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‘How long have you known she was mine?’ he demanded, ignoring the solicitor’s interruption, focussed only on Lacey.
She flinched, but her gaze remained direct, her tone flat. ‘As soon as I discovered I was pregnant.’
‘You bitch,’ he snapped.
Marrow and his team stiffened in unison, but Lacey didn’t flinch again, she simply stared back, as if she was absorbing his anger, his anguish. Which only made the emotions harder to control, the temper searing his insides now like a wildfire threatening to burn through the last of his composure.
‘What gave you the right to keep my child’s existence from me?’
‘Mr Cade, I really don’t think...’ Marrow began again.
‘Shut up and leave,’ Brandon said, casting a searing glance at the man and his team. ‘I want to speak to her alone.’
The rest of the legal team immediately packed up their briefcases, but Marrow hesitated. ‘Mr Cade, you’re not yourself. I don’t think...’
‘It’s okay, Mr Marrow,’ Lacey said, her gaze still locked on his, still calm, still stoic, but for the quivers running through her body. ‘He won’t hurt me.’
‘If you’re sure, Ms Carstairs?’ Marrow said, but as soon as Lacey nodded the solicitor was out the door in ten seconds flat.
Brandon might have admired her courage, except he was still so angry with her, he could hardly see straight.
He stalked around the desk, bearing down on her, wanting to see her flinch, wanting her to see how angry he was. ‘How do you know I won’t hurt you?’
‘Because you already did, and I survived,’ she said, standing up, refusing to be cowed, the storm in her eyes matching the storm raging in his heart.
He had vowed, a long time ago, he would never give another woman the power to hurt him the way the mother he’d only met once had hurt him. But somehow this woman had slipped under his radar.
Right from the first moment he’d met her, she’d made him feel more, want more. And now here he was, being forced to pay the price for those moments of weakness. The fact he still wanted her only added insult to that madness.
‘How didIhurtyou?’ He spat the question at her. But, instead of getting the litany of pathetic excuses for her deception he’d been expecting, she drew in a heavy breath. And broke eye contact.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to make excuses for what I did. I’m here to apologise and to make amends. If that’s possible.’ He didn’t believe the contrite act—why the hell should he?—but, before he could formulate a suitably scathing response, her gaze returned to his. ‘You can punish me all you want, but one thing I won’t let you do is punish Ruby. None of this is her fault.’
‘True, I think we can both agree it’s your fault,’ he shot back. But, instead of arguing and giving him the satisfaction of slapping her downagain, the shadows in her eyes intensified.
She nodded. But her easy acceptance only annoyed him more. Where did she get off, playing the martyr?
He grasped her arm, tugged her towards him, the sizzle of heat electrifying. And not in a good way.
‘So you admit, you deserve to be punished?’ he said, just to be clear. He was not sure where the hell he was going with this, but knew he needed to establish control.
She tugged her arm free and rubbed her bicep, her eyes flaring with the fierce passion he had always found so irresistible.
By now he ought to find it repellent. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.
‘I didn’t say that,’ she said. ‘But, if retribution is what you require, I can live with it. Just please don’t hurt my daughter.’
He blinked and stepped back, the look of genuine fear on her face like a bucket of ice thrown over the wildfire burning in his stomach.
He swore under his breath, then marched back towards the window to stare out at the host of London landmarks looking proud and indomitable in the sunshine. The Victorian majesty of Tower Bridge in the distance, the Baroque splendour of St Paul’s Cathedral’s dome nestled among the harsh modern geometric shapes of newer developments on the opposite bank of the river... Several agonising seconds passed as he struggled to regain the cast-iron control—which he’d just lost so comprehensively.
What was happening to him? He had intended to be ruthless, determined and, most of all, composed. Instead of which he’d behaved like a petulant bully. He was angry with her, and he had every right to be, but he had never intended to make her fear for the child.
‘I think you meanourchild, don’t you?’ he managed at last. Resentment still edged his tone, but underneath he sensed the reason for his spectacular loss of control.
Panic.
For the first time in his life, he had no strategy, no plan. He had no idea how to be a father, or if he even wanted to be one. And whatever he decided he knew he would need her help—which only made this situation more untenable.
