Page 30 of Conail

"What?"

"Nothing. I know the last place you want to be is here and since I have abandoned my dignity and pride, I can safely say that you handled yourself well."

"Why thank you." He grated. "Now go to sleep."

He was shocked when she simply closed her eyes and with a smile that showed her dimples, she had gone under in less than five minutes.

Chapter 9

He took the opportunity to study her. Scooting to the edge of the sofa, he gazed at her face. Her skin was flawless, a smooth cocoa brown. Her lashes were long, making shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were full and slightly pouty. Shifting his gaze from them, he glanced at the short tight curls.

She was tall, he had noticed that when he was walking with her. He was six three himself and had topped her by a few inches. Her hands were delicate, fingers long and elegant.

He had noticed some of her sketches strewn on the table. Rising, he went to study them, his interest piquing. She was really good. Picking one up, he admired the lines and colors. Replacing the drawing among the others, he turned and walked over to the bed.

Sitting on the edge of it, he gently pulled the covers up over her arms.

He had seen her on her knees retching—had seen her burst into tears and curl into him and felt something. How could he not? It was real. This woman was carrying his baby—his heir. Son or daughter, he was hoping it was a boy.

She was going through hell, and he had to admit to himself that he was incredibly humbled by her immense sacrifice.

When he found himself lifting a hand to touch her cheek, he drew it back quickly and lunged to his feet.

It was a natural reaction, he mused. This feeling of protectiveness and worry was natural. There was nothing else to it. Nor did he want to examine the fact that he wanted to stay with her. To make sure she was okay, he added hastily.

After all, she was carrying his baby.

Hissing out a breath, he spun around and left the room to go downstairs.

He went to the liquor cabinet in the living room and poured scotch into a snifter.

As he sipped the scotch, the warmth of the liquid trickled down his throat, providing a temporary solace from the storm of emotions swirling within him. He couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards her, a mixture of responsibility and an undeniable connection that transcended mere obligation.

The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floors and the distant hum of the refrigerator. He stood in the living room, staring out at the moonlit garden, his mind racing with thoughts and questions that seemed to have no answers. How had his life come to this pivotal moment? Being responsible for another human being was a daunting task, one he never truly envisioned for himself.

The scotch didn't offer the clarity he sought, but it did provide a momentary respite. He knew, deep down, that he had to step up, to be there for her in every way possible.

Finishing his drink, he set the glass down and made his way back upstairs to check on her. She was sleeping peacefully. Finding himself standing there and just staring—he turned and left theroom—only to pace the hallway. In ten minutes, he was back checking on her. And so, it continued for every ten minutes, until he forced himself to go back downstairs.

That's where Eleanor found him, pacing the living room floor restlessly. As soon as she came in, he pounced, eyes blazing.

"Where the hell have you been all this time?" He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantle. "It's almost midnight."

Deliberately taking her time to peel off the gloves, she waited until she was able to keep the delight from showing on her face before responding and tried to sound haughty. "I wasn't aware that I was under a curfew. As far as I know, I happen to be an adult and am still the parent here."

He had the grace to look abashed, but only for a second as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Mother, you left her alone here."

"No." Walking into the room, she put the gloves carefully on the cherry wood table. "I asked you to check in on her."

"You sent the staff away, at this crucial time." He was jumpy and felt as if he was about to explode. "She had two episodes while I was here. She was on her knees puking her guts out when I arrived and she did it again after I made her tea."

"You made her tea?"

He simply stared at her. "Did you hear the part about her puking her guts out?"

"Darling, it's natural—"

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