His Nine Month Seduction Page 16

  “I knew,” he said, his lips twitching but his manner so confident otherwise that she actually thought perhaps he had known, on some level.

  “So you’re psychic now too?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, genius. What is it?”

  “We need something Shakespearean, obviously. That makes sense. And yet it has to be perfect for us. And meaningful, too.”

  “You’ve stumped me.”

  “I can’t believe it. You really don’t know?”

  “I have no clue. What should we call her?”

  He reached up, gently freeing the blanket from the lower part of the baby’s face, so he could see her perfect little cupids bow lips. “How about Hermione?” He murmured, smiling as he stared at their baby. “It’s Shakespearean, and meaningful to us.”

  Not a hint of doubt coloured his question. He knew, as Imogen did, that the name was perfect.

  “How come that never occurred to me?”

  “I guess I’m good for something,” he teased. “So? What do you think?”

  “I love it,” Imogen said honestly, tears sparkling on her eye lashes. She blinked at them furiously but they fell unchecked. “I’m sorry. I’m so emotional.”

  “I think you have every reason to be emotional in this moment.” He padded his thumb over Imogen’s cheek, smiling at how goddamned right it felt.

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  Theo nodded, his heart clunky inside his chest as he stood and put his hands out. He had no idea how to hold a baby. To the best of his recollection, he’d never so much as touched one. But when Imogen lifted the little pink bundle into his arms, instincts took over, just as they had the night Imogen had stormed into the bar and he’d known her without having a clue who she was.

  “She’s so perfect,” he said, the words chipped by emotion. “She is utterly perfect.”

  “I know.”

  “Look at that little face.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, so close that Imogen could feel his warmth and see their baby and her heart was filling up once more. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Earnestly. And with so much heart that she knew his gratitude was soul-deep.

  “What for?”

  And when he looked at her, his eyes were suspiciously moist. “For her. For you.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve given me everything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THEY’D BEEN HOME FOR less than ten minutes when a knock sounded on the front door. Theo grinned at Imogen – or rather, he tilted his head towards her. The grin was permanent, as though the wind had changed and he was stuck like this. Permanently happy.

  “I’ll go,” he said softly, the words whispered in deference to the sleeping bundle in Imogen’s arms. Then again, Hermione had shown herself to be an excellent sleeper. Two days after crashing into the world, she was healthy, robust and utterly stunning.

  Imogen nodded, reaching down and unclipping the straps of the capsule. She lifted their baby and cuddled her close. Hermione made a little mewing noise and Imogen smiled. Her heart was full.

  “Mother.” Theo stared at Elena with obvious frustration. “I told you I’d call when it was a good time.”

  Elena nodded, her eyes flitting beyond him, trying to see inside the apartment. “I know. I won’t stay. Only, Theo, darling, I must speak to Imogen.”

  He cast a look over his shoulder and any hope that Imogen hadn’t realized who was at the door evaporated. Her body was tense, her expression that of a stricken deer smacked in the middle of the head with over-bright headlights.

  “No.”

  The word was implacable and if Elena had any doubts that he meant it, one look in his determined gaze skittled them. “Darling, I don’t plan to upset her…”

  “Whether you plan to or not, I’m not taking any risks. Later,” he said sharply. “When she is settled.” When he’d had a chance to put a damned ring on her finger and preferably cement things with a hasty marriage, he thought. He wasn’t going to risk losing Imogen again.

  “Oh.” Elena nodded, and the sight of her crumpled expression almost softened his resolve. Almost, but not quite.

  “It’s okay, Theo,” Imogen murmured. He hadn’t realized she’d moved through the apartment and was now standing just behind him. “Please, come in, Elena.”

  The older woman’s eyes showed her anguish but she made to do as Imogen had said. Only Theo kept his body in her way like an immovable barrier. “Be careful, mother. You have a habit of upsetting her and I won’t have it.”

  “I know.” She nodded, and a single tear slid from her eye as she passed.

  Theo had never seen his mother cry before.

