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“What’s the prognosis?”

“We don’t know yet. She’s going to see a specialist in town next week. But she could sure use some good news,” the Earl finished, and how could Hamish argue with that?

“Lord Ashcombe is here,” Tia’s assistant Miranda said, poking her head into Tia’s office. Tia glanced up, caught off guard for the second time by Lord-hot-and-fancy.

“Here?” she repeated, cursing the desertion of her usual unflappability.

“In the flesh,” Miranda said, and there was a hint of something in her voice that made Tia wonder if her incredibly professional and diligent twenty-something assistant had felt the same total bodily awareness in the presence of the man. It wouldn’t surprise her. She doubted anyone would be immune to his personal charms—until he opened his arrogant mouth, she reminded herself quickly.

“What the hell for?” Tia muttered, standing and brushing a hand over her knee-length skirt then reaching for the matching blazer. She pulled it over her creamy white silk camisole, fastening the top button in an extra nod to professionalism.

Miranda nodded her approval. “I’ll send him in.”

“Thank you.”

In the ten or so seconds she had before Hamish appeared, Tia cracked open her compact mirror and checked her hair, makeup and teeth, then turned to face the door, a bland smile on her face.

There was no glorious golden sun to backlight him today, but it turned out, that didn’t matter. He glimmered like diamonds regardless, as he stepped into the room. She could practically hear church bells pealing ‘hallelujah’.

Her smile slipped and her teeth ground together. Evidently, her reactions the other day were not imagined, as she’d been trying to convince herself.

“I have the contract,” he said, brandishing a thick pile of papers in his hands. Hands that were somehow not what she thought of when she imagined a British Lord. They were tanned, for one thing, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors, hair-roughened, with long fingers that conveyed strength and control. She blinked and looked away.

“You didn’t need to bring it here personally.”

“I was in the area.”

“Oh.” She ignored the strange dropping sensation in her belly. “Well, thanks,” she said, and forced her legs into gear, moving across the room to him, to take the papers.

She did, but he stood perfectly still, a look on his features she couldn’t comprehend.

“But actually, I did want to talk to you about something.”

She took comfort from the papers—a sturdy document that anchored her to her business and life. “I’m happy to answer any questions.”

Up close, she could see that his eyes weren’t just dark brown. They were a deep chocolate colour with flecks of caramel and honeycomb near the pupil, the whites startlingly clear, and his lashes thicker and longer than she’d appreciated at first. He smelled like clean clothes and soap today, and his five-o’clock shadow was even longer, so she wondered if he was growing a beard? She hoped not. His face was far too perfect to be half-covered in hair.

She stepped backwards with a sense of urgency, aware that only in distance might she rediscover her equilibrium.

“This is more of a personal nature.”

Her heart thumped and a weird heat slicked between her legs. She moved to the edge of the desk and perched her bottom against it, effecting a pose of relaxation she was far from feeling.

“Go on.” Her voice sounded hesitant, though, and with little wonder. There was something about this man that struck her as a bit of an atomic bomb.

“Your IVF,” he said, and she took a second to catch up. It was not remotely what she’d expected him to say.

“Yes?”

“Have you conceived yet?”

Her lips parted. “That’s certainly personal.”

“Bear with me,” he said, grimacing though, striding across the room. “I know this sounds mad, but I think you and I might be in a position to help each other.”

She lifted a brow, considering that. “In what way?”

“Answer my question first,” he said, with easy command. She remembered Miranda’s research on Lord Ashcombe, as she’d thought of him then, including certain biographical titbits, such as his personal wealth, which was a combination of inheritance from various wealthy relatives, family holdings and investments, but also, because of his own work in the area of textiles and manufacturing. He ran a business with no fewer than seven thousand employees globally and had received many awards for his company’s endeavours to provide fair wages and working conditions to all staff. It made sense that he would come to her with an air of confidence, then, even when he was prying into something that didn’t concern him.