The Secret Baby Scandal Page 14

  ‘You are turning into a fish, Max,’ Rafe said. ‘Where are your fins?’

  Max splashed in the shallows, grinning. ‘I don’t have fins!’

  Rafe crouched down by the side of the pool, a smile softening his features, making him look entirely too approachable. Too wonderful. ‘No? Are you sure?’

  Max continued to splash about, and slowly, as if he needed to steel himself, Rafe turned to Freya. ‘You are well?’ he enquired politely.

  ‘Very well,’ Freya replied, just as politely. She hated how artificial they were with each other, yet she did not know how to change it. She doubted Rafe even wanted to. And she had no intention of boring him with the truth—which was that over the past few days she’d felt a little off…tired and nauseous. It was no doubt some kind of bug, and she’d get over it without any help from Rafe.

  ‘Damita has prepared lunch,’ Rafe told her. ‘A seafood paella. Are you ready to eat?’

  Freya couldn’t quite keep from making a face. Although the housekeeper made delicious meals, the thought of seafood put her right off.

  Rafe raised his eyebrows. ‘Does that not suit you?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have been feeling a bit nauseous these past few days. Probably some sort of stomach bug.’ She swung her legs off the lounger and turned to Max, intending to call him out of the water.

  ‘Nauseous?’ Rafe repeated. ‘How long has this been going on?’

  ‘A few days, that is all. It goes away by dinnertime.’

  Rafe had stilled, tensed.

  ‘If you are worried that it might interfere with my care of Max—’

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I am not concerned about that.’

  He paused, and Freya saw him looking at her with that narrow, assessing gaze that had been thankfully absent these past few weeks. He looked suspicious—but of what? A bout of stomach flu? Uneasily she turned back to Max.

  ‘Max, get out of the water. It is time for lunch.’ She waited for Rafe to say something, but he remained standing there, silent, as Max scrambled from the pool, and Freya held up a towel, bundling him into it with a smile and a ruffle of his wet hair.

  It could not be. Surely it could not be. Rafe watched Freya as she dried off Max, cuddling him a bit, and his insides tightened.

  Nauseous. Tired. He knew the signs; God only knew he’d been looking for them for the five years of his marriage—hoping, praying that Rosalia would fall pregnant, that they would have a family. The family he’d always wanted. The family he’d never had as a child.

  Their marriage had ended when she’d revealed to him that it hadn’t been possible, that she’d never wanted it to be possible. With a flash of ever-present anger Rafe remembered the swamping sense of betrayal, the hollow sensation of realising he’d been waiting and hoping in utter futility.

  Yet even that had been a lie. Had Rosalia ever told him the truth? Had any woman?

  And was Freya lying to him now? Had she lied to him when she told him it was ‘taken care of’?

  Could she be pregnant?

  Rafe turned away from the sight of her, her dark red hair falling forward to hide her face as she towelled Max dry. In the heat she wore just a tee shirt and shorts, and he could see the curve of her shoulder, the thin fabric pulling taut over the bone. Even that simple sight caused desire to tug deep inside his belly. Was he imagining that her curves were looking lusher and fuller?

  He’d spent the last three weeks trying not to notice her, trying to ignore the lust that fired his body and something different and deeper that touched his heart. Although he pretended not to notice, he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from her as she played with Max, or read him a story, her lovely features softened and suffused with love. He’d fully intended packing Freya back off to England by now, yet when he saw the bond she shared with his son he knew he could not—and not just for Max’s sake. Not even for Freya’s.

  For his own.

  Despite the distance they’d silently agreed to maintain, he was not ready for Freya to leave. It was unreasonable—idiotic, even—yet it was there all the same: a deep and desperate need for a woman he knew was completely off-limits. And who might be pregnant with his child.

  ‘Come along, Max,’ he said, his voice coming out a little rougher than he’d intended. The thought that Freya might be pregnant, might know she was pregnant, made fury pulse through him. Lied to. Again.

