Read Online The Heir From Nowhere by Trish Morey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Trish Morey
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let her go and stepped back as she turned and pulled the plug and the fever pitch screaming wound down. Pieces of the puzzle slipped into place—her unwillingness to talk about him, her circling the issue whenever he was mentioned, the fact she’d gone to their meeting today alone.
Because her jerk of a husband had left her for someone else. ‘When did this happen?’
She shrugged, filled her cup with water and dunked her tea bag. He waited while she performed the action the requisite number of times before dropping the tea bag into the sink, where it landed with a splat. Then she turned and leaned back against the sink, cradling the cup in her hands. ‘He moved in with his girlfriend two months ago.’
She could have been reciting a shopping list, her voice was so calm, belying the obvious trauma that underpinned her words.
Two months ago? How long had they known about the mix-up? Was it a coincidence? ‘Why did he leave you?’
Her blue eyes turned misty and desolate as she stared into her tea. ‘Because I refused to have the abortion.’
He wheeled away, his hands in his hair. ‘Your husband didn’t want you carrying someone else’s child.’
‘Strangely enough, no.’
‘So you sacrificed your marriage for the sake of my child?’
She laughed, or attempted to at least before it became a hiccup instead and jerked her hands so that hot tea nearly sloshed over the top of her cup. She put it down on the bench beside her. ‘I’m hardly that noble. I think my marriage was over a long time ago. I was just the last to know. He decided he might as well move in with his girlfriend when he learned it wasn’t his baby I was carrying and when I refused to accept the clinic’s offer to fix things.’
He just nodded, amazed at the inner strength of a woman he knew from experience could get blown over by a decent gust of wind, thankful for that inner strength,thankful for her circumstances. It suited him that the husband was gone. She would have no choice now.
He looked around the room, taking in the dated fittings and faded decor. The room was clean, he’d give her that much, but it was tired, as tired as this woman had looked when he’d met her today. ‘So now you live here alone?’
She nodded.
‘What about your family? Are they close?’
She shook her head. ‘Mum died a few years back. I was an only child.’
‘Your father?’
‘I never knew him.’
Better and better.
‘So who looks after you?’
‘I look after me, Mr Pirelli,’ she huffed, finding some of that lion-hearted feistiness she tapped into from time to time. ‘I’m not a child.’
As much as he admired her courage, anger curled the corners of his senses. Her bastard husband had walked out on her. He’d abandoned her, leaving her pregnant and alone in a house in a suburb that only the brave-hearted or the criminal or those who couldn’t afford to move out would choose.
She’d been alone since he’d gone. No wonder she looked so gaunt. Who was there to look after her? Who was there to ensure she ate properly or make sure she took proper care of herself? There was no other option.
‘Get some things together,’ he ordered. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t stay here. You’re coming with me.’
‘No, I’m not. This is my home. At least …’ She trailedoff mid-sentence and Dominic found himself wondering how many more secrets she had left to reveal.
‘At least what?’
‘I got a letter today.’ She nodded towards the table where the page still sat. Then she swallowed, her hands either side, gripping the bench top behind her. The action emphasized the leanness of her arms but, surprisingly, it also emphasized another part of her anatomy, one he hadn’t taken much notice of until now. For, without her cardigan to cover her, her singlet top pulled tight across an anything-but-flat chest. What the hell was he thinking? He snatched up the letter, concentrated on that.
‘Shayne
Because her jerk of a husband had left her for someone else. ‘When did this happen?’
She shrugged, filled her cup with water and dunked her tea bag. He waited while she performed the action the requisite number of times before dropping the tea bag into the sink, where it landed with a splat. Then she turned and leaned back against the sink, cradling the cup in her hands. ‘He moved in with his girlfriend two months ago.’
She could have been reciting a shopping list, her voice was so calm, belying the obvious trauma that underpinned her words.
Two months ago? How long had they known about the mix-up? Was it a coincidence? ‘Why did he leave you?’
Her blue eyes turned misty and desolate as she stared into her tea. ‘Because I refused to have the abortion.’
He wheeled away, his hands in his hair. ‘Your husband didn’t want you carrying someone else’s child.’
‘Strangely enough, no.’
‘So you sacrificed your marriage for the sake of my child?’
She laughed, or attempted to at least before it became a hiccup instead and jerked her hands so that hot tea nearly sloshed over the top of her cup. She put it down on the bench beside her. ‘I’m hardly that noble. I think my marriage was over a long time ago. I was just the last to know. He decided he might as well move in with his girlfriend when he learned it wasn’t his baby I was carrying and when I refused to accept the clinic’s offer to fix things.’
He just nodded, amazed at the inner strength of a woman he knew from experience could get blown over by a decent gust of wind, thankful for that inner strength,thankful for her circumstances. It suited him that the husband was gone. She would have no choice now.
He looked around the room, taking in the dated fittings and faded decor. The room was clean, he’d give her that much, but it was tired, as tired as this woman had looked when he’d met her today. ‘So now you live here alone?’
She nodded.
‘What about your family? Are they close?’
She shook her head. ‘Mum died a few years back. I was an only child.’
‘Your father?’
‘I never knew him.’
Better and better.
‘So who looks after you?’
‘I look after me, Mr Pirelli,’ she huffed, finding some of that lion-hearted feistiness she tapped into from time to time. ‘I’m not a child.’
As much as he admired her courage, anger curled the corners of his senses. Her bastard husband had walked out on her. He’d abandoned her, leaving her pregnant and alone in a house in a suburb that only the brave-hearted or the criminal or those who couldn’t afford to move out would choose.
She’d been alone since he’d gone. No wonder she looked so gaunt. Who was there to look after her? Who was there to ensure she ate properly or make sure she took proper care of herself? There was no other option.
‘Get some things together,’ he ordered. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t stay here. You’re coming with me.’
‘No, I’m not. This is my home. At least …’ She trailedoff mid-sentence and Dominic found himself wondering how many more secrets she had left to reveal.
‘At least what?’
‘I got a letter today.’ She nodded towards the table where the page still sat. Then she swallowed, her hands either side, gripping the bench top behind her. The action emphasized the leanness of her arms but, surprisingly, it also emphasized another part of her anatomy, one he hadn’t taken much notice of until now. For, without her cardigan to cover her, her singlet top pulled tight across an anything-but-flat chest. What the hell was he thinking? He snatched up the letter, concentrated on that.
‘Shayne
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