A Vow to Secure His Legacy

‘It won’t come to that. You and the child will be fine.’ Thierry leaned towards her, willing her to think logically, despite the panic edging her husky voice.

He hated hearing her so desperate and fearful.

Then the full implication of her words sank in. ‘You’ve got no one back in Australia? No family?’

‘No. But I’m used to looking out for myself.’ This time her jaw angled higher, as if daring him to feel sorry for her.

Thierry frowned. He might not be accustomed to taking responsibility for others—he might have spent years perfecting what Grand-père called his ‘damned selfish bachelor lifestyle’—but the idea of Imogen, pregnant and alone, disturbed him. More than disturbed. It sent a shock wave tingling through him as if he’d touched an electric current.

‘What about your father?’ She’d said her mother and sister were dead but she hadn’t mentioned him.

Her lips pulled taut in a grimace. ‘I don’t know where he is. He used to move around a lot, working in outback mines. And even if I did know how to contact him I wouldn’t expect him to raise his grandchild. Not when he walked out on Mum the day he found out she was expecting twins.’

Diable! Thierry’s hands closed into fists as he read the careful blankness on Imogen’s face. It was the sort of blankness that hid pain, despite her matter-of-fact tone.

What sort of man deserted a woman pregnant with his children?

Then he remembered that moment of relief when he’d entertained the possibility this wasn’t his baby. Or that Imogen might get rid of it and make things easier for them both. A shudder of revulsion ripped through him at the idea he had anything in common with a man like her father, even if only for a split second.

‘You needn’t worry about that.’ His voice sounded harsh and he saw a hint of surprise on her features. ‘I won’t run scared.’

It was one of the things he’d always prided himself on—his ability to face fear. In his youth he’d stared it down on neck-breaking black ski-runs while the hopes of a nation weighed down his shoulders. Later there’d been adventure sports and his treks into inhospitable territory with his friend Orsino Chatsfield. More recently he’d confronted the ultimate horror: a desk job, hemmed in by solid walls while he came to grips with the ailing Girard business interests.

‘You’ll take care of our child if I die?’

Thierry surged to his feet. ‘You’re not going to die.’ Years ago he’d been first on the scene in a desert car rally after a crash. The other driver had died in his arms while they’d waited for an airlift and Thierry had never felt so helpless. He refused to countenance such talk from Imogen. ‘You’re going to have an uneventful pregnancy, a healthy baby and a long, happy life as a mother.’

And, most probably, as someone’s wife.

The realisation sent a twang of discontent through his gut.

‘You sound so sure.’ This time the curve of her lovely mouth, though tiny, was a real smile.

‘I am.’

‘Thank you, Thierry.’ She looked away, but not before he saw her blink back what looked like a glimmer of moisture. Her lashes clumped as if wet, and the sight filled him with unfamiliar feelings.

‘Don’t.’ He leaned down, taking the glass from her hand and putting it aside. Then he tugged her up till she stood before him, shorter than he remembered in her flat shoes. The scent of sweetness and vanilla filled his nostrils as he leaned close. ‘There’s nothing to cry about.’

Her mouth twisted in a crumpled sort of smile and her palm grazed his cheek. ‘You’re a good man, Thierry Girard.’

He blinked, transfixed by the mix of emotions flitting across her features. Or perhaps by the strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d gone into freefall.

A good man? Focused, yes. Selfish, yes. With a taste for adventure and good-looking women. And an astute business sense that had surprised everyone, himself included.

Her hand began to slide away and he grabbed it, clamping it against his jaw. He liked its soft warmth against his skin.

‘What’s going on, Imogen?’ She was hiding something. He’d read that in her refusal to hold his gaze. The way she kept looking away, as if scared he’d see too much. But what could it be? He was ready to accept the child was his, even if his lawyers would probably advise a paternity test.

‘Nothing.’ Her laugh sounded forced. ‘Apart from an unexpected pregnancy.’