Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Are you sure you aren’t having contractions?” Harvard curled a hand around Rachel’s belly with such care that it made her want to cry. A sure sign that her hormones were running rampant.
“I’m sure.”
They were in the back of one of the TayFor company cars, the privacy partition securely in place between them and the driver as they drove through Central London. She wasn’t surprised to find the car waiting for them when they were released from the detention center. Her company lawyers had ensured it was on standby, and thinking ahead was one of the reasons they were very well paid.
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Harvard’s smile was wide, lighting up his face like a beacon that called to her.
“Or her,” she reminded him.
He gazed down in wonder at her bump, as he’d done so many times since she found out they were pregnant. “I hope they have your hazel eyes.”
She trailed a finger down his cheek. Even after years together, she still felt wonder that he was hers to touch. “And your skin tone. Ebony skin with hazel eyes…”
He chuckled. “I think I need to take you to an art class.” He linked their hands together and pointed at them. “This shade of brown and this shade of cream don’t make ebony, Princess.”
“I want them to look like you,” she said, allowing herself to be vulnerable in a way that was possible only with him. “I want everyone to know that this is your baby.”
His eyes sparkled. “Because there might be some doubt about the father?”
“Because I’m so in love with you that I want the world to see what our love made and know it was all about you. Only you. I couldn’t have made this life with anyone else.”
Harvard sucked in a breath. “Damn, Rachel, you can’t say things like that to me when we’re not alone because now I can’t show you what it means to me.”
His eyes darkened as he reached up to cup her cheek. Slowly, he leaned in to press a deliberate, luscious, propriety kiss against her lips, and it was as though he’d set a match to flash paper. Flames of desire swept through her so fast that it made her giddy. She curled her hands around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling those strong muscles of his under the cut of his jacket. Wishing he was naked beside her.
“Damn,” he whispered when he broke their kiss. “We should’ve headed straight home instead of going to see this guy.”
“We can still do that. Fitzwater’s uncle will still be there in a couple of hours.” And she wanted him so desperately.
Harvard brushed her hair back from her forehead, using the same reverent care he always used, making her feel loved with his every touch.
“I don’t think you’d be able to concentrate on my lovemaking while your friends are still locked up. Trust me, if I did, I’d tell the driver to turn around in a heartbeat.”
Rachel pouted in disappointment. Something she never did. “Pregnancy’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize. If I’m not sex-crazed, I’m being nice to people. Today, I was actually worried that I wasn’t polite enough.” She groaned, her head hitting the back of the leather seat. “I’ve lost my edge.”
A deep, rumbling laugh made Harvard shake as he pulled her against him. “You’ll never lose your edge. I can promise you that. You’re just as scary now as you were the first day I met you. Or, I should say, the first time you rejected me.”
“Promise?” She looked up at him, knowing there was a pitiful excess of desperation in her gaze.
“Oh yeah, you have my word on this. You are still my sexy Queen of the Damned.” He kissed her forehead. “And people still scatter out of your way.”
“Good.” Rachel snuggled closer. “I feel like I’m losing myself, and I don’t like it.”
“Don’t worry. I know who you are, and if you need reminding, you can just ask me. I promise I won’t let you down.”
That made her feel much better because Harvard always kept his word.
Hugging her belly, she contemplated her future—which was approaching much faster than she would have liked. “We should probably think of some names.”
“I thought you wanted to see the baby before we did the name thing?”
“Honestly, I just wanted you to stop trying to name it after a basketball player.”
That caused more laughter. “LeBron Ford-Taylor Carter has a good ring to it,” he mused. “Or Shaquille Carter. Yeah, I like that one too.”
Rachel groaned. “And if the baby’s a girl?”
“I think the names work for both sexes.” He sounded amused, which was the only thing that saved him from her wrath. If she had the energy to exert any wrath. Honestly, it was hard to be wrathful when snuggling.
“What about Anne or Catherine?” she offered.
“I was kinda hoping we wouldn’t name our kid after the royal family,” he drawled.
