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‘It takes two to make a baby, Vic. That’s not your fault.’
‘It was.’ Her voice was knotted and choked. ‘The fall. You know it did something.’
She’d been in intensive care with internal injuries after an incident involving one of her rescued horses, and all anyone could worry about was whether she’d be able to get pregnant when she recovered. As if she were some brood mare and not a young woman to be loved and cherished.
He clenched his fists tight and gritted his teeth till he managed to hiss out the words, ‘That was an accident. No one’s fault. You could have IVF.’
‘Nothing’s worked and I’m tired. So tired.’
‘You’re not happy. I’ll say it again. Take your chance now. I’ll help you.Leave him.’
‘But the horses. My other animals. They’re...’ It was what she didn’t say. She was more afraid for the pets she loved than she was for herself. ‘You know how Bruce feels. If I’m not there...’
Was that what he held over her? No, there had to be something else, something Vic wouldn’t tell him. Lance didn’t care any more. He would gather every animal she owned, make sure they were safe. Then he would bring her here. Bring her home.
‘I’ll come and get you. You can stay with me.’
‘No.You’re engaged now.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’Nothingmattered, apart from doing what he should have done in the beginning—protect her.
He heard the murmur of a voice in the background and the muffled sound of Vic’s reply, as if her hand was over the phone.
‘I’ve got to go. I won’t be able to talk for a while. They say I need no contact with anyone. I’ll call you when I can, but—’
‘Wait! Vic. What’s—’
‘It’ll be fine, Lance. I promise. I...love you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘It’llallbe fine.’
The line went dead. He closed his eyes, taken back to that damn cathedral. She’d looked so beautiful and fragile walking down the aisle in her wedding dress, and heknewhe should have grabbed her then, stopped the wedding. But he’d been too tied up in his own life to listen to his gut feeling and now here she was—far away from home, in some prison of a clinic where she wasn’t even allowed to use a phone. The embarrassing wife being locked away by her husband whilst he campaigned. Who the hell knew what would happen to her there? All because of his failure to act.
The reality lay before him, stark and endless. He knew how to throw legendary parties; he knew countless ways to make a woman scream in pleasure; he knew what the tabloids wanted to hear to keep him on the front page. But he didn’t know how to look after a woman, how to protect her. He couldn’t protect anything oranyone.
His selfishness and thoughtlessness would destroy everything in the end. No one should ever place their care in his hands. Especially not another bright and beautiful young woman, one with her whole life ahead of her.
Again, all he could selfishly think about was Sara, barefoot and pregnant, in his house. But why? She probably didn’t even want that. She’d been engaged to that man since birth. She didn’t need to be trapped by another. His failures had ruined Vic. He couldn’t be trusted. He’d ruin Sara too. And if he did that he’d never forgive himself.
Sara stood in the portrait gallery once more. She adored the whole house, enjoying her daily explorations when they weren’t out working, or if Lance wasn’t corralling her against the nearest flat surface to undress her and make her scream his name. Frankly, not satisfied till she did.
Egotist.
She loved it. Was addicted to it. Addicted to him.
And yet here was where she came to ponder the man she’d slowly and inexorably fallen in love with, despite her best efforts. The whole of her existence in the house, the clear lines she’d set for herself, were blurred and smudged like a pastel picture.
She stared at the portraits before her. A gallery of his ancestors, stretching the length of the long wall. She’d studied them one by one, trying to figure out the family, endeavouring to understandhim. This morning George, Lance’s highly efficient butler, had come to her, asking about refurbishing thenursery.That wasn’t the issue so much; the staff all came to her now with questions about Astill Hall, her preferences. As if she, not Lance, ruled the home. Assumptions made by the ring on her finger.
No, it was thatLancehad directed him to talk to her.
When George had asked the question, she’d blushed. After what they’d done together, Lance completely unabashed and comfortable in himself and, in turn, making the passions of her own body come alive, the talk of a nursery and the prospect of babies made her flush red. Embarrassed like the virgin she well and truly wasn’t any longer.
But anursery. What did it mean? Lance could have answered that question with a short, sharpno. Yet he’d instructed George to seek her out, as if it were her decision. As if it was a question he wanted her to answer for him. And that answer whispered in her ear seductively.
Yes.
The breath was jagged in her throat. That couldn’t be the answer. It really, truly couldn’t. Yet the idea of him, of her, together in this house, a real marriage and children, spoke to her louder and louder. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. All she’d wanted was freedom, and yet something about the fake situation she’d walked into felt all too real. It was a reality she didn’t want to walk away from.
Because she felt free with Lance.
