Royal Babies: Claiming His Secret Royal Heir / Pregnant with a Royal Baby! / Secret Child, Royal Scandal

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUNITA LOOKED ACROSS the expanse of the royal jet to where Frederick sat. There was no trace of the man she’d glimpsed mere hours ago in the Hanging Gardens—a man who had exhibited a depth of pain and frustration that had made her think long and hard.

Another glance—he still looked cool, regal and remote, and she couldn’t read any emotion or discern what thoughts might be in his mind. Which would make what she had to say all the more difficult.

For a moment she nearly turned craven. No. This was the right thing to do and she would do it.

‘Frederick?’

‘Sunita.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘Of course.’ He pushed his netbook across the table, rose and crossed to sit in the luxurious leather seat next to hers. ‘Shoot.’

‘I’ve thought about what you said earlier. About me having to accept that you are Amil’s father.’

He raised a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘It does matter. I don’t see how we can even consider a future together until we resolve our past. So I want to say I’m sorry.’

She twisted her hands together on her lap, recalling Frederick’s expression when he’d looked at Amil as if his son was the most precious being in the universe.

‘I’m sorry you missed out on Amil’s first months.’

However justified her decision, Frederick could never have that time back—would never be able to hold his newborn son in his arms, see his first smile, run his finger over his gum to reveal that first tooth.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘OK.’

‘But it’s not OK, is it?’

‘No.’ He closed his eyes, then reopened them. ‘No. It isn’t OK that you hid my son’s existence from me.’

‘I couldn’t take the risk.’

‘Yes. You could have. You chose not to.’

Rationalisations lined up in her vocal cords but she uttered none of them. Bottom line—he was right. Her choice had meant Frederick had missed out on something infinitely precious.

‘Yes, I did. And all the reasons I gave you earlier were true. But it’s more than that.’

She inhaled deeply. She had no wish to confide this to him—she wasn’t even sure she wanted to acknowledge it herself. But there it was again—the memory of the way Frederick had looked at Amil, the fact that he wanted to be part of his son’s life and wanted to create a stable family unit. He deserved a true explanation.

‘I thought history was repeating itself. I thought you would be like...’ Her voice trailed off, her brain wishing it could reverse track and pull the words back.

‘Like who?’

The gentleness of his voice surprised her—gave her the momentum to carry on.

‘Like my father. He was a Londoner, on holiday in India with a group of friends when he met my mother. They fell in love—or so she believed. She fell pregnant and she did choose to tell him, and all she could see was a tornado of dust as he disappeared. Straight back, road-runner-style, to his fiancée in London.’

Even now the enormity of her father’s selfishness had the power to stun her—he must have understood the repercussions. They would have been complex enough in any culture, but in India there had been added layers of complication that transcended even betrayal and heartbreak.

Understanding showed in the expression on Frederick’s face. ‘That must have been tough for your mother.’

‘Yes. It was. It changed the entire trajectory of her life. Her family was horrified and threw her out—she was only nineteen, and she had to fend for herself in a society which by and large had condemned her. And a lot of that is down to my father and his rejection of her—and me. I know we were in different circumstances—you didn’t lie to me—but I knew you didn’t want children. I didn’t want to hear you say the same words my own father had—I didn’t want Amil to feel the sense of rejection I did.’

Sunita forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep her tone level. This verged on the excruciating—touchy-feely confidences were not her bag at all.

‘It seemed better, easier, less painful, to bring Amil up on my own. I figured what he didn’t know and you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.’

There was a silence, and then he reached out, touching her forearm lightly. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to your mother and to you. I promise you—I will never reject Amil.’

There could be no doubt as to the sincerity in his voice, and in the here and now she believed he meant every word. But she knew that good intentions did not always turn into actions. Her father must have once believed the empty promises he’d made to make up for his past, to be a good parent.

‘It will not happen,’ he repeated, as if he sensed her doubts. ‘And now let’s put the past behind us. I wish you had told me about Amil earlier, but I do understand why you made the choices you did. I believe now that we need to move forward, put the past behind us and focus on our present and our future. Deal?’

