Nine Months to Redeem Him Read online

  Just a few minutes more, and it would be over. I tried to breathe. They would probably cut me off halfway through my lines, in fact, and tell me I was too fat/thin/old/young/wrong, or just dismiss me with a curt Thank you. All I needed to do was speak a few lines and...

  My lines. My eyes flew open as I slapped my hand on my forehead. What were my lines? I’d practiced them for two days, practiced them in the shower and as I walked through the barren garden behind Edward’s lavish Kensington townhouse. I knew those lines by heart. But they’d fled completely out of my brain and...

  Then I really did feel sick and I raced for the adjacent bathroom, reaching it just in time. Afterward, I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pale and sweaty. My eyes looked big and afraid.

  My sister looked like that the first three months she was pregnant.

  Leaving the bathroom, I walked out to the hallway. Then I kept walking, straight out of the theater, until I was outside breathing fresh, cold air.

  My nausea subsided a bit. The sky was dark and overcast, not cold enough to snow but threatening chilling rain.

  It was the first of March, but spring still felt far away. I walked slowly for the underground station, my legs trembling.

  My sister looked like that the first three months she was pregnant.

  The possibility of pregnancy hadn’t even occurred to me. I carefully hadn’t let it occur to me. I couldn’t be pregnant. It was impossible.

  I stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, causing the tourists behind me to exclaim as they nearly walked into me.

  Edward had gone out of his way to take precautions. But I hadn’t even worried about it, because I assumed Edward knew what he was doing. He was the one who never wanted to commit to anyone, and what could be a greater commitment than a child?

  But there had been a few near misses. A few times he didn’t put on the condom until almost too late. And that one time in the shower...

  Feeling dazed, I walked heavily to Charing Cross station nearby and barely managed to get on the right train. I stared at the map above the seats as the subway car swayed. My cycle was late. In fact, I realized with a sense of chill, I hadn’t had a period since we’d arrived in London two months ago. There could be all kinds of reasons for that. I was stressed by my halfhearted attempts at breaking into the London theater scene. I was stressed by the fact that I was lying to Edward about it. And then there was the nausea. I’d told myself my body was still growing accustomed to Greenwich Mean Time, or as the girl had suggested, I’d eaten a bad fish vindaloo.

  All right, so my breasts felt fuller, and they’d been heavy and a little sore. But—I blushed—I’d assumed that was just from all the sex. The rough play at night was almost the only time I ever saw Edward anymore.

  Every morning, his driver collected him before dawn to take him to his building in Canary Wharf, gleaming and modern, with a private shower and futon in his private office suite, and four PAs to service his every whim. Battling to save the deal that his cousin was trying to sabotage, he’d worked eighteen hours a day, Sundays included, and usually didn’t return until long after I was in bed. Some nights he never bothered to come home at all.

  But on the rest, Edward woke me up in the dark to make love to me. A bright, hot fire in the night, when his powerful body took mine with hungry, insatiable demand. Sometime before dawn, I’d feel him kiss my temple, hear him whisper, Good luck today. I’m proud of you. Half-asleep, I’d sigh back, Good luck, and then he was gone. I’d awake in the morning with sunlight slanting through the windows, and his side of the bed empty. And I would be alone.

  My days in London were lonely. I missed the life we’d had in Cornwall. I missed Penryth Hall.

  Everything had changed.

  Was it about to change more?

  Distracted by my thoughts, I almost missed my stop at High Street Kensington. I exited the underground station and then, not daring to meet the pimply sales clerk’s eyes, I bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy on the corner.

  Edward had offered his driver’s services to take me to auditions, but I didn’t think it would do me any favors to arrive via chauffeured car, like the kept woman I’d somehow become. Plus, then I would have had to actually go to the auditions. Easier to take the underground and keep my independence—and my secrets. I didn’t want Edward to feel disappointed in me, as he would if he knew I hadn’t made it to a single audition in two months, in spite of all my bravado.

  I hadn’t wanted a driver then, but now, as I trudged up the street with my pharmacy bag tucked into my purse, the cold gray drizzle turned to half-frozen rain, soaking through my light cotton jacket, and I suddenly wished I had someone to look after me. Someone who would take me in his arms and tell me everything was going to be all right. Because I was scared.

  I reached Edward’s beautiful Georgian townhouse, with its five bedrooms and private garden, in an elegant neighborhood a few blocks from Kensington Palace. Heavily, I walked up the steps and punched the security code, then opened the front door.

  “Diana?” Mrs. Corrigan’s voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you, dear?”

  “Yes,” I said dully. No need to panic, I told myself. I’d take the pregnancy test. Once it said negative, I’d relax, and have a good laugh at my fears, along with a calming glass of wine.

  “Come back,” she called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Just a minute.” I went to the front bathroom. Trembling, I took the test. I waited. And waited. Be negative, I willed, staring down at it. Be negative.

  The test looked back at me.

  Positive.

  The test fell from my numb hand. Then I grabbed it and looked at it again. Still positive. I stuffed it at the bottom of the trash, hiding it beneath the empty bag. Which was ridiculous.

  Soon there would be no hiding it.

