Her Nine Month Confession Read online

  One night…

  The merest glimpse of handsome, sophisticated Benedict Warrender was enough to make wallflower Lily Gray blush. But since a twist of fate allowed her to enter his orbit, it’s been the memories of their life-altering night together that make her cheeks burn.

  One secret that will change everything…

  Lily fled the next morning when the news of Benedict’s engagement to another woman broke, and she dealt with the consequences of that night alone. Three years later, Lily’s confession dies on her lips; Benedict has uncovered her secret! Nervously, Lily waits. For their daughter’s sake, will Benedict sacrifice everything?

  Lily found her eyes drifting to his mouth, felt the vibration of that memory, the carnal craving, the need that had been as instinctual and primal as taking a breath.

  She had felt sure she would have died if he’d stopped.

  She lifted a mental screen and pushed the memories behind it before they overwhelmed her.

  “People try for years to get pregnant,” she said, thinking of her twin. “I didn’t think anything would happen the first time, which was stupid.”

  Benedict’s dark brows lifted. “You think?” There was a hard, ironic gleam in his eyes. “A child…” He dragged a hand through his hair, a dazed expression on his face as he turned his scrutiny on her.

  “So I have a child and you didn’t think to mention it to me? I wasn’t a stranger.”

  “You didn’t owe me anything. It was my decision to have Emily, my responsibility.”

  “So you made a unilateral decision.” He struggled to keep a lid on his anger.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes, and I’d do the same again.”

  One Night With Consequences

  When one night…leads to pregnancy!

  When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire, it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

  But with the sheets barely settled, the little blue line appears on the pregnancy test, and it doesn’t take long to realize that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

  Only one question remains: How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than his bed?

  Find out in:

  Carrying the Greek’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick

  April 2015

  Married for Amari’s Heir by Maisey Yates

  July 2015

  Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby by Cathy Williams

  July 2015

  From One Night to Wife by Rachael Thomas

  September 2015

  More stories in the One Night With Consequences series can be found at Harlequin.com.

  KIM LAWRENCE

  Her Nine Month Confession

  Kim Lawrence lives on a farm in Anglesey with her university lecturer husband, assorted pets who arrived as strays and never left, and sometimes one or both of her boomerang sons. When she’s not writing she loves to be outdoors gardening, or walking on one of the beaches for which the island is famous, along with being the place where Prince William and Catherine made their first home!

  Books by Kim Lawrence

  Harlequin Presents

  One Night with Morelli

  Captivated by Her Innocence

  The Petrelli Heir

  Santiago’s Command

  Stranded, Seduced…Pregnant

  Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek

  Under the Spaniard’s Lock and Key

  The Sheikh’s Impatient Virgin

  Seven Sexy Sins

  The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

  Royal & Ruthless

  The Heartbreaker Prince

  One Night With Consequences

  A Secret Until Now

  At His Service

  Maid for Montero

  Protecting His Legacy

  Gianni’s Pride

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For Shirley. She was the best mum—a brave and lovely lady.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM A PAWN IN THE PLAYBOY'S GAME BY CATHY WILLIAMS

  PROLOGUE

  London. Three years earlier.

  IT WAS SIX A.M. when Lily woke, thanks to her internal alarm clock—an inconvenient genetic quirk that always woke her at this hour. She knew she wouldn’t be able to snuggle down and have another half-hour under the duvet, but for a few moments she resisted pushing her way through the thin layer that separated sleep from full wakefulness.

  On the plus side she was never late and it was amazing what you could achieve in that quiet hour or so before the rest of the world, or at least her loud neighbour in the adjoining flat, woke.

  She silenced the tedious inner voice that insisted on seeing the bright side of everything with a scowl and pushed the heavy swathe of tangled curls from her face. Lying there with one arm curved above her head, she focused on her justified resentment of people who could roll over and fall back to sleep. Normal people who overslept, even her own twin, Lara, who, it was no exaggeration to say, could sleep through an earthquake. But no, not her, every morning it was the same old...same old...

  Only it wasn’t.

  A fresh furrow appeared between her delicately delineated brows as a remaining sleepy corner of her mind told her actually something was different, but what?

  Had she actually overslept?

  Eyes closed, she reached out for her phone on the bedside table. Patting her hand flat, she hit a couple of unfamiliar objects before she found it. Opening one eye, she glanced at the screen and read the predictable and unsociable hour. She clutched the phone to her chest—naked chest! Was that relevant? she wondered as she hitched the sheet up over her shoulders. No, the something different was not the time or her naked state.

  So what was it?

  She looked around. This was not her room.

  The belated recognition hit her as she struggled to focus. Her entire body felt as though she’d just run a marathon—not that she ever had or in all probability ever would. But last night...last night!

