him, I can tell him that there isn’t going to be a baby.”
“I can’t lie to him,” the doctor repeated.
She took a slow, steadying breath. She was in pain now, and the bruises were beginning to nag her. “Then can you just not talk to him?”
“I might manage to be unavailable,” he said. “But if he asks me, I’ll tell him the truth. I must.”
“Isn’t a patient’s confession sacred or something?” she asked with a faint trace of humor.
“That’s so, but lying is something else again. I’m too honest, anyway,” he said gently. “He’d see right through me.”
She lay back and touched her aching head. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It doesn’t matter.”
He hesitated for a minute. Then he bent to examine her head and she gave in to the pain. Minutes later he gave her something for it and left her to be transported to a private room and admitted for observation overnight.
She wondered if Diego would come to see her, but she was half-asleep when she saw him standing at the foot of the bed. His face was in the shadows, so she couldn’t see it. But his voice was curiously husky.
“How are you?” he asked.
“They say I’ll get over it,” she replied, turning her head away from him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. At least she still had the baby, but she couldn’t tell him. She didn’t dare. She closed her eyes.
He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and looked at her, a horrible sadness in his eyes, a sadness she didn’t see. “I…am sorry about the baby,” he said stiffly. “One of the nurses said that your doctor mentioned the fall had done a great deal of damage.” He shifted restlessly. “The possibility of a child had simply not occurred to me,” he added slowly.
As if he’d been home enough to notice, she thought miserably. “Well, you needn’t worry about it anymore,” she said huskily. “God forbid that you should be any more trapped than you already were. You’d have hated being tied to me by a baby.”
His spine stiffened. He seemed to see her then as she was, an unhappy child who’d half worshiped him, and he wondered at the guilt he felt. That annoyed him. “Grandmother had to be tranquilized when she knew,” he said curtly, averting his eyes.
“Dios mío,
you might have told me, Melissa!”
“I didn’t know,” she lied dully. Her poor bruised face moved restlessly against the cool pillow. “And it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters anymore.” She sighed wearily. “I’m so tired. Please leave me in peace, Diego.” She turned her face away. “I only want to sleep.”
He stared down at her without speaking. She’d trapped him and he blamed her for it, but he was sorry about the baby, because he was responsible. He grimaced at her paleness, at the bruising on her face. She’d changed so drastically, he thought. She’d aged years.
His eyes narrowed. Well, hadn’t she brought it on herself? She’d wanted to marry him, but she hadn’t considered his feelings. She’d forced them into this marriage, and divorce wasn’t possible. He still blamed her for that, and forgiveness was going to come hard. But for a time she had to be looked after. Well, tomorrow he’d work something out. He might send her to Barbados, where he owned land, to recover. He didn’t know if he could bear having to see the evidence of his cruelty every day, because the loss of the child weighed heavily on his conscience. He hadn’t even realized that he wanted a child until now, when it was too late.
He didn’t sleep, wondering what to do. But when he went to see her, she’d already solved the problem. She was gone…
* * *
As past and present merged, Diego watched Melissa’s eyes open suddenly and look up at him. It might have been five years ago. The pain was in those soft gray eyes, the bitter memories. She looked at him and shuddered. The eyes that once had worshiped him were filled with icy hatred. Melissa seemed no happier to see him than he was to
“I can’t lie to him,” the doctor repeated.
She took a slow, steadying breath. She was in pain now, and the bruises were beginning to nag her. “Then can you just not talk to him?”
“I might manage to be unavailable,” he said. “But if he asks me, I’ll tell him the truth. I must.”
“Isn’t a patient’s confession sacred or something?” she asked with a faint trace of humor.
“That’s so, but lying is something else again. I’m too honest, anyway,” he said gently. “He’d see right through me.”
She lay back and touched her aching head. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It doesn’t matter.”
He hesitated for a minute. Then he bent to examine her head and she gave in to the pain. Minutes later he gave her something for it and left her to be transported to a private room and admitted for observation overnight.
She wondered if Diego would come to see her, but she was half-asleep when she saw him standing at the foot of the bed. His face was in the shadows, so she couldn’t see it. But his voice was curiously husky.
“How are you?” he asked.
“They say I’ll get over it,” she replied, turning her head away from him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. At least she still had the baby, but she couldn’t tell him. She didn’t dare. She closed her eyes.
He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and looked at her, a horrible sadness in his eyes, a sadness she didn’t see. “I…am sorry about the baby,” he said stiffly. “One of the nurses said that your doctor mentioned the fall had done a great deal of damage.” He shifted restlessly. “The possibility of a child had simply not occurred to me,” he added slowly.
As if he’d been home enough to notice, she thought miserably. “Well, you needn’t worry about it anymore,” she said huskily. “God forbid that you should be any more trapped than you already were. You’d have hated being tied to me by a baby.”
His spine stiffened. He seemed to see her then as she was, an unhappy child who’d half worshiped him, and he wondered at the guilt he felt. That annoyed him. “Grandmother had to be tranquilized when she knew,” he said curtly, averting his eyes.
“Dios mío,
you might have told me, Melissa!”
“I didn’t know,” she lied dully. Her poor bruised face moved restlessly against the cool pillow. “And it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters anymore.” She sighed wearily. “I’m so tired. Please leave me in peace, Diego.” She turned her face away. “I only want to sleep.”
He stared down at her without speaking. She’d trapped him and he blamed her for it, but he was sorry about the baby, because he was responsible. He grimaced at her paleness, at the bruising on her face. She’d changed so drastically, he thought. She’d aged years.
His eyes narrowed. Well, hadn’t she brought it on herself? She’d wanted to marry him, but she hadn’t considered his feelings. She’d forced them into this marriage, and divorce wasn’t possible. He still blamed her for that, and forgiveness was going to come hard. But for a time she had to be looked after. Well, tomorrow he’d work something out. He might send her to Barbados, where he owned land, to recover. He didn’t know if he could bear having to see the evidence of his cruelty every day, because the loss of the child weighed heavily on his conscience. He hadn’t even realized that he wanted a child until now, when it was too late.
He didn’t sleep, wondering what to do. But when he went to see her, she’d already solved the problem. She was gone…
* * *
As past and present merged, Diego watched Melissa’s eyes open suddenly and look up at him. It might have been five years ago. The pain was in those soft gray eyes, the bitter memories. She looked at him and shuddered. The eyes that once had worshiped him were filled with icy hatred. Melissa seemed no happier to see him than he was to
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