  Pregnant. My teeth chattered as I stumbled slowly down the hall to the large modern kitchen at the back. Pregnant.

  I looked out the big windows by the kitchen, overlooking the private garden that would be beautiful in spring, but at the moment was bleak and bare and covered with shards of melting snow.

  “There you are, dear.” Mrs. Corrigan, his full-time London housekeeper, was making a lemon cake. “Mr. St. Cyr just phoned for you.”

  “He called here?” My heart unfolded like a flower. Edward had never called me from work before. Had he somehow known I needed him, felt it in his heart?

  She looked up a little reproachfully from the bowl. “He was dismayed that he couldn’t reach you on your mobile.”

  “Um...” The sleek new cell phone he’d bought for me last month was still sitting on the granite kitchen countertop, plugged in, exactly where I’d left it two days ago. “I’ll phone him back now.”

  My hands shook as I walked down the hall to his study, closing the door behind me. Dialing his number, I listened to the phone ring, in that distinctly British sound, reminding me I was a long way from home. And so did the fact that I needed to navigate through two different secretaries before I finally heard Edward’s voice.

  “Why didn’t you answer your mobile?” he demanded by way of greeting.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot it. I was at an audition and...” My voice trembled.

  “The deal just went through.”

  His voice sounded so flat, it took me a moment to realize that he was calling to share good news. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I said brightly. My heart was pounding in my throat. “But, um, we need to talk—”

  “Yes, we do,” he said shortly. “There’s going to be a party tonight hosted by Rupert’s wife, at their house in Mayfair. Wear a cocktail dress. Be ready at eight.”

  Rupert’s wife. Victoria. I’d met her a few times. She was mean. I took a deep breath. “I’ll be ready. But something has
happened today, Edward. Something really important you should know about.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything. “Edward?”

  It took me several seconds to realize he’d already hung up. Incredulously, I stared down at my cell phone.

  “Everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Corrigan said cheerily as I came out of the study.

  This is all I can give you, Edward had said, the night he took my virginity. No marriage. No children. All I can offer is—this.

  It was more true than I’d realized. Because sex was truly all he gave me now. Sex that felt almost anonymous in the dark shadows of our bed. Sex, and a beautiful house to live in while I attempted to create the acting career that was supposedly my Big Dream. Except it made me sick.

  Or maybe it was the pregnancy doing that.

  What would he say when he found out? Would he be furious? Indifferent? Would he think I’d somehow done it on purpose? Would he ask me to end the pregnancy?

  No way. My hands unwillingly went to my slightly curved belly. Even in my shock, I already knew that I was keeping this baby. There was no other option for me.

  But I was scared of his reaction.

  I feared I already knew what it would be.

  Mrs. Corrigan was whipping the frosting, humming merrily as I walked into the kitchen. Her plump cheeks were rosy. “Such an afternoon it is!” she sighed, looking out the windows. “Rain and more rain.” She looked at me. “Would you care for some tea? Or maybe some food, you’re looking skin and bone,” she chided affectionately.

  Skin and bone? I looked down at my full breasts, my plump hips. At my belly, which would soon be enormous. I felt another strange twinge of queasiness that I now knew was morning sickness. “Um, thanks, but I’m not hungry. Edward’s taking me to a party tonight, to celebrate that his deal just went through—”

  “Wonderful!”

  “Yes. It is.” Not so wonderful that I’d be spending time with his friends. All those bankers and their wives, and the worst of them all, Rupert and his wife, Snooty McSnotty. A low buzz of anxiety rolled through me, heavy gray clouds through my soul with lightning and rain.

  And at that thought, thunder really did boom outside, so loud it shook the china cup in its saucer as the housekeeper poured me tea.

  “Ooh,” said Mrs. Corrigan with a shiver, “that was a good one, wasn’t it?”

  The rain continued all afternoon and into the evening. I paced the floor, tried to read, had to reread every page six times as my mind wandered. I managed some bread and cheese for dinner, and a little bit of lemon cake. I went upstairs and showered and dressed. I blow-dried my hair, making it lustrous and straight. I put on makeup. I put on the designer cocktail dress he’d bought me. It was tighter and skimpier than anything I’d ever worn before. Especially now. For heaven’s sake, how could I not have noticed my breasts were this big?

  I was ready early, at seven forty-five. Going into the front room, I sat shivering on the sofa as I waited. Outside, the traffic had dissipated, and the street was dark. Beneath the rain, puddles shone dull silver against the street lights. I waited.

  It wasn’t until an hour later, almost nine, that I heard the front door slam. He ran upstairs, calling my name.

  “I’m in here.”

  “Sitting in the dark?” he growled. Coming into the front room, he clicked on a light, glowering at me. “What are you doing, Diana?”

  I blinked, squinting in the light. “I just didn’t notice.”

  “Didn’t notice?” Edward looked handsome, British and rich, a million miles out of my league in his tailored suit and tie. A warrior tycoon ready to do battle by any means—with his fists, if necessary.

  But his eyes looked tired. I suddenly yearned to take him in my arms, to make him feel better. But I doubted my news would do that.

  “Edward.” I swallowed. “We need to talk....”