  Her green eyes snapped wide open as the memory of the night before hit her like a bolt of lightning. At least that explained the aches in places she hadn’t known she had.

  She pressed a hand to her left breast where her heart was trying to batter its way through her ribcage. The rush of blood in her ears was a deafening roar as she turned her head slowly...very, very slowly. What if she’d been dreaming? She gritted her teeth, prepared for an anticlimax that never came.

  A fractured sigh left her parted lips... It was real, not a dream; he wasn’t a dream.

  She blinked, bringing the face on the pillow next to hers into focus. A stab of sizzling longing lanced through Lily’s body as she greedily absorbed the details of his symmetrical features, committing each plane and angle to memory. Not that she would ever forget him or last night!

  He had a face that inspired a second glance and inevitably a third. The sleeping man’s chiselled bone structure was dramatic, a broad intelligent forehead, high carved cheekbones, square chin with a sexy cleft, thick darkly defined brows, a
n aquiline nose and wide, expressive mouth. If pushed to select an individual feature that set him apart, Lily decided it would have been his eyes.

  Beneath heavy lids and framed by lashes that were as dark as his hair and crazily long, his eyes were the deepest, most electrifying blue she had ever seen.

  Looking at his sleeping face now, there was something different about him. It took her a few seconds to work out that the subtle difference was something that wasn’t there. It was an absence of the restless energy that hung about him like an invisible force field when he was awake.

  It would have been an overstatement to say it made him look vulnerable, but it did make him look younger. Even with the dusting of stubble in the hollows of his cheeks and across his jaw there were enough reminders of his younger self to make Lily’s thoughts slip back. Memories that were now tinged with a rose-tinted nostalgia that had been absent that first time she’d seen him.

  She’d known about him, of course. The estate, where her father was the head gardener, and the village had been buzzing with gossip about Benedict, the boy born with the silver spoon, the boy doted on by his proud grandfather. While everyone else had got excited about the fact that he had just moved into the big house, Lily had nursed a quiet and growing resentment.

  Warren Court, one of the most important houses still in private hands in the country, was just five hundred yards from the estate cottage where Lily lived. She had known, even then, that in all other ways it was a planet, a whole universe, away. She had been totally prepared—actually determined—to dislike the rich boy.

  And then her dad had died and she’d forgotten about Benedict, not even seeing him standing beside his grandfather at the funeral. She had thought no one had seen her slip away when she’d escaped from the churchyard and headed for the pond where her dad had skipped stones from one side to the other.

  Something he’d never do any more.

  She’d picked up a big stone, weighing it in her hand before launching it into the air. Her heart had felt like the stone as she’d watched it sink, then another and another until her arm had ached and her face had been wet with the tears she’d ignored. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the voice or the crunch of leaves as someone had come to stand behind her.

  ‘No, not like that, you need a flat one and it’s all in the wrist action. See...’ She’d watched the stone skip lightly across the water.

  ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘Yes, you can. It’s easy.’

  ‘I can’t!’ Fists clenched, she had rounded angrily on him, tilting her head because he was so tall. She’d vented her grief and frustration at the intruder, screaming, ‘My dad is dead and I hate you!’

  That was when she’d seen his eyes. So blue, so filled with sympathy as he’d nodded and said simply, ‘I know, it stinks.’ Then he’d handed her another stone and she could still remember how it had felt smooth and cold on her hand. ‘Try this one,’ he’d said.

  By the time they’d left, she had made a stone skip three times and she had decided she was in love.

  It had been inevitable really. Lily had craved romance and the boy who was almost a man had seemed like the amalgam of all the heroes in the novels she devoured. Not only had he lived in a castle, but to her youthful self he had seemed like the embodiment of a dark and brooding hero. Mature—he was five years older than her—sporty, sophisticated. Lily had woven an intricate web of wildly unrealistic fantasies around him. Fantasies she’d dreamed would come true. Until the night of the ball...

  * * *

  She had been waiting for weeks for the annual estate workers’ Christmas party, hosted by Benedict’s grandfather in the massive Elizabethan hall of Warren Court, where her mother was now the housekeeper. She knew that Benedict, who had graduated from Oxford that summer and was doing something important in the City, according to his grandfather, would be there.

  Lily had spent hours getting ready. Persuaded Lara, who had much better fashion sense and many more clothes thanks to the tips she got at the hotel where she waitressed on Saturdays, to lend her a dress. Then finally Benedict had arrived and the first thing she’d noticed was how different he’d looked, remote somehow in his sleek dark suit. Before she’d had time to absorb all the details, she’d seen that he wasn’t alone.

  ‘I am so-o-o bored, darling.’ The tall designer-dressed blonde, who had spent the night sneering, hadn’t even bothered lowering her upper-crust voice with its tortured vowels as she’d drawled, ‘When can we leave? You didn’t tell me the place would be full of the local yokels.’

