She lifted her hand, warm from touching him, and tucked it into her lap.

‘Your shock was obvious when the doctor told you the truth. I thought for a moment you might faint.’

Yet he hadn’t wrapped his arm around her and hauled her close as he’d done before.

‘I believe...’ He paused and she could have sworn her heartbeat slowed in expectation. ‘That, instead of apologising, you need to celebrate. It’s not often a dying woman gets such a reprieve.’

Finally, his mouth curled up at the corner, and Imogen’s heart gave a flutter of relief. It took a while to notice the tension in his neck and jaw hadn’t eased.

* * *

They celebrated with lunch at the sort of restaurant Imogen had read about in guide books but never anticipated visiting. The service was impeccable, the food unlike anything she’d ever tasted and the ambience discreetly elegant. If the wine waiter was surprised they toasted her news with sparkling water, he didn’t show it.

Thierry was charming, urbane and witty and, by the time the chef came out to greet them, Imogen felt more relaxed than she had in ages.

It was as she was coming back from the ladies’ room that she saw Thierry in conversation with another diner, a fit-looking man with a shock of shaggy blond hair.

‘A friend?’ she asked as she sat down, watching the stranger walk out the door.

It struck her that she didn’t know Thierry’s friends. They’d spent all their time together, unless Thierry was working, as he did so many hours in the day.

‘Yes, someone from the old days.’

‘The old days?’ She wished she’d returned to the table sooner.

‘The days before I became a respectable businessman.’ It should have been a joke but it didn’t sound like it.

She tilted her head to one side. ‘What did you do before you became respectable?’

‘Whatever I pleased.’ When he saw her watching, he continued. ‘Skiing, parties, trekking, ballooning, more parties.’ He swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘In fact, I was just invited to a weekend climbing in the Alps.’

‘And are you going?’

He shrugged, but she didn’t miss the glitter in his eyes. It was the same look she’d seen when he’d told her about some of his far-flung adventures. ‘I have too much to do. Too many responsibilities.’