  “We’re late,” he said shortly. “I need to change.”

  Turning, he raced back up the stairs, his long legs taking the steps three at a time. He seemed in foul temper for a CEO that had just made a billion-dollar deal. In record time, he returned downstairs, wearing a designer tuxedo, and looking more devilishly handsome than any man should look. I felt a sudden ache in my heart. “You look very handsome.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t return the compliment. Instead, his lips twisted down grimly as he held out my long black coat, wrapping it around my shoulders. His voice was cold. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” I said, although I’d never felt less ready in my life. We left the house, getting into the backseat of the waiting car.

  “How was your audition today?” he asked abruptly as his driver closed the car door.

  As the driver pulled the car smoothly from the curb, I looked at Edward, suddenly uneasy. I licked my lips. “It was...surprising, actually.”

  “You’re lying,” he said flatly. “You didn’t even go.”

  “I did go,” I said indignantly. “I just didn’t stay, because... Wait.” I frowned. “How do you know?”

  “The director is a friend of mine. He was going to give you special consideration.” Edward glared at me. “He called me this afternoon to say you never even bothered to show. You lied to me.” He tilted his head. “And this isn’t the first time, is it?”

  Lifting my chin, I looked him full in the face. “I haven’t done a single audition since we got here.”

  He looked staggered. “Why?”

  I tried to shrug, to act like it didn’t matter. “I didn’t feel like it.”

  His jaw tightened. “So you’ve lied to me for the last two months. And every morning before I left for work, I wished you good luck... I feel like a fool. Why did you lie?”

  As the car wove through the Friday evening traffic on Kensington Road, I saw the Albert Memorial in Kensington Gardens, the ornate monument to Queen Victoria’s young husband whom she’d mourned for forty years after he died. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Well, you have.” His jaw went tight as he looked out at the passing lights of the city reflected in the rain. We turned north, toward Mayfair. “I didn’t take you for a liar. Or a coward.”

  It was like being stabbed in the heart. I took a shuddering breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me the director was your friend?”

  “I wanted you to think you’d gotten the part on your own.”

  “Because you think I can’t?”

  He shook his head grimly. “You hadn’t gotten a single role. I thought I could help. I didn’t tell you because...” He set his jaw. “It just feels better to be self-made.”

  “How would you know?” I cried.

  I regretted the words the instant they were out of my mouth. Hurt pride had made me cruel. But as I opened my mouth to apologize, the car stopped. Our door opened.

  Edward gave me a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Time to party.”

  He held out his arm stiffly on the sidewalk. I took it, feeling wretched and angry and ashamed all at once. We walked into the party, past a uniformed doorman.

  Rupert St. Cyr, Edward’s cousin, had a lavish mansion, complete with an indoor pool, a five-thousand-bottle wine cellar, a huge gilded ballroom with enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from a forty-foot ceiling and very glamorous, wealthy people dancing to a jazz quartet.

  “Congratulations!”

  “You old devil, I don’t know how you did it. Well done.”

  Edward smiled and nodded distantly as people came up to congratulate him on the business deal. I clutched his arm as we walked toward the coat room.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I’m sorry I ever tried to help you,” he said under his breath.

  “I shouldn’t have lied to you.” I bit my lip.
“But something happened at the audition today, something that you should...”

  “Spare me the excuses,” he bit out. He narrowed his eyes. “This is exactly why I usually end love affairs after a few weeks. Before all the lies can start!”

  I stopped, feeling sick and dizzy. “You’re threatening to break up with me? Just because I didn’t go to auditions?”

  “Because you lied to my face about it,” he said in a low voice, his eyes shooting sparks of blue fire. “I don’t give a damn what you do. If you don’t want to act, be a ditchdigger, child minder, work in a shop. Stay at home and do nothing for all I care. Just be honest about it.”

  “Auditioning is so hard,” I choked out. I knew I wasn’t doing myself any favors trying to explain but I couldn’t help it. “Facing brutal rejection, day after day. I have no friends here. No connections.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “You wish you were back in L.A. Is that what you’re saying?”

  His expression looked so strange, I hardly knew what to say. “Yes. I mean, no....”

  Beneath the gilded chandeliers of the ballroom, Edward’s expression hardened. So did his voice. “If you want to go, then go.”

  I shriveled up inside.

  Turning, he left the coat room, leaving me to trail behind him.

  “Edward!” I heard a throaty coo, and looking up, I saw Victoria St. Cyr coming toward us. “And Diana. What a pleasant surprise.” Insultingly, she looked me up and down, and my cheeks went hot. My cocktail dress that had seemed so daring and sexy suddenly felt like layers of tacky trash bags twisted tightly around my zaftig body, especially compared to the elegantly draped gray dress over her severely thin frame. She bared her teeth into a smile. “How very...charming that you’re still with us. And surprising.”

  Things only went downhill from there.

  I did not fit into Edward’s world. I felt insecure and out of place. Clutching his arm, I clung to him pathetically as he walked through the party. Even as he drank short glasses of port with the other men, and traded verbal barbs with his cousin, I tried to be part of the conversation, to act as if I belonged. To act as if my heart weren’t breaking.