His Suitable Bride(81)

He turned, about to walk out of the door, and Rowan gathered her strength from somewhere, storing her hurt at his words deep down. She stood up, the sound of the chair harsh on the floor.

‘Wait.’

He stopped and turned, impatience and intransigence stamped on every line of his body.

‘When … when can I spend time with Zac, please?’

She held her breath. If he was going to refuse her—

‘You can see him for a couple of hours before he goes down for his afternoon nap.’

He walked back in then, and came to stand close. Rowan gripped the table with one hand, slightly off balance after the way she had stood up.

‘I’m off work for one week, Rowan. I’ll be around, watching your every move, so don’t get any ideas.’

Rowan watched as he walked away again, and out of the room. Off work for one week? Since when had he taken more than a day off work? She sat down again, trembling all over. Had having Zac been what it took to make him change? Because undoubtedly he had. It was that softness she’d noticed. Not directed at her, by a long shot, but a softness nevertheless, and certainly a different attitude to work if this behaviour was anything to go by.

But she had seen it before, and it was this side of him, so rarely on display, which had given her the confidence to leave Zac—because she’d known above all else that he wanted and would love his son. The first time she’d really seen that side of him had been with his sister’s children, who must be aged three and five now. He’d had an innate patience and an ability to communicate with them that had surprised Rowan when she’d seen them together at the wedding. It had bowled her over. And after she’d conceived, on their wedding night, she’d known instinctively that he’d be a good father.

Despite the fact that he’d been so ambitious that he had coldly married her in order to take control of one of the biggest banks in England, he’d welcomed the news of impending fatherhood. Clearly, though it had never been expected from her, he’d been happy to be having an heir.

She’d been halfway in love with him before they’d even married, and that had coloured her own decision to allow herself to be persuaded into the cold business deal of a marriage. Not that she’d had much choice … But when it had turned physical, and she’d fallen pregnant, then she’d foolishly and naively hoped for so much more.

She angrily took a sip of her tepid coffee, not wanting to remember but unable to forget. Her ailing father had pointed him out to her at that function in London’s Savoy Hotel. But in truth she’d seen him the minute he’d come into the room. Anyone there with a pulse had. He’d appeared like a golden lion in the midst of lesser beings, mortals. There had been a moment’s hush before the energy and conversation had zinged up a few notches. All the women had gone into preen mode; all the men had paled into insignificance. And he had just stood there, eyes constantly roving, assessing, blatantly uninterested in the conversation around him. Faintly sneering.

Rowan had been unable to take her eyes off him. Like every other woman there, she didn’t have to remind herself. And yet she’d caught his eye—or so she had stupidly thought—and he had walked over towards her with singular intent. Rowan had been shaking, trembling, her eyes huge when he’d stopped in front of her and she’d finally realised that he wasn’t looking at her, he’d been looking at her father. With the briefest of acknowledgements for Rowan—and she could remember the way those cool eyes had flicked over her—he and her father had shaken hands and retired to a private room, where they had hashed out the deal. The deal that had included her and changed her life.

She could still remember her misery when she’d overheard some women talking in the powder room shortly afterwards. ‘Did you see Rowan Carmichael’s face when he walked over? The girl practically had her tongue hanging out. I mean, really, who would have her? She’s twenty-five and still a virgin, I bet! And that dress—honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been her mother’s.’

They had gone on and on for what seemed like ages. When Rowan had emerged she’d gone straight outside and taken a cab home, her confidence in ribbons.

Rowan realised that she was gripping the small coffee cup so tight that she was in danger of breaking it. She relaxed her hold and put it down, took in a deep breath. So much had happened since then. So much. She couldn’t allow being here to bring back those memories. She had to focus on the present and Zac. That was how she would get through this.





CHAPTER FOUR


‘FORGIVE me, Mrs Salazar, it’s just that … this situation is a little unusual.’