Reclaiming His Pregnant Widow. Tessa Radley

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СКАЧАТЬ to stop her.

      Three

      “Bourbon, double on ice. Your order?”

      Brand gave a curt nod in acknowledgment of the barman’s question and reached for the heavy-bottomed glass, while keeping a wary eye on the gaggle of journalists who’d shown a great deal of interest since he’d reentered the gallery.

      The first slug hit the back of his throat. Brand grimaced. In four years he’d forgotten the punch that whiskey packed. Picking up the pitcher on the bar counter, Brand added two fingers of water to the bourbon.

      Glass in hand, he retreated to a deserted spot behind a column topped with a woman’s head carved from marble to sip his drink. Out of sight of the media contingent, Brand searched for his errant wife. He located her in a group that included a senator, the senator’s wife and a well-known art auctioneer. As he studied Clea, he tried to fathom why he hadn’t already departed.

      With the media about to erupt into full bay at his mysterious reappearance any moment, it made no sense to still be hanging around. Not unless he wished to make front-page news … and that had never been Brand’s style.

      Clea’s laugh rang out and Brand stilled, his eyebrows jerking together. She looked vivacious and happy—not as if she’d just had a rip-roaring argument with the husband she hadn’t seen for four years. Clearly at ease in the company of power, she’d developed a poise and sophistication she hadn’t possessed four years ago.

      His wife had grown up. He’d left a young bride and come back to find a woman. Brand’s gaze dropped to her stomach.

      Make that a pregnant woman.

      Her father joined the group. Brand’s frown deepened as the senator welcomed Donald Tomlinson with a wide smile. When they’d first met, Clea had told him her father would love him—after all, they had much in common. Donald Tomlinson imported rugs, ceramics, wooden furniture and selected antiquities from Afghanistan, Iraq and Turkey for a string of up-market stores he owned. Clea considered it a miracle they hadn’t already encountered each other.

      Brand had known from their first handshake that Donald Tomlinson didn’t care for him. Meeting Clea’s childhood friend had explained why—Harry Hall-Lewis was the man Donald had singled out for his daughter to marry. Ivy League-educated, a successful import-exporter with whom her father had a close business relationship, Harry was affable and easygoing. That Harry’s family could trace their genealogy back to the Mayflower also helped.

      An ex-special forces soldier from a rural New Zealand family of no repute could hardly compete, regardless of the reputation for integrity he’d built—or his rapidly growing fortune based on the ever-escalating value of the ancient artifacts he dealt in. Millions meant little to Donald—he had enough of his own. When Clea had chosen a hasty marriage in Las Vegas’s Chapel of Love to her soldier-turned-antiquities-dealer, Donald’s displeasure had become outright enmity.

      “Brand … it is you. How wonderful. Where have you been?”

      Brand turned his head. Clea’s mother stood beside him, her dark hair swept into a chignon, her black dress timelessly elegant. Diamonds glittered at her throat. He’d only encountered Caroline a handful of times during his marriage to Clea. The only child of a wealthy industrialist, Caroline had walked out on her marriage to Donald when Clea had been ten years old and remarried soon after her divorce had come through. A successful businessman, her new husband was a widower with a daughter—the same age as Clea—and a younger son.

      “It’s been a while.” Brand gave her a careful hug. After so long without close human contact it felt strange. “You look beautiful.”

      “Flatterer.” Caroline Fraser Tomlinson Gordon hugged him back, before stepping away with a small smile. “You look surprised to see me here. Of course, you should be—I wasn’t invited. I had the sense not to bring my husband, but I wanted to see Cleopatra’s exhibition so I slipped in—the doorman told me I had the same eyes as Cleopatra and never considered refusing me entrance. I’ve been admiring the exhibits. She’s done a magnificent job. I’m so proud of her.” Caroline’s emerald eyes shimmered with emotion.

      Omitting to mention that he was also a gate-crasher, Brand said gently, “You ought to have been invited.”

      Brand suspected that the estrangement between Clea and her mother hurt Clea more than she’d ever admit. She had always craved family and she needed her mother—even though she was too stubborn to admit it.

      “My daughter will never forgive me for leaving them.”

      Brand shifted uncomfortably. There was no tactful response to that. Finally, he settled for saying, “She needs you, she just doesn’t know it yet. Give her time.”

      At a scuffling sound behind him, he turned his head a fraction. His peripheral vision caught sight of a newsman changing the lens of his camera.

      He turned away. Afghanistan, Iraq and other hot spots during his days of active duty had taught him the game. There was no glory in a back-of-the-head view: Cameramen wanted to see the torment in the eyes of their prey.

      Caroline said quietly, “Cleopatra must know you’re back?”

      “Yes.” Brand’s answer was clipped as he focused on what the cameraman’s next move might be.

      His mother-in-law tapped his jacket sleeve. “Brand, you know I’ve never been in her confidence, but I do know she missed you terribly after you … disappeared. The weight that fell off her was evidence enough.”

      Her eyes were full of questions. Questions that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer. Not yet.

      He gestured to where Clea was talking and smiling. “So much that she’s pregnant?”

      “Pregnant?” Caroline examined her daughter’s figure. “Cleopatra?”

      Brand scanned the crowd. The cameraman had disappeared, but two others were hunched together talking furtively. “Uh-huh.”

      “She can’t be!”

      He turned his attention back to Clea’s mother and bent forward. “Trust me, she is.”

      Caroline had paled. “I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone. But why would Cleopatra tell me? We don’t talk.”

      Brand heard the movement beside him, and then a light flashed. He ducked his head and retreated farther behind the pillar. Someone swore softly.

      Another movement. Brand tensed. He had no compunction about breaking a lens if a camera was aimed directly at him. Clea, however, might take a dim view of such behavior. It was time for him to leave.

      But instead of a cameraman, Caroline peered around the pillar at him, her eyes the same intense green as her daughter’s.

      Wondering if she had any idea how close she’d come to triggering the violence and rage that simmered within him, Brand flexed his fists and forced a smile. “I seem to be causing something of a stir—I have to go. The last thing I want is to cause an incident. This is Clea’s evening—it should be a wild success, not a brawl.”

      She nodded, and then whispered conspiratorially, “There are two journalists on the other side of the pillar—I’ll СКАЧАТЬ