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“Alaric, I’m... I’m sorry...”
Her voice trailed off as he held up a hand.
“Don’t apologize. You’re right.” He crossed to his desk, focusing on the neat stack of papers that required his attention before the end of the day. “Believe it or not, Clara, I truly want to be a part of our child’s life. I want it to grow up without the daily pain I lived through. I want it to be safe and know that it’s loved.”
“And you need an heir,” Clara added, a touch of bitterness in her tone. “It makes me feel like a broodmare.”
“I do need an heir. But if we don’t marry, I will marry someone else. The children I bear with whomever I marry will inherit the throne. Perhaps that won’t matter to the child you carry. Or perhaps it will mean everything.” He took the top packet of papers and pushed it across the desk. “I will do anything I can to make this arrangement acceptable for you. I’ve typed up a preliminary marriage contract. My lawyers made every clause in your favor to the best of their ability.”
She stared at the contract as if it was a poisonous snake about to bite.
“A contract?”
“Prenuptial agreement. A common practice.”
Slowly, she reached out and picked it up. Her eyes darted over the first page, widening with every sentence she read.
“You want us to get married within a week?”
“We’re risking exposure of our tryst already with you being a month along. The sooner we get married, the better.”
She flipped the page. “A fidelity clause?”
“One thing I have never tolerated is betrayal.” Not after what he’d seen his mother go through. Marianne had been faithful to Daxon until her dying day, regardless of the numerous photos and tabloid articles. Each affair had chipped away at her already-fragile heart. She’d seen her commitment as a badge of pride, that she was doing the right thing by the man she’d married. Alaric had been torn between wanting to rage at her for letting Daxon get away with his perfidies and admiration for her grace and class, traits he had tried to emulate over the years.
Until he’d lifted his secretary onto his desk and ravished her like a wild animal.
“That clause goes both ways. You’ll never have to be concerned about me straying. There’s also a handsome allowance, the freedom to come and go from Linnaea as you wish.”
One hand slowly went up to her forehead, the tiniest tremor visible in her fingers.
“I... I need time to think.”
He looked down so she couldn’t see the triumph in his eyes. They had gone from her stalwart refusal to considering his offer. He’d conducted enough business to know that if she had already started to reevaluate, it was only a matter of time before she gave in completely.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Ten a.m. again?”
He expected her to argue, to dig her heels in and ask for more time. But when he looked up, she merely nodded.
“Ten a.m.”
And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her. Instead of feeling exhilarated, he felt surprisingly bereft. Yes, he wanted to achieve his goals. But, he realized with a small amount of surprise, he wanted Clara to be happy, too.
He gave himself a mental shake. Given the past seven years and all he’d come to learn about Clara, from her spine of steel when dealing with feuding politicians to her deft handling of his father’s antics, if she truly didn’t want to get married to him she wouldn’t have started to consider his proposal.
Better, he decided, not to look a gift horse in the mouth. By the end of the week, Clara Stephenson would be his wife, and another crisis would be averted.
CHAPTER SIX
CLARAGLANCEDATher wristwatch. Nine fifty-two. Twenty-four hours had passed far too quickly. Focusing on work for most of the day had kept the swirling mess of her personal life at bay. It had been a blessing until exhaustion hit her like a truck. She’d barely staggered up to her room, where she’d collapsed onto the couch and slept until a quarter past six in the morning.
Which had left her with less than four hours to make the biggest decision of her life.
Yesterday had thrown her for a loop. She had assumed Alaric’s interest in marriage had been solely motivated by securing an heir to the throne. But he’d surprised her. Again. Alaric wanted to be a father. With that sentiment, he’d started a crack in the wall she’d built, a crack that had only widened over the course of their conversation.
She’d grown up wanting a family of her own. The more time she’d spent with Miles and his family, however, the more that desire had mutated into a commitment to not bring a child into the frigid atmosphere of the Clemont family. Temperance and Stanley would have inserted themselves into her child’s life, ensuring he or she was raised as they saw fit. Miles had said he wanted children when they dated. But how could he possibly have had a child when he still acted like one himself?
The face he’d made when she’d try to take the keys from him that night, when she’d begged him to let her drive, had reminded her of a toddler not getting his way.
