The Pregnant Bride. Catherine Spencer

      “It’s part of my trousseau. The only clothes I brought with me were those I’d packed for my honeymoon.”

      He leaned back and gave her such a thorough inspection that she practically squirmed. “Mark doesn’t know what he’s missing, Jenna. If he did, he’d surely be here now, instead of me.”

      “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, more rattled by his compliment than she cared to admit. “This isn’t his kind of place at all!” Then, realizing what she’d said, she clapped a horrified hand to her mouth.

      “Too upscale, you mean?” Edmund’s eyes danced with mischief.

      “Oh!” she gasped. “You must think me so ungracious!”

      His face took on a sober cast and he rearranged his cutlery before finally saying, “Can I ask you a question?”

      “Of course.”

      “What was it about this Mark person that made you decide to marry him?”

      She lifted her shoulders, mystified that he couldn’t figure that out for himself. “I loved him.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t understand what you mean. Love doesn’t have to have a reason.”

      “Sure it does, Jenna. We might like a lot of people, but as a rule, we love very few. What made him special?”

      She thought about that for a minute, then said, “At first, he was interesting and fun and exciting…and…”

      And a little bit insecure. Too much under his father’s controlling thumb. Too much in thrall to the family name and reputation.

      “Go on.”

      “He seemed to need me.” I made him feel important in his own right. With me, he was somebody other than the son who always did his father’s bidding. “We became friends.”

      “And lovers?”

      “Eventually, yes.” Silly to feel uncomfortable with the admission. She was twenty-seven, after all; well past the age of consent. “We were compatible. Comfortable with each other. His family accepted us as a couple. So, when he proposed…”

      I couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.

      “…I accepted. I was ready for marriage and I thought we’d be happy together.” Irritated to find herself trying to justify a decision which, at the time, had seemed absolutely right, she flung out her hands. “What does it matter? He obviously didn’t agree, and now I have to accept that, too.”

      “How did he break the news that the marriage was off?”

      “He had his best man deliver a letter to the church.”

      “He had his best man deliver a letter?” Edmund made no effort to mask his disgust. “Jeez, I take back my apology. The guy’s pure pond scum!”

      “He’s not nearly as bad as I’ve made him sound. If anything, he’s a rather unhappy man. I thought I could change that. Apparently, I was wrong.”

      “A guy who sends someone else to do his dirty work isn’t fit to be called a man, Jenna! And what I find hard to understand is why you feel compelled to go on defending him.”

      “Because if I don’t,” she cried, at her wits’ end with his probing questions, “I look like an even bigger fool for having agreed to marry him in the first place. And my pride’s taken enough of a beating for one week.”

      Edmund drew in a long breath and gestured for the waiter. “Mark’s the fool, sweet pea,” he said, “but if you can’t see that without my having to beat you over the head with the idea, we might as well drop the subject.”

      They feasted on steamed crab dipped in melted butter and washed down with white wine, but although the meal was every bit as delicious as he’d promised, Edmund became increasingly withdrawn and never did make good on his promise to share some of his own history. Nor did he suggest lingering once they’d finished eating. Indeed, his taciturnity during the drive back to The Inn made her wonder if he regretted having invited her to dinner to begin with.

      The path from the parking area to The Inn wove among plantings of shrubbery interspersed with the pale faces of daffodils. Concealed floodlights showcased the mighty cedars looming in the background. Strategically placed benches just big enough for two lurked in the shadows. Piano music drifted through the darkness, the notes falling soft and clear in the night.

      Everything about the place spelled couples, romance, honeymoons, happy-ever-after. Added to Edmund’s aloof silence, it was more than she could bear.

      Just a few yards farther on, the path forked, with one way leading directly to The Inn’s front door and the other descending to the beach. As they approached it, Edmund stopped. “I’m too restless to turn in, so I’m going for a walk,” he said, looking pointedly at her high heels. “I’d ask you to join me but you’d break an ankle in those shoes, so I’ll say good night instead. You should sleep well after the day you’ve had.”

      Numbly, she watched him turn away, and willed herself to do the same. To walk into The Inn and not look back. To accept that her interlude with him had come to its inevitable end.

      His silhouette became indistinct, swallowed up by the night. The sound of his footsteps crunching over the gravel grew fainter.

      Do him and yourself a favor and disappear inside before you say something you’ll live to regret, Jenna! He can’t fix what’s broken in your life and you have no business expecting him to try. He’s already done enough.

      She swallowed, and braced herself to face the night alone. Her self-confidence had already eroded into near oblivion. Why expose it to further abuse? But no amount of common sense could ease the raging loneliness in her heart, or prevent her from calling out just before he disappeared from sight, “Edmund, wait! Don’t go without me, please!”

      CHAPTER THREE

      HE THOUGHT he’d done it—removed himself, permanently, from a situation grown too complex, too fast—but the naked pain in her voice caught up with him just before he moved out of earshot and much though he’d have liked to, he couldn’t walk away from it.

      Burying a sigh, he waited as she stumbled over the coarse gravel toward him. A gentleman would probably have rushed forward to steady her before she broke her neck in her flimsy little shoes, but he’d never aspired to be anything other than what he was: a working guy who’d made a pile of money by learning from experience never to make the same mistake twice.

      A fat lot of good that rule of thumb was doing him now, though. Knowing he’d always been a sucker for a bird with a broken wing should have been reason enough for him to steer clear of her in the first place. That he’d persisted in ignoring the warning bells clanging loud and clear in his mind and had chosen instead to protract the association, was nothing short of foolhardy.

      “What?” Frustration, as much with himself as her, had him barking the question at her.

      If only she’d taken umbrage or flight at his brusque tone! But she was too wounded, too crushed in spirit. “I can’t…face going up to that empty room,” she said wretchedly, flinging herself at him.

      Good idea or nor, his arms closed around her. She was so slight, so fragile, that to shove her away was unthinkable. But to let her remain pressed close against him like that…! Jeez, it was all the encouragement needed for certain parts due south of his brain to rise to action.

      “Listen, Jenna,” he said, sounding as if he’d just choked on ground glass, “this isn’t such a good idea. I know you’re going through a bad time right now, but it’d be better if you were to turn to the people who care about you.”

      “No,” she said, clinging to him and lifting her face to his so that, even though he’d thought it was black as Hades under the trees, enough light filtered