Her mother didn’t need to answer the charge because it was already written in large letters across her pained face.
‘I don’t believe,’ she breathed, hurt—so hurt she couldn’t contain it, ‘that my own mother could suspect me of doing something so crass!’
‘Accidents like this just don’t happen in this day and age, Evie.’
‘No?’ she choked, lurching to her feet like a wounded soldier, with her injured arm cradled against her throbbing breasts. ‘Well, just look at me, Mother!’ she commanded furiously. ‘Because what you are seeing is one hell of an accident!’
‘Evie—’ It was Raschid who used that rough-toned appeal on her. ‘Your mother meant no offence. It was a natural assumption to make…’
Was it? Was it really? she thought, turning flashing eyes on him. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me before,’ she breathed shakily. ‘But—have you been secretly thinking the same thing?’
‘No,’ he sighed, but he looked away from her as he said it, and the horrible realisation that the two people she loved most in the world could think she would sink that low struck a severe enough blow to make her sway where she stood.
And suddenly she knew she had taken enough. Her chin came up, her eyes glassing over as she flicked her gaze from one uncomfortable face to the other. ‘I don’t think I will ever forgive either of you for this,’ she told them.
Then, grimly clinging to what was left of her pride after their mutual slaying of it, she turned and walked away.
Asim was just coming back into the room as Evie swept coldly by him. Whatever passed between him and Raschid via the silent clash of their eyes Evie didn’t know or even care. But she had only just sunk weakly down on to the side of the bed when Asim knocked on the bedroom door then let himself into the room.
‘I must see to your arm,’ he quietly explained.
Evie didn’t argue. She didn’t say a single thing, in fact, as she allowed Asim to do what he had to do with the broken weals now adorning her arm. But inside her head she was saying a lot—not to Asim but to just about everyone else she could bring to mind.
Her family. Raschid’s family. The greedy media who would be oh, so very interested to know what a devious and desperate person she had turned out to be!
‘The situation is very stressful for everyone right now,’ Asim remarked with his usual diplomatic neutrality as he bent over her arm. ‘People say things they come to regret later when things are calmer.’
‘Which doesn’t mean they weren’t speaking the truth when they said them,’ Evie pointed out. ‘You think I deliberately set out to trap him with this baby,’ she then accused him. ‘I saw it in your eyes when you were too shocked to hide it.’
Only, she had read his expression for one of simple horror then, not suspicion. Now she knew she was going to see the same expression of horrified pity adorning the shocked features of every single person she looked at from now on.
It made her insides squirm, so much so that she jerked her arm as Asim was reapplying the bandage.
‘I hurt you?’ he asked sharply.
‘Everyone is hurting me,’ Evie replied with a wealth of pained anger.
Surprisingly he seemed to understand the remark because he said nothing else and a few moments later he was getting to his feet.
‘Can I shower with this?’ Evie enquired.
‘It would be better if you didn’t get the arm wet,’ he advised.
She nodded stiffly. ‘Then do you think you could arrange a taxi for me while I go and get dressed?’
It wasn’t a request, though it had been voiced as one, and she didn’t wait for his reply before getting up and walking into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later she was back in the bedroom, washed, dressed in the jeans and tee shirt she had arrived here wearing that same morning. She was in the process of tying back her hair when Raschid stepped into the room.
She glanced at him then away again. But the glance had clung long enough to notice that he had changed too, and was now wearing one of his razor-sharp business suits. She also had time to note an unusual wariness in the way he was studying her—which she gained a nasty kind of satisfaction from seeing, because it meant that he wasn’t quite so sure of her any more.
‘Your mother has gone,’ he informed her.
That didn’t surprise Evie. Her mother was going to need time to come to terms with this next dreadful scandal that was about to fall on their seemingly beleaguered family.
‘Asim tells me you have requested a taxi,’ he said next. ‘Why?’
‘So I can leave here,’ she coolly replied. ‘What else?’
‘Where do you intend to go?’
‘Home, to Westhaven, probably,’ she said. ‘To hide away there as dreaded black sheep do when they’re in deep trouble.’
Her sarcasm was acute; his sigh revealed his impatience with it. ‘Don’t deride yourself like that,’ he snapped.
‘Why not?’ she countered. ‘It’s the truth after all—or at least it is the truth as everyone else is going to see it once this mess gets out.’
‘Don’t be foolish!’ he rasped. ‘You are overwrought and overreacting! Once we marry no one will give a damn when or why our baby was conceived!’
Oh, very tactful, Evie thought acidly. ‘I think I’ve said this to you before,’ she flashed back at him. ‘But this time I mean it—I wouldn’t marry you now if you came gift-wrapped in rubies! I would never be able to live with what you were secretly thinking about me, you see!’
‘I do not suspect you of getting pregnant deliberately!’ he ground out angrily.
Evie didn’t answer, but her cynical expression said a lot as her trembling fingers struggled to capture the final strands of gold hair that had escaped the ribbon she had tied the rest in.
‘Okay,’ he conceded with a heavy sigh. ‘There was a moment—a very brief moment—when the suspicion did occur to me,’ he admitted. ‘What man wouldn’t consider such a proposition given the circumstances of our relationship?’
‘A man who knew me well enough to know I would rather die than use those kind of tactics to trap him?’ Evie suggested.
The sound of his sardonic huff of laughter had Evie spinning around to stare at him. ‘It seems to me that it is you who feels trapped by this situation, Evie, and that is what is really eating away at you.’
Was it? she wondered. Then heavily admitted to herself that he was most probably right. She did feel trapped in a situation that there was no way out of unless she seriously took on board the only other option open to her.
An ice-cold shudder went ripping through her; Raschid saw it and released a heavy sigh. ‘Look…’ he said, walking towards her. His hands came up, gripped her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. But—don’t you think we have enough problems to deal with between us, without you and I fighting with each other?’
‘It all feels so ugly,’ she shakily confessed. ‘And it’s only promising to get uglier.’
She meant once his father was involved, and Raschid instinctively understood that. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I will turn this to our advantage if it is the last thing I do.’
But at what expense? His father’s pride? His country’s pride? Their own wretched pride?
‘Already your dear mama is feeling most unexpectedly maternal,’ he added softly.
Lifting