He held out his hand and Sunita looked down at it. So perfect—strong, masculine, capable... Capable of the gentlest of caresses, capable of...

Close it down, Sunita.

Too late—images scrambled her mind and for a moment she was unable to help herself. She closed her eyes, let the sensation dance over her skin. But it was more than desire—she knew that this deal signified understanding and forgiveness, and that made her head whirl as well.

Then she opened her eyes and reached out, clasped his hand and worked to still the beat of her heart. ‘Deal,’ she said. The syllable emerged with way too much violence, and she dropped his hand as if it were burning her. Which in a sense it was.

She looked down, then sneaked a look up at him—had he seen her reaction? Of course he had. It didn’t take a forensic degree to know that. Embarrassment flushed her skin even as she couldn’t help but wonder if this stupid physical reaction was a mutual one.

Her gaze met his and against all odds her pulse quickened further. His hazel eyes had darkened, the heat in them so intense her skin sizzled as her hormones cartwheeled.

Nothing else mattered except this.

Her lips parted as he rose, and his eyes never once left hers as he held out a hand. Without thought she put her hand in his, and he tugged her up so they stood mere centimetres apart.

Oh, so gently, but with a firmness that neither expected nor brooked denial, his hands encircled her waist and pulled her body flush against his. The feel of him, of the hard, muscular wall of his chest, made her gasp, and she looped her arms round his neck, accidentally brushing the soft skin on his nape.

An oath dropped from his lips and then those self-same lips touched hers and she was lost.

The kiss oh-so-familiar and yet so much more than before; the tang of coffee and the hint of strawberry jam, the sheer rollick of sensation that coursed her blood, made her feel alive and made her want more. He deepened the kiss and she pressed against him, caught in this moment that felt so damn right.

Stop. What the hell was she doing?

She wrenched out of his arms so hard she nearly tumbled over, putting a hand out to steady herself against the back of the chair.

For a moment silence reigned, broken only by the sound of their jagged breathing. Sunita tried to force herself to think through the fog of desire that refused to disperse. She couldn’t let herself succumb to him again—she couldn’t. Two years ago she’d lost her self-respect—now she could lose even more than that. Her attraction was a weakness he could play on—something that might cloud her judgement when she needed it most.

‘I’m sorry. That was stupid.’

He ran a hand down his face, almost as if to wipe away all emotion, all desire, and when he met her gaze his expression was neutralised. ‘No need to be sorry. That was a good thing.’

‘How do you figure that out?’

‘Because it proves we have physical compatibility. That’s important in a marriage.’

His words acted like the equivalent of a bucket of ice-cold water and she slammed her hands on her hips. ‘So that kiss was a deliberate ploy? A way to make the marriage more acceptable to me?’

‘It wasn’t a deliberate ploy, but it wasn’t a mistake either. Mutual attraction is a benefit in a marriage. A bonus to our alliance.’

A benefit. A bonus. Any minute now he’d tell her there was some tax advantage to it too.

Sheer outrage threatened at his use of their attraction as a calculated move to persuade her. More fool her for believing he had been as caught up and carried away as she had. This was the Playboy Prince, after all.

‘Well, I’ll bear that in mind, but given that you have found “physical compatibility” with hundreds of women, I’m not sure it counts for much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and freshen up.’

* * *

Frederick resisted the urge to put his head in his hands and groan. Then he considered the alternative option of kicking himself around the private jet.

Kissing Sunita had not been on the agenda—but somehow her beauty, her vulnerability, her honesty had overwhelmed him, and what he had meant to offer as comfort had turned into the type of kiss that still seared his memory, still had his body in thrall.

Dammit. He would not let physical attraction control him as it had his father—that way led to stupid decisions, poor judgement calls and people getting hurt. Yet during that kiss his judgement could have parachuted off the plane and he wouldn’t have given a damn.