  Followed by Lara never missing an opportunity to tease Lily about her ill-disguised crush. ‘Drooling, Lil? So not a good look, sweetie. If you want him, go get him.’

  Lily had finally snapped. ‘I don’t want him. I don’t even like him! He’s boring and totally up himself!’ she’d declared before she’d turned and seen Benedict standing behind her.

  Since that embarrassing moment she hadn’t seen him or thought about him, not for years. Obviously his high profile meant that she saw his name sometimes, though not often—the financial pages were not really her thing and she didn’t have a clue what an investment tycoon was.

  What she hadn’t expected was to bump into him coming out of a bookshop.

  She didn’t believe in fate but...well, what else explained it? She had walked out of the door and at the exact same moment he had been walking by. Blinded by a strand of hair whipped across her face by a gust of wind, she had walked into him. Not any of the other people walking by—Benedict.

  Coming out of her reverie, she clenched her hands tight as she fought the compulsion to touch his cheek. His deeply tanned skin was dusted with stubble that was the same ebony shade as the thick hair he wore cropped short. He was sleeping so peacefully and, though sleep had ironed out the lines of strain that ran from his nose to his mouth, the dark shadows under his eyes remained. Tired looked sexy on him, she decided as her fascinated gaze lingered on the shadow cast by his long spiky eyelashes against sharp cheekbones.

  She released the breath trapped in her tight chest in a slow sibilant sigh. He was beautiful. Yesterday she’d had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying it, then she hadn’t. She’d said it over and over, she’d said it in between kisses and while she’d kissed her way across his chest.

  They were lovers.

  Her first... She hugged the knowledge to herself, a dreamy expression drifting into her eyes as her thoughts slid back to yesterday and the moment that had changed her life. It had changed her; she felt like a different person...

  * * *

  ‘Lily!’

  Benedict had always been one of the few people who never mistook her for her twin.

  He handed her the book that she’d dropped and fatally his tanned fingers brushed hers. No teenage sexual fantasy—so safe because it had never been going to happen—had prepared her for the nerve-stripping effect.

  The electric sizzle shook her so badly she barely remembered her name as slowly they both rose to their feet, the book they both still grasped acting as a connection they seemed reluctant to break.

  It was a passer-by bumping into them that made them break apart, the book falling again to the floor.

  The spell broken, they both laughed.

  This time she let him pick it up. Staring at the top of his dark head, she gave herself a mental shake and put some defensive tension into her spine. She saw him raise a brow when he looked at the title and this time when he handed it to her she made sure to avoid contact. This triggered a quizzical look that she didn’t react to beyond the flush she was incapable of controlling.

  ‘You always were a bookworm,’ he said, smiling. ‘I remember the time I caught you in Grandfather’s library, you hid his first-edition Dickens under your jumper.’

  ‘You remember that?’ She stopped in her tracks, her am
azement giving way to horror. ‘It was a first edition?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried—the old man didn’t mind.’

  ‘He knew?’

  The lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes deepened as her astonishment drew a laugh from his throat. ‘That you used the place as an unofficial lending library? Well, he did, he doesn’t miss much...so...’ He lowered his gaze from her flushed face, turning his wrist and with a flick of a white cuff revealing his paper-thin watch.

  Lily watched with a smile she really hoped said I’m in a hurry too.

  The next time you are in danger of believing in magical connections, Lily Gray, she told herself, or a sexual awareness too strong to deny, remember this moment.

  ‘I was going for a coffee...’ He stopped, his remarkable eyes filled with warmth and other things that made her stomach flip as he gave a twisted, rueful smile and admitted huskily, ‘No, I wasn’t, but I am now.’ Head tilted a little to one side, he smiled into her face. ‘If you’d like...?’

  Her knees just stopped short of buckling. They were shaking. She released a carefully controlled sigh, her emotions a mingling of excitement and fear as she thought, if a smile could do this much to her what would a touch do...a kiss...?

  Getting ahead of yourself here, Lily. He’s offering you a cappuccino, not a night of wild, head-banging sex! It was just coffee, she reasoned.

  ‘Yes.’ Too keen, Lily. She gave a smile. ‘I’m not meeting Sam until half four.’

  His dark brows twitched into a line above his masterful nose. ‘Is Sam your boyfriend?’

  ‘A friend,’ she said. And it wasn’t a lie: Samantha Jane was a friend, the first one she’d made at the drama college. Sam wouldn’t mind if she was late; Sam would approve. She often lectured Lily on her love life, or lack of it.

  ‘You have to stop being so picky,’ Sam had told her. ‘Look at me—I’ve lost count of the number of frogs I’ve kissed but when my prince comes along I’ll recognise the difference, and actually frogs can be fun.’