Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection

by Lilian Monroe

  Tonight, I have a lot of love to give them.

  The energy bubbling inside me is too much for the little cottage, and I feel like I need to visit my flowers. And yes, even within a couple of weeks, they already feel like my flowers. It’s a good feeling—like I belong here. Like I’ve been accepted.

  I push the gate open and step into the garden.

  “Hello, Miss Rose,” I say to the first plant. “How was your evening?” I brush my fingers over the budding flower, laying a soft kiss on its emerging petals. Then, I start walking along the garden’s pathways.

  This was always when my father was most excited about the garden—right before the flowers bloom, when the plants are working their hardest. He used to tell me that he could feel the pulse of the roses. I pull out my phone from my purse and snap a couple of pictures to send to him.

  “Do you always talk to your plants?”

  The Prince appears from behind a bush with an irresistible smirk on his face. I make a strangled sort of yelping sound, and he laughs. His hair is still wet, but his clothes are dry. He must have changed.

  Why does he have to be so goddamn handsome, and so goddamn arrogant? He walks toward me, his eyes darkening. Every step has a swagger, and I wish I wasn’t this attracted to him. My body almost leans toward him, as if he has a magnetic pull that reaches deep into my gut and drags me in his direction.

  “Not always,” I answer. “Just when I feel like they need it.”

  “And they need it tonight?”

  “Maybe I’m the one who needs it tonight,” I grin. “I’ve had a very stressful evening.”

  “You didn’t look too stressed. You looked like you enjoyed yourself.”

  “Which part? The part where you looked so smug up on that platform, or the part where you fell in?”

  The Prince’s eyebrow quirks as if he can’t believe I’m talking to him like this. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m talking to him like this.

  I shrug, continuing. “There’s something about sending a member of the royal family falling into a big barrel of cold water that cranks up the cortisol in a person’s body.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he says, taking another step toward me.

  My breath catches. He’s so… big. In the library, I got a sense of how strong and tall Prince Gabriel is, but standing beside him here, shivering in my sun dress, he towers over me.

  The Prince shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. His fingers brush the skin of my collarbones, and a wave of goosebumps follow. My breath catches. His touch feels good—too good.

  “I didn’t realize you knew how to be a gentleman,” I quip.

  “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

  The timbre of his voice sends shivers through my stomach, and I fight back a smile.

  “Thanks,” I say. I stare at a rose bud, touching it gently.

  “You know, you’re pretty arrogant for a rose gardener.”

  “I’m arrogant?” I spin toward him. “Take a look in the mirror, buddy.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Your Royal Buddy Highness.” I clamp my mouth shut to stop the word vomit from continuing. What is wrong with me? This is the Prince I’m talking to. Literal royalty.

  Royalty that happens to have a legendary temper. I’m prodding the bear, and I can’t stop myself.

  But instead of snapping at me—instead of losing that notorious temper of his—Prince Gabriel just chuckles. I drag my gaze up to his. For the first time, I notice that he has little flecks of brown in his eyes. From a distance, they look completely blue. He stands close to me, his hands moving up to hold the edge of his jacket. His thumbs brush the skin below my clavicle again, and heat blooms under his touch.

  “Took a lot of guts to come up on stage,” the Prince says, tilting his head to the side. “Although, judging by how comfortable you made yourself in the library, I have a feeling that you’re not the type of person to play by the rules.”

  “You’ve got me all wrong, Your Highness. I’m a rule follower.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m so far from a rebel, it’s not even funny.”

  “And yet, every time I see you, you’re doing something you’re not supposed to.”

  “What about now? I’m not supposed to be in my own rose garden?”

  “My rose garden,” he growls, sending thrills straight through my stomach. “The Royal Rose Garden.”

  I clench my thighs together, biting my lip.

  “Maybe you make me want to break the rules,” I say in a hoarse whisper.

