‘And who will care for you?’ His words were like soft blows, hammering at her. ‘You have no family. Have you close friends who’ll be there whenever you need them? Have you got anyone?’
Said like that, he made her sound so pathetic. ‘My really good friends have all moved away with jobs or family.’ And, while she got on well with her work colleagues, this last year she’d been so wrapped up in grief after Izzy’s death, then busy caring for her mother, that she’d got out of the habit of accepting social invitations. She’d effectively cut herself off. ‘But I’ll be fine. The health service—’
‘I’m not talking about people paid to look after you.’ His fingers closed around hers and he lifted her hand between them. To her surprise he planted her palm against his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. A kiss that sent heat and wonder coursing through her, reminding her she wasn’t dead yet.
‘I’m talking about someone who will be there for you. Someone who can deal with the medicos when you’re too weary. Someone who’ll be on hand to look after our child.’
Imogen’s heart swelled. Put that way, the offer was irresistible.
‘You know I’m right, Imogen.’ His lips moved against her sensitive palm and the low burr of his voice curled around her like an embrace. And something inside, some selfish, needy part of her, urged her to accept.
Silently, she nodded.
An instant later his arms closed about her, pulling her against his hard chest.
Relief filled her. She just hoped she wasn’t making a mistake they’d both regret.
CHAPTER SIX
BY SATURDAY THEY were married.
Thierry steered his car through the congestion of central Paris, hyperaware of the woman beside him, her belongings stored neatly in the back.
He was a married man.
Married and expecting a child.
His hands clamped the wheel. Sweat beaded his hairline and something like panic stirred. Him—responsible for raising a child? The notion was so far out of left field, he still couldn’t quite believe it. He could face any number of extreme sports with a thrill of anticipation, yet the idea of being solely responsible for another life filled him with trepidation. He had no experience with kids, no desire for...
He caught the direction of his thoughts and cut it off. Shame pierced him, curdling his belly. So what if he knew nothing about child-rearing? He’d adapt. He’d take it one step at a time, just as he had when forced by injury to give up competitive skiing, and when he’d taken charge of the ailing family company. He had no right to complain, not when Imogen...
No, he refused to go there, at least today. For now it was enough that she was here with him. He was doing what needed to be done, despite his legal advisor’s warnings.
He’d never had much time for lawyers. But to be fair the old man had probably been as stunned by his news as Thierry’s family would be.
Thierry was the bachelor least likely to tie the knot, much to his grandparents’ despair. In his youth he’d vowed never to settle for any other woman since he couldn’t have Sandrine. Looking back on that time now, he felt merely curiosity and a twinge of remembered disappointment at the hurt which he’d thought had blighted his life.
How naïve he’d been. Far from being destroyed, his life had been filled to the brim. He’d spent the intervening years doing exactly what he loved—feeding his appetite for pleasure: sport, women, adventure.
‘You look happy.’
He turned to see Imogen scrutinising him, as if trying to read him. Why wouldn’t she? She’d put her life in his hands, and their child’s life.
She’d put on a good show of being indomitable these past few days, but her tiredness betrayed her. He couldn’t bear to think of where that would inevitably lead. The knowledge had been like acid eating at him ever since he’d heard. He’d never felt so appallingly useless.
‘Getting out of the city is cause for celebration, don’t you think?’ He forced a smile and was rewarded with a slight upward tilt of her lips.
He’d always liked the way she responded to his smile, even when, as now, he guessed she felt out of sorts.
Out of sorts! His smile twisted.
‘You don’t like the city? I think Paris is fabulous.’
Thierry shrugged, focusing his attention on the road and the van trying to change lanes into a non-existent space between a motorcycle and another car.