Mystique (23 page)

"Luc!" She was chuckling as she
took his head between her hands. "You're very sweet."

Powerful silence filled the room as they
stared intently into each other's eyes, facing each other like living, breathing
statues frozen forever in a moment of perfect love.

Gently Luc placed his hands
over hers on his face. "Mystique." The whispered word echoed in the
empty room. "I want us to have a baby."

CHAPTER NINE

All during the
rest of their stay Misty was aware of
Luc's hurt and frustration with her. She'd stiffened in his arms at his mention
of children, and, despite his frequent efforts to get her to reveal what was troubling
her, she was still unable to share her fears about becoming a mother.

When they
returned home Sunday evening, she told him, "Luc, I'm not hungry. I'm
going straight to bed."

"I want to
talk to you."

"Please, not
now. In the morning." Misty felt his anger radiating like heat waves on
her back as she turned and left the kitchen. Wearily she climbed the stairs to
their bedroom.

Much to her
surprise, she fell asleep immediately after a quick shower. When she awoke the
next morning Luc was already gone, and though his blankets were mussed she had
no recollection of him even having come to bed. She had a splitting headache,
one so severe that she became sick to her stomach. She was holding a cold cloth
to her forehead when the phone rang.

"Mrs.
Harrison, this is Dr. Wagner's office. You said to call you if there was a
cancellation."

"We have an
opening at two o'clock today, if you'd like to take it."

"Yes, I'll
be there." Misty hung up the phone and sat back in bed. Did she have the
flu? She sighed, determined to keep the appointment with her gynecologist no
matter how ill she felt.

By noon she was
feeling somewhat better, much to her relief. She took a vitamin pill, but she
didn't eat anything. Her stomach hadn't completely settled down.

At one o'clock she
left the house, on impulse taking the bus to Henri Bendel, something Luc had
been urging her to do since the beginning of their marriage.

As she walked
into the quietly elegant establishment, she felt relaxed. She found some gloves
in the softest white kid that she could use for evening wear and purchased
several handkerchiefs with which to wipe her hands between musical
arrangements at work.

By the time she
left the store she was running late and had to take a taxi to the doctor's
office, instead of waiting for the bus as she had planned.

She didn't have
to wait long to see Dr. Wagner, and the examination was thorough but not
uncomfortable. Afterward she got dressed, ran a comb through her hair, and met
the doctor back in her office.

"I hope
you'll be able to suggest another method of birth control," Misty began.
"As you know, I was on the pill, but—" She stopped short in response
to the quizzical look the doctor was giving her. "What's wrong, Dr.
Wagner?"

The doctor closed
Misty's folder and placed her elbows on top, her chin in her hands.
"Misty," she said gently, "you're several weeks pregnant. Didn't
you know?"

Misty's stomach
seemed to sink to her feet. She stared at the doctor in stunned disbelief as a
horrible sense of unreality swept over her. "I was tired," she said
through stiff lips, "but I thought I might have the flu. I've never had
regular periods." She let out a strangled sob. "I can't have this
baby."

Dr. Wagner sat
back in her chair and regarded Misty with concern. "You're very healthy,
Misty, and I foresee no problem with the pregnancy, but if you insist on an
abortion, I can suggest a colleague."

"Abortion?
No, I don't want that. I'll give the baby up for adoption."

"You're
married, Misty. Why would you want to do that?" Dr. Wagner asked with
evident confusion.

"I'm
married, that's true," Misty said dully.

"Doesn't
your husband want children?"

"He loves
them," Misty choked out, then bit her lip and fell silent. She stared
sightlessly down at her hands.

"Misty,"
Dr. Wagner said, "something is deeply troubling you. Please tell me what
it is so that I can try to help."

Misty studied the
other woman's kind, concerned face, and suddenly knew she wanted to tell her
everything. Words began to pour out of her in an unstoppable flood. She began
at the very beginning, by describing how her essentially happy childhood had
led to a traumatic adolescence. She explained how her parents had constantly
corrected and criticized her and finally condemned her as an unworthy daughter.
She went on to describe how her life had improved under her aunt and uncle's
loving care, but how the vestiges of her low self-esteem had allowed her to get
involved with Richard and Leonard, two men who used rather than loved her.
Finally she told how Luc had entered her life and made her recovery complete.
Except that she knew she must never have a child and risk becoming a
destructive and hate-filled mother like her own.

When Misty
finished, Dr. Wagner shook her head. "Misty, I grant you that there is
sound evidence to support your belief that many emotionally abused children
become abusive parents. But you've already faced and dealt with your problem.
That makes all the difference in the world."

"But what if
I
...
I..."
To Misty's horror, tears filled her eyes and spilled
onto her cheeks.

Dr. Wagner came
around the desk, pressed a tissue into Misty's fingers, and laid a comforting
hand on her shoulder. 'Talk to your husband, my dear. Then come back to me, and
we'll all three talk together. I sense that you do want this baby."

"Yes,"
she admitted with wrenching pain. She drew in several deep, steadying breaths,
struggling to regain emotional control.

"Don't deny
motherhood because you fear yourself," Dr. Wagner added. "Go back to
your therapist. I'm sure he will tell you the same thing."