Then, to compound his original stupidity, he had morphed into a pompous ass. Words had flowed from his tongue as he’d fought the urge to pull her straight back into his arms and resume proceedings. What an idiot. And then there had been her reference to his past. The truth was, even back then Sunita had been different from his so-called ‘hundreds of women’.

He looked up as she returned to the room, her brown eyes cold, her expression implacable as she headed back to her chair and reached down into her bag for a book.

Hell. Now what? This was not going to plan and he didn’t know how to retrieve it. Did not have a clue. He was so far out of his comfort zone he’d need a satnav and a compass to find his way back.

‘Sunita?’

‘Yes.’

‘That kiss...’

‘I think we’ve said all that needs to be said about it. As far as I am concerned, I plan to erase it from my memory banks.’

‘Fine. But before you do that I want to clarify something. You mentioned my “hundreds of women”—for starters, that is an exaggeration. Yes, I partied hard and, yes, there were women, but not as many as the press made out. But, any which-way, those days are over and they have been for a long time. I was never unfaithful to any woman and I plan on a monogamous marriage.’

Clearly his default setting today was ‘pompous ass’, so he might as well run with it.

‘So you’d be faithful for the duration. For decades, if necessary?’

The scepticism in her tone rankled.

‘I am always faithful.’

‘But your relationships have only lasted a few weeks at a time—that’s hardly much of a test. Variety was the spice of your life.’

‘Very poetic. Let’s take it further, then—I believe it’s possible to have variety and plenty of spice with one woman.’

‘Then why didn’t you ever try it before?’

Damn. Poetic and sharp.

‘Because short-term suited me—I didn’t want physical attraction to develop into any expectations of marriage or love. I never offered more than I could give and the same goes now. I can offer marriage and fidelity, but not love.’

‘I still don’t buy it. Most people are faithful because of love—if you don’t believe in love what would motivate you to be faithful?’

‘I will not repeat my father’s mistakes. He went through women like a man with a cold does tissues. Any beautiful woman—he thought it was his right to have her, whether he was already in a relationship or not, and it led to a whole lot of strife and angst. So I will not plunge Lycander into scandal and I will not hurt my children or humiliate my wife. That is nothing to do with love—it is to do with respect for my country and my family.’

‘OK.’

Sympathy warmed her eyes and the moment suddenly felt too weighted, too heavy, and he cleared his throat. ‘I thought you might want to know more about Lycander—after all, it will be your new home and your country.’

‘I’d like that. I do remember some of what you told me two years ago. Rolling countryside, where you can walk and smell the scents of honeysuckle and almost taste the olives that you grow. You made the olive groves come to life.’ She hesitated, and then asked, ‘What happened to your business deal? The one you hoped would go through two years ago?’

Her words caused him to pause. Sunita had been one of the very few people he’d spoken to about his dreams. Ever since he was young he’d been focused on breaking free of his father’s money—sick and tired of the constant reminders that he relied on his father’s coffers for his food, his clothes, the roof over his head.

Then, at twenty-one, he’d come into the inheritance of a run-down, abandoned olive grove. And as he’d walked around it had been as if the soil itself had imparted something to him, as if the very air was laden with memories of past glories, of trees laden with plump lush olives, the sound and whir of a ghostly olive press.

That was where it had all started, and over the years he’d built an immensely profitable business. Two years before he’d been in the midst of a buy-out—he’d succeeded, and taken his company to the next echelon. That had been the deal he’d been celebrating—the reason he’d handed over the state function to Axel, the reason Axel had died.

Guilt and grief prodded him and he saw Sunita frown. Focus. ‘The deal went through.’

‘So who runs your business now?’

‘A board of directors and my second-in-command—I have very little to do with it any more.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘That’s how it is. Lycander needs my attention, and its people need to see that they come first. The principality isn’t huge, but we have beaches, we have vineyards, we have olive groves. I know I’m biased, but our olives are the best in the world—they have bite...their taste lingers on your tongue—and the olive oil we produce is in a class of its own. As for our grapes—I believe the wine we produce rivals that of France and Spain. Lycander has the potential to be a prosperous land, but right now it is a vessel of past glories. My father increased taxes, lowered the minimum wage—did all he could to increase the money in the royal coffers without a care for the effect.’

