Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

by Nina Milne

  ‘And you.’

  ‘If you like. But in this case the two were synonymous. He needs me.’

  ‘I get that.’

  He’d have settled for any mother—had lived in hope that one of the series of stepmothers would give a damn. Until he’d worked out there was little point getting attached, as his father quite simply got rid of each and every one.

  ‘But Amil also needs his father. That would be me.’

  ‘I accept that you are his father.’

  Although she didn’t look happy about it, her eyes were full of wariness.

  ‘But whether he needs you or not depends on what you are offering him. If that isn’t good for him then he doesn’t need you. It makes no odds whether you are his father or not. The whole “blood is thicker than water” idea sucks.’

  No argument there. ‘I will be part of Amil’s life.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s easy.’

  ‘Those are words. Words are meaningless. Exactly how would it work? You’ll disguise yourself every so often and sneak over here to see him on “unofficial business” masked by your charity work? Or will you announce to your people that you have a love-child?’

  Before he could answer there was a knock at the door and they both stilled.

  ‘It’s my grandmother...with Amil.’ Panic touched her expression and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t want my grandmother to know until we’ve worked out what to do.’

  Frederick searched for words, tried to think, but the enormity of the moment had eclipsed his ability to rationalise. Instead fear came to the podium—he had a child, a son, and he was about to meet him.

  What would he feel when he saw Amil?

  The fear tasted ashen—what if he felt nothing?

  What if he was like his mother and there was no instinctive love, merely an indifference that bordered on dislike? Or like his father, who had treated his sons as possessions, chess pieces in his petty power games?

  If so, then he’d fake it—no matter what he did or didn’t feel, he’d fake love until it became real.

  He hauled in a deep breath and focused on Sunita’s face. ‘I’ll leave as soon as you let them in. Ask your grandmother to look after Amil tonight. Then I’ll come back and we can finish this discussion.’

  Sunita nodded agreement and stepped forward.

  His heart threatened to leave his ribcage and moisture sheened his neck as she pulled the door open.

  A fleeting impression registered, of a tall, slender woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun, clad in a shimmering green and red sari, and then his gaze snagged on the little boy in her arms. Raven curls, chubby legs, a goofy smile for his mother.

  Mine. My son.

  Emotion slammed into him—so hard he almost recoiled and had to concentrate to stay steady. Fight or flight kicked in—half of him wanted to turn and run in sheer terror, the other half wanted to step forward and take his son, shield him from all and any harm.

  ‘Nanni, this is an old friend of mine who’s dropped in.’

  ‘Good to meet you.’ Somehow Frederick kept his voice even, forced himself to meet the older woman’s alert gaze. He saw the small frown start to form on her brow and turned back to Sunita. ‘It was great to see you again, Sunita. ’Til later.’

  A last glance at his son—his son—and he walked away.

  * * *

  Sunita scooped Amil up and buried herself in his warmth and his scent. She held him so close that he wriggled in protest, so she lowered him to the ground and he crawled towards his play mat.

  ‘Thank you for looking after him.’

  ‘I enjoyed it immensely. And thank you, Sunita, for allowing me to be part of Amil’s life. And yours.’

  ‘Stop! I have told you—you don’t need to thank me.’

  Yet every time she did.

  ‘Yes, I do. I was neither a good mother nor a good grandmother. You have given me a chance of redemption, and I appreciate that with all my heart.’

  ‘We’ve been through this, Nanni; the past is the past and we’re only looking forward.’

  Her grandmother’s marriage had been deeply unhappy—her husband had been an autocrat who had controlled every aspect of his family’s life with an iron hand. When Sunita’s mother had fallen pregnant by a British man who’d had no intent of standing by her, her father had insisted she be disowned.

  Sunita could almost hear her mother’s voice now: ‘Suni, sweetheart, never, ever marry a man who can control you.’

  It was advice Sunita intended to take one step further—she had no plans to marry anyone, ever. Her father’s marriage had been a misery of incompatibility, bitterness and blame—an imbroglio she’d been pitchforked into to live a Cinderella-like existence full of thoughtless, uncaring relations.

