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.’