14

It was the Duke’s fault, of course. All of this was his fault. If he hadn’t been the man she'd met beside the lake, the man who’d made her lose her temper and nearly slap him. If he hadn’t been that man, then none of this would have been a problem.

She would have accepted his proposal without if not a second thought, then at least a third thought. But he was that man and so she couldn’t risk it.

It’s not him that’s the issue. It’s you, she told herself.

Her jaw got even tighter and she was conscious of her father’s gaze on her, cold and disapproving. How could she explain to him what the issue was? That she was afraid of being in the Duke’s presence because twice now he’d made her forget herself? That even the touch of his hand and a glance from his relentless dark gaze made her feel shaky with anger and desperate with a hunger she didn’t understand?

Yes, it was true. It wasn’t the Duke himself she was afraid of but of his effect on her. He reminded her of how she had used to be, wild and uncontained and at the mercy of her own emotions. Of how demanding and difficult she’d been, a howling whirlwind of rage that had culminated in the tantrum that had led to her father collapsing on the floor at her feet as the stroke had taken him. She didn’t want to be that girl again.

“It’s not that simple, Dad,” she said flatly, not wanting to go into it.

“Yes, it is,” her father disagreed. “Be logical for once in your life. The money will enable me to be more independent and you to do whatever you want to do. I don’t understand why you’re even hesitating.”

No, he didn’t understand, as she’d suspected he wouldn’t. For her father logic was everything, while emotions were suspect and weren’t to be trusted. And he had reason, she knew that. He’d loved her mother passionately and had been devastated by her death, and the only way to ease the pain had been to cut it entirely out of his heart. So he had.

But he was right, though. Refusing the money that would give them a much better quality of life simply because she was scared of how the Duke made her feel was utterly ridiculous. Her emotional responses were always suspect, so why was she even taking any notice of them?

She let out a breath, rubbed her palms down her jeans, ignoring the old urge to run into the woods the way she had used to as a child.

“He wants a son, Dad,” she said. “You did hear that, didn’t you?”

Luke Remington shrugged. “Then give him one. He’d look after it, you said? If so, then that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s nothing that people haven’t done before. And it’s probably better to do it sooner rather than later, when you have a career.”

The offhand way he said it stabbed at something deep inside her. He hadn’t wanted her, and he’d told her that on more than one occasion. He’d only agreed to have her because her mother had wanted a baby and he’d loved her mother, not out of any desire for a child himself.

And this would be the same, wouldn’t it? She hadn’t wanted children, not after her own experience of growing up, and certainly the emotional commitment it took to be a parent wasn’t something she could do.

Then again, the Duke had said that the child would stay with him. She wouldn’t have to be involved in the process of bringing it up. History would repeat itself.

A lump rose in her throat. She stared down at the threadbare carpet and forced it away. No, it wouldn’t be history repeating itself. It wouldn’t be having a child she didn’t want for someone else, condemning them to be brought up by a mother who hadn’t wanted them in the first place.

The Duke had said he would keep the child and she would have access to it, if she wanted. He was rich. The child would live in luxury and have every oppor-tunity. And he’d no doubt be a much more stable and steady parent than she would ever be. She was, after all, quite volatile and impatient, both of which weren’t great traits for a mother.

But would he be able to give a child love?

Good question. The Duke wasn’t exactly a family man by all accounts. And yet what was the alternative? If she didn’t marry the Duke, her father would be stuck here in this half-life, where he couldn’t do the things he wanted because the house couldn’t accommodate him.

Because she was too physically weak to provide him with the support he needed. And there was the constant struggle for money and all the bills that needed paying that her wages from the cafe barely covered…

If you don’t do this, he’ll blame you even more than he already does. The lump in her throat became larger. She’d ruined his life; how could she ruin it any more?

“What if I…want to be in the child’s life?” she asked, even though she hadn’t meant to.

Her father lifted a shaking hand. Once those hands had been rock steady, able to cut and stitch even the smallest arteries. Now he could barely manage to lift his teacup. “You won’t,” he said tersely. “Children are hard work.” His hand must have been shaking harder than normal, because although he managed to get it to his mouth for a sip, when he put it back down it clipped the side of the saucer and fell over, spilling hot tea everywhere.

Instantly Anna dashed to the kitchen, grabbing a cloth to mop it up, her father sitting there in stony silence. His was a cold anger, diamond hard and bright, full of sharp edges that sometimes felt like knives against her skin. She could feel those knives now, cutting into her, leaving her in no doubt as to who he blamed for the spill. Not his shaking hand, but her.

She was the reason he’d lost his career and his health, his independence. Her and her anger.