  My heart thumps. Did I just say that? I gulp, standing still as a statue before him. The Prince’s hands fall away, but he doesn’t step back. I’m rooted to the ground, intoxicated by his presence. I can smell his cologne—faint and fresh as it envelops me.

  My tongue slides out to lick my lips. My head is spinning. I can’t string a sentence together or make sense of my swirling thoughts. All I know is I need to get away from the Prince. He’s what’s making me feel off-kilter. He’s the one my parents warned me against. He’s the one I just sent tumbling into a vat of ice-cold water while hundreds of people watched.

  I shrug the Prince’s jacket off my shoulders and hand it to him. “Thank you for that,” I nod. “I should get to bed.”

  “Keep it on,” he says. “It’s cold out. I’ll walk you home.”

  Not wanting to refuse royalty—and maybe, wanting to remain in his presence—I nod in response. I turn toward the gate, and the Prince’s hand floats to my lower back.

  Unlike Harry’s touch, the Prince’s hand on my back fills me with a delicious tingling sensation. Whether it’s his touch, or the cold, I’m not sure, but my nipples pucker beneath my dress and goosebumps erupt all over my skin. We walk in silence for a while, until the Prince clears his throat.

  “You have a pretty good arm, you know.”

  “I played softball when I was a kid,” I say. “I guess I’ve still got it.” I glance up at him, grinning.

  “You certainly do.”

  We’re halfway across the lawn on our way to the Gardener’s Cottage. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach is clenching nervously.

  A couple of weeks ago, I was living in a shitty apartment in New York City. Now, I’m walking across the palace grounds with the Prince of Farcliff by my side.

  I want to ask him about the ceremony in Farcliff, and about his daughter, and about the rumors that surrounded her birth. I want to find out who he is—under the brooding layers and aura of mystery—but the words stick in my throat, and I can’t get them out.

  It’s not my place to ask them, anyway.

  We make it to the cottage, and stand on the front step. I shrug the Prince’s jacket off and hand it back to him. He nods in thanks, slinging it over his arm.

  I play with the keys in my hand, not wanting him to leave, but not knowing what to say to make him stay. Lifting my gaze up to his face, a thrill passes down my spine when he stares into my eyes.

  The Prince lifts his hand up and brushes his fingers over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, relishing the sparks that fly across my skin. My heart hammers as my breath catches in my throat.

  When I open my eyes again to look at him, the Prince’s gaze is still on my face. He drops his eyes to my lips, and desire teases my thighs. His hand drifts over my jaw and across my chin. I lean into his touch, not daring to move, or breathe, or speak.

  I want to kiss him. The urge is overwhelming. I want his lips crushed against mine, his arms pulling me into him. I want him to take me and claim me and never let me go.

  But the Prince drops his hand and takes a step back. “Goodnight, Jolie,” he says softly.

  Without another word, he turns around and walks away.

  12

  Gabriel

  My steps are unsteady as I walk back across the grounds toward the castle. My hair is wet and cold against my head, but the rest of my body is burning up.

  I want her. I can’
t deny it.

  Another fucking writer.

  I shake my head and take hurried steps back toward the castle. Reaching up to rub the back of my neck, I try to ignore the pulsing blood between my legs, or how much I wanted to tear Jo’s clothes off, slam her against the wall, and make her mine.

  I replay the evening over and over in my mind, from the moment Jo stepped up on stage, to the moment I said goodnight.

  The devil on my shoulder giggles in my ear, whispering that I should have entered the cottage with her. She wanted it—I could tell by the way she leaned into my touch. Her thin summer dress left little to the imagination, and it took all my self-control to walk away.

  But why?

  Why walk away when I could have had her? What would it change? What would it hurt? I’m the Prince of Farcliff, I’m single, and we’re both willing.

  The devil whispers to me, urging me to turn back and knock on her door. Go back to her and claim her. Bring her to ecstasy and enjoy every moment of it.