"Yes, yes,
I'll make an appointment to see him." Misty wiped her eyes, a whisper of
hope uncurling deep inside her.

Once outside,
Misty began walking home, too deep in thought to even think of taking a bus or
a cab. By the time she walked in the front door, she was tired and cold.

The sounds of
someone in the kitchen surprised her. Mrs. Wheaton should have gone home hours
ago. "Mrs. Wheaton, I'm home," she called. "I sure would love a
cup of tea." She pushed open the door and stopped in her tracks.
"Luc! What are you doing home so early?"

"Where the
hell have you been?" he demanded. "More to the point, why didn't you
take your car? Did you go on the subway? Damn it, Mystique, don't you know how
dangerous that can be?"

Misty remained
stunned into speechlessness as Luc rattled off question after question. When
he received no answers from her, he strode forward and pulled her into his
arms. She sighed with delight and weariness as his muscular heat enclosed her.
"Ummm, you're so toasty warm," she murmured.

"Damn you,
Mystique. I don't want you riding around Manhattan on a bus or subway." He
leaned back to look at her. "Now, where were you?" He spotted the bag
crushed between them. "Bendel's! So that's where you were. But why didn't
you drive?"

"Sometimes I
forget that I can take a cab or drive a car whenever I choose," she
answered truthfully.

"Well, try
to remember from now on, okay? I don't like coming home and not finding you
here. I called Mrs. Wheaton to tell her to defrost some fish for us." He
frowned. "That's why I came home early, so we could fix lemon sole
together.."

"Wonderful.
Just let me take a shower and change first."

"I'll shower
with you."

"No. We'll
never get around to eating."

"Yes, we
will. At midnight."

Misty shook her
head and backed out into the hall. "No way. I'm hungry." She was
laughing as she ran up the stairs, finally able to push her problem to the back
of her mind.

She'd finished
her shower and was humming to herself as, clad only in a silky bra and briefs,
she searched through her closet for something to wear.

"I knew I'd
find you like this." Luc's silky voice sent shivers up her spine and wave
after wave of sensual shocks through her.

"It seems to
me," Misty said sternly, straightening slowly but not turning around,
"that you're always finding me in my underthings."

"Right,"
Luc said huskily, walking up behind her. "I was trying to think up an
excuse for barging in on you like this, but"—he leaned down and kissed the
nape of her neck—"I knew you'd see right through every one of them."

"Right,"
she agreed dryly, closing her eyes and letting herself relax against him.

"Ahh,
good," he whispered, satisfaction in his voice as his hands began an
intimate exploration of her rib cage. "You're gaining weight," he
murmured. "That's good."

Misty reeled back
in shock. Was it possible that he'd already noticed a slight difference in her
shape? She closed her eyes, trying to resummon her quickly vanishing emotional
equilibrium.

"Luc
..."
She lifted her hands from where
they lay on top of his around her waist. "Let me go, please." The
words were barely audible.

Immediately his
hands fell from her, and he stepped back. "Are you going to tell me what's
wrong?" He sounded angry.

Misty met his
steady gaze. "Let me get my dressing gown first."

"I'll get
it," he snapped, striding over to the bed where she had thrown the robe
after emerging from the bathroom. He faced her with the dressing gown in his
hands. "Turn around. I have a feeling I'm not going to like this."

She put her arms
into the gown and belted it at the waist, then walked to the elegant chaise
longue and stood behind it, facing him. "Luc, I went to the doctor today
...
to get a prescription for birth control
pills."

"Mystique,
if you don't want children right away, we can discuss it."

"Luc,
listen. Dr. Wagner examined me. It was a very thorough examination." She
took a deep breath. "The fact is, I'm pregnant."

His mouth dropped
open. A smile lifted the corners and glinted in his eyes. "Darling
..."

"Luc,"
Misty said on a sob, biting her lip, "I... I'm not going to keep the
baby."

"You want an
abortion?" he barked furiously, his hands clenching at his sides.

"No
...
no, I couldn't do that to our child. I
intend to carry it full term, then release it for adoption." She watched
miserably for his reaction, pleading silently for him to understand.

"And what if
I don't want my child to be raised by strangers?"

She forced
herself to say the words. "If you insist on keeping the child, I'll leave
you."

"I
see," he said with a calmness belied by his tense stance. "I thought
you loved children. Were you only pretending to enjoy playing with Greg and
James? Did you actually feel loathing when you cooed at Jennifer?"

"No, of
course not," she shot back, stung that he should think such things.
"I love them."

"What about
Mark and Mary?" he demanded as though she hadn't spoken. "Did you
only pretend to be fond of them? And what did you feel for Janie Patterson, my
sister Vel's girl, whom you met at Christmas? Was it all a charade when you
took them all skating?"

"No, no,
no!" Misty denied, shaking her head and holding out a hand to make him
stop. "Can't you see?" she screamed. "I can't take a chance that
I might become like my mother!"

Luc's face
twisted with anger. "Do you have so little faith in yourself that you'd
rather give our child away than trust your own strength?" he demanded
incredulously.

Misty felt as
though he'd slapped her face. "But don't you see?" she wailed.
"I can't take the risk."

"Damn you
for being a coward, Mystique," he said harshly, conflicting emotions of
anger and love warring in his face.