The Earl's Pregnant Bride. Christine Rimmer

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      Now Rafe would be there for the big reveal. And her father, too. Dear Lord. She should have thought this through earlier. Because she realized now that she just wasn’t ready to sit in her mother’s office and look in her father’s face and tell him about the baby.

      He was a wonderful man, her father. He was the best. She couldn’t bear to think he might be disappointed in her.

      Rafe caught her arm and she realized she’d been swaying on her feet the tiniest bit. “Gen. Do you need to sit down?”

      She blinked up at him, all too aware of his touch, of the heat of him so close, of his tempting scent. Of the velvet darkness of his eyes. Carefully, she eased her arm from his grip. “Really, I’m fine.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes. I’m fine. I just want you to let me do the talking, let me handle it with my parents.”

      He studied her from under the heavy shelf of his brow. Evidently, he believed that she wasn’t going to faint, because he didn’t try to steady hear again, but only lifted one huge shoulder in a shrug. “You don’t want me to ask for your hand?” He was teasing.

      Or was he?

      She really couldn’t tell. “I... No, of course not. It’s already decided. We’re just sharing our plans.” For that, she got another unreadable look, one that had her waving a nervous hand. “More or less. Can we not overthink it, please?”

      He captured her hand as it fluttered between them and pressed his lips to the back of it. A warm, delicious shiver danced up her arm. For such a giant rock of a man, he did have the softest, supplest mouth. “As you wish, love,” he said.

      Love. He’d been calling her that forever—at least since she was thirteen or so. She’d always liked it when he called her that, and felt as cherished as a dear friend.

      Now, though, it only reminded her that she wasn’t his love in the way that she ought to be as his bride.

      She cleared her throat. “Ready?” He offered his arm. She took it. “All right, then. Let’s get this over with.”

      * * *

      In her mother’s private office, there was tea served in the sitting area with its long velvet sofa and priceless old wing chairs.

      At first, they endured the obligatory small talk—gentle condolences from her mother about the lost Edward, questions about Rafe’s injuries, inquiries about the health of Rafe’s family. He told them that his nephew, Geoffrey, whom Genny adored, had been sent up to boarding school in London “under protest.” Geoffrey’s mother, Rafe’s sister, Brooke, was getting along fine. His grandmother, he said, was in good health and as busy as always about the house and the gardens.

      Too soon, it seemed to Genny, the small talk ran out. Her parents looked at her expectantly.

      And she realized she had absolutely no idea how to go about this. She’d purposely not planned what she would say, telling herself not to make a big deal of it, that the right thing to say would come to her naturally.

      Wrong.

      All that came was a frantic tightness in her throat, a rapid pounding of her pulse and a scary generalized tingly feeling all over, a full-body shiver of dread. And her stomach lurched and churned, making her wonder if she was about to experience her first bout of morning sickness.

      “Gen.” Rafe said it so gently. His big, hot, strong hand covered hers.

      She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. “I...”

      And he took over, turning to face her parents, giving a slow, solemn dip of his large dark head. “Ma’am. Sir. I know this may come as a bit of a surprise. But I love your daughter with all my heart.”

      Loved her with all of his heart? Had he actually said that? Her throat clutched. She swallowed, hard, to relax it, and tried to paste on a smile.

      Rafe continued, so calmly and clearly, still clasping her hand, engulfing it in his heat and steadiness. “And Genevra has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife. We’re here today to ask for your blessing.”

      Genny stared across the coffee table at her parents. They both looked surprised. But not in a bad way, really—or was that just desperate wishful thinking on her part? The two of them shared a long, speaking glance. What exactly that glance said, well, she just couldn’t tell.

      And her mother said, “We had no idea.”

      Rafe squeezed her hand. She knew she really had to say something. But she couldn’t for the life of her think what. Once again, poor Rafe had to answer for her. “It’s sudden, I know. And we’re...” He seemed to seek the right word. “We’re eager to get on with our lives together. So eager that we’re planning to marry in Saint Ann’s Chapel at Hartmore on Saturday.”

      Her father frowned. “Saturday is four days away.”

      “Um, five if you count today,” Genny put in helpfully.

      “So quickly,” said her mother, drawing her slim hand to her throat. She looked at her father again.

      Her father didn’t catch that glance. He was busy watching Genny, frowning. “Genevra, are you ill?”

      And Genny knew she couldn’t just keep sitting there like a lump, trying not to throw up and letting poor Rafe lie for her. It wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. So she opened her mouth—and the truth fell out. “We were together for four days in March, when Rafe came to arrange renovations at Villa Santorno. I, um, well, I’m pregnant. And, er, Rafe insists on doing the right thing and marrying me.”

      Rafe corrected stiffly, “We both feel it’s the right thing. And of course, I want to marry your daughter.”

      There was a silence then. An endless one.

      Finally, her mother said softly, “Oh. I see.”

      Her father turned his gaze on Rafe and said in a carefully controlled tone, “You know we think the world of you, Rafael.” He went on, with growing heat, “But what in the hell were you—?”

      Her mother cut him off by gently murmuring his name. “Evan.”

      Her father shot her mother a furious glance—and then sighed. “Yes. Fine.”

      Genny just ached for them—all three of them. Her mother and father because they’d already been through this with two of her siblings. Genny hated that she was putting them through it again. It really shouldn’t be that difficult to practice proper contraception in this day and age.

      And she had practiced it. They’d used a condom every time.

      But then, there had been a lot of times....

      And poor Rafe. He thought so highly of her parents. It had to be awful for him, to have to face them with this news.

      “Of course, you’re both adults and this is your decision, between the two of you,” said her mother, and went on to add exactly what Genny had known she would say. “We only want you to be sure this is the right choice for you.”

      “It is,” Rafe said in low growl, not missing a beat.

      Her mother’s legendary dark eyes were focused solely on Genny. “Darling? Is it the right choice for you?”

      The right choice...

      Genny went through her list of reasons in her mind again: the baby, who deserved the right to claim his inheritance. And her fondness for Rafe. Surely they should have a good chance to make a successful marriage together, with friendship as a basis. And being intimate with him wouldn’t be a hardship—oh, who was she kidding? Sex with Rafe was amazing.

      And Hartmore.

      Yes. She would have Hartmore. And, fair enough, she was a little ashamed that Hartmore mattered