One-Night Pregnancy by Lindsay Armstrong Read Free Book Online

looked around, art—commercial or otherwise—couldn’t have been further from her mind. Why wouldn’t it be when she’d just gone through a unique experience and then had it torn away from her?
    But as she thought of the man called Adam she had to acknowledge that from the moment he’d so reluctantly revealed his past history she’d known he was bitter about women. He’d told her himself he was a rolling stone, so it shouldn’t have come as such a shock that he would walk away from her like that.
    But it had, she conceded, and wiped away a ridiculous tear. Because their intimacy, for her, had been so perfect and such a revelation.
    Had she unwittingly translated that into the belief that it must have been the same for him?
    She grimaced sadly. That was exactly what she had done. But perhaps the bigger question now was—What was she left with?
    A memory, to be pressed between the pages of a book until it dried and lost colour like a forgotten rose? A memory that evoked a bittersweet feeling in her breast that faded with time? Or a raging torrent of disbelief and anger that he could have made love to her so beautifully she suspected she would never forget it and then simply walked away?

CHAPTER THREE
    ‘WHO’S this ?’ Bridget Tully-Smith was holding a newspaper and staring at a picture of a man on the front page. Her expression was completely bemused. ‘I don’t believe it…’
    Julia Nixon, her colleague and friend, put her red high heels on the dull commercial-grade carpet of the busy TV newsroom and wheeled herself in her office chair from her cubicle to Bridget’s cubicle, next door. She scanned the picture and caption, scanned Bridget in turn, then said carefully, ‘What part of Adam Beaumont don’t you believe?’
    ‘But that can’t be Adam Beaumont !’
    ‘Oh, it is,’ Julia murmured. ‘In all his glory.’ She frowned. ‘Why can’t it?’
    Bridget put the paper down and turned to her friend. ‘Because I met him.’ She paused, and thought how inadequately that covered her encounter with this man roughly three weeks ago.
    ‘He was—’ She stopped, then went on. ‘He wasn’tpart of the Beaumont empire! If anything he was very much a rolling-stone-that-gathers-no-moss type.’
    ‘Well, he may be, but that doesn’t stop him from being gorgeous or the real thing.’ Julia stared at the picture with a pensive look in her grey eyes. ‘Has he taken over from Henry Beaumont, his brother?’
    Bridget perused the opening paragraph of the article accompanying the picture. ‘There’s a rumour, but that’s all at this stage. How did you know?’
    ‘High society is my department these days, darling,’ Julia reminded her. ‘You’d be amazed how many strange rumours I hear about the rich and famous when they party.’ She smoothed her pale gilt hair and studied her long red nails with an expression Bridget couldn’t identify.
    Julia was in her thirties, an experienced journalist, with a penchant for red shoes, tailored grey suits and red nails to match her lips. She was extremely attractive, although she often exhibited a world-weary streak. She was unmarried but, talking of rumours, was said to have had—still had, for all Bridget knew—a series of highprofile lovers.
    ‘For example,’ Julia continued, ‘Adam Beaumont is supposed to be estranged from the fabulous Beaumont mining family. He’s certainly made his own fortune—out of construction rather than minerals.’ Julia gestured. ‘Further rumour has it that there’s a blood feud between Adam and Henry Beaumont. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Adam has finally found the lever to unseat Henry.’
    Bridget’s mouth fell open.
    Julia raised a thinly arched eyebrow at her.
    Bridget closed her mouth hastily. ‘Nothing.’
    ‘And I also wouldn’t be surprised,’ Julia went on, ‘if he doesn’t do as good if not a better job than his brother. I always had Adam Beaumont taped as a cool, tough customer who would be equally at home