  ‘Please, Nanni. You are a wonderful grandmother and great-grandmother and Amil adores you. Now, I have a favour to ask. Would you mind looking after Amil for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘So you can see your friend again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The friend you didn’t introduce?’

  Sunita opened her mouth and closed it again.

  Her grandmother shook her head. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘I will tell you, Nanni—but after dinner, if that’s OK.’

  ‘You will tell me whenever you are ready. Whatever it is, this time I will be there for you.’

  An hour later, with Amil fed and his bag packed, Sunita gave her grandmother a hug. She watched as the driver she’d insisted on providing manoeuvred the car into the stream of traffic, waved, and then made her way back upstairs... To find the now familiar breadth of Frederick on the doorstep, a jacket hooked over his shoulder.

  ‘Come in. Let’s talk.’

  He followed her inside and closed the door, draping his dark grey jacket over the back of a chair. ‘Actually, I thought we could talk somewhere else. I’ve booked a table at Zeus.’

  Located in one of Mumbai’s most luxurious hotels, Zeus was the city’s hottest restaurant, graced by celebrities and anyone who wanted to see and be seen.

  Foreboding crept along her skin, every instinct on full alert. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

  ‘Because I am taking the mother of my child out for dinner so we can discuss the future.’

  Sunita stared at him as the surreal situation deepened into impossibility. ‘If you and I go out for dinner it will galvanise a whole load of press interest.’

  ‘That is the point. We are going public. I will not keep Amil a secret, or make him unofficial business.’

  She blinked as her brain crashed and tried to change gear. ‘But we haven’t discussed this at all.’

  This was going way too fast, and events were threatening to spiral out of control. Her control.

  ‘I don’t think we should go public until we’ve worked out the practical implications—until we have a plan.’

  ‘Not possible. People are already wondering where I am. Especially my chief advisor. People may have spotted us at the café, and April Fotherington will be wondering if my presence in Mumbai is connected to you. I want the truth to come out on my terms, not hers, or those of whichever reporter makes it their business to “expose” the story. I want this to break in a positive way.’

  Sunita eyed him, part of her impressed by the sheer strength and absolute assurance he projected, another part wary of the fact he seemed to have taken control of the situation without so much as a by-your-leave.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s possible. Think about the scandal—your people won’t like this.’ And they wouldn’t like her, a supermodel with a dubious past. ‘Are you sure this is the best way to introduce Amil’s existence to your people?�
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  ‘I don’t know. But I believe it’s the right way to show my people that this is good news, that Amil is not a secret. That I am being honest.’

  An unpleasant twinge of guilt pinched her nerves—she had kept Amil secret, she had been dishonest. She had made a decision that no longer felt anywhere near as right as it had this morning.

  ‘So what do you say?’ he asked. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’

  The idea gave her a sudden little thrill, brought back a sea of memories of the dinners they had shared two years before—dinners when banter and serious talk had flown back and forth, when each word, each gesture, had been a movement in the ancient dance of courtship. A courtship she had never meant to consummate...

  But this meal would be on a whole new level and courtship would not be on the table. Wherever they held this discussion tonight, the only topic of conversation would be Amil and the future.

  And if Frederick believed this strategy was the best way forward then she owed him her co-operation.

  ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ An unexpected fizz of excitement buzzed through her. She could do this; she’d always relished a fight and once upon a time she’d revelled in a show. ‘But I need to change.’

  ‘You look fine to me.’

  His voice was deep and molten, and just like that the atmosphere changed. Awareness hummed and vibrated, shimmering around them, and she had to force herself to remain still, to keep her feet rooted to the cool tiles of the floor. The hazel of his eyes had darkened in a way she remembered all too well, and now it was exhilaration of a different sort that heated her veins.

  Stop.

