The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride. Merline Lovelace

      “So again I ask, why are you having lunch with him?”

      “He badgered me into it,” Gina admitted in disgust. “You can see why I don’t want to marry him.”

      The duchess took her time replying. When she did, she chose her words carefully.

      “Are you sure, Eugenia? I treasure every moment I had with your mother and with you and Sarah, but I speak from experience when I say raising a child on your own can be quite terrifying at times.”

      “Oh, Grandmama!”

      Her eyes misted again. Blinking furiously, Gina bared her soul. “I’m scared out my gourd. I admit it! The only thing that makes me even think I can do this is you, and the love you lavished on Sarah and me. You filled our lives with such joy, such grand adventures. You still do. I can give that to my child. I know I can.”

      A smile started in her grandmother’s eyes and spread to Gina’s heart.

      “I know you can, too.”

      * * *

      Gina had intended to spend the rest of the morning prepping for her interview with Nicole Tremayne. To her annoyance, her thoughts kept slipping away from party planning and instead landed on Jack Mason.

      Her irritation increased even more when she found herself scowling at the few outfits she’d brought to New York with her. They were all flashy, all playful. Thigh-skimming skirts in bold prints. Tights in eye-popping colors. Spangled, midriff-baring T-shirts. Reflective of her personality, maybe, but not the image she wanted to project to Ms. Tremayne. Or to a certain ambassador-at-large.

      Abandoning the meager offering, she went next door to Sarah’s room and rummaged through the designer classics her sister had salvaged from their grandmother’s closet. After much debate and a pile of discards strewn across the bed, Gina decided on wide-legged black slacks. She topped them with a summer silk Valentino jacket in pearl gray that boasted a flower in the same fabric on one lapel. The jacket strained a bit at the bust but gave her the mature, responsible air she was aiming for. A wad of cotton stuffed into the toes of a pair of sensible black pumps added to the look. As a final touch, she went light on the makeup and wrestled her waterfall of platinum-blond curls into a French twist. When she studied the final result in the mirror, she gulped.

      “Oh, God. I look like Grandmama.”

      If the duchess recognized herself, she mercifully refrained from saying so. But Gina caught the slightly stunned look she exchanged with Maria as her new, subdued granddaughter departed for her lunch meeting.

      * * *

      If Gina had needed further evidence of her transformation, she got it mere moments after walking into the Boathouse. A favorite gathering place of tourists and locals alike, the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows gave unimpeded views of the rowboats and gondolas gliding across Central Park’s Reservoir Lake. Both the lake and the trees surrounding it were showcased against the dramatic backdrop of the Manhattan skyline.

      The Boathouse’s casual bar and restaurant buzzed with a crowd dressed in everything from business to smart casual to just plain comfortable. Despite the logjam, Gina spotted Jack immediately. As promised, he’d secured a table tucked in a quiet corner that still gave an unobstructed view of the lake. She stood for a moment at the top of the short flight of steps leading down to the dining area and put a hand on the railing to steady herself.

      Oh, Lord! Her hormones must be cartwheeling again. Why else would her knees get all wobbly at the way the sunlight streaked his tawny hair? Or her lungs wheeze like an old accordion at the sight of his strong, tanned hands holding up a menu? In the tux he’d worn to the wedding yesterday, Jack had wreaked havoc on her emotions. In a crisply starched pale blue shirt with the cuffs rolled up on muscled forearms lightly sprinkled with gold fuzz, he almost opened the floodgates.

      She was still clinging to the wooden rail when he glanced up. His gaze swept the entrance area from left to right. Passed over her. Jerked back. He was too polished a diplomat to reveal more than a flash of surprise, but that brief glimpse gave Gina the shot in the arm she needed. Channeling the duchess at her most regal, she smiled at the head waiter, who hurried over to assist her.

      “May I show you to a table?”

      “Thank you, but I see the party I’m meeting.”

      She tipped her chin toward Jack, now rising from his chair. The waiter followed her gaze and offered a hand.

      “Yes, of course. Please, watch your step.”

      Jack had recovered from his momentary surprise. Gina wasn’t sure she liked the amusement that replaced it.

      “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admitted. “Are you going for a new look?”

      “As a matter of fact, I am.”

      She took the seat next to him and considered how much to share of her plans. After a swift internal debate, she decided it might be good to let him know that she did, in fact, have plans.

      “I’m also going for a new career. I have a job interview this afternoon with the head of the Tremayne Group. TTG is one of the biggest event-coordinating companies in the business, with venues in New York, Washington and Chicago.”

      The change in Jack was so subtle she almost missed it. Just a slight stiffening of his shoulders. She bristled, thinking he was going to object to her making a foray into the professional party world while carrying his child. Instead, he responded quietly, calmly.

      “TTG also has a venue in Boston. My wife used them to coordinate our wedding.”

      Three

      “Oh, Jack!”

      Gina’s soft heart turned instantly to mush. She didn’t want to marry this man but neither did she want to hurt him. Ignoring the obvious inconsistency in that thought, she dug in her purse for her cell phone.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had that connection to TTG. I’ll call and cancel my interview.”

      “Wait.” Frowning, he put a hand on her arm. “I’ll admit I would prefer not to see you pursue a career here in New York. Or anywhere else, for that matter. But...”

      “But?”

      Still frowning, he searched her face. “Are you really dead set against marriage, Gina?”

      Her gaze dropped to his hand, so strong and tan against the paler skin of her forearm. The stress and confusion of the past weeks made a jumble of her reply.

      “Sort of.”

      “What does that mean?”

      She looked up and met his serious brown eyes. “I like you, Jack. When you’re not coming on all huffy and autocratic, that is. And God knows we were fantastic together in bed.”

      So fantastic she had to slam the door on the images that thought conjured up.

      “But I think...I know we both want more in a marriage.”

      He was silent, and Gina gathered her courage.

      “Tell me about your wife. What was she like?”

      He sat back, withdrawing his hand in the process. Withdrawing himself, as well. His glance shifted to the rowboats circling the lake. The ripples from their oars distorted the reflected images of the high-rises peeking above Central Park’s leafy green tree line. The buildings seemed to sway on the lake’s blue-green surface.

      “Catherine was funny and smart and had a killer serve,” he said finally, turning back to Gina. “She cleaned my clock every time we got on a tennis court. She might have turned pro if she hadn’t lived, breathed and slept politics.”

      The waiter appeared at that moment. Gina ordered decaffeinated mango tea, Jack a refill of his coffee. They listened to the specials and let the menus sit on the table after the waiter withdrew. She was