Emilie Rose - The Price of Honour

He shrugged. “It has a simple charm and the furnishings provided are adequate.”

“You’re wasting your time, Xavier.”

“You have mentioned competing on the American circuit. I will provide the means for you to do so until you get it out of your system. The horses and you are certainly up to the task. I understand your need to prove your worth although I am told your uncle has retired from the horse business and no longer attends the shows to witness your success.”

It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d done his homework. “Proving myself on my uncle’s turf isn’t what this is about.”

“Then what is the problem? What keeps you here?”

Had he not heard a word she’d said? “Her.”

“As I have said before, Cecille is not an issue. I will not leave until you agree to return with me.”

“Only one thing will make that happen.”

A dark eyebrow lifted.

Her palms turned clammy. “End your engagement.”

His expression darkened ominously. “You demand the one concession I cannot grant.”

His words punctured whatever remained of her balloon of hope. If he loved her he wouldn’t hurt her this way. No, they’d never spoken the words, but the closeness they’d shared, the amount of time they’d spent together, had led her to believe he cared. He allowed her to see a side of himself that others never saw—a side that was gentle instead of ruthless, considerate instead of conquering. Had that meant nothing to him at all?

“How does your fiancée feel about your extended vacation?”

“I did not ask her opinion.”

She gaped at him. Was he clueless? “I realize you didn’t have a good role model, so let me help you. Marriage is a partnership. It means always considering the feelings of your significant other before making decisions that will affect him or her. Cheating on your future wife with a mistress—even if that mistress is across an ocean—is hardly the way to earn trust and make a relationship last.”

“And you are an expert on long-term relationships? I think not. The only lasting associations you have had are with your cousin and your horses. You thrive on competition, Megan. Why are you not competing?”

She scrambled for an acceptable response. One he’d believe. One that would convince him he couldn’t change her mind. Unless he changed his first.

“I’ve chased the dream of being on top of the leaderboard for ten years. I’m tired and need a break. I miss my cousin. I want to help Hannah plan her wedding. And now that my uncle has moved away from Sutherland Farm, there’s no reason for me to avoid the place. I’m leaving the European Circuit for good, Xavier. I won’t come back. Not for you or your horses. Not if you’re married to her .”

The minute she said the words she knew they were true. She couldn’t go back if he married that woman. Megan couldn’t bear to see Xavier and his wife in the stands or at the pre- and post-show parties. They’d bump into each other constantly. And knowing Xavier’s have-his-cake-and-eat-it-too attitude, he’d probably expect her to keep riding his horses even after he said his vows.

The life she’d built in Europe was over and the friends she’d made relegated to the past. The realization hit hard, and even though she’d left a month ago a part of her had hoped to return. But that wasn’t looking likely. Her emotions, which had been close to the surface lately, threatened to mutiny. Her eyes and throat burned and her chest tightened.

She would not cry. Especially not in front of Xavier. Gritting her teeth and fighting for composure, she turned on her heel and stalked away. She kept her eyes focused on the truck and escape.

“Why are you trying to change the rules of our affair?” he called after her.

Amazed that such a brilliant man could be so obtuse, she stopped and pivoted. “For the past six months we have spent nearly every hour together when we’re not working. I thought the rules had already changed.”

“Non.”

“Do you love me, Xavier?”

Rejection stamped his face. “Love was never part of our agreement.”

“Our agreement? You make our relationship sound like a business deal sealed with a handshake.”

“Are you claiming you love me?” He didn’t sound as though the idea appealed, and the fact that he avoided answering her question was answer enough.

Disillusionment settled heavily on her shoulders. “I believed I did. But I guess I was mistaken. You aren’t the man I thought you were, because that man would never subject his wife and his children or his lover to the humiliation of the gossip we both know runs rampant on the circuit.

“You may not care about the whispers that will go on behind your future wife’s back or mine, but I do, Xavier, and I won’t embarrass her or cheapen myself. I’m going to say it one last time. Maybe this time you’ll hear me. Go home. As long as you’re planning to marry her, there’s nothing for you here.”

Megan stared at the fuzzy white image on the screen, too choked up to speak. That beating heart, those little hands and feet, tiny fingers and toes, eyes and mouth belonged to her baby. Hers and Xavier’s.

As if sensing the emotion damming Megan’s throat, Hannah squeezed her hand.

The obstetrician pushed a button on the ultrasound machine and the printer started humming. She wiped the gel from Megan’s stomach and helped her sit up. “Megan, everything looks exactly as it should for twelve weeks gestation. I’d guestimate your due date is the first week of January. You should have a new baby to start the New Year.”

