“Oh, they know about the baby,” she mumbled. “But I thought it would be easier to keep the whole you-thing quiet for now.”
“I see,” he nodded, though he didn’t. “Why?”
She grimaced, her voice appeasing when she spoke. “Because you’re Lord Theo Trevalyen and that’s kind of weird and crazy and I just didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?”
“You don’t want what to be a thing?”
Imogen lifted her eyes to his face then immediately looked towards the windows, staring out at London, her pulse racing. “Well, Theo,” she watched a plane scrawl a white line across the sky. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not exactly what my parents would see as a catch.”
His laugh drew her attention back to his face and at his look of indignation she sighed, reaching up and cupping his cheek with her palm. “That can’t shock you?”
“Well, it’s not what I expected you to say,” he said, only the amusement in his eyes showing that he wasn’t really offended.
“You have a reputation as a bit of a bastard,” Im
ogen said seriously.
His laugh was short and sharp. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. And you’ve only just got out of your marriage, and since then you’ve been kind of bed-hopping.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re definitely not what my parents had in mind.”
“Jesus.” Theo was ashamed to recognize he hadn’t thought of that. It hadn’t occurred to him for even a moment that her parents wouldn’t be thrilled. Talk about ego.
But he was nothing if not a dedicated problem-solver. He nodded with determination. “Okay. Then it’s even more imperative I meet them, so they can get to know me.”
“Maybe,” she grinned and he recognized it for what it was: a non-committal delay tactic. “Or maybe we just wait a while.”
He nodded, but the truth was, her reticence to tell her parents about him felt strange. Unwelcome. Odd.
Still, he smiled, and placed his hand over hers, pulling it to his lips. “Sure.” He dropped her hand, reaching for his tea. “So, what did your parents have in mind?”
Imogen made a thinking sound. “I guess someone a bit more …” she scrunched her nose up, “normal.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not normal?”
Imogen arched a brow and looked around the spacious living area meaningfully. “Yes, Lord Trevelayen. You’re totally normal.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. A nice guy from town. Maybe a builder or an accountant.”
“So you think they’ll be prejudiced against me because I’m an entrepreneur?”
She burst out laughing. “More likely because you’re a billionaire aristocrat,” she said with a shake of her head.
“You know, strangely enough, many people see that as a good thing.”
“Not my parents,” she said seriously. “They’re the most egalitarian, working-class normal people you’ll ever meet. Honestly, they’re going to freak out when they realize that their grandson is going to be part of the aristocracy.”
“Imogen? You do realize it’s not the nineteenth century anymore? The aristocracy, as you call us? We’re really just like you and your parents, oftentimes very poor and hard-working owing to inheritance tax and generations of poor investment.”
“Oh, boo, cry me a river,” she said with an amused roll of her eyes. “It must have been really hard growing up on that gorgeous estate…”
His eyes glinted with amusement as he stepped around the bench and put his body right in front of hers. “Tell me, did I used to find your penchant for sarcasm… cute?”
It was the exact question he’d asked on the night she’d arrived in London, brimming with the news that she was pregnant with his baby. She smiled at him impishly and nodded. “I suspect you still do.”
His eyes flashed as he dropped his head, his lips finding hers as though they were her polar opposite. “You’re right. I find everything about you cute, Imogen Harper.”
*
Imogen bent down, lifting several building blocks against her rapidly expanding stomach and weaving through the toddler room.