Loren's Baby

‘I’ve told you. The child is your responsibility now.’

In what way?’

‘You’re his father. You should support his upbringing.’

‘Financially? Or physically?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you asking for money or aren’t you, Miss Stevens?’

Caryn paused. ‘Loren—Loren told me to come to you. To bring the child to you. She said—she said you would know what to do.’

He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And you accepted that?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘After what she had told you about me?’

Caryn shook her head. ‘That has nothing to do with it.’

‘I disagree. It has everything to do with it. What does a man like me want with an innocent child? A man who goes around seducing teenagers? A man, moreover, who you have just accused of introducing your sister to drink!’

He’s your son,’ insisted Caryn doggedly, refusing to be alarmed.

‘And your nephew. Or had you overlooked that?’

It’s nothing to do with me,’ Caryn exclaimed restlessly. ‘It’s not my child.’

His amber eyes narrowed. ‘You sound very vehement about it. Don’t you like children?’

‘It killed my sister, Mr Ross. Do you think I can forget that?’

‘Ah, I see.’ He sounded sardonic. ‘How convenient! Shift the blame—and the responsibility.’

‘I have to work for my living, Mr Ross. I don’t have time to take care of a baby.’

‘It may have slipped your notice, Miss Stevens, but I work for my living, too.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How different?’

‘You—you have money …’

‘I see. So it is money you want,’ he mocked coldly.

‘No!’

‘Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not making the whole thing up? You’re Loren’s sister! Maybe you’re in this together!’

Her white face seemed to sober him, and he muttered a rough apology: ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re nothing like her, thank God!’

Caryn’s throat felt tight. ‘Loren is dead.’

‘Yes, yes, so you keep telling me.’

‘It’s true!’

‘I believe it.’ He expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘So: where is the kid?’

‘In London. Spending the day with some friends who live in the adjoining flat to mine. Laura—that’s the girl’s name—she’s expecting a baby herself in three months.’

‘Really.’ He sounded uninterested, and she wished she hadn’t volunteered the information. She had only wanted to assure him that the child was in good hands. ‘How soon can I see him?’

‘You mean—you mean you’ll have him?’ Suddenly it all seemed totally unreal.

‘You’re prepared to give him away, aren’t you? To a complete stranger?’

‘You’re his father,’ she protested, but he shook his head.

‘You can’t prove that.’

‘You can’t prove you’re not.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you.’

‘Oh, please!’ Caryn’s cry was ragged. ‘Will you or won’t you take him?’

‘Let’s say I want to examine the goods first, hmm?’ He paused. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Yes.’ Caryn was reluctant to admit it. ‘Loren called him Tristan, but I—I—’

‘You couldn’t bring yourself to use it, is that it?’ he questioned dryly.

‘Maybe.’

He began to pace again, measuring the room with his lean, pantherlike strides. ‘So—where do you live?’

‘I can drive back and fetch him—’

‘No.’ He halted once more. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ll come to London. You’d better give me your address.’

Caryn was loath to do so. ‘I can easily bring him here.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he agreed, ‘but I prefer to do it my way.’

‘You can’t pay me off!’ she burst out uncontrollably, and his lips curled.