  All that mattered here was Amil and his future. Two years ago she had tried and failed to resist the magnetic pull that Frederick exerted on her—a pull she had distrusted, and this time would not permit. Whatever her treacherous hormones seemed to think.

  Perhaps he realised the same, because he stepped backwards and nodded. ‘But I appreciate you want to change.’

  ‘I do. You need a show, and a show is exactly what I can provide. Luckily I kept some of the clothes from my modelling days.’

  Even if she’d never once worn them, she loved them still. Silk, chiffon and lace, denim and velvet, long skirts and short, flared and skinny—she had enjoyed showcasing each and every outfit. Had refused to wear any item that didn’t make her soul sing. And now there was no denying the buzz. This was what she had once lived for and craved. Publicity, notice, fame—all things she could spin and control.

  Almost against her will, her mind fizzed with possibility. Amil was no longer a secret, no longer in danger—they could live their lives as they wished. She could resume her career, be Sunita again, walk the catwalks and revel in fashion and all its glorious aspects. Amil would, of course, come with her—just as she had accompanied her mother to fashion shoots—and Nanni could come too.

  Life would take on a new hue without the terrible burden of discovery clouding every horizon. Though of course Frederick would be part of that life, if only a minor part. His real life lay in Lycander, and she assumed he would want only a few visits a year perhaps.

  Whoa! Slow right down, Suni!

  She had no idea what Frederick’s plans were, and she’d do well to remember that before she waltzed off into la-la land. She didn’t know this man—this Frederick.

  Her gaze rested on him, absorbed the breadth of his body, his masculine presence, the determined angle of his stubbled jaw, the shadowed eyes crinkled now in a network of lines she thought probably hadn’t come from laughter. Her breath caught on a sudden wave of desire. Not only physical desire, but a stupid yearning to walk over and smooth the shadows away.

  A yearning she filed away under both dangerous and delusional as she turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FREDERICK CHANGED INTO the suit he’d had delivered to him whilst he was waiting and prowled the flat on the lookout for evidence of Amil’s life.

  Amil. The syllables were still so unfamiliar—his only knowledge of his son that brief glimpse a few hours earlier. But there would be time—plenty of time—to catch up on the past fourteen months. Provided Sunita agreed to his proposition—and she would agree.

  Whatever it took, he would make her see his option was the only way forward.

  He paused in front of a framed photograph of Sunita and a newborn Amil. He looked at the tiny baby, with his downy dark hair, the impossible perfection of his minuscule fingernails, and the utter vulnerability of him twisted Frederick’s gut.

  Shifting his gaze to Sunita, he saw the love in her brown eyes clear in every nuance, every part of her body. Her beauty was unquestionable, but this was a beauty that had nothing to do with physical features and everything to do with love.

  Perhaps he should feel anger that he had missed out on that moment, but his overwhelming emotion was relief—gratitude, even—that his son had been given something so vital. Something he himself had never received. His mother had handed him straight over to a nanny and a few scant years later had disappeared from his life.

  For a long moment Frederick gazed at the photo, trying to figure out what he should feel, what he would feel when he finally met Amil properly, held him... Panic hammered his chest and he stepped backwards. What if he was like his mother—what if he quite simply lacked the parenting gene?

  The click of heels against marble snapped him to attention and he stepped back from the photo, turning to see Sunita advance into the room. For a moment his lungs truly ceased to work as his pulse ratcheted up a notch or three.

  Sunita looked... It was impossible to describe her without recourse to a thesaurus. This was the woman he remembered—the one who dressed to catch the eye. But it wasn’t only the dress with its bright red bodice and gently plumed skirt that showcased her trademark legs. The bright colour was toned down by contrasting black satin panels and silver stiletto heels. It was the way she wore it—she seemed to bring the dress alive. And vice versa. A buzz vibrated from her—an energy and sparkle that epitomised Sunita.

  ‘Wow!’ was the best he could do as he fought down visceral desire and the need to tug her into his arms and rekindle the spark that he knew with gut-wrenching certainty would burst into flame. To kiss her senseless...

  What the hