Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition. Heidi Rice

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      The blood pumped into her cheeks and spread out across her neck.

      ‘Does the spotting mean there could be harm to the baby?’ Devereaux said.

      Louisa kept her eyes on the doctor, determined not to even look at him. The whole situation suddenly felt surreal. As if she were having an out-of-body experience. How could she be pregnant by this man? She who hadn’t intended to even think about the possibility of having children for at least another ten years. She was only twenty-six. She’d worked so hard to get where she was. Killed herself at school to take her A-levels a year early. Had slaved in odd jobs to pay her way through university, done night shifts and overtime at London Nights to establish herself in the mostly male world of local reporting, and then finally fled from the ‘anything for a story’ ethos to establish herself as a features writer on Blush. She was proud of what she’d achieved. Blush was a brilliantly written magazine that didn’t just concern itself with the things that made women look and feel good, but also with the whole realm of the female experience. Now all that was in jeopardy because she’d made a foolish, reckless mistake. She’d fallen for a man who not only didn’t care a hoot about her, but had the sperm of a prize-winning bull.

      Fantastic, Louisa, you’ve really topped yourself this time.

      ‘Don’t worry about the spotting, Lord Berwick,’ the doctor said indulgently. ‘I’m sure your baby is fine. As I said, the test results show the pregnancy is firmly established. But I think an ultrasound scan will put everyone’s mind at rest.’ She smiled at Louisa, who was still processing the ‘your baby’ comment. ‘Why don’t you go through to the ultrasound suite, Miss DiMarco? It’s right next door.’

      After that little speech Louisa was surprised the woman had even put a question mark at the end of her sentence. It was clear the good doctor knew who was paying the bill. Louisa debated refusing to submit to the procedure. She slanted a look at Devereaux, who was watching her, his mouth set in a thin line of determination.

      Not just the sperm of a bull, but the stubbornness to match.

      She gave a heavy sigh. ‘All right,’ she said, standing up.

      She walked to the door the doctor had indicated on watery legs.

      Maybe there was still a small chance that this was all a hideous mistake, and when the doctor got her ultrasound equipment out she wouldn’t find a baby after all.

      ‘There’s the head and the spine,’ the doctor said enthusiastically, pointing at the sepia-toned three-dimensional image.

      ‘That’s incredible,’ Devereaux said in hushed tones. ‘It’s so clear.’

      ‘We have the newest, most state-of-the-art equipment here. We’re very proud of…’

      Louisa tuned out their conversation, transfixed by the bright, incandescent image.

      The coolness of the gel on her skin, the press of the ultrasound wand, even the rapid ticks of the baby’s heartbeat being monitored by the machinery faded into oblivion as Louisa stared at the tiny arms and legs, the large head, the perfectly formed little body.

      I’m looking at my baby.

      The words flickered in her consciousness, and then a dizzying sense of awe surged through the dense fog of self-pity.

      The doctor adjusted the wand and then tapped a few buttons. A close-up of the baby’s face appeared as if by magic. Its eyes were closed, one tiny little fist covering its nose and mouth.

      ‘What’s it doing?’ Louisa heard her voice coming from miles away.

      The doctor laughed. ‘Why, I think it’s trying to suck its thumb.’

      Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

      Tears stung Louisa’s eyes and she tried to blink them back. All this time she’d been thinking about herself, about how this whole situation was going to affect her, when there was a much more important life at stake—that of her child.

      The baby hadn’t seemed real until this moment, but now guilt engulfed her. Whatever her problems with Devereaux—however much this pregnancy would change her life, her dreams—she would never regret the miracle growing inside her. But she’d be bringing this perfect little person into the world without any of the things she herself had taken for granted—a loving two-parent home, a stable family life.

      As it always did, thoughts of her childhood brought back memories of her mother. Louisa let out a shaky sigh. If only she could talk to her mother now, just one more time. She trembled, the echo of long-remembered grief making the tears spill over her lids and run down her face. She reached up to wipe her cheeks, but strong fingers took hold of her wrist.

      She looked up to see Devereaux staring down at her from his seat beside the couch, his expression unreadable in the darkened room. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at her hairline, then skimmed the clean-smelling linen across her temples. When he’d finished, he put the handkerchief in her hand and closed his fist around her shaking fingers.

      He squeezed and let go. ‘You okay?’ he asked quietly.

      Hardly, she thought, but sniffed, burying her nose in his handkerchief to buy time. All she needed now was for him to be nice to her and she’d turn into a gibbering wreck.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, as soon as she could speak, struggling to sound as matter-of-fact as possible while her insides were turning to mush.

      He watched her a moment longer, those steely eyes giving absolutely nothing away, then turned back to the doctor, who was busy fiddling with her state-of-the-art equipment.

      ‘Right, I’ve checked all the vital organs and everything seems to be developing well,’ the doctor said at last, swinging round to address them both. ‘I must say the foetus is a little long for dates.’ She smiled benignly at Louisa, then spoke to Devereaux. ‘Can I ask how tall you are, Lord Berwick?’

      ‘Call me Luke,’ he said absently. ‘I’m six-three.’

      ‘That explains it, then,’ the doctor said, putting the ultrasound wand back in its holder. She wiped the remaining gel off Louisa’s belly and then gave her an indulgent smile. ‘As long as Miss DiMarco’s sure she couldn’t have conceived a week or so earlier?’

      Try three years, Louisa thought grimly.

      ‘The baby’s mine,’ Devereaux said with absolute certainty, before Louisa had a chance to answer. ‘It was conceived on the twenty-fifth of May.’

      Louisa’s fingers clutched the robe as she wrapped it around her abdomen, all her soft feelings towards him squashed flat. He really was the most arrogant man on the planet. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his assumptions, but she couldn’t. Unfortunately he was right. The beautiful little human being on the screen in front of her was his child.

      Louisa sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

      As the doctor began to waffle on about due dates, percentile growth scales and antenatal vitamins, Louisa watched Devereaux listening to the doctor’s instructions, his harshly handsome face illuminated by the frozen image of their baby.

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