Raul didn’t want to many her. He had made no attempt to pretend otherwise. The occasional flash of sanity told Polly that that was all wrong, totally unacceptable as a basis even for a marriage of convenience. But what was the alternative? Polly couldn’t see any alternative. Only marriage could give them both an equal share of their child.
She stretched awkwardly, and used her fingers to massage the base of her spine. At that moment, Raul strode in.
‘Dios...let’s get this over with as quickly as possible,’ Raul urged impatiently as he reached down a strong hand to enclose hers and help her up off the sofa.
Thirty seconds later Rod Bevan arrived, accompanied by two other men. One was the registrar who would perform the ceremony, the other Raul introduced as his lawyer, Digby Carson. The service was very brief. When it was over, everybody shook hands and everybody smiled—with the exception of Raul. His cool impassivity didn’t yield or melt for a second.
In the midst of an increasingly awkward conversation, a sharp, tightening sensation formed around Polly’s abdomen. A stifled gasp was wrenched from her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Raul demanded, anxiety flaring in his stunning dark eyes.
‘I think we’d better forget the coffee and the scones,’ Rod Bevan concluded with a rueful smile as he showed the other two men out.
While he was doing that, Raul scooped Polly up in his arms and laid her down gently on the bed. The impassive look had vanished. His lean, proud face was full of concern. ‘The baby’s not due for another two weeks,’ he told her tautly.
‘Babies have their own schedule, Raul. I’d say this one has a pretty good sense of timing,’ Rod asserted cheerfully.
‘I’ll stay with you, Polly,’ Raul swore.
‘No, you will not!’ Polly exclaimed in instantaneous rejection. ‘I don’t want you with me!’
‘I’d like to see my baby born,’ Raul murmured intently, staring down at her with all the expectancy his powerful personality could command.
Dumbly she shook her head, tears of embarrassment pricking her eyes. She could not imagine sharing anything that intimate with a man she hadn’t even shared a bedroom with.
As he rang the bell for a nurse, she heard the consultant say something in Spanish. Raul’s response was quiet, but perceptibly edged by harshness. The door thudded shut on his departure.
‘He’s furious!’ Polly suddenly sobbed, torn by both resentment and an odd, stabbing sense of sharp regret.
‘No...he’s hurt,’ the older man contradicted, patting her clenched fingers soothingly. ‘For a male as squeamish as Raul, that was one hell of a generous offer!’
Polly gazed down in drowsy fascination at her baby and fell head-over-heels in love for the second time in her life. He was gorgeous. He had fine, silky black hair and big dark eyes, and a cry that seemed to be attached by some invisible string to her heart. He looked so small to her, but the midwife had said he was big—a whole ten pounds one ounce worth of bouncing, healthy baby.
As the nurse settled him into the crib, Raul appeared with Rod Bevan. Although medication had left Polly feeling sleepily afloat, and incapable of much in the way of thought or speech, she stared at Raul in surprise. His darkly handsome features were strained, his expressive mouth taut, his eyes shadowed. His tie was missing, the jacket of his suit crumpled and his white shirt open at his strong brown throat.
‘What’s wrong?’ Polly asked worriedly.
Broodingly, Raul surveyed his sleeping son and thrust a not quite steady hand through his already rumpled black hair. ‘He’s wonderful,’ he breathed with ragged appreciation. ‘But supremely indifferent to the danger he put you in!’
The consultant absorbed Polly’s frown of incomprehension. ‘Raul equates a Caesarean section with a near death experience,’ he explained with gentle satire as he took his leave in the nurse’s wake.
Faint colour overlaid Raul’s blunt cheekbones. He studied Polly’s weary face and frowned darkly. He reached for her hand and coiled long fingers warmly round hers. ‘I wasn’t prepared for surgical intervention...why didn’t you warn me?’
Polly slowly shook her head.
‘Rod tells me you’ve known for months that the baby would probably have to be delivered that way,’ Raul persisted.
‘It’s quite common,’ Polly managed to slur, her eyelids feeling as if they had weights driving them downward.
‘You’re so tiny,’ Raul muttered almost fiercely. ‘I should’ve thought—’
‘Bit late now,’ Polly incised with drowsy wit.
‘My son is beautiful,’ Raul murmured. ‘At least we got something right.’
‘Our...son,’ she mumbled.
‘We’ll call him Rodrigo—’