One-Night Pregnancy by Lindsay Armstrong Page A

during their affair she formed the impression that your brother, Henry, had always had the fear that you were going to try and oust him. It seemed…’ Bridget paused. ‘It seemed to her that if she planted this rumour judiciously it might open up the way for you to take advantage of it, thereby gaining her some revenge. And even if you didn’t manage to take advantage of it, it would make your brother’s life quite complicated and difficult.’
    She did not add that Julia had also given it as her considered opinion that neither Beaumont brother would ever get over Henry’s wife.
    He looked incredulous. ‘Who is she? And has she no fear of any repercussions?’
    ‘Julia Nixon.’ Bridget waited until she saw the recognition come to him. He narrowed his eyes and his mouth hardened. Then she went on. ‘She has no fears because she’s advised your brother that if there are any repercussions she’ll reveal that she was his mistress. She wasn’t the first and most likely won’t be the last, and she’ll reveal that to the whole world, so his wife, and eventually his children, will have to know.’ Bridgetswayed a little where she stood. ‘I know it sounds awful, but I do believe it’s true and I do believe he hurt her really badly.’
    ‘So…’ Adam continued to gaze at her with a myriad of expressions chasing through his eyes.
    ‘So it had nothing to do with me.’ She swallowed several times. ‘Nothing at all. It was pure coincidence that it came out not long after we—after you told me—after we—’ Bridget broke off desperately, and then added in a smothered sort of rush, ‘Oh, please, is there a bathroom handy? I feel very—sick.’
    She was very sick, in the powder room of the penthouse suite. What was worse, she had no hope of hiding it from Adam Beaumont, because he was waiting for her outside the door. He took one look at her and led her to the main bedroom, where he sat her on the double bed and fetched a couple of flannels and a towel from the en-suite bathroom.
    He started to wipe her face until she protested.
    ‘You don’t have to! Thanks, but I’m quite able to—’
    ‘Bridget,’ he broke in sternly. ‘I’ve done much more than this to you before, so will you desist?’
    She desisted in a feeble way, as she was swept by a memory of the things this man had done for her, and how he’d made her feel so safe. All the same, she had to protest. ‘But—’ she began.
    He folded the second flannel and put it to her forehead. It was blessedly cool and soothing. ‘Don’t say anything,’ he ordered. Then, a couple of minutes later,when her breathing had returned to normal, he added. ‘Something you ate?’
    ‘Probably.’ But, since I have a cast-iron stomach, much more likely to be morning sickness, she thought.
    He took the flannel away and frowned at her. ‘Are you sure?’
    She moved her shoulders slightly. ‘Maybe nerves as well. I wasn’t sure whether you would believe me, but it is all true.’
    ‘I do believe it’s quite possible, although I’ll certainly check,’ he said dryly. ‘I don’t know her well, but I would imagine Julia Nixon is cool and clever, and women scorned…’ He shrugged and got to his feet. ‘Which means I owe you an apology, Bridget. I hope you can see that it was the only thing that seemed to make sense.’
    Bridget looked up at him. ‘You really don’t trust women, do you?’ she said quietly.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at her meditatively. ‘I don’t trust anyone on face value.’
    The thought ran through Bridget’s mind Then you’re just as likely to believe this is not your baby—and that would be the final insult.
    ‘Oh, well.’ She stood up. ‘I’m sorry this happened.’ She gestured to the flannels and the towel. ‘I’ll go now.’
    He made an abrupt movement. ‘Stay until you’re sure you’re fine.’
    ‘No, thank you. I am sure.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her