Her King's Secret Baby

by Lynn, Sophia

  Table of Contents

  Her King’s Secret Baby

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Her King’s Secret Baby:

  A Royal Baby Romance

  By Sophia Lynn & Anna Kate

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2019 Sophia Lynn & Anna Kate

  This story is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended.

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  Chapter One

  Sarah

  “Okay, Sarah, promise you won’t flip out.”

  The coffee carrier in Sarah Jones’ hands wobbled as her coworker Betty took it from her without warning. Betty pulled over a rolling stool with her foot, pushed Sarah down upon it, and swiveled it to point at one of the eighty-inch flat screen televisions in the corner of the room.

  “What’s going—” Sarah was about to ask more, but her mouth was immediately covered with Betty’s hand. Jeesh, seemed she’d missed a lot for being a few minutes late.

  “Shhh, just watch.”

  The entire office was buzzing with excited energy. Something big was going on because everyone was acting weird. Future Magazine had a progressively modern office, with huge windows and a minimalist, conservationist feel, from the eco-conscious LED lighting, to the solar paneled, garden-landscaped roof. It was normally a place of self-sufficiency and conservation— rightfully so, considering their media platform was built on talking about clean energy initiatives—but right now, every television in the open-concept room was on and every overhead light beaming despite rays of sun streaming in through the windows. Crushed coffee cups lay scattered on the floor, as if people had missed the recycling bins and didn’t care. All eyes were glued to the televisions or the phones in their hands.

  It looked like a news conference or something was about to start, but the camera angles were askew and reflected a stone wall back at them. Rustling sounds in the background did little to give away what was going on. She side-eyed Betty.

  “Good news, I don’t feel like flipping out.” Sarah moved to rise from the stool. “And I don’t see what the drama is all about. Did everyone forget we have energy use limits in this office?”

  She made a sweep with her hand to indicate all the lights. She hadn’t worked her way up from intern to junior reporter in less than a year by not following the rules. She had ambitions, goals. Keeping Samuel Johnson, her boss and founder of Future Media, happy was kind of important to reaching them.

  Betty rolled her eyes and pushed her back down on the stool. “It’s William Ravenshire. He’s going to announce the Brixton Clean Ocean Program. There, happy? You made me spoil it for you. Jeez.”

  Sarah’s heart began to trot. Screw the lights. “You’re serious?”

  “Sam already said he’ll be getting one of us on the first plane to Brixton after this news release to interview the king.”

  “Holy shit.” Sara settled back on her stool and whipped a notepad from her canvas bag. There’d been rumors the King of Brixton in the British Isles, William Ravenshire, was going to launch an aggressive ocean clean-up campaign and would be funding it completely from his own pocket. A third massive oil spill in two years had been the impetus, with early whispers of the campaign spreading through the media about four months ago. The king had been quiet about it himself, though self-reported informants “close to the king” hadn’t been shy with open speculation. She’d held out hope the rumors were true. Sarah took a deep breath, her mouth suddenly dry.

  There was nothing she wanted more than to keep the oceans clean and interview the King of Brixton about his plans herself.

  Ocean conservation was near and dear to her heart. Living in San Diego was a dream. She spent countless hours at the beach, surfing and enjoying the Pacific Ocean in all its glory. When she wasn’t reaping the benefits of living by all that water, she was volunteering to help keep the beaches clean and the marine life safe. The Brixton Clean Ocean Program could be the answer to a global problem.

  Someone clapped their hands together from across the room, silencing the low murmur in the room. “Shhhhh! It’s starting.”

  Just then the camera angle was adjusted and focused on a dark walnut podium with the official Brixton emblem of two lions holding crossing swords on the front. A tall, athletic man in a bespoke navy suit stepped up, sandy-brown hair glinting with highlights in the sun. Sarah’s chest tightened as King William Ravenshire’s face came into focus. He smoothed his skinny black tie with a sculpted hand, rectangular lips edging up into a hint of a smile. And then he smiled, really smiled, and her breath caught in her throat. His dark brown, square glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his patrician nose, highlighting the crystal clarity of his blue eyes. His masculine features were frequently showcased in major media and gossip rags. He was young and face-tingling handsome. William was the most eligible bachelor in the world. But he was also philanthropic, intelligent, kind—all the things Sarah wished she could find in a man.

  The looks were just a bonus. A really hot bonus.

  “Welcome, all, and thank you for coming.” William’s deep voice commanded attention. The room quieted, and Sarah wished the beat of her heart would quiet in her ears. “On behalf of the Kingdom of Brixton, I’d like to thank you for your interest in the problematic state of our planet’s oceans.”

  His lilting British accent lulled Sarah into rapt attention as he spoke about pollution, dying sea life, oil spills, and long-term global impact to poor oceanic water quality. The ease of his voice, the confidence he imparted into each sentence was like the Pied Piper’s flute. A man who spoke that elegantly could convince people to do almost anything…like her, right now. Sarah found herself leaning forward on her stool as if she could get closer to his sexy voice. She’d damn near follow him anywhere if he kept talking like that.

