His Pregnant Princess Bride. Catherine Mann

“Where’s the rest of your family?”

      “Dempsey owns the other home on the compound grounds, next door. My younger brothers Jean-Pierre and Henri share the rights to the house to the northwest on the lake. Gramps has quarters here with me, since this house has been in our family the longest. It’s familiar. He has servants on call round the clock. He’s getting older and more forgetful. But we’re hoping to hold back time as long as we can for him.”

      “I am so sorry.”

      “They make great meds these days. He’s still got lots of life and light left in him.” A practiced smile pressed against his lips. It was apparent he was hopeful. And used to defending his grandfather’s position.

      “And where does the rest of your family live?”

      “Are you worried they’ll walk in on us?” He angled a brow upward, and she felt the heat of his eyes graze across her body. A flush crept along her face, heating her from the inside out. Threatening to set her nerves bounding out of control. She needed to stay calm.

      “Perhaps.”

      “My father’s in Texas and doesn’t return often. Jean-Pierre is in New York with his team for the season and Henri lives in the Garden District most of the time, so their house here is vacant for a while.”

      Stepping out onto the patio, he nodded for her to follow. She hastened behind him. Intrigued. He had that way about him. A quality of danger that masked itself as safe. That quality that made him undeniably sexy.

      And that, she reminded herself, was how she’d ended up in this situation.

      Gervais surveyed the patio. She followed his gaze, noting the presence of a hot tub and an elaborate fountain that pumped water into the pool. The fountain, like the house, was descended from a Greek aesthetic. Apollo and Daphne were intertwined, water flowing from the statues into the pool.

      Over the poolside sound system, the din of steel drums competed with the gentle echo of rolling waves on the lakeshore.

      “You arranged dinner outside.” Erika breathed in the air on this rare night of low humidity. She looked around at the elaborate patio table that was dressed for dinner with lights, fresh flowers, silver and china. Ceiling fans circled a delicious breeze from the slight overhang of the porch.

      “I promised you gumbo—” he gestured broadly, before holding the seat out for her “—and I delivered.”

      She settled into the chair, intensely aware of his hands close to her shoulders. The heat of his chest close to her back. Blinking away the awareness, she focused on the table settings, surprised to realize he planned to serve her himself from the silver chafing dishes. “Your home is lovely.”

      “The old plantation homes have a lot of character.” He slid into the seat across from hers. “I know our history here doesn’t compete with the hundreds of years, castles and Viking lore of your country, but the place has stories in the walls all the same.”

      “The architecture and details are stunning. I can see why you were drawn to live here.” When Americans talked about their colonial towns, they always spoke of the old-world charm they’d possessed. But that was selling it short. Cities like New Orleans were the distillation of cultures haphazardly pressed against each other. And that distillation yielded beauty that was so different from the actual Old World.

      “If you would prefer a restaurant...” He paused, tongs grasping freshly baked bread.

      “This is better. More private.” She held up a hand. “Don’t take that the wrong way.”

      “Understood. You made your point earlier.”

      Seafood gumbo, red beans and rice, thick black coffee and powdery doughnuts—beignets. It was a spread that sent her taste buds jumping.

      “Did you have a nice ride from the Four Winds Resort?”

      “I did. The trees heavy with Spanish moss are beautiful. And the water laps at the roads as if the sea could wash over the land at any moment.” The languid landscape was so different than her country’s rugged and fierce Viking past. She’d liked learning about New Orleans so far.

      “You could stay here, you know.”

      “I did not come here for that.” She laced her words with ice even as her body burned with awareness of the man seated across from her.

      “Then why are you here after walking out on me without a word or backward glance?”

      So that hadn’t escaped his notice. She began to prepare the speeches that had replayed in her mind since she had boarded the plane to make the transatlantic journey.

      “I’m sorry about that. I thought I was making things easier for both of us. It was a fling with no future, given we live across an ocean from each other. I saved us both a messy goodbye.”

      At that time she had been thinking about the life she needed to get on track. But all her carefully laid plans were shifting beneath her feet, now that she was pregnant.

      “And when I called you? Left messages asking to speak to you?”

      “I thought you were being polite. Gentlemanly. And do not get me wrong, I believe it honorable of you. But that is not enough to build a relationship.”

      “How much would it have hurt to return one call? If we’re talking about polite, I expected as much from you.” He cocked an eyebrow.

      “You are angry. I apologize if I made the wrong decision.”

      “Well, you’re here now. For your conference, right?”

      “Actually, that wasn’t the truth.” She fidgeted with her leather band bracelet, inspirational inscriptions scrolled on metal insets providing support. Advice. And if ever she was in need of help, the moment was now. “I only said that in case others overheard. I’m here to see you. I want to apologize for walking out on you and have a conversation we should have had then.”

      “What conversation would that be?”

      Oh, what a loaded question, she thought. “How we would handle it if there were unexpected consequences from our weekend together.”

      He stared at her, hard. “Unexpected consequences? How about you spell it out rather than have me play Fifty Questions.”

      She dabbed the corners of her mouth as if she could buy herself a few more seconds before her life changed forever. Folding the napkin carefully and placing it beside her plate, she met his dark brown eyes, her own gaze steady. Her hands shaky. “I am pregnant. The baby is yours.”

      * * *

      Of all the things that Erika could have said, being pregnant was not what Gervais had been preparing himself for. He ought to say something. Something fast, witty and comforting. But instead, he just looked at her.

      Really looked at her as he swallowed. Hard.

      She was every bit as breathtaking as that first night they’d met. But there was something different in the way she carried her body that should have tipped him off.

      Her face was difficult to read. She’d iced him out of gaining any insights in her eyes. Gervais examined the hair that trailed down her shoulder, exposing her collarbone and slender neck. This was the hairstyle of a royal, so different than the girl who had let her hair run wild over their weekend together.

      And what a weekend it’d been. Months had passed since then and he still thought about her. About the way she’d tasted on his tongue.

      He had to say something worthy of that. Of her. He collected his thoughts, determined to say the perfect thing.

      Despite all of that, only one word fell out of his mouth.

      “Pregnant.” So much for a grand speech.

      Her face flashed with a hint of disappointment. Of course, she had every right to expect more from him. But more silence escaped