Scandalous Deception (Russian Connection 1)

“Are you relieved there is to be no child?”

“Relieved?” His eyes flashed with an emotion so intense that Brianna forgot to breathe. “Mon dieu, I can think of nothing that would give me more pleasure than to know that you ca

rried my child.”

Brianna had considered Edmond’s reaction to the knowledge she was pregnant. She had envisioned telling him on a hundred different occasions. But not even her wildest fantasies had prepared her for the haunted yearning he made no effort to disguise.

“Oh.”

Perching on the edge of the bed, Edmond reached to take her hand in his. “Of course, I would prefer that we are properly wed before the babe is born. Thus far, we shall be able to avoid the worst of the scandal by the simple task of taking our vows. It would be rather more difficult if you are carrying our child down the aisle.”

Brianna stiffened. An awkward silence descended until she at last cleared her throat.

“Edmond?”

“Yes, I know.” His smile was tight, almost as if he were as unnerved as Brianna by his astonishing words. “It is not a very charming proposal, but the truth of the matter is that I have precious little experience in asking a woman to be my wife, so I hope you will be patient with me.”

“No…” A cold panic clutched her heart. It did not take a great deal of intelligence to realize Edmond felt obliged to offer for her. Or that he would be miserable if she were foolish enough to accept. “No, you do not want this, Edmond.”

His eyes narrowed. “You are capable of reading my mind?”

“In this, yes.”

Catching Edmond off guard, Brianna tossed aside the covers and slid from the bed. With a muttered curse he was at her side, his arm gently encircling her waist as if she were made of delicate crystal.

“Brianna, take care,” he growled. “You are still weak.”

She flinched as his words rubbed salt into her most vulnerable wounds.

“You pity me.” She shivered from the cold that came from the pit of her stomach, not from the chill in the room. “That is why you believe you must propose.”

“Pity you? Have I ever struck you as a man of great compassion, ma souris?” he taunted, his smile smug as she faltered beneath his blunt question. “Precisely. Whatever I do will always be what I desire, and what I feel will offer me the greatest gain. Or in this case, the greatest pleasure.”

Gathering her courage, Brianna forced herself to pull away from his warm, comforting touch. She could not think clearly when her body was trembling with the joy of having him so near. And it had never been more vital in her young life that her wits be unclouded.

“Very well.” She tightened her muscles, almost as if fearing a sudden blow. “If it is not pity that has prompted your proposal, then what precisely has occurred in the past three days that has altered your absolute conviction that you did not desire me to be your wife?”

With a ruthless determination, Edmond stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her against his hard body.

“What occurred was a long overdue acceptance that you are a fever in my blood that I will never be rid of. A fever I do not want to be rid of.”

A heady burst of heat flooded through her body, melting away that numbing cold that had held her in its grip for the past three days. Abruptly she realized just how much she had missed sharing her bed, her body, with this man. It was little wonder that she had been unable to shake off the gray lethargy. She had been denying herself the one thing certain to make her heart pound and her blood rush with joy.

“You have never made a secret of the fact you desire me in your bed, Edmond,” she said, unable to completely disguise her pain. “That is considerably different from wanting me as your wife.”

With a smile, he cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his steady gaze.

“You are determined to make me say it, are you not?”

“Say what?”

“That I love you.” His lips twisted at her stunned disbelief. “There. Are you happy?”

Brianna struggled to breathe, uncertain if she were more astonished at his blunt confession or the inelegant manner in which he had tossed the words in her face.

“Not when it so obviously makes you unhappy,” she muttered.

“Oh, Brianna.” His soft sigh was rueful. “It is not that it makes me unhappy. It has simply been difficult to put aside my fear.”