  Of course, Elena wouldn’t have been human if the full force of her attention hadn’t been taken by the softly breathing bundle Imogen held. But, to her credit, she made a valiant effort to focus, to return her gaze to Imogen’s face.

  “Hello.” A soft word of greeting.

  Imogen was pale, tired, and the last time she’d seen this woman she’d felt more grief than she could ever describe. But she had no interest in making anyone suffer, least of all Theo’s mother.

  “This is Hermione,” she said quietly, smiling up at Theo as he came to stand beside Imogen, placing a protective hand around her waist. “Would you like to hold her?”

  “Oh!” Elena blanched and nodded then. “Of course. Yes. May I?”

  Imogen shrugged. “She’s your granddaughter.”

  Elena held her hands out and her fingers were shaking slightly. Imogen nestled the baby into Elena’s hands carefully, arranging the blanket so that it wasn’t so high on her face. “Please, have a seat,” she offered, and Theo hid his smile.

  But God, he loved having Imogen back in their home. And it was theirs. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped thinking of it as his, and started to know that it was a home, rather than just an apartment. But it was.

  “Thank you.” Elena sat in one of the armchairs, barely lifting her gaze off the baby’s face. “She’s so beautiful.”

  “Just like Imogen,” Theo agreed.

  “Yes, she is. I love her name,” Elena added.

  “So do we.” Imogen smiled up at Theo. “It was Theo’s idea.”

  “It made sense,” he said, stroking Imogen’s shoulder.

  Elena was quiet for a moment, her expression somber as she turned to Imogen. “I really … I came because … I have to apologise, Imogen. My behavior to you has been unforgivable. I … And so childish.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t realise how much you mean to my son. I should have trusted his judgement instead of living in the past. I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat.

  Imogen nodded slowly, and her smile was kind. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” Elena repeated, her eyes skimming Imogen’s face.

  “Yes. I don’t want us to be at odds.” She blinked up at Theo. “I love your son. I love him for who is, not what he has or to whom he was born. With or without your approval and friendship, I’m going to marry him. But it will be a lot easier if you and I get along. Theo, Hermione and I are a family now,” she said, still kindly, but with a hint of steel. “I would like you to be a part of it.”

  Theo was gobsmacked. Such a pretty speech with such an underlying strength. The warning was clear. Behave or you’re out.

  He stifled a laugh as he saw his mother’s comprehension.

  But Imogen apparently had his mother’s measure, because Elena nodded and her eyes filled with tears. “I want that too. Those things I said…”

  Imogen shook her head. “They’re forgotten. They don’t matter. I know the truth. And I think you do too.” She smiled brightly then. “Would you like a coffee?”

  “Oh,” Elena blinked and looked at Theo uncertainly. “I’ll have a tea, if that’s what you’re having, dear.”

  *

  “This was meant to be an intimate affair!” Imogen laughed, eyeing the packed cathedral with a small shake of her head. “There must be a thousand people out there.
”

  “It is no more than two hundred,” Theo corrected, shifting the heavy burgundy curtain to follow her gaze. The church was, indeed, packed to its rafters. Family, friends, colleagues – so many people had come to celebrate the christening of the beautiful baby Hermione. And, at twelve weeks of age, Hermione was indeed beautiful. Her thick downy hair had fluffed out and was now a blonde cap on her sweet head. Her eyes were staying blue, and her skin was flawless.

  In Theo’s utterly unbiased opinion, she was the most beautiful and intelligent three month old that had ever lived. And she even slept well!

  “Are you ready?” He asked Imogen.

  She nodded, relief filling her when her eyes landed on her mother and father. Despite the formal invitation and the location in one of London’s oldest and grandest churches, her dad had chosen to wear his staple suit – a brown velvet that he’d trotted out at everything since his wedding. Imogen grinned and waved.

  Didee waved back.

