Reclaiming His Pregnant Widow. Tessa Radley

saw photographs of a young beautiful woman who couldn’t keep her hands off him.” Her father gave a snort of disgust. “What more do you need? Fool yourself all you want, but at some stage you’re going to have to face the truth.”

      A pang that could only be jealousy pierced her, adding to the turmoil of her emotions. “Dad, the same investigators also said that Brand had been killed in a crash and that locals had confirmed his body was thrown into a grave. They were clearly wrong about that, too.” But now Brand himself had caused her doubts …

      “Girl—” her father placed a hand awkwardly on hers “—I’m so sorry you have to face this, have to relive all the misery.”

      She brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes and sniffed. “These are happy tears—Brand’s alive.”

      She tried to convince herself that was the truth. After the scene with Brand earlier, she suspected that a rocky road lay ahead.

      Donald’s hand tightened over hers and she could feel him studying her. “What was your mother doing at the museum?”

      Clea’s head whipped around. “She was there? I didn’t see her.”

      “You didn’t invite her?”

      “No! I’d never do that without clearing it with you first.”

      The grim line of her father’s mouth relaxed a little. “Good. I told her to leave.”

      Clea fought to ignore the funny feeling in her stomach caused by the news of her mother’s dismissal. Then she steeled herself. She was no longer the ten-year-old girl her mother had abandoned for someone else’s family.

      She’d had enough. She’d had a long day, her feet ached from shoes that were too tight and her head spun from the emotional maelstrom she’d been through—the tussle about marriage with Harry, the shock of Brand’s reappearance and her own inexplicable anger at him. She couldn’t face discussing her mother, too.

      Tomorrow it would be different. Better. Brand would’ve had a chance to get over his own shock. They’d talk. She’d explain why the baby was so important to her.

      And he’d understand. Wouldn’t he? She stared blindly out into the brightly lit night. For the first time the thought flitted through her mind that he might not.

      Despite the warm evening Clea shivered, feeling more alone than since the night her mother had left.