  He didn’t talk to Freya until that evening, when Max was settled in bed. He waited outside the doorway until she’d said goodnight and clicked off the light. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Freya gasped aloud, one hand flying to her chest. ‘Oh! You startled me.’

  He watched colour flare in her face, her grey eyes wide, and realised he hardly ever saw her discomfited or surprised or anything but coolly rational. Perhaps that was why her response in his arms had been so unsettling and explosive. It had not been at all expected.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you have a moment?’ He’d adopted that cool, polite voice, and Freya took it as her cue to match it.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She followed him downstairs into the living room. The room was huge and formal and Rafe hardly ever used it.

  He paced to the window, conscious of her standing in the doorway, slight and uncertain.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she finally asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rafe said. He’d wanted to sound calm, measured, but he heard coldness and even anger creeping in. You tricked me. Betrayed me. The accusations clamoured in his throat. Would he ever know a woman who was honest? Yet even now, as he turned to face her, saw her eyes widen and her face pale, he wanted to trust her. Stupidly, perhaps, but he could not deny that basic craving.

  He saw Freya swallow, lift her chin. ‘Is there something you want to say?’ she asked evenly, and despite her level tone he knew she was frightened—saw the pulse flutter in her throat.

  What was she afraid of? What was she hiding? If she knew she was pregnant, surely she would tell him, trap him? Keeping it from him—just as Rosalia had—made no sense. Rosalia had acted out of spite and hurt, but surely Freya did not harbour such motives? For a moment Rosalia’s last words to him rang through his head, obliterating all rational thought:

  ‘I never intended to fall pregnant. I’ve been on the Pill, Rafe, since our honeymoon. I don’t want your baby.’

  ‘Rafe?’ Freya spoke quietly, her forehead furrowing in concern.

  Rafe let out a slow breath, forced the memories to recede. Freya was not Rosalia. He still didn’t trust her, didn’t know what secrets she hid, but she was not his ex-wife. She was not, please God, deceiving him the way his ex-wife had. She might not even be pregnant. A little nausea could be explained away, surely? He was simply being overly alert. Paranoid.

  Hopeful.

  The word caught him on the raw. Did he want another child? The child of this near-stranger? The thought made no sense, yet he could not keep that tiny tendril of hope—or something close to it—from unfurling inside him. He’d wanted a family for so long—had dreamed of the day he would have a child, a wife. And now he found he could picture Freya as a mother all too easily, her slender arms cradling a baby—their baby. With a jolt he realised he did not want just the child, the way he had with Rosalia. He wanted the woman too.

  Freya.

  What was it about this woman that called out to him, made him want in a way he never had before? Made him feel in a way he never had before? Was it the glimpse of passion underneath that cool exterior? Or the gentleness and kindness she showed to Max? Or was it simply the whole person—beautiful, alluring, kind, secretive?

  He still didn’t know what secrets she hid.

  Freya simply stared at him, her face pale and beautiful, her eyes wide. She looked heartrendingly beautiful.

  ‘Freya,’ he said, and when she blinked in surprise he realised it was the first time he’d used her Christian name. ‘Have you considered that you might be pregnant?’

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sp; CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘PREGNANT?’ Freya repeated numbly, for of course the possibility had never once—not even remotely—crossed her mind. She shook her head, suppressing the sudden, bizarre blaze of hope Rafe’s words had caused to streak through her. ‘No.’

  Impatience flashed across his features. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Freya told him flatly. It hurt to say it.

  Rafe shook his head, nonplussed.

  ‘I’m infertile,’ she elaborated. His expression did not change.

  ‘Are you certain?’

  Anger spiked through her, firing her words. ‘Am I certain?’ she repeated, her voice rising, giving way to the ocean of emotion underneath. She strove to temper it, to keep herself as calm and remote as always. She could not give in to the emotions and memories now. If she did, she might drown in them. ‘Of course I am.’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘It is perhaps possible, though?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Freya said coldly. She hated that he was pressing her, giving her hope. She’d lived with her infertility for ten years. Had accepted it…almost.

