Carole Mortimer Romance Collection. Carole Mortimer
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knew lots of men named James, but that would have been childish in the extreme. But what possible interest could he have in James...? ‘I believe he is very well,’ she answered cautiously.
Lyon continued to look at her with that intently steady gaze. ‘Don’t you know?’
Silke managed a casually dismissive shrug. ‘Why should I?’
He sat back in his high-backed dining chair. ‘He’s your friend; I thought you would know.’
‘James isn’t—’ She broke off her angry rebuttal, drawing in a deeply controlling breath. The last thing James was was her friend. Or anything else. As Lyon should know only too well! ‘That evening at my flat was the first time I had seen James for a year,’ she told him defensively.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Silke,’ Lyon said mockingly.
No, of course she didn’t! Then why was she? Because he had engineered the conversation that way, that was why. Damn him!
She took several deep breaths, glad of the respite of the empty plates being cleared away to give her even more time to rebuild her defences against this man. Although if he continued to wrong-foot her in this way she didn’t know how long that would last! She should never have come to this dinner party, should have found an acceptable excuse, no matter how disappointed her mother would have been. She simply wasn’t ready to face Lyon yet. She didn’t know if she ever would be!
‘Except when it comes to who fathers my child,’ he added grimly once they were alone again. ‘And it won’t be Cameron,’ he bit out tautly, his relaxed demeanour gone now.
Silke gasped, looking about them self-consciously. But once again no one seemed to be paying any undue attention to them. Thank God.
She turned back indignantly to Lyon, undaunted by the grimness of his expression. So much for his earlier mildness; he had simply lulled her into a false sense of security!
‘I’m not pregnant, Lyon,’ she hissed firmly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You know that for certain, do you?’
No, of course she didn’t. It was too soon. But she wasn’t going to be. She couldn’t be!
‘I won’t be,’ she told him with certainty.
Lyon gave her a pitying look. ‘If you are, you’ll marry me.’
Silke stared at him, feeling the colour drain from her cheeks as she did so. He couldn’t be serious! But one look at his determinedly set face and she knew he was. Very much so.
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t marry you—’
‘I’m not the last man on earth, Silke,’ he cut in mockingly. ‘And it wouldn’t matter if I were,’ he added grimly. ‘If you’re having my child, I intend being its father. And not from a distance either.’
‘This is ridiculous—’
‘The whole situation is ridiculous,’ he acknowledged harshly. ‘Nevertheless, it exists.’
Silke felt ill, could see by the determined look on his face that he meant exactly what he said. And she already knew him well enough to know that there would be little escaping him if she did—by some terrible mischance!—happen to be pregnant. Oh, God! She might have fallen in love with Lyon, but she knew he certainly didn’t love her, and any marriage made on those conditions had to be doomed to failure. Would be hell on earth, in fact.
She could feel the nausea rising up within her, knew she was seriously in danger of being sick as her next course of food was placed in front of her. One look at the beef—even beautifully presented as it was—and she knew it was no longer just a possibility, getting up hurriedly from the table to rush from the room, only just making it to the bathroom in time before losing the contents of her stomach.
‘It’s OK, Silke,’ soothed an all too familiar voice as she stood with her burning forehead resting against the coolness of the mirror that covered the whole of the back wall of the bathroom. ‘Here.’ Lyon turned her gently round, placing a coldly damp facecloth against her forehead.
Silke just felt too ill at that moment to refuse his kindness, weak after her bout of nausea, resting limply against Lyon as he continued to hold the cool cloth against her face.
‘Well, this wasn’t quite the reaction I expected the first time I proposed marriage,’ he murmured self-derisively. ‘No,’ he told her firmly, his arms tightening about her as she started to retch again. ‘You—’
‘Silke! Darling, what is it?’ Her concerned mother entered the room, coming anxiously to Silke’s side. ‘Silke...?’ She smoothed the damp blonde hair from Silke’s now pale face.
‘Probably a prawn,’ Lyon dismissed arrogantly before Silke could answer her mother. ‘Don’t worry about it, Tina, I’ll take care of her.’
‘Of course I’m worried about her,’ her mother told him sharply before turning concernedly back to Silke. ‘Darling, do you want to lie down for a while? Perhaps that—’
‘I’ll take her home,’ Lyon cut in firmly, still holding Silke at his side.
‘But—’
‘You have your guests to attend to, Tina,’ Lyon reminded challengingly. Lyon might have been presented with a fait accompli when Henry married his ‘Satin’, but it was obvious that he still didn’t accept Tina Jordan as a suitable member of his family, and he wasn’t hesitating now to remind her of her social manners; Silke may be ill, but as hostess of this dinner party her mother wasn’t expected to abandon her guests in this way. A fact Lyon was reminding her of all too forcefully!
And he was right. The fact that Silke felt the way she did couldn’t be allowed to interfere with her mother’s first big social occasion as Henry’s wife; Silke wouldn’t allow that either.
‘I’ll be all right, Mummy,’ she assured her mother weakly—feeling anything but all right. ‘Please go back to the dinner party,’ she added pleadingly as she could see her mother was about to protest further.
‘I’ll see that Silke gets home safely,’ Lyon repeated firmly.
Silke could see her mother was still hesitating, and in truth Lyon was the last person she wanted to take her home—the last person she wanted to be with at all! He was the one who had made her ill in the first place!
‘It’s OK, Mummy.’ Silke attempted to smile, knowing it hadn’t quite come off, but it was the best she could do in the circumstances. ‘As Lyon says, he’ll see me home. Don’t let this spoil your dinner party,’ she encouraged with a lightness she was far from feeling. ‘It must have just been something I’ve eaten,’ she added dismissively.
‘Not the prawns, I hope.’ Her mother looked worried now. ‘Can you imagine how awful it will be if all our guests come down with food poisoning?’ She frowned. ‘Not that it isn’t dreadful enough if it’s just you, Silke,’ she continued hastily as she saw Lyon’s mocking glance. ‘It’s just that—’
‘I understand completely, Mummy,’ Silke said drily, also having seen Lyon’s mockery. ‘And it happened too fast for it possibly to have been the prawns.’ She gave Lyon a censorious look for having even suggested it could be that; he knew damn well how nervous her mother was about the success of this dinner party!
‘Make our excuses, Tina.’ Lyon took a firm hold of Silke’s arm. ‘I’ll drive Silke home now. And stay with her until I think she’s OK to be left,’ he added challengingly.
It was a challenge Silke had no intention of taking up in front of her mother. But once the two of them were on their own it would be a different matter—Lyon wasn’t staying at her flat with her for even a few minutes, let alone until she felt better. In fact, she doubted she could feel better until he was well away from her!
‘Well, if you’re sure...?’