  “And that’s why I’m pleased to announce that I’m providing twenty million dollars to fund the Brixton Clean Ocean Program. I’ve been in contact with the world’s top conservation and oceanic experts, and we’ll be unveiling an official action-plan in the coming week.”

  Sarah glanced down at her notepad, realizing she hadn’t written a single word. Good thing she could jump online to source a recording and play this all back. An article idea was already forming in her head: A Kingdom for Clean Oceans…

  “Thank you, and good day.”

  Just like that, the camera angle swung away from the king, and the program turned to reporters ready to debate and discuss what they’d just heard. The televisions clicked off, allowing the low buzz of conversation in the room to slowly rise to a maddening tempo. Feeling dazed, Sarah rose and grabbed her coffee from the carrier Betty had set on a table. She needed a moment to get her thoughts together. Cutting through the crowd of her coworkers, she made her way to her cubicle and sat down, wishing she had an official office so she could close the door and drown them all out. She wanted to watch the press conference again, and probably again and again, to keep her creative juices flowing. Offices were for the executive journalists, though. She was junior still, with only two years of reporting under her belt. She had a long way to go before she’d get the satisfying click of an office door to drown out the world.

  Putting on noise
-cancelling headphones, she opened her laptop and clicked on the World Oceanic Conservation website, a foundation sponsored by Brixton as well as multiple other nations. There on the landing page was King Ravenshire’s announcement, only minutes old. She clicked, played it back, and found herself lost in the excitement his declaration brought. Her gaze drew to his face, watching the way his eyebrows slightly moved up with expression when he spoke. How a dimple in his right cheek got bigger when he smiled. Those lips…the bottom full and rectangular, the top firm and delectable…perfectly straight teeth, a strong jaw. Her cheeks grew hot, the warmth cascading down her body. A deep flutter of longing played between her legs, surprising her. Eyes wide, she glanced around as if someone might see her body’s involuntary reaction. Feeling silly, she cleared her throat and turned back to her laptop. The man was a rocking hot king. Every woman in the world laying eyes on him probably had the same reaction.

  It was normal. And it wasn’t like she’d ever meet him anyway. Sam had his pick of seasoned reporters to send to Brixton to interview King Ravenshire. Probably Jim, with twenty-two years’ reporting experience and a gut the size of the triple pub burgers he liked so much. Jim was a safe bet, smart reporting and no spontaneous sexual reactions to his interview subject to muddy the waters.

  Clicking open another browser, she typed the king’s name into the search bar. Images popped up of him in various activities. Public speaking. A polo match. Posing like a GQ model with a variety of elegant, beautiful dates to important events. Each of the women looked like cookie cutters of the others with only small differences between them. He definitely had a type. Tall, thin, narrow hips, and large breasts. Various shades of long, dark hair. Large eyes, perfect teeth. Princess Barbie dolls, all of them. Not a commoner among them, she pondered, though if there was, she’d never know. Not with all the polish and glamor. Put any woman in a ritzy salon chair and she’d turn out like this, glossy and beautiful and fit to be on the king’s arm. Sarah glanced down at herself. She had the long and lean requirement. But her shoulder-length blonde hair was the wrong color. And her chest size was a bit lacking if these women were the standard.

  Tapping her pencil, she leaned back in her chair. She’d never be King Ravenshire Date Material, but she wanted to interview him in the worst way.

  The thought sent warmth flooding through her veins. An interview like this could boost her career and make her portfolio shine! Sarah steepled her fingers together. She’d graduated at the top of her journalism class and had scored this job with stellar references from her professors. She was tenacious, dug deep, and was a damn good writer! Questions raced through her mind, all the things she could ask the king, though she’d probably forget every single one if she saw him face-to-face.

  Shaking her head, she eye-rolled herself. Interview the King of Brixton! Impossible. Yet what an accomplishment it would be. All the long hours and hard work she’d put into this job, all the relationships she’d lost because men didn’t understand her professional drive, would finally pay off. Tossing her pencil onto her desk, she ran a hand over her eyes. Keep dreaming, Jones. Keep dreaming.

  A rap on her cubicle caught her attention. Betty walked in, hands crossed over a manila folder in front of her. “So, what’d you think of the news release?”

  “It’s what we were hoping for, that the rumors would be true.” A smile curved her lips. “It’s fantastic!”

  “You know what isn’t fantastic? The look on Samuel’s face when he told me to send you to his office.”

  Sarah’s good mood fell. A bitter sensation clenched her throat. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Coffee, black. And for you to hurry the hell up.”

  Sarah scrambled from her chair. Mind racing over the things she might have done to displease her boss, she grabbed a hot cup of organic Bolivian coffee from the dispenser in the break room and walked briskly to Samuel’s office. He told her to enter before she could knock. She leaned slightly over his desk to put his coffee in front of him, but he waved her off.

  “Sit.”

