Even the simple act of having sex with him would be difficult for her. It would make her vulnerable. Expose her. Not just her body, but her mind and heart, too. A vague, strange thrill shot through her. This was a dangerous dance where her heart was concerned, and if he didn’t agree to her second condition, the only outcome guaranteed was pleasure like she hadn’t known in ten years. Her pulse raced at the thought. It was something she would have to accept to get her baby. It would be worth it. To have a child of her own. Someone who would love her unconditionally and never leave her, someone to devote herself to.
She shut the fan and laid it back atop the desk. A babe had been her dream for many years. Now that the wars were over, it was time. She’d never expected to have the opportunity. She would have died a slow, painful death before she would have contacted Mark and asked him for a baby, but when the opportunity appeared on her doorstep asking for a favor… A smile of satisfaction crept to her mouth. That was a different matter entirely. She would be a fool not to try to get what she wanted out of this.
Nicole stood and crossed to the window. She pulled back the silken drapery and looked out across the fields behind the château. She rubbed a hand up and down her suddenly chilly arm. She tried to picture a small child playing happily in the meadow below. Her chest filledwith a tight yearning that felt supremely different, yet just as profound, as what she had once felt in Mark’s presence.
He had asked her why she’d wanted a baby. She hadn’t expected that. She’d die another painful death before she told him the real reason. Because she was… lonely, because she wanted at least one being in this world to love her forever. Her father had died when she was a child and her mother had never made it a secret that she disagreed with every one of Nicole’s choices. It was one of the reasons moving to France hadn’t been a difficult decision all those years ago. She’d been able to escape both her disastrous marriage and her mother’s censure. The only person she’d truly missed (other than Mark) had been her grandmama. When word had arrived three years ago that Grandmama had died, Nicole had cried bitterly for weeks. She couldn’t even return to England. The letter had arrived a fortnight after the funeral.
She traced a fingertip along the windowpane. She had an unhappy past with her own mother, but she would never allow such a relationship to form between herself and her own babe. A baby would be a chance to start the loving family she’d never known. A baby would be there every day and would need her. No more loneliness.
Mark would mock her if she told him that. He already believed she was a scheming liar. His past had made him a distrustful son of a bitch, even when it came to his own wife. He’d seemed so open and different, so unlike the Marquess of Tinsley and the other fops her mother and grandmama had wanted her to marry. She’d chosen Mark because he was so unlike the others…because he didn’t seem as if he wanted a wife to be a biddable puppet who did and said all the customary things.
Soon after their wedding he’d shown himself to be exactly like all other men. He hadn’t valued her for her uniqueness. He’d rejected her for her differences. He’d accused her of lying to him, of being disingenuous before their marriage. He’d allowed their marriage to be destroyed over it.
She let the drapery drop across the window, a barrier between herself and the radiant sunlight, and returned to her desk, to the dutiful dullness of correspondence and the merciful escape it provided from the painful thoughts of the past. None of those thoughts mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the fact that she finally had her chance to get what she wanted.
All Mark had to do was say yes. They’d both get something out of this godforsaken marriage. If Mark agreed, however, the next few months would be excruciating. Her stomach clenched. She would have to return to England to play his loving wife. How he intended to tell everyone why he suddenly seemed madly in love with a woman he’d managed to forget about for the last ten years was something she’d leave to him to explain.
Regardless, she would have to be in his company for weeks, and in his bed, or somewhere, at night so he could fulfill his end of their bargain and get her with child. It would only take a few months at most, wouldn’t it? He’d already asked her to stay for a few months. That implied three. Three months. The same amount of timethey’d spent happily married. No doubt he’d decided that was the amount of time in which it would seem believable that they were a true couple. It would be excruciating.
Nicole forced herself to sit at the desk and spent an inordinate amount of time arranging her skirts. She still didn’t relish the correspondence, distraction or no. Mark had mentioned perhaps wanting to be in the babe’s life. She would allow that. She couldn’t deny him. In the eyes of the law, she and her baby belonged to him, after all. She could happily stay in England, perhaps buy a small cottage in the country, allow her child visits with his father and travel to see her family and old friends. That part wouldn’t be so bad, but could she survive the next few months in Mark’s constant company? In Mark’s bed?
There was only one way to find out.
The butler knocked on the open door, scattering Nicole’s thoughts. He bowed when she turned to face him. He held a silver salver with a note on it. “Madame, this missive came for you just now,” he said in French.
Nicole stood, crossed the thick blue rug, and tugged the missive from the salver. She recognized the wax seal. The GrimaldiGsat large and imposing in the middle of dark green.“Merci,”she said to the butler, who immediately retreated from the room.
Nicole returned to her writing desk and used her silver letter opener to break the seal. She quickly scanned the words. In Mark’s bold scroll it read,“I have a condition to your condition. We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight. I’ll be there at eight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The wine and the first course had barely been served when a clearly perturbed Nicole plonked down her glass atop the ridiculously long dining table, glared at Mark, who sat at the far end, and said loud enough for him to hear, “What’s your condition to my condition?”
Mark flashed her his infamous grin. She looked resplendent tonight, and even more tempting when her temper matched the fiery tones of her hair.
He stood, gathered his plate, cutlery, and wineglass and marched down to the seat directly to her left.
“What are you doing?” She eyed him warily. She clearly couldn’t stand the suspense. He intended to enjoy himself.
“Moving closer of course. Or would you prefer I shout about our marital intimacies across this insanely long table?”
“We don’t have marital intimacies,” she whispered, a near growl.
He leaned toward her and ensured his breath brushed the tender side of her neck when he spoke. “Not at the moment, but we’re about to, sweetheart.”
She snatched her glass from the table and took a long draught. “What’s your blasted condition?”
Mark sat back in his chair and regarded her, taking a sip of the red wine in his glass. It burned a comforting trail of heat to his belly. “What do you think it is?”
She rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the side. “Mustwe play this game?”
“Just one guess,” he prodded, still grinning.
“Very well. If the child is a son, you will want him with you more.”
Mark’s bark of laughter bounced incongruent merriment around the staid dining room. “You think I wouldn’t care if I sire a daughter?”
Nicole shrugged, set aside her glass, and took a spoonful of her turtle soup. “I assume she wouldn’t be as important to you.”
