His Nine Month Seduction Read online

  “Are you happy with the furniture?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “If only slightly appalled by the cost.” Theo had insisted on top of the line everything, and when it came to babies, ‘top of the line’ meant eye-wateringly expensive.

  “It’s nothing.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his body. She inhaled deeply, savouring his masculine fragrance.

  “It’s so not nothing,” she shook her head.

  “Were you worried about that?” He asked, the words carefully muted of emotion.

  “About what?”

  “When you found out you were pregnant, I guess the expense of it all seemed kind of onerous.”

  “Not really,” she smiled up at him but it felt a bit wooden on her face. “I guess I wouldn’t have gone for that brand though.”

  “And I want the best for this baby,” he said with a determination that didn’t strike her as strange, at the time. “There’s nothing I won’t do for it.”

  No, in that moment, his declaration filled Imogen with pleasure. Because she felt just the same.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “OH MY GOD.” She spoke at the exact moment the doorbell rang through the apartment, so Theo paused, mid-way to striding towards the entrance way.

  “Are you okay?” His face drained of colour as he spun, his look intense. Instantly, he crossed back to Imogen, his eyes running over her face. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes. Here.” She grabbed his hand and held it on her stomach.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Wait,” she bit down on her lip, tears sparkling on her eyes.

  “Imogen,” he said with a shake of his head after a moment. “I don’t…” He froze and his eyes met hers, an enormous grin crossing his face. “Hell! Is that our baby?”

  “Yeah! Talk about an Olympic swimmer or something, right?” Her laugh was thickened by tears.

  “I can feel him. I can feel him.” And he curled his palms around her belly, holding her for another moment and then let out a whoop of delight, scooping his arms around Imogen’s waist and lifting her up, holding her tight to his chest. “You’re amazing.”

  “Avocado’s amazing,” she corrected.

  “But you’re making Avocado,” he laughed, tipping his head back and spinning her around the room before setting her back on her feet. Their eyes held and a charged moment of understanding passed between them.

  They’d just felt their baby move; and they’d felt it at almost the exact same time. They’d experienced it together, and they were going to experience the rest of the pregnancy together, and then? Their child’s life.

  The bell rang again, and it had the power to shatter the moment but it didn’t. Magic was wrapping around them, fierce and undeniable and it was still thick in the air when Theo moved towards the door a moment later and pulled it inwards.

  Did the woman on the other side feel it? It was hard to tell; Imogen couldn’t tell a thing about her! She was stern looking but very beautiful, with coiffed dark hair that sat around her face like a newsreader’s might, all bouffant and shiny. Her lips were a cherry red and her makeup elaborate yet understated. Had she actually done that thing called contouring or were those genuinely her cheekbones?

  Was this Marie? Of their own volition, her hands curled over her stomach, as if to protect her unborn baby.

  But then her eyes lifted higher and locked with the woman’s and Theo was staring back at her. At least, the same eyes as his were buried in this woman’s chiseled face.

  “Mother,” Theo confirmed her suspicions. “What a … surprise.”

  “Yes, well, I have been trying to phone, but it seems you’ve lost the ability to return calls. Lately.” The final word sat like a sword in the stone, daring someone to pull it out.

  Lately.

  As in, since Imogen.

  “You could have been dead, for all I knew,” Elena added waspishly as she side-stepped Theo and moved into the apartment. And the magic floundered somewhat.

  “I presumed Marie had given you proof of life,” he contradicted, the barb sailing through the air like a blade.

  “She deserved to know,” Elena responded carelessly, narrowing her gaze as she stared across at Imogen. “So. You must be Imogen.” She said the name almost like a curse and a shiver danced down Imogen’s spine.

  Theo’s stride was long, his manner intent, as he crossed the carpet and stood beside Imogen, one arm wrapped around her waist in a gesture of support. “Yes, mother. This is Imogen.” He squeezed her hip encouragingly. “My mother, Elena.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Imogen mumbled, though she was pretty sure it was no such thing and the passage of time wouldn’t change that perspective.

  “Likewise,” Elena nodded crisply, her sentiment seeming to echo Imogen’s. Her dark grey eyes dropped lower, running over Imogen’s body with a proprietorial inspection that made Imogen’s skin crawl. “The mother of my grandchild.” The smile practically split Elena’s lips it was so tight, like a banana that had outgrown its skin.

  “Apparently so,” Imogen nodded.

  Silence drew around them, tightening and pulling and making Imogen’s tummy ache.

  “Well,” she said with a small smile. “I was about to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  “I think Hendrick’s would be more suitable.”

  Beside her, Theo stiffened and immediately Imogen felt a bolt of sympathy for this man. Her own mother’s image floated into her mind – Didee, with her big smile and kind eyes; the contrast between the two women was enormous.

  Imogen looked up at him and smiled and a whisper of the magic they’d created swirled around them, just them, as though they stood in their own little snow-globe with its own atmosphere and air.

  “I’m all out,” he lied. “It’s not actually a great time, mother. Was there something specific…”

  Imogen’s gasp was just audible. She frowned as she looked to Theo, and undercurrents of tension rolled around them. Whatever the reason for it, Imogen instantly despised it, and the Fixer in her wanted to remove it. To erase any hint of unpleasantness that might stain their happiness.

  “Tea then,” she murmured, her smile encompassing mother and son, as she stepped backwards and moved towards the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on autopilot and pulled three mugs down from the cupboard.

  “I never acquired a taste for tea,” Elena said, deep and husky. “I prefer coffee.”

  “Fine, coffee,” Imogen nodded, missing the deep frown that scored across Theo’s face. She fished a pod out of the container and pressed it into the machine, waiting until it started to run through a dark, golden liquid. Her stomach clenched, instantly rejecting the aroma.

  “Let me help.” Theo moved into the kitchen and sloshed water into the teacups Imogen had lined up, his eyes meeting hers with a silent communication.

  “Tea, Theo? Since when?”

  Imogen suppressed a grin.

  “Imogen’s converting me. Allegedy,” he drawled, “I drink too much coffee.”

  “Ten cups a day? I should say so,” Imogen winked up at him.

  Elena’s lips tightened further. “You’ve always loved coffee.”

  The undercurrent of tension was raging faster, threatening to pull Imogen into it. She lifted the cup from beneath the machine and handed it to Elena.

  Nausea rose to the surface and acid burned her mouth.

  “Oh God,” she mumbled. “Excuse me.” There were six bathrooms in Theo’s penthouse but the closest was still across the spacious lounge and around the corner. She only just made it, throwing the door open and kicking the toilet lid up before the nausea converted to vomit. She crouched down, her face flushed, her stomach retching, hugging the porcelain, her head pressed against the seat.

  She groaned, a thick sound and then pushed to her knees as another lurch of illness had her vomiting into the bowl.

  A pair of warm hands on her back made her pause. Theo’s shoes w
ere beside her.

  “Ugh, you don’t need to see this. Go away.”

  “Don’t you think I should get used to vomit?” She could hear the teasing smile in his voice. “Kids do a lot of that, right?”

  “Ugh.” Imogen reached for a sheet of toilet paper and wiped it across her mouth and cheeks, then tossed it into the toilet, standing unsteadily. Her brow was lined with perspiration and her face was pale, but she felt a thousand times better than she had moments earlier.

  Theo stroked her hair then turned away, running the faucet. When he came back to Imogen, he was holding a damp, cool flannel in one hand. He dabbed it across her forehead and the relief was blessed and wonderful.

  “Thank you,” she croaked, swallowing as her eyes lifted to his. “I haven’t really been that sick. It just happens sometimes,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “I’ll get you a cold glass of water.”

  Imogen felt a lurch of affection and appreciation. A new wave of feelings that were being unlocked by each kind, thoughtful gesture he initiated. “That is exactly what I need. How did you know?”

  He smiled. “I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had a few hangovers. I guess it’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “Yeah, without the fun of getting drunk.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t fun getting this way?” He teased and colour bloomed in her cheeks.

  “Looking for compliments again, Lord Trevalyen?”

  “You know me,” he winked at her. “I’ll be right back.” But he hovered at the door, his eyes holding hers, and he waited as though he wanted to say something.

  Something important.

  Imogen held her breath, watching him, but then he smiled and spun, leaving her alone.

  But not alone. His sweetness stayed with her, shrouding her in pleasure even as she stared at the relics of her face, gaping at the complete mess she was in. A quick splash of her face, brush of her teeth, and finger-combing her hair helped. She pinched her cheeks in an effort to return some life to them. A few minutes after Theo left, Imogen emerged just as Theo appeared at the door.

  “You look better,” he said quietly, handing her the water.

  Imogen nodded, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to where Elena was sitting, her eyes glued to them like her life depended on witnessing their interaction. It made something inside Imogen squeeze with emotions she didn’t understand.

  The coldness from the older woman was unmistakable.

  “Well,” Elena interrupted, standing and wiping an imaginary piece of lint from her dress. “I won’t keep you. Imogen, of course I would like to organize an afternoon tea to … celebrate … your pregnancy.”

  “You want to throw me a baby shower?” Imogen repeated, her eyes flicking to Theo before dropping to Elena. She moved down the corridor, back into the lounge room, a frown on her pretty face.

  “Not a baby shower, good heavens. Talk about tacky. No, a nice, sophisticated afternoon tea with some of my friends. They’ll naturally be … curious … to meet you.”

  Imogen was pretty sure Elena was thinking the exact opposite of what she was saying but she had to give the woman credit for trying to do the right thing.

  “It’s really not necessary,” she said softly, giving Theo’s mother every opportunity of an ‘out’.

  “Of course it is. My circle of friends will expect it.”

  “Oh.” Imogen nodded, but she was dumbstruck.

  “Surely this can wait,” Theo said, the words edged with a hardness Imogen hadn’t heard from him before. “Months, at least.”

  “Oh, yes, yes. We’ll wait.” Elena’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly and then she nodded. “Theo, darling. Let’s do lunch again soon.”

  Imogen didn’t miss the way she was neatly cut from the invitation, but it hardly surprised her and it certainly didn’t offend her. After all, Theo and she were hardly an item. At least, not so far as Elena knew. Everything between them was new and fresh and Imogen wanted to keep it that way. The less Elena had to do with her, the better, Imogen thought with a polite smile frosted on her face.

  “I’ll be in touch about the afternoon tea,” Elena promised, lifting a hand to her lips and kissing them, before waving them in Imogen’s general direction. She began to clip towards the entrance of the apartment and Theo threw a grin at Imogen before striding, fast and confidently, towards the door. He pulled it inwards, kissing his mother on the cheek and watching her disappear into the elevator. Then, he slammed the door shut exaggeratedly and turned a bemused expression on Imogen.

  “My mother,” he said with a wriggle of his eyebrows. “And perhaps even more like herself than usual.”

  Imogen burst out laughing, but she sobered quickly. “I don’t think I’m what she had in mind,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

  “Probably not.” He walked back to Imogen, a spring in his step.

  “Am I really different to your ex-wife?”

  “Hell, yes. You are the polar opposite,” he said. “And that’s a compliment.”

  “I think your mother disagrees.”

  “Fortunately for us, her opinion has no bearing on mine.” He winked, linking his hands behind Imogen’s back. “Besides, she’s going to organize your baby shower so I guess she’s intending to try…”

  “Uh uh,” Imogen corrected, a smile playing about her lips. “Not my baby shower. They’re so tacky, haven’t you heard?”

  “I think someone did mention that.”

  Imogen sucked in another breath and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Our baby’s doing summersaults.”

  He dropped his hands to her stomach and shook his head. “That is just about the weirdest thing I’ve ever felt,” he said with a shake of his dark head.

  “You try feeling it from inside your tummy.” She stepped around him, making her way to the tea they’d poured earlier. Hers was lukewarm but she didn’t mind. She lifted it and inhaled gratefully, the citrus fragrance making her feel even better.

  “You know,” he said, propping a hip on the bench, his eyes holding hers as he sipped his own tea. “We should probably head back to Swan on Green one weekend.”

  Imogen paused, her heart skittering in her chest. “Why?”

  “To see your parents?” He lifted his brows. “Surely they’re just as curious as my mother? I mean, I suppose they’d want to meet the guy you’re living with? Having a baby with?”

  “Oh.” She nodded jerkily, hiding her frown behind her tea cup. “Not really.”

  “Not really?” Theo arched a brow, not entirely sure if he was surprised or pleased. It wasn’t ego, but he knew he held a certain fascination with people. And even if he was a nobody, surely Imogen’s parents would have wanted to meet the man their daughter was having a baby with?

  “I haven’t exactly told them about you,” she said with a shrug.

  “You haven’t… told them?”

  “Oh, they know about the baby,” she mumbled. “But I thought it would be easier to keep the whole you-thing quiet for now.”

  “I see,” he nodded, though he didn’t. “Why?”

  She grimaced, her voice appeasing when she spoke. “Because you’re Lord Theo Trevalyen and that’s kind of weird and crazy and I just didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?”

  “You don’t want what to be a thing?”

  Imogen lifted her eyes to his face then immediately looked towards the windows, staring out at London, her pulse racing. “Well, Theo,” she watched a plane scrawl a white line across the sky. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not exactly what my parents would see as a catch.”

  His laugh drew her attention back to his face and at his look of indignation she sighed, reaching up and cupping his cheek with her palm. “That can’t shock you?”

  “Well, it’s not what I expected you to say,” he said, only the amusement in his eyes showing that he wasn’t really offended.

  “You have a reputation as a bit of a bastard,” Im
ogen said seriously.

  His laugh was short and sharp. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. And you’ve only just got out of your marriage, and since then you’ve been kind of bed-hopping.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re definitely not what my parents had in mind.”

  “Jesus.” Theo was ashamed to recognize he hadn’t thought of that. It hadn’t occurred to him for even a moment that her parents wouldn’t be thrilled. Talk about ego.

  But he was nothing if not a dedicated problem-solver. He nodded with determination. “Okay. Then it’s even more imperative I meet them, so they can get to know me.”

  “Maybe,” she grinned and he recognized it for what it was: a non-committal delay tactic. “Or maybe we just wait a while.”

  He nodded, but the truth was, her reticence to tell her parents about him felt strange. Unwelcome. Odd.

  Still, he smiled, and placed his hand over hers, pulling it to his lips. “Sure.” He dropped her hand, reaching for his tea. “So, what did your parents have in mind?”

  Imogen made a thinking sound. “I guess someone a bit more …” she scrunched her nose up, “normal.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not normal?”

  Imogen arched a brow and looked around the spacious living area meaningfully. “Yes, Lord Trevelayen. You’re totally normal.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. A nice guy from town. Maybe a builder or an accountant.”

  “So you think they’ll be prejudiced against me because I’m an entrepreneur?”

  She burst out laughing. “More likely because you’re a billionaire aristocrat,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “You know, strangely enough, many people see that as a good thing.”

  “Not my parents,” she said seriously. “They’re the most egalitarian, working-class normal people you’ll ever meet. Honestly, they’re going to freak out when they realize that their grandson is going to be part of the aristocracy.”

  “Imogen? You do realize it’s not the nineteenth century anymore? The aristocracy, as you call us? We’re really just like you and your parents, oftentimes very poor and hard-working owing to inheritance tax and generations of poor investment.”