A new year. A new life. Alone with her baby. She’d better get used to doing things without Xavier.

“Can you tell if it’s a girl or boy yet?” Hannah asked the doctor, making Megan glad she’d brought her cousin along for moral support since her brain refused to produce the appropriate questions.

“Not yet. But since we’re unclear on the date of your last period we’ll repeat the ultrasound in eight weeks just to confirm our dates. We might get a better picture then. Any more questions?”

When Megan shook her head, the doctor handed her the printed picture, wished her well and left the small room. Megan stared at the image, a tangle of emotions weaving through her. Excitement. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. She would be responsible for this little person, for his or her health and happiness and well-being. Her and her alone. What if she messed up?

“You okay?” Hannah asked.

Megan slid off the table and straightened her clothes. “Xavier should have been here for this.”

“It’s his loss, Megs.”

What if one parent wasn’t enough? What if something happened to her? Who would care for her baby? “Maybe I should tell him.”

“Do you think telling him would make him dump her and marry you?”

“That’s the million-dollar question—one I’ve asked myself a zillion times. I don’t know. On one hand, once Xavier sets a course he never deviates. On the other, what’s his is his. He doesn’t give up easily.”

“If you told him and he dumped her and married you would you always wonder if he’d done so just because of the baby?”

Leave it to Hannah to get to the heart of the matter. “Yes. I want him to wake up and realize that what we have—what I thought we had—is too special to throw away.”

“Then postpone telling him a little longer. If he hangs around you’ll have no choice. But for now wait and see if he comes to his senses.”

“Right. For now I’ll carry on.” Alone. The way she always had since her parents’ and brother’s deaths.

After his confrontation with Megan three days ago, Xavier had been ready to say to hell with her, fly himself and his horses back to France and let her suffer for her foolishness. Replacing her would be easy enough.

But he didn’t want any other woman.

He craved Megan. She was in his blood like a narcotic. He had to make her understand that what they had—combustible sex, mutual respect and similar interests—had nothing to do with his marriage. That alliance was business, whereas they shared pure pleasure. And he wanted to drink in as much of that pleasure as he could. After his marriage he would have to suffice with duty, honor and obligation. Not that Cecille was unattractive. But she was not Megan.

If he could not get what he wanted from Megan directly, he would have to use alternative means. Targeting Wyatt Jacobs, the CEO of Triple Crown Distillery and co-owner of Sutherland Farm where Megan resided, was the only strategy Xavier could think of for getting closer to Megan. He needed to know whether her abrupt departure was simply jealousy or something more. He was beginning to suspect the latter.

She had always been strong, determined and logical. He admired that about her. But she had an inflexibility to her attitude now, and her decision to abandon the career she loved was most definitely illogical and therefore out of character.

He shook Wyatt Jacobs’s hand. “Thank you for helping me find the farm and agreeing to see me.”

“Your offer to give me the inside track on corporate sponsorship of Grand Prix events is hard to refuse. It’s something I’ve been considering for a while but other priorities have prevented me from doing the required research.”

“My sources told me that your company was preparing to launch a high-end whiskey. I have never seen your brand connected with equestrian events. It is a missed opportunity—especially given your new ties to Sutherland Farm.”

“True. The advertising information you sent me is timely.” Jacobs led Xavier through the foyer and into his study and gestured toward a leather visitor chair. He settled behind his desk. “Now that I’ve begun watching Grand Prix events on TV with my fiancée, I appreciate Parfums Alexandre’s visible presence.”

“As you can see from the numbers, we have had a good return on our investments. Our ads reach a target market that can afford our product. You could do the same.”

“I see your point. Grand Prix attendees are the right demographic. I also want to surprise Hannah by helping her horse rescue operation. The best way to do that is through public awareness—an area in which you have expertise. I won’t mention this to her until it’s a done deal, so please keep that information to yourself.”

“Certainly.” Xavier was glad he had educated himself on Hannah Sutherland’s horse rescue operation and therapeutic riding program. “Find Your Center is a worthy cause. The equestrian audience should be both sympathetic and generous.”

Jacobs sat back in his chair, his eyes shrewd and assessing. “What do you want in return for sharing your knowledge?”

Xavier appreciated a man who was smart enough to know nothing came freely and one who got to the point. “I have relocated three of my horses to the Haithcock farm. I need expert riders to exercise and show them, but I have few connections in the States.”

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