  Perhaps this is your punishment. A girl like you…

  ‘It is not possible. And I’m surprised you’d even think of it, based on such little evidence. A little nausea—’

  His mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘I looked for pregnancy symptoms in my wife for five years. I know the signs.’

  His admission caused shock to slice through her. Five years? ‘And she never fell pregnant?’

  ‘No,’ Rafe told her flatly. ‘Because she was on the Pill the entire time and didn’t tell me. She never wanted children, even though I—’ He stopped, his lips pressed firmly together, his body taut with suppressed emotion.

  ‘But then she did become pregnant, and kept it from you?’ Freya filled in slowly.

  ‘Exactly.’ Rafe turned back to her with a grim smile. ‘By accident, I must suppose. She deceived me twice—first by taking birth control when she knew how much I wanted a child, and then by keeping her pregnancy secret from me.’

  ‘I suppose I can understand why you wanted a paternity test,’ Freya said quietly, and Rafe’s features twisted.

  ‘I did not realise she hated me so much.’ He raked a hand through his hair, then let it fall. ‘I think you should take a pregnancy test. Just in case.’

  ‘It’s not—’

  ‘I know,’ he cut across her. ‘But at least it will rule out the possibility.’

  This was what Rosalia lived with for five years, Freya supposed. The pressure, the tension, and then of course his disappointment. By the time Freya had met her Rosalia had surely hated Rafe. Yet what had caused that hate? Five years of expectation and disappointment could not have helped. Had she ever loved him? Freya thought she must have. Her hatred had seemed fuelled by disappointment and despair. Had Rafe ever loved his wife, Freya wondered, or just the idea of a child?

  ‘I’ll buy a test tomorrow,’ Rafe told her.

  Freya shrugged her acceptance. If it eased Rafe’s mind, she would take the test. She knew what the result would be.

  Positive. Two pink lines. Freya sat on the edge of the bath and stared disbelievingly at the test stick. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. She knew it was.

  Yet the evidence was right there in her hand—two blazing pink lines that meant she was pregnant. She scrabbled for the leaflet that had come with the test, checked again. Yes. Pregnant. And what about false positives? Very rare, the leaflet said.

  And yet…

  It couldn’t be.

  Even so an incredulous hope was filling her up inside, buoying her heart. She felt a sudden fierce joy—a joy she’d never thought to experience. A child. Her child. A miracle.

  ‘Freya?’ Rafe stood outside the bathroom door, impatience sharpening his voice.

  The disbelieving joy of seeing the test results gave way to a greater shock. She was pregnant…with Rafe’s child. It was a miracle, but it was also a mess.

  ‘Just a minute.’ From somewhere Freya found her voice. Fumbling with the lock, she opened the bathroom door. She had no words—she felt suddenly near tears—so she simply handed the test stick to Rafe. He took it automatically, then stared down at those two lines.

  For a split second, no more, Freya thought he looked almost—happy. He didn’t smile, but his features softened in a way that made her yearn for this moment to be so different from what it was. Then his expression was ironed out and he tossed the stick in the bin.

  ‘You’re pregnant.’ He spoke levelly, without any inflection.

  Freya nodded. ‘Yes, it would seem… I thought it was impossible. I was sure…’

  ‘Were you?’ Rafe enquired coolly.

  Freya’s gaze flew to his face. She saw his eyes had narrowed, his lips pursed. She was starting to know that look so well.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ she asked, her voice as cool as his. ‘That I tricked you somehow? That I planned what—what happened and thought I might get pregnant that one time? You still suspect some kind of seduction?’ Even though she kept her voice level and expressionless, she knew Rafe could hear the scorn.

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said evenly. ‘You told me it was taken care of. I assumed you were on birth control—’

  ‘I am infertile.’ Freya cut across him, the words raw and wounded. ‘I was told I was infertile. I had no reason to doubt it.’ She swallowed convulsively, unable to say more. Rafe’s narrow gaze took in her sudden silence, and she knew he was not satisfied with her answer.

  He nodded towards her still-flat belly. ‘Obviously the person who told you was mistaken.’

