"Pregnant," he said, the word rolling off his tongue. "Yes, Mr. Devereux, I am pregnant with your child." She cast her eyes down at her nails to avoid his intense hazel eyes. "Anyway, you don't even remember me. I just thought you should know. Goodbye." Oh, yes, he remembered this one. She had been a challenge, and when he finally stumbled into bed with her, he didn't ever want to stop his deep thrusting or the desperate movements of her hands in his hair, pulling him closer until they came together. "Olivia," he said, drawing out her name the same way he had during their passionate night. "I want my child. Give me proof it's mine so I can take this predicament off your hands." She laughed at the insensitive man, but there was no humor in what he was saying. "How dare you have the nerve to call my child a predicament? There is nothing unpleasant about the blood I carry. Goodbye, Mr. Devereux, and I hope you rot in hell."