  It was then that someone she recognized, but couldn’t quite place, caught Imogen’s attention. A man, with a woman she didn’t know, and a young baby. “Theo? Who’s that?” Imogen asked, pulling the curtains back so he could see where she was looking.

  “Ah. That is Roger Greenback,” he said with a nod.

  “Who?”

  “Your knight in shining armour – or, at least, a shining black cab.”

  Imogen burst out laughing. “My cab driver? Who took me to the hospital?”

  “Well, I was very grateful to him,” Theo murmured, wriggling his brows. “He was quite clearly about to jump the bench and start throwing punches if someone didn’t give you medical attention.”

  Imogen rolled her eyes. “How did you even find him?”

  “He emailed me to thank me for the tip,” he shrugged. “I happened to mention that you’d had Hermione and that we were having her christening today.”

  Imogen stared at him with exasperation and Theo shrugged. “What? So I’m proud. Shoot me.”

  Imogen laughed, reaching up and bunching his shirt in her fist. “I’ve got a much better way to make you pay, Mr Trevalyen.”

  “Oh, yes?” He prompted, swaying his body closer, brushing his strength against her.

  “My parents are going to stay tonight. Imogen’s sleeping through reliably now. What about you, me…”

  Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a white credit card. On closer inspection, she saw the swirly gold logo of Claridge’s. “A night in a hotel? One step ahead of you, honey.”

  Imogen might have been piqued that he’d taken her idea except that she’d become used to this. Theo and she were so in sync that they frequently spoke at the same time or finished one another’s sentences.

  “Perfect,” she grinned.

  He kissed the tip of her nose and she shivered. Anticipation and delight filled her. The christening was a joyous affair. Afterwards, they enjoyed refreshments in the garden of the church and Elena went to great effort to befriend Didee. It warmed Imogen’s heart to see the two grandmothers getting along so well. Even Theo’s father was at his social best, speaking to all and sundry, pulling out his phone to show photos of Hermione to anyone willing to adore his granddaughter.

  But finally, late in the evening, Hermione was settled at home and Imogen and Theo were alone together. At last. Or they almost were. Just as Imogen was contemplating a soak a deux in the enormous spa bath, the doorbell to the suite sounded.

  Theo was in the formal lounge room, so Imogen moved towards it. She pulled the door inwards without checking who was on the other side, and confusion spilled through her when she saw Gianni with a dumb waiter.

  “Gianni?” She blinked. “What are you doing here?”

  “I bring the dinner!” He said loudly, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss on each of Imogen’s cheeks. “Is your favourite, no?” He lifted one of the stainless steel lids off the platter to reveal several squares of focaccia.

  “Yes,” she said, bemusement obvious in her expression. “But … are you working here now?”

  “Oh, no! But Theo asks and Theo gets.”

  Speak of the devil, Imogen thought as she whirled around to see Theo on the other side of the room, propped nonchalantly against the door.

  “In here, Gianni,” he said, his eyes not leaving Imogen’s face.

  She frowned, stepping aside so Gianni could wheel the trolley through the penthouse. He pushed it over the carpet, leaving two perfect little tracks that she followed with curiosity.

  And, as she walked into the next room, she sighed.

  Of course he’d done this.

  Because Theo Trevalyen was thoughtful, romantic and … perfect.

  The floor of the formal lounge had been cleared and there was a picnic rug in the middle. Candles were lit on every available surface, and soft jazz music played through speakers, somewhere.

  “Carpet picnic?” He prompted, earning a huge smile from Imogen.

  “Always.”

  Theo shook Gianni’s hand and included a large tip. The older man hugged Theo in exchange and when he turned to Imogen it was with a look of pride. “You are a bella donna. You make ‘im so happy. I never thought it possible.”

  “Thank you, Gianni,” Theo drawled, but his smile was full of affection.

  Imogen stared after the two men as they disappeared, and then she turned her attention back to the trolley. It was full of platters and there was a bottle of Dom Perignon in a wine cooler. Imogen ran her finger over the condensation.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he murmured as he came to stand behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist.