Rachel sighed. “At this rate, the child will pick its own name when it comes of age.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Harvard said as the car slowed in the Westminster traffic. The Thames was on their right, and the Palace of Westminster was up ahead, with Big Ben looming over it. “You really think this guy’s just going to see us without an appointment?” He sounded unconvinced.
“I keep trying to explain the aristocracy to you,” Rachel said. “You’d think that as an American who has married into it, you’d make more of an effort to listen to me.”
“My bad,” he said, grinning again.
“The Fitzwaters are what you’d consider connected upper class. They’ve been around for centuries, and their old money allows them a level of access that wouldn’t be appropriate if they weren’t so established. They’ve acquired power through politics and by wheedling themselves into positions close to the throne. But they have a weakness we can exploit.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“They don’t have a title.” Rachel pushed away from him and took a hairbrush out of her handbag. It wouldn’t do to turn up at parliament looking anything less than superbly polished. “At least, not yet. The minister’s youngest son is currently engaged to be married to Fonella White-Smithe. Lady Fonella of Chadbury. His son will attain the title of lord, which can be passed down through the generations, therefore taking the Fitzwaters into the aristocracy.” She checked her face in her mirrored compact and nodded with satisfaction.
“I’m guessing this wedding’s a big deal,” Harvard said as he took her hand. “You’re beautiful.”
For the love of Prada, she felt herself blushing and glared at her belly. “This is your fault,” she told their baby. “I never blushed before you came along.”
“It suits you,” the traitor beside her said. “So, the wedding?” he prompted.
“Yes, it’s a big deal. Honestly, I’ve no idea why the Fitzwaters haven’t married into a title before now. I can only assume no one would have them. But this marriage is their ticket into the inner circle, and considering how much all of this means to their family, I imagine they’re beside themselves with glee.”
Their car weaved through the busy London traffic, making its way toward the Home Office, a few streets past the Houses of Parliament.
“Okay, so the family is going to be stuffed full of lords and ladies,” Harvard said. “How does this help us?”
“Because,” Rachel said with all the patience she could muster, “I am Lady Ford-Talbot, daughter of the seventh countess of Ponterley, who is second cousin to the king. In England, pedigree opens doors. In fact, it’s better than a backstage pass to the finale of a basketball tournament.”
Harvard groaned. “First, basketball doesn’t have a backstage. And second, they don’t have a finale either. Once this baby is here, we’re going to watch some games and educate you before I die of humiliation.”
“Drama queen,” Rachel said.
Their driver slowed in front of the building that housed the Home Office and pulled over to let them out. The building was a grotesque cube, seven stories high, with what looked like oversized louver doors covering its front. For some reason that Rachel couldn’t quite fathom, a canopy of rainbow glass hung over the top of the building.
“Modern architecture has absolutely no class,” Rachel told Harvard when he came up beside her.
“I hear it has an indoor street with balconies overlooking it and restaurants on the ground floor. Sounds like a good place to work.”
“Sounds like a Las Vegas casino.”
Rachel raised her chin and headed for the main entrance and the secure reception area. There were cameras, police, and security everywhere. She chose the most important-looking person behind the reception desk and aimed straight for him.
“Ten bucks says we get kicked out,” Harvard murmured.
“O ye of little faith,” she muttered back before addressing the male security officer: “Lady Ford-Talbot to see Minister of State, Mr. Fitzwater.”
The man looked her up and down with a blank expression. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but it is rather urgent. Please tell him I’m here with my husband concerning a personal matter.”
The man’s face didn’t even twitch, making her wonder if she was talking to one of those AI life forms Elle was always going on about. “Do you have some ID on you?”
Rachel and Harvard handed theirs over, and the man passed them to a nearby security guard to check while he rang up to the minister’s office.
After speaking softly into the phone for a moment, he addressed Rachel: “The minister will see you now. Please give your details to the officer with your IDs. He’ll provide you with security passes.” He gestured down the counter.
“Unbelievable,” Harvard muttered as they did as instructed.
“You owe me money,” she reminded him with a smug smile.
Poor dear; he still had so much to learn when it came to the inner workings of the British upper class.