Page 47 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

Tears blurred her vision, her anger receding as quickly as it had come. ‘You keep thinking of love as a vulnerability, Nazir,’ she said hoarsely. ‘But it isn’t. I love you and I love our child and I don’t feel vulnerable. I feel strong. I feel like I could climb mountains and conquer the world.’

There were no flickers of heat now, no glimpses of anger or pain. His expression was wiped clean. ‘That has not been my experience,’ he said without any emphasis at all.

He wasn’t going to change his mind, that was obvious. If he wouldn’t change it for his child, then he wasn’t going to change for her, and she knew it.

Which made her decision very clear.

Ivy swallowed down her agony, grabbed the brightness that had flickered to life inside her, the love for the baby she carried, the love for her best friend who now wasn’t here, but who’d been the only person to choose her, and she held onto it tightly.

‘In that case,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘I can’t marry you, Nazir. And we can’t live here, exiled to the mountains the way your mother was exiled from Inaris.’

He stared at her, giving her nothing, his gaze darkening, the ice thickening, taking all her rage, all her passion, all her love, and giving her nothing but a cold, black void.

‘You’re right,’ he said without any discernible expression. ‘In which case, it’s best that you return to England. I will of course provide money for the child and protection for you.’

There were bitter words she wanted to say to him. Hot, angry words. Words aimed like weapons that would cut him and hurt him the way he was hurting her.

But suddenly she’d lost her taste for a fight. He’d made his decision and, as he’d already told her once before, fighting him would only waste her energy and she was going to need all that energy to care for their baby.

And she would care for it, she knew that deep in her heart. She had all this love inside her and she was desperate to give it to someone, and so she would give it to her baby. She would shower him with so much love he’d never know that his father hadn’t wanted him.

‘Okay,’ she said quietly. ‘If that’s the way you want it, I’m not going to argue. And I’m not going to fight, not this time.’ She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘This is your choice, Nazir, not mine. I would have chosen you if you’d let me.’

Nazir’s eyes glittered, his face a mask. ‘But I don’t want to be chosen, Ivy.’ His voice was as cold as the north wind. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was nothing to say to that. She’d opened herself up to him, given herself to him and he didn’t want her. What could she do about that?

There’s nothing you could do. Nobody ever wanted you, remember?

No, but Connie had. And her child would. And even if the man she wanted more than her next breath didn’t, she wouldn’t be alone.

Ivy swallowed back her tears, swallowed back her pain. She gave him one nod, then she turned on her heel and walked out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NAZIRSTOODATthe window of his office, looking out onto the courtyard. The fountain was playing, filling the air with delicate music, and it all looked very peaceful. The gardener was trimming one of the trees, the dry snick of his pruning shears providing a counterpoint to the fountain.

It was a peaceful scene and one that normally he wouldn’t even have been aware of, too focused on his army, his men and the operations he was planning. Now, however, it was all he could see, his mind circling around and around the fact that something was missing from it. That there should be a small, determined woman talking to the gardener, her face alight with interest. A small woman with a hot mouth whom he’d kissed there weeks earlier.

A woman he’d let walk out of his life a month ago.

It had been the right thing to do—the only thing to do—so why he should still be thinking about her, he had no idea.

He’d sent with her a couple of his best men to give her discreet protection, as well as contacting the best doctors in England to keep track of her pregnancy. He’d put money in her bank account—money he’d noted she hadn’t touched—and had provided everything he could for her.

She was no longer his concern.

Yet over the past month he’d felt strangely hollow, as if he were missing a vital piece of himself, which surely couldn’t be right. He hadn’t given her anything, so why he should feel as if she’d taken something from him, he had no idea.

One thing he was glad about, though, was that he no longer felt that ache he’d always felt around her.

He didn’t feel anything at all, which was quite frankly a relief.

There was conversation behind him, the rumble of male voices obscuring the sound of the fountain, and suddenly, out of nowhere, came an intense, powerful rage.

‘Leave,’ he ordered sharply, without turning around.

Shock filled the silence behind him.

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