His Black Sheep Bride (Aristocratic Grooms 1)

Her heart constricted.

“I haven’t thought through a plan yet,” Tamara admitted, “but Sawyer and I will go our separate ways. It’s what we planned all along.”

Tamara knew the pain she felt was only a fraction of what she’d feel in the coming days, weeks…years even.

“I don’t know,” Pia said doubtfully. “What is it you told Belinda recently—I don’t see him going away quietly?”

It was closing in on nine in the evening when Sawyer let himself into the town house. Richard, his butler, had the evening off.

It was dark. Quiet. Unaccustomedly so.

He’d grown used to coming home to someone.

Tamara. His wife.

Except now she was gone.

He loosened his tie with one hand.

Tamara hadn’t said anything about where she was going when she’d left his office. In New York, she could be any number of places. Hotels, sublets and short-term rentals abounded. She could also be staying with Belinda or Pia.

Damn.

Lloyd had phoned him soon after Tamara had left Sawyer’s building, wanting to know if he should wait to drive Sawyer back to the town house.

After some questioning, Sawyer discovered Tamara had waved off the chauffeur as she’d exited his offices, stating that she preferred to take a cab to her next destination.

Sawyer could tell from Lloyd’s tone that he was concerned something was amiss between his employers. Nevertheless, not caring that he’d be feeding Lloyd’s suspicions, he’d instructed his chauffeur that he’d find his own way home.

Now he faced a house and a future without Tamara.

What a mess.

And most damningly of all, he’d had a hand in creating it.

He wasn’t usually one to imbibe, but tonight he felt like drinking himself into a stupor.

His arrangement with Tamara had been for their mutual convenience, but it had become one for their mutual pleasure and enjoyment, as well.

At least, he’d thought so.

In fact, he’d begun to think he and Tamara should stay married. Things were working out well. It had been surprisingly easy to share a bed and a roof with her, which he’d never done with any other woman.

Why rush into a divorce? Instead, he’d begun to think they should take their time and see where things led.

But now, there’d be no wife and no baby.

Paradoxically, he felt the sting of loss for a child that had never come into being. His child and Tamara’s.

Quite apart from his deal with Kincaid, Sawyer realized he’d been looking forward to having a child with Tamara—a little girl with her red hair and green eyes, or a child that blended both their features.

An image flashed through his mind of Tamara’s face when she’d stepped into his office and interrupted his meeting with Kincaid.

Despite her charged words, she’d looked crushed.

Sawyer cursed under his breath.

He should never have agreed to Kincaid’s secret condition. The only reason he had, he admitted to himself now, was because the idea of bedding Tamara had already begun to have irresistible appeal.

When he reached the library, he went straight to the wet bar and mixed himself a Manhattan. Maybe after a couple of drinks, he’d forget Tamara’s devastated look in his office.

Sure enough, a couple of hours later, he was slumped in an armchair, sitting in the dark, his tie hanging loose around his neck. He was right where he wanted to be—well on the way to oblivion.

He felt a low, steady throb at his temples, and his gaze came to rest on the blinking light of his phone.

He stared unseeingly at it. He’d noticed the message signal earlier, but had ignored it. He didn’t care who it was if it wasn’t Tamara—and he knew the message wouldn’t be from her.

Now, though, he was far gone enough, and idle enough, he just might believe in a snowball’s chance in hell.

So languidly, he picked up the receiver.

After the standard automated voice intoned that the first message had been received at seven o’clock, Sawyer listened to the call.

“Mrs. Langsford, this is Alexis from Dr. Ellis’s office,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m sorry for the confusion, but I inadvertently scheduled you for a day that Dr. Ellis will not be in the office. Please call us to reschedule your obstetrical appointment.”

Even through his current haze, Sawyer stiffened, his senses going on alert.

If Tamara had an obstetrical appointment, then that meant…

Pregnant.

The call was either a mistake—had the woman meant to say gynecological appointment?—or Tamara was pregnant.

Sawyer grasped the arm of his leather chair as a mix of emotions roiled him. Shock was followed by exploding joy.

He was going to be a father.

And then his gut tightened and his next thought was, Hell. An unholy mess had just deepened into a life-altering event.

Tamara had known she was pregnant, and she hadn’t told him. Had she meant to tell him tonight? Instead, she’d left him.

It’s over.

His jaw tightened. Like hell.

In the process of fishing her keys out of her purse, Tamara looked up, saw him and froze.

Despite herself, longing and a sweet piercing pain shot through her.

Sawyer looked grim and uncompromising as he dropped his folded arms and straightened from his position lounging against his car.

Rather than being dressed in a business suit, he was casual in a blue shirt and pants. He was unshaven, and pronounced creases bracketed his mouth.

Why hadn’t she noticed him and the car before?

Her only excuse was that the sidewalk had been crowded with lunchtime traffic. People still walked rapidly in both directions, and the curb was congested with street peddlers.

But now, as if the crowd were parting before a mighty personage, he came toward her.

She muttered under her breath, and then fumbled and dropped her keys. She bent to retrieve them, but somehow he was there first.

“Allow me,” he said smoothly.

Sawyer picked up the keys from the ground and inserted the correct one in the front door of her building.

“After you,” Sawyer said, as he pushed the door open with one hand.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

She was the one who’d been wronged, she reminded herself, and yet he was turning the tables on her.

Sawyer quirked a brow and nodded around them. “Do you really want to have this conversation on a busy street?”

“You helm a media company. The last thing you’d want is a public scene.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Try me. There’s always a first time. And you’ll find different rules apply to the boss.”