  The animal inside me rages, and I clench my fists to hold it back. Desire and anger are my two worst triggers—and these past couple of weeks, I’ve had a healthy dose of both.

  As soon as I’m inside the castle, I lean against a wall and let out a breath. I think of Flora, my beautiful daughter, and what I owe to her. I touch my pocket, where I still carry the rock she gave me. Who knew it would give me so much strength? A simple rock, given to me by a child, is providing me with more strength than I’ve been able to muster on my own.

  Feeding the beast will only bring Flora pain. Jo may seem harmless, but so did Paulette. I gave in to my desires with Flora’s mother, and I ended up with the scar on my face to show for it.

  I have to think of my daughter. The last thing I need to do is bring more trouble into her life. Charlie’s right—it’s time for me to move beyond my past and introduce Flora to the Kingdom. It’s time for me to forget about Paulette and re-enter the royal world.

  And Jo? She’s too much like the past. A writer—a beautiful one—who stokes the flames of my desire like few other people ever have. I need to look to the future—to Flora’s future as well as my own.

  I can’t get involved with Jolie. Every time I see her, I feel like I’m on the edge of losing control. And when I lose control, disaster always follows.

  Padding through the castle hallways, I head toward the East Wing. The energy inside me is still sparking, and the devil on my shoulder still speaks in my ear. It’s a dangerous feeling, knowing that I could lose control again.

  I snapped at the ceremony. I snapped when Paulette released her book. I snapped once, when Flora was little—when the doctors told me there was nothing they could do for her.

  I can’t let it happen again.

  Making my way to Flora’s room, I poke my head inside and find her sleeping in her big four-poster bed. I tiptoe my way to the side of her bed and stroke her hair as she sleeps.

  My angel, my savior, my sweet, little daughter. She’s the one who calms me down, who teaches me what’s most important.

  Jo isn’t important. Catering to my carnal needs isn’t important.

  Only Flora matters, and she’s the one I have to put first. My daughter sleeps softly, and watching her brings me the peace I’m looking for. I creep softly out of her room and let out a sigh.

  I won’t sleep tonight, so I go to my study and get to work. Charlie left me with lots of affairs to sort out with regard to the work to do in Westhill, and I sit at my desk to settle in for a long night.

  I don’t need coffee to stay awake—my mind is more than capable of doing that on its own. When the sun comes up, I lean back in my chair and stretch my neck from side to side. Charlie’s done his research—there are detailed proposals for the community garden in Westhill, and improvements to the library and the school.

  I’ll be involved with them all.

  I let out a heavy sigh. My eyes feel tired, but my mind is still awake. Noise at the window draws my attention, and I turn to see Flora running toward the rose garden. Mrs. Grey hurries to catch up, calling out after her. I grin, watching my daughter.

  She has wildness inside her, too—except hers is good, whereas mine is all rotten. Flora pushes the gate open just as Jolie comes into view with a wheelbarrow. Jolie pauses, inclining her head at Flora. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but Flora’s face breaks into a smile.

  I watch Jo point to the rose bushes, taking a stem in her hand to show Flora something. I lean forward, as if it’ll help me hear what they’re saying.

  Usually, I’d be mad. Mrs. Grey has strict instructions to keep Flora away from everyone except people that I’ve approved—and I certainly haven’t approved Jolie. Any stray pathogen could trigger a life-threatening lung infection. Her body is too weak to sustain any harm.

  But as I watch the two of them, my heart warms. A smile drifts over my lips as Flora laughs, and I can tell she’s comfortable around my rose gardener.

  Mrs. Grey appears, and I can almost hear her chastising my daughter. The old woman’s cheeks are bright red and she’s puffed from chasing after Flora. Flora drags her feet, and then reaches into her dress’s pocket. She pulls something out and presents it to Jo.

  My forehead touches the window as I try to see what my daughter gave her. Jolie just smiles and inclines her head, and then tucks the item into her own pocket.

  Flora skips away with Mrs. Grey, and I move away from the window.