  “Starving,” she nodded, though in that moment, food was very low down on her priority list. “I am surprised though that I didn’t see Gianni at the christening, seeing as you invited half of London.”

  “He couldn’t make it,” Theo responded, deadpan. “His chef called in sick at the last minute.”

  “But you did invite him?”

  “Of course,” Theo shrugged.

  Imogen laughed, shaking her head. “You are unstoppable.”

  “Gianni means a lot to me,” he said seriously.

  “I gather as much.” She spun in the circle of his arms, her eyes meeting his. “And that it’s mutual.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Do you feel weird?”

  “Weird?” She frowned. “No. Should I?”

  “I just mean… no Hermione.”

  “Oh, right.” Imogen shrugged. “I’ve had about twenty-seven photos from mum in the last ten minutes so…”

  “Right.” He kissed her gently. “Shall we?”

  “Uh huh. Carpet picnic. What do we have here?” She stepped away from him to survey the trolley and he crouched down to the lower level, pulling out one of the many smaller platters. Imogen watched with interest.

  “There’s focaccia. Steak. Pasta. Risotto. Soup.”

  “Enough to feed an army?” She prompted with a hint of impatience. It was just like Gianni to go so completely overboard.

  “Well, a ravenous you and me, at least.” He held the platter higher. “This is what I thought we’d start with.”

  “What is it?” Imogen lifted the lid, her stomach growling in anticipation. Only the platter was empty; at least, it was at first glance. She leaned closer and then gasped. Right in the middle of the white plate was a ring.

  “Theo?” She stepped back, looking at the ring, then at Theo. He was paused on one knee, his expression solemn.

  “Imogen,” he repeated softly. “I would have married you months ago, but I wanted to wait until you were sure. Until it was right. But nothing could ever make me happier than if you would promise to be my wife.”

  “Your wife?” She repeated with incredulity. “Your wife?”

  Theo grinned. “You know, that thing people do..?”

  “Yeah,” she bit down on her lip, happiness fluttering furiously inside of her. “I’m familiar with the concept.”

/>   “But you need convincing?” He murmured.

  She didn’t, but surprise and excitement kept her lips compressed.

  He stood, his eyes not shifting from her face.

  “I married once because I thought I should. Because my parents wished it, and her parents wished it, but it was wrong. Not like this. I love you. It’s that simple. I love you in a way that means everything to me. I look at you and I wonder how I ever lived without you? How did I ever think I was happy? You are my world. You and Hermione. What I want, dearest Imogen, is to stand in front of our loved ones…”

  “The thousand or so you rallied today?” She interrupted with a smile.

  “At least,” he nodded, meeting her expression with a grin of his own. “And I want to pledge myself to you for life. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, standing up on tiptoes to meet his kiss. “A thousand times yes.”

  And she would. A thousand times, without a beat of hesitation, because she was his, utterly and completely.

  THE END

  Following is an excerpt from Clare Connelly’s debut novel for Harlequin Presents BOUGHT FOR THE BILLIONAIRE’S REVENGE.

  BOUGHT FOR THE BILLIONAIRE’S REVENGE

  PROLOGUE

  HIS CAR CHEWED up the miles easily, almost as though the Ferrari sensed his impatience.

  He exited the M25, the call he’d received that morning heavy on his mind.

  ‘He’s broke, Nik. Not just personally, but his business, too. No more assets to mortgage. Banks are too cautious, anyway. The whole family fortune is going to go down the drain. He’s about to lose it all.’

  Nikos should have felt overjoyed. There was something about chickens coming home to roost that ought to have brought him amusement. But it hadn’t.

  Seeing Arthur Kenington suffer had never been his goal.

  Using the man’s plight to avenge the past, though... That idea held infinite appeal.

  For six years he’d carried the other man’s actions in his chest. Oh, Arthur Kenington wasn’t the first elitist snob Nikos had come up against. Being the poorest kid at a prestigious school—‘the scholarship boy’—had led to an ever-present sense of being an outsider.