Claiming His Wife

'I'll ask only one thing. To be kept...in­formed... of progress. I'll keep out of the way, never interfere. The occasional photograph... would be welcome.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'Cass.' His voice was harsh. 'Do you know what you're saying?'

He was standing behind her now. Not near enough to touch. But she could feel his warmth, the strength and sheer male vitality of him.

She shuddered convulsively, wanting him to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. Knowing he wouldn't.

'Yes.' It was as much as she could do to get the word out. Her whole body felt as if it were wired to a detonator. Any moment now she could disintegrate, fragment into a million ragged pieces.

'Why?' A heartbeat of silence. Then, 'You do not want our child? You want to be rid of it?' he asked, ice in his voice.

At last he believed the baby was his. Because she'd offered the solution of a paternity test? She folded her arms tightly around her body, trying to hold herself together.

'Of course I want my child! Damn you!' The emo­tional protestation was torn from her, her voice high and hard, splintering the soft warm air. How could he think that of her? Why was he so cruelly intent on thinking the very worst of her?

'Then why would you give your baby away? To me? Cass, I need to know,' he persisted, his voice low, deeper than she had ever heard it.

Her shoulders were held high, rigid with tension, with the effort of keeping herself together. He touched her then, lightly massaging the knots along her collarbone, and the touch of the hands that had brought so much magic into her life for such a brief time was almost her undoing. 'Tell me,' he insisted quietly.

'You—you could give our child a far better quality of life than I ever could,' she said raggedly, wanting to get this over before she broke down completely. 'But that's—that's not the most important consider­ation.'

Her voice roughened, every word she said seeming to distance her from the new life she carried. 'The dynasty your family founded, the sense of history and pride that you seem intent on throwing away is your child's birthright. Having an heir would stop you from making the greatest mistake of your life— turning your back on your heritage because of the bad memories I made for you. I can't let you do that! Don't you see?'

Reined-in sobs were building up pressure in her chest; it was getting more and more difficult to con­trol the misery that was overwhelming her. 'I know—know you would love our child. Believe me, I wouldn't be doing this if I had any doubts about

that.'

Her slight shoulders shook, her hands flying to cover her face as the pent-up sobs finally escaped. She had made her decision and it had been the hard­est thing she'd ever had to do. She'd said what had to be said. The only pity was she hadn't been able to walk away from this traumatic scene with some kind of dignity.

Why couldn't he love her as much as she knew he would love their child? Why had whatever it was he had felt for her turned into bitterness? Why, when he surely must have accepted the truth of what she'd told him—that she had always loved him, that there had never been any other man for her?

He said nothing. By now his very silence told her that the quite obviously tenuous feelings he'd once had for her were now well and truly dead. But he did turn her gently round, enfolding her loosely within the circle of his arms, allowing her head to droop forward against the broad expanse of his chest. Just as anyone with an ounce of compassion in their make-up would offer brief comfort to another distraught human being. She wouldn't let herself read any more into it than that.

'Cass,' he said moments later, one of his hands straying to her hair, the other still clasped loosely around her waist. 'Enough. Getting rid of tension's all very well. Too much weeping will harm you and our baby.'

That effectively stopped the feeble outpourings, stiffened her spine. Of course.

The baby she was car­rying would be his prime consideration.

She lifted her head from his thoroughly wettened shirt, 'I have no intention of harming my baby! So don't worry—getting an heir was the only reason you married me in the first place, other than getting your family off your back. You've won on both counts. Just don't—don't rub it in!'

She wasn't going to cry again. She was not! What was done was done, by her own decree. Now she had to learn to live with it. Somehow.

'Shh. Stop torturing yourself. You will make your­self ill.' He lifted her bodily and carried her to the huge double bed, stacking the pillows carefully be­hind her, one hand holding her down as she tried to scramble to her feet again.

'Be still,' he commanded gently, and the fight went out of her, utter tiredness seeping into her bones. 'You are quite right,' he told her as she slumped back against the pillows.

Keeping his eyes on her troubled, tear-stained face, he bent over her to remove her shoes, then sat on the edge of the mattress and eased his fingers through her long tousled hair, gently removing the few remaining pins. 'I have won. You stole some­thing from me and now you have brought it back.'

'What?' she demanded truculently. She disliked this new mood of consideration and caring as much as she disliked his earlier stiff silences.

He was only concerned about the baby she'd promised to give over to him. If she hadn't been pregnant he would have probably told her to go jump in the wide waters of the Guadalquiver. 'I've never

taken a thing from you—don't mix me up with my twin!'

She didn't want to be here; she wanted to be some­where else. Somewhere dark and private where she could lick her wounds and try to come to terms with the promise she'd made him.