  She sat, holding the coffee in her lap. Samuel pushed up his oversized, blue-rimmed glasses and scratched the top of his balding head. He was reading something in front of him. Cocking her head slightly, she saw that it was a print out of her last article on water conservation in public schools. It had gone viral, something she’d never expected but had secretly hoped for. In the two weeks since the article had gone up online, it had continued to gain interest. Sam hadn’t said a word about it.

  “Yeah, so the article you wrote last month was good, but it didn’t go anywhere.” Sam flipped through a couple of pages and pulled out the copy of her article on LED lightbulbs. “And the one before that had about the same results. Good reporting. Good comments, but you know, not much else.”

  He looked at her as if he were expecting a reply.

  She spread her hands, at a loss for words. “I’m…sorry?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m after. I’m processing this, Jones. Because these articles are good. Really good. Solid interviewing. Solid writing. This one here”— he pulled out the viral article—“is even better. It brought us lots of attention.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I gotta say that I need more like this out of you. You need to pack more of a punch if you’re going to run with the big dogs.”

  She blinked. “Absolutely. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Was her job in jeopardy? Despair seeped up where her elation had been a few minutes ago.

  “Got a nice outfit? Something trendy but not slutty?”

  She did a double-take. “Excuse me, sir?”

  He whipped off his glasses and tossed them on his desk. Pointing a finger at her, his brow crinkled. “You’re the youngest reporter in this office. Like, by ten years at least. You do good work. You nailed the water conservation article. And you’re about the King of Brixton’s age.”

  Her heart fluttered as she leaned forward in her chair. “The king, sir?”

  He nodded as if he’d just made a final decision. “Pack your bags, Jones. You’re going to Brixton.”

  Chapter Two

  William

  “You’ve caused quite a stir, sir.”

  William Ravenshire looked up from his desk as his youngest nephew, Asher, strode into the study. Nonplussed, he went back to work, carefully reading the document in front of him.

  “I’m a king. Everything I say and do causes a stir.” His voice sounded absent to his own ears.

  After the public announcement about the clean water project, he’d come to his office to finish other immediate work before he’d be pressed to deal with the aftermath his announcement would cause. Phone calls. Press asking for interviews. Emails. So, so many emails. His inbox was already flooded, and he’d made the announcement less than an hour ago.

  Asher didn’t wait to be invited to sit. He plopped down in a heavily cushioned damask chair across from William’s desk and put his cell phone down. “Do you want to know how many text messages I’ve received on your behalf?”

  “No.”

  “Two hundred and forty, and that’s just in the last twenty minutes. My phone literally cannot keep up.”

  There was a pause in which William hoped Asher would let himself out. He had great affection for his nephew, but the man tended to hyper focus and become quite irritable. He’d learned over the months that, though he was king, he had to tread carefully with Asher, treating him with kid gloves in order to prevent a meltdown, or at the very least, a mild tantrum. If the man wasn’t family, William would have relieved him of his position as secretary a long time ago.

  “I’m going to finish signing these documents, and then I will give you my full attention.”

  Asher moved in his chair. Then shifted again. Picked up his phone. Tap, tap, tap. Set the phone down. Sighed. Picked it up again. William’s temple began to throb, but he forced himself to focus. Asher dropped his phone onto the desk with a flourish.

  “Oh, bloody hell, the
Americans are coming. They’ll try and dominate the press, like they always do. Bloody maggots, feeding off anything that makes them look important.”

  William steeled his jaw and set down his pen slowly. Drifting his gaze to his nephew’s, he sat straight in his chair and crossed his hands in front of him. Asher’s brown hair was perfectly styled, not a hair out of place. His eyebrows were groomed, his face baby smooth and glowing. Not an inch of his custom suit was out of place. On the outside, he presented an impeccable appearance. But on the inside, he was disheveled. William had removed his suitcoat once he’d entered his study, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and loosened the top two buttons. He took his comfort seriously, wanting nothing more than a long swim in his private infinity pool. He knew he’d need the relaxation more than ever after this meeting with Asher.

  Since becoming king three years ago, William had vowed to make his own mental and physical health a top priority. A sickly man couldn’t be a good ruler. He watched what he ate, exercised every day, went to bed at a decent time, yet made time to indulge in beautiful women, travel, and gourmet treats to feed his soul. Helping others gave him the most inner peace, and he fully expected his new pet project would center him like nothing else had before. He was comfortable with the life he’d made for himself and did well to hold onto that, especially when challenges like Asher threatened his comfort.

  “The Americans are our allies, Asher. Remember that.”

  “Sir, the Americans pick and choose when to be our allies.” His scoff was bitter and deep. “They are expert manipulators, as you know, but we choose to ignore that.”

  William wasn’t going to feed into it. “I’m sorry you feel that way. In order for this initiative to do what it’s designed to do, we’ll need all the international help possible. It would be well for you to remember your place in this. Monitor the media requests, report them to me. That’s all. I will decide who is granted access. Not you.”

  The corners of Asher’s mouth went hard. “Yes, sir. Then may I enlighten you with the current list of requests?”