The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(59)

                “He was mine and I knew I’d stop at nothing to keep him alive and well. There’s no word to describe that emotion except fatherhood. I already feel that toward this baby.”

                Her jaw softened and her expression went misty and soft. “Really?”

                “Really. You have to marry me, Fern.”

                She brushed impatiently at the tears that brimmed at her eyelids. “But I feel so guilty. Mum warned me so many times not to have sex, not to get carried away, and I just let it happen. I couldn’t face telling you. I was so certain you’d look at me like she would have. Like I was so stupid.”

                He wondered if she remembered why they’d let it happen.

                She sat there, a ball of misery, not exactly encouraging him to believe she looked back fondly on their time at the oasis the way he did.

                Which was neither here nor there, he told himself. Marriage was his priority. The rest could be addressed later. Maybe that was a shortsighted attitude given the hurdles they’d face, but he would marry her.

                “You should pack. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be driving in the dark.”

                * * *

                “Pack?” Fern was still absorbing the fact that he wasn’t pinning all the blame for this pregnancy on her when he made a suggestion that was more of a politely worded order. Her brain emptied all over again.

                He smiled faintly. “We’ll stay with my grandfather until you’re cleared to travel. If that means waiting until the baby comes...” He shrugged.

                She felt her world dissolving and pressed her lips together, trying to keep herself in control of her own destiny. “But...” There were too many arguments rising in her to find them and put them in order of importance.

                “As comfortable as this flat looks, it’s not very secure. Do you even have a real bed here? Or are you pulling a mattress out of that thing?” He pointed at the sofa she perched upon.

                She glanced at the blankets she folded each morning and set on the hassock before putting her bed back under these cushions. “Miss Ivy and I do it together,” she murmured. “It’s spring-loaded, not heavy. Just awkward.”

                “Well, I don’t want you tripping around, rearranging furniture.”

                “But I have work here. Students who are counting on me.”

                “You left one teaching job without notice. Surely someone can step in?”

                Fern had already talked to a few students about helping them over email or webcam, especially after the baby was born. The library had a modern setup and Zafir was right. Miss Ivy was retired, but she could take over until other arrangements were made.

                “I’m not ready to change my whole life,” she protested.

                “Your whole life has already changed,” he reminded her with a patronizing smile.

                He was right, but she still scowled anxiously toward the small bureau where she kept her clothes. Her own photo stood upon it, showing her accepting her teaching diploma. That’s who she was supposed to be: a middle grade teacher in a quiet village here in the north of England.

                “I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” she told him. Had he heard the bit about how she was illegitimate? She knew nothing about her father.