‘But couldn’t anyone stop him?’

‘No. In Lycander, the ruler’s word is law—he has the final say on the governing of the land. Of course there are elected advisors, but they have no legislative power and the monarch can disregard their advice. So effectively everything hinges on having a ruler who genuinely cares about Lycander and its people.’

‘That sounds like a whole heap of responsibility. For you. And to wish upon Amil.’

‘It is, but I think it needs to be seen in context. In the past, when everything worked, it was easier—right now it is harder. But I will make sure I set things to rights. I know what needs to be done. I will make the laws fair, I will reduce taxation rates and I’ll stop tax evasion. I want the divide between the wealthy and the poor to be bridged. I—’

He broke off at her expression.

‘You can pick your jaw up from the ground.’

She raised her hand in admission. ‘OK. Busted. I am surprised. Two years ago you were passionate about your business, but you didn’t mention politics or social beliefs. Now your enthusiasm, your beliefs, are palpable.’

The all too familiar push and pull of guilt tugged within him.

‘This isn’t about my enthusiasm or my beliefs. It is about Axel—it’s about fulfilling a promise. The people and the country suffered under my father’s rule. The real reason there was no rebellion was that they knew one day Axel would succeed him, and that kept the unrest at bay. Axel had a vision—one that I will make happen.’

That had been the promise he’d made in his very first speech and he would fulfil it.

‘What about your vison? The way you speak of Lycander—I can hear your pride in it.’

‘I never had a vision for Lycander. I had a work hard, play hard lifestyle.’

‘But you’ve changed?’

‘Yes, I have.’

But the cost of that had been his brother’s life.

Her frown deepened. She leant forward and he could smell her exotic scent with its overtone of papaya, could see the tiny birthmark on the angle of her cheekbone.

‘I know you will be a good ruler. Whether you rule because it is your duty or because your heart is in it.’

There was silence. She was close. Way too close. And he had had a sudden desire to tell her the truth about his ascent to the throne—a desire mixed with the longing to tug her back into his arms and damn common sense and practicality.

Neither could happen, so he rose to his feet and looked down at her.

‘Thank you. But the point I was trying to make is that I will ensure the principality Amil inherits will be a good place, with a strong economic foundation. Of course he will still have much responsibility, but I hope it will not be a burden.’

‘What if he doesn’t want the job? What if he has other ambitions, other aspirations?’

‘I would never force him to take the crown. He could abdicate.’ He met her gaze. ‘Provided we have more children.’

‘More children?’ she echoed.

‘Yes. I would like more children in order to secure the succession.’ After all, there was no hope of his brothers ever having anything to do with Lycander. ‘To take the pressure off Amil.’

‘Is that the only reason?’

‘For now. I haven’t really got my head around having Amil yet.’

Right now he was terrified about his ability to parent one child—it wasn’t the moment for a rose-tinted image of a functional, happy group of siblings.

‘Do you want more kids?’

Sunita hesitated. ‘I don’t know...’ A small smile tugged her lips upwards. ‘I haven’t really got my head around it all yet either. Until yesterday it was just me and Amil. My happiest memories are of my mother and me—just us. After—’

She broke off, looked away and then back at him, and he wondered what she had been about to say.

‘Anyway,’ she resumed, ‘I’m not sure that the whole “happy family” scenario always works. Are you close to your other brothers?’

‘No.’

His half-siblings... Stefan, who loathed all things Lycander, had left the principality as soon as he’d reached eighteen and hadn’t returned. The twins, Emerson and Barrett, still only twenty, had left Lycander only days after their father’s death and hadn’t returned.

There was a definite pattern there, and it wasn’t woven with closeness. The way they had grown up had made that an impossibility—their father had revelled in pitting brother against brother in a constant circus of competition and rivalry, and in the end Frederick had retired from the field, isolated himself and concentrated on his own life.

