Clare showing up, demanding to speak to him.
Three weeks.
Iain could not explain where the thought came from, but a wild possibility pushed into his mind.
Lady Clare... Clare... carrying his child.
He reeled back, only the wall of the building prevented him from falling to the ground. Running his hands through his hair, he wondered if it was possible. He’d withdrawn each time, but they’d fucked so many times that spilling inside of her was absolutely a possibility.
Then the image of a pregnant Clare filled his mind’s eye and he shuddered. Naked on his bed, fuller, larger breasts that overfilled his hand’s grasp and a fully-rounded belly. Incredibly arousing. Incredibly beautiful. She glowed from the life within her. And she was h—
The carriage pulled up next to him and stopped before he was even aware of its approach. He dropped his hands and stepped a pace away from the door as her footman jumped down to open it. Clare did not look at him as she climbed out and refused to accept his hand when he offered it. She reached the sidewalk and told her coachman to wait for her.
“Lady Clare,” he said, trying to get her to meet his gaze and to see if she gave away any hint of what he suspected. “I have a carriage at your disposal, my lady. No need for them to wait.”
“Sir Iain,” she nodded but did not look at him. “Wait for me,” she said once more to the coachman.
“Would you like to go inside?”
He stepped back and waited for her to go as Ned opened the door to the offices.
“I would prefer not,” she said, looking across the street at the docks.
“Damn it, Clare,” he whispered harshly. “Look at me!” She almost did—her gaze lifted but stopped short of his eyes.
“Come, let us speak where we cannot be overheard.”
Without waiting, she walked around the carriage and crossed the street, stopping near the seawall. He waved Ned off and followed. The agitation rolled off her in waves as he watched her choose her position and wait for him. From the clenched hands to the set of her chin, Iain could see how upset she was. He waited, not wanting to upset her more until he could wait no longer.
“Are you carrying my child, Clare?”
That drew her gaze and he saw a flood of emotions in her eyes—shock, fear, uncertainty, longing and finally resignation.
“I....” She shook her head and stared away. “I cannot.”
For a moment, devastating disappointment filled him. Unable and unwilling to dwell on that and all the ramifications, Iain let out the breath he was holding and shrugged.
“’Tis been three weeks and with the sudden demand to speak to me and with what all we did—” He stopped there, fighting the memories of every moment they’d shared from overcoming his control. He’d never wanted to think about having bairns or marrying, not until he had that momentary idea that she might be carrying his child. Then, he wanted it with every fiber of his being. But, all that was for naught. The pragmatism that had saved his life many times rose within him. “If that is not what brings you here—”
“It is not.”
“Then what does?”
“I’d been warned of your ruthlessness and single-minded focus when you decided you wanted or needed something. Chalmers paid you no compliments when he told me of your past and the practices you use to impose your will on others.”
Bloody Chalmers! How much did he actually know? How much had he told her?
“And?”
“Blackmail. Twisting arms. Threats. I thought I understood how low you would go when I discovered your interference with my approvals.”
“I never said I would not use any means at hand, Clare. I am not above bare-knuckled fighting for what I want.” His fists closed and opened as he wondered if she knew he used bare knuckles to do exactly that?
Her face went ashen at his words. She wobbled and had to grab hold of the chest-high wall next to her to steady herself. He reached out, but she shrank back so he could not touch her. Worse, her body shook and, for a moment, he thought her ready to retch.
“You must stop,” she said in a pleading tone he had last heard in much more pleasurable circumstances. The sound of it now turned his own stomach.
“Do not beg, Clare.”
