He stepped forward and grasped her arm. ‘You carry my child and you had no intention of telling me? Ever?’ he said, not quite able to keep the whisper of shocked betrayal out of his voice. Things had ended badly between them, and part of that had been his fault, but he did not deserve this.
She tugged her arm free. ‘This is my child, Maxim. I chose to have it. You don’t have to be a part of this.’
‘Are you mad?’ His gaze roamed down to her stomach, where the baby grew. ‘This is my flesh and blood. Do you really think I would choose to abandon it?’
She looked down, breaking eye contact, but he could hear the distress in her voice when she murmured, ‘Men do it all the time.’
He cursed under his breath. ‘Not this man,’ he said, more frustrated than he had ever been in his life. ‘I am not my father, if that is what you believe.’ Would he never be free of that bastard’s crimes? To be judged now by the sins of his father would almost be laughable if it weren’t so unjust.
She glanced up, the guilt in her eyes tempered by the shadow of doubt, and regret. And, although she remained silent, he could hear again what she had said that night.
‘This isn’t about my loyalty to Pierre... It’s about your need for revenge.’
And the question that had tormented him a thousand times since in his nightmares.
If you are really better than him, why did you insist on your revenge, insist on destroying La Maison, when letting her keep the house might have persuaded her to stay?
‘I don’t want to argue with you,’ she said, clasping her arms around her waist in a defensive gesture that had the guilty recriminations receding.
What the hell was she protecting herself against? Him?
Whatever his crimes against her that night, whatever he had done, or failed to do, she had taken the decision not to tell him about his child.
‘I deserve a better answer than that,’ he said. ‘You had no right not to inform me I was going to become a father.’
She lifted her chin, the spark of defiance in her eyes somehow better than the exhaustion, or the guilt, or the regret. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to know,’ she said.
‘When did I give you that impression?’ he demanded, the fury and frustration threatening to strangle him. ‘I asked you to come to Château Durand that night, I offered you my support.’
‘While making it very clear you thought a pregnancy would be an inconvenience,’ she fired back. ‘A problem to be solved...’ Her blue eyes darkened with sadness. ‘To be taken care of.’
‘Because at the time it was,’ he barked out, no longer able to contain his anger. She flinched and he forced himself to lower his voice again, to remain calm. Shouting at her was not the answer. ‘But the choice would always have been yours.’ He ground out the words, annoyed that he had to spell it out. Did she think he was some kind of monster? The kind of man who would have insisted she have an abortion? ‘But whatever I said then hardly applies now. The child is now a fact.’
She nodded, the flicker of guilt in her eyes some compensation. ‘Okay,’ she said.
A part of him was still furious with her, still angry, and still upset that she had run without giving him a chance to explain. A chance to change his mind about the damn house. But the protective side that had surged to life on the balcony... Hell, all those months ago, when he had tended her in the bathroom in La Maison de la Lune, went some way to calming his fury now. He had searched for a glimpse of her for months in every crowd and been unable to forget her, no matter how hard he tried. However shocking the news of her pregnancy was, and however hurtful her decision not to tell him about it, his first priority now had to be to take care of her, and ensure she didn’t run from him again.
So he went with instinct and cupped her cheek.
Her head jerked up, but she didn’t draw away from his touch as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip.
The surge of desire and the urge to feast on that mouth again was so fierce he had to force himself not to act on it. Giving in to this hunger now was not an option, but he took some consolation from the dazed arousal in her eyes.
‘You look exhausted,’ he murmured. ‘Are you well?’
‘I’m just tired. It’s been a long night,’ she said, the weary resignation in her tone crucifying him. He made no effort to control the shaft of tenderness, of possession that knifed through him this time.
They had a lot of talking to do. And probably arguing too. And he had no clue whatsoever how to handle the news that he was going to become a father, the fact of the child an abstract concept that he would have to deal with another time.
But right now she looked barely strong enough to stand.
Nudging her aside, he took her coat from the locker and wrapped it around her shoulders then lifted her bag out of her hand. ‘Come, we will go back to my hotel.’
‘It’s okay. I live in East London. I can get the Tube home,’ she said, reaching for her bag. He whisked it out of her grasp and she frowned. ‘If you tell me where you’re staying, Maxim, I’ll come over tomorrow and we can talk then about the baby.’
He let out a harsh laugh at her earnest expression. ‘Do you truly believe I would be so stupid as to let you out of my sight again?’
She didn’t say anything, clearly stunned by his question. He couldn’t imagine why she would be so surprised. Why would he trust her, after what she had done?