‘But that was down to our upbringing. I hope that our children would do better.’

Perhaps it was a fruitless hope—there was every chance he would prove to be as useless a parent as his own parents had been, in which case perhaps a large family was a foolish idea.

But now wasn’t the moment to dwell on it.

Relief touched him as the pilot announced their descent to Goa before Sunita could pursue the conversation further.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SUNITA’S EYES STRETCHED so wide she wondered if her eyeballs would actually pop out of her head.

‘This is incredible.’

In truth it was beyond incredible—and she hadn’t even seen the inside of the villa yet.

The drive itself had been unexpected—their chauffeur-driven car had traversed remarkably peaceful roads until they’d reached an idyllic village seemingly untouched by tourism. Winding lanes had displayed a number of villas draped with greenery, and now they had arrived at Sangwan Villa.

The Portuguese-built, newly renovated building was nestled amidst verdant grounds where teak and jackfruit trees thrived, giving the air an evocative smell of leather with a hint of pineapple.

Her gaze rested on the structure itself. With its pillared verandas and high roof it looked like a vision out of a fairy tale.

The thought jolted her. She needed to remember that fairy tales were exactly that—tales, fiction. And most fairy tales had a dark side, a grim under-story, and the myths they were built on didn’t have any happily-ever-afters.

‘How on earth did you get it at such short notice?’

‘It was closed for maintenance—I made it worth the owners’ while to postpone the work.’

A woman walked towards them, a smile on her face, her white and green sari very much in keeping with the verdant backdrop.

‘Your Highness. Welcome. I am Deepali and I will be looking after you during your stay. Your staff have been settled in and your suites are ready, if you will follow me. I will show you your rooms and then I thought you may wish to have an evening drink by the pool before dinner. There are menus in your rooms—just call through when you are ready.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Sunita said. ‘And thank you so much for making this available at such short notice.’

Minutes later she was looking around a sumptuous suite. ‘It’s beautiful...’

But it was more than that—it was quirky and cosy, with its warm aura countered by the cool of the tiled floor. The sitting area boasted comfy overstuffed armchairs, where she could imagine curling up with a book and a cup of coffee, or simply gazing at the courtyard outside, resplendent with shrubbery. Two steps led down to the bedroom, where a luxurious wooden bed sprawled against decadent red walls.

Her suitcases had been deposited by a large lacquered wardrobe and she opened one, needing the confidence fresh clothes would give her. A floaty dress with a vivid bird print gave her instant cheer, and as she made her way out to the courtyard she allowed herself to revel in the sound of kingfishers and the sight and scent of the opulent lilies in the ornate pond.

Frederick sat on a recliner chair, a frosted beer bottle on the small table behind him and his blond head slightly tipped back to absorb the rays of the evening sun. Her breath caught as her gaze snagged on the strong line of his throat, the strength of his jaw—Adonis could eat his heart out.

But enough voyeurism...

He turned as she approached and smiled, and for a moment the clock turned back, transported her to two years before, when that smile had quite literally bewitched her, causing her to forget common sense and every promise she’d made herself.

Not this time. This time she had her sensible head on.

So she forced her toes to uncurl and sat down next to him, stretched her legs out and exhaled. ‘This is a fabulous place.’ She swiped a sideways glance at him. ‘And you’ve surprised me.’ Again.

‘Why?’

‘It’s not what I expected.’

‘What did you expect?’

‘Something busier—a five-star hotel on the beach, with a nightclub.’

‘Is that what you wanted?’

‘No.’

‘I told you, Sunita, I’ve changed. Plus, this time needs to be for you and me. No distractions. You wanted to get to know me better. Here I am.’

So he was—and the thought had her reaching for the lime drink she’d ordered.

She needed to focus on the practical—on need-to-know, real-life information.

‘I need to know what our marriage would mean on a day-to-day level for Amil. What it will be like for him to grow up in a palace, as a Lycander prince. Right now it feels surreal.’

‘The state apartments are a bit more opulent than your average home, I suppose, but otherwise his childhood will be what we make it.’