  I should be mad. I should discipline Mrs. Grey, or tell Jolie to stay away from my daughter. Surprisingly, though, I’m not. Watching the two of them together felt natural. Flora looked so happy.

  Frowning, I head to the East Wing. Bertrand has brought my breakfast up to my chambers, but I don’t have the appetite to eat. Tiredness comes over me like a wave, and I fall into bed without another thought.

  I’m awoken by the sound of voices down the hall. I frown. There shouldn’t be any voices down here. The only people allowed here are me, Flora, Bertrand, and Mrs. Grey. The medical staff doesn’t even come this far—they stay at the other end of the corridor. I rub my eyes to clear the drowsiness from them, surprised at how deeply I slept.

  Stretching as I stand up, I make my way to the door. I crack it open and peer out, but the voices are too far away.

  “Mr. Marcel told me that roses can hear what we say to them, is that true?” My daughter asks.

  “My father certainly thinks it is,” a voice responds. I know that voice—I’ve thought of it every day since I first heard it singing in the rose garden.

  I frown. It couldn’t be—Jolie must know she’s not allowed in this end of the castle. But she comes into view, holding my daughter’s hand. Flora is smiling up at her, and the two of them turn toward Flora’s chambers. My daughter opens the door.

  “This is where I keep my books. See?”

  “I would have loved to have this when I was your age,” Jolie says. I can hear the smile in her voice. I poke my head out of my own door and crane my neck to hear what they say. Panic worms its way into my heart. Jolie shouldn’t be up here. No one should be up here! She could be tracking any kind of bacteria into Flora’s room. She could be putting my daughter’s life in danger!

  “Look, this is my favorite book,” Flora says excitedly. “I can’t wait to read the one you gave me.”

  “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was my all-time favorite book when I was younger. I was a bit older than you, but you’re a better reader than I was,” Jolie laughs.

  “I’ll read it tonight and bring it right back to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Flora. Take your time.”

  Flora? Flora? Did my fucking rose gardener just address a royal princess by her first fucking name? Who the hell is this woman, and why is she so comfortable being insolent?

  “I really should get back to the garden.”

  “When I finish it, can I swap it for another?”

  “Of course,” Jo replies. She says goodbye to my daught
er as I seethe behind my own door.

  This has gone beyond breaking the rules. It’s gone beyond trespassing. Jolie has crossed a line, and I intend to let her know just how unacceptable her behavior has become. There is no fucking way I’m putting my daughter’s life in danger just so she can start a fucking book club with a six-year-old.

  The rage inside me mounts, and the demons on my shoulder start to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

  13

  Jo

  “You met the Princess?” Sam asks in a hushed whisper. “She brought you up to her chambers?” Her freckled cheeks are bright red, and a stray tendril of curly red hair has escaped her bonnet.

  I frown, glancing from my plate of food over to her. “Yeah. You haven’t? She says she knew my father, I thought she was pretty close with the staff.” I don’t tell Sam about our little reading parties in the evenings.

  “The closest I’ve come to her was seeing her get into a car from a distance. His Highness keeps her away from everyone except Bertrand and Mrs. Grey.”

  “That’s a bit sad, don’t you think? Poor kid. Doesn’t she have any friends? She was so excited about getting a new book.”

  Sam chews her lip and shakes her head. “The Prince has always kept her away. She’s sick, you know.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a bright, young kid. She still needs to socialize. What kind of parent isolates their daughter from everything? The kid is a genius. She should be making the most of it.”

  “Ever since Prince Gabriel brought Flora here when she was an infant, he’s kept her away from everyone and everything. The incident in Farcliff changed him. I’ve worked here my entire life, and when he used to visit when he was younger, he was different. Less angry. Less alone.” Sam shakes her head. “I’d stay away from the Princess if I were you, Jo.”

  “That incident was right around the time I left for New York,” I say, chewing thoughtfully. “What happened, again? A fight with his ex?”