Chapter Ten
Offspring
“A woman’s limit is all in her mind.”—Fanny
Aggie swore. She was in the library, attempting a yoga tree pose while trying not to throw up.
She felt trapped, scared—in fact, terrified. Arthur of the North seemed to think she had the brains to pull off a paternity lie; she, however, had doubts. James the Strong was, well, strong and vengeful . . .
She stumbled.
“Oh, great pickling sperm,” she shouted.
The Librarian, with a skid, stopped at the doorway. “Ma’am?”
She glared at him. “Must you call me ‘ma’am’?”
“Apologies, ma’am.”
Aggie clutched her mouth and gagged.
The Librarian said nothing. He’d read enough to know morning sickness when he saw it, and he saw enough to know who the father was.
“The trick is to sleep with two simultaneously,” he said.
“What?”
