Did she seriously expect him to love her when his taste ran to svelte goddesses?
‘Oh, come on, Sandrine.’ An American accent this time. ‘You can’t know that. I say it was love at first sight. You just have to look at her to know she’s head over heels in love with him. I think it’s sweet.’
Imogen pressed a hand to her suddenly queasy stomach. She needed to keep moving. She didn’t want to hear the speculation about her marriage.
Before she could move, Sandrine shrugged. ‘I couldn’t agree more. I feel sorry for the poor little thing.’ Her voice dropped and the woman with her leaned closer.
Despite her resolve to move on, Imogen found herself waiting with bated breath.
‘Didn’t you see the photo in that scandal rag a month or so ago? Thierry kissing some blonde in a hotel bar when he was supposed to be on a climbing trip? The way he held her, it was obvious they’d just got out of bed.’
‘Imogen. There you are. I was hoping to find you.’ Startled, Imogen swung round to see Poppy Chatsfield beside her. The tall, red-headed model was another of the sophisticated set but her smile was warm.
Imogen blinked, trying to focus. Her stomach heaved and she almost stumbled as the floor rippled beneath her. A chill clamped her spine, freezing each vertebra in turn.
Thierry kissing another woman.
Thierry holding another woman...
‘Imogen?’ A hand gripped her elbow and she found herself ushered to the side of the room. ‘You need to sit. In your condition you shouldn’t be standing so long.’
A ragged laugh escaped Imogen’s lips as Poppy led her to an antique sofa. ‘Does everyone here know I’m pregnant?’
‘Of course not.’ Poppy sat beside her. ‘But Thierry and Orsino are old friends; he just told us the news. I came to congratulate you.’ She paused, her concerned gaze roving Imogen’s face. ‘Can I get you something? Water? I found sipping it slowly sometimes helped the morning sickness.’
‘No. I’m okay.’ Imogen felt her mouth stretch in a grimace. Okay? How could she be okay? If what Sandrine had said was true... She wrapped her arms around her midriff, holding in the searing hurt.
‘If you’ll take my advice, you won’t pay any attention to Sandrine.’
Imogen’s gaze met Poppy’s and heat washed her face. How many people had heard?
Poppy went on, her voice soft. ‘I don’t know what she said but I have a good idea it’s what made you feel sick.’
Despite the haze of hurt and disappointment, Imogen found herself liking this woman.
‘That’s better. You look less like you’re going to faint.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’ Imogen straightened, drawing breath and putting a hand to her hair. ‘But thank you. I appreciate your concern.’
Poppy nodded. ‘You should know, Sandrine is—’
‘I know. Years ago she and Thierry were an item.’
‘Actually, I was going to say Sandrine isn’t a complete witch, even if she’s not at her best tonight. She’s piqued because you married Thierry.’
‘Why should she be piqued? She rejected him. She’s been married to someone else for years.’
‘Yes, and in all that time she’s had the satisfaction of seeing Thierry go from one woman to another, never settling. As if he couldn’t get over her.’ Poppy nodded. ‘Imagine how she feels after years thinking his heart was hers. Now you come along, stealing him. It’s obvious he’s fallen for you.’
Imogen pressed her hands together, wishing she could take comfort in Poppy’s words.
Thierry hadn’t fallen for her. He’d told her they were well-matched because neither expected hearts and flowers and declarations of love.
Did that explain the other woman? Imogen swallowed convulsively at the thought of them together.
That must have been the weekend after they’d learned there’d been no need for them to marry because she was going to live. Imogen had known Thierry was rocked by the news, as she was, but he’d denied it.
A blonde. Sandrine had said brunettes weren’t his type. Imogen’s stomach churned so hard she thought she’d be ill. His taste ran to blondes like Sandrine and the woman in that bar.
Imogen stared blankly at the chattering crowd. How many had seen that photo? How many knew he’d betrayed her with another woman?
Clearly, Thierry didn’t think it a betrayal—because he didn’t love her, or because such things were accepted here? Did he expect her to put up with his affairs? Was that how he saw their marriage working?