  Freya placed her hand on her middle, as if she could somehow sense the tiny life within. Pregnant. A child. A chance she’d never, ever thought to have. Rafe raised his eyebrows, and suddenly, fiercely, Freya said, ‘I’m keeping it.’

  Rafe drew back, clearly startled by the fierceness of her tone. ‘I was not suggesting otherwise.’

  ‘Good.’ She let out a harsh breath. ‘This baby is a miracle. I never thought I’d fall pregnant.’ Repercussions were slamming through her mind. This baby was not hers alone. ‘You’ve said you wanted children…’ she began hesitantly, not even sure what point she meant to make.

  Rafe’s mouth thinned. ‘I have a child.’

  The words hurt even as Freya lifted her chin. ‘Fine. If you think I’m asking for help, or money, or something like that—’

  ‘I don’t know what you want.’ Rafe cut across her, his tone suddenly savage. ‘I’ve never known what you wanted.’ He took a step closer to her, the action seeming both menacing and desperate. His eyes flashed blackly. ‘But I know you are hiding something from me, and when I find out what it is…’

  It wasn’t quite a threat, but close enough that Freya felt a shiver steal straight through her, all the way to her soul.

  ‘Whatever secrets I have,’ she whispered, ‘have nothing to do with you.’

  Rafe’s mouth curved in a humourless smile. ‘I knew from the moment I met you that you were hiding something from me. You still are. I’ve been deceived enough before to know the signs.’

  Freya felt her heart start to beat with fast, fearful thuds. She could not deny that she was hiding something; she’d been hiding something for ten years. Yet neither could she confess. The thought of facing Rafe’s sure scorn and disgust was more than she could bear. Besides, it was her secret and hers alone. It had nothing to do with their baby.

  Their baby.

  ‘I think you must be paranoid,’ she told him coolly. ‘I am not Rosalia. I am not lying to you. I genuinely believed myself to be infertile.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Rafe returned, yet his tone suggested that was just about all he believed.

  Freya could not keep herself from looking away, and Rafe noticed.

  His mouth thinned once more. ‘I will make an appointment at the doctor’s in Seville.’

  Freya swallowed. Tasted bile. Memories came rushing back—mem
ories of pregnancy tests and doctors’ offices, of disappointment and despair. She’d been eighteen years old, alone in Barcelona. It had been different, and yet so much the same. She looked away, blinking hard.

  ‘What is wrong?’ Rafe asked.

  Freya drew in a deep breath. She could not let memories claim her now—not when Rafe was already so suspicious.

  ‘Nothing. That is…this is a lot to take in.’

  ‘So it is.’ Rafe paused, and Freya tensed. He looked so serious, and so very determined. ‘If the doctor confirms this pregnancy, and it is viable,’ he said, his gaze dark and steady, ‘you will marry me.’

  Even though she’d strangely half expected it, Freya still felt an icy ripple of shock douse her senses. ‘That isn’t the only solution.’

  ‘It is for me.’

  She raised her chin. ‘You want to get married after your first experience?’

  He flinched, and she realised she’d hurt him. ‘At least with this marriage we’ll both go in knowing the circumstances—and the limitations.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘It will be a marriage of convenience—one that is best for the child.’

  He made it sound so simple, Freya thought. So obvious. ‘And a loveless business arrangement is best for a child?’ she asked, a revealing catch in her voice.

  ‘Knowing both your parents is best for a child,’ Rafe returned harshly.

  ‘That doesn’t require marriage—’

  ‘My child will not grow up a bastard.’ She flinched, and he gave a hollow laugh. ‘I would not wish that on any child. I’m speaking from experience.’

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘You—’

  Rafe slashed a hand through the air. ‘Marriage is the only option.’

  Freya felt a hollow sensation in her chest, as if she had emptied out. She had not expected such a demand so soon, so suddenly. ‘And if I don’t agree?’

  ‘Don’t go there, Freya.’

  The words were a warning, given with the kind of cold control that reminded her she was speaking to El Tiburón. The shark of the business world who devoured what he wanted and discarded what he didn’t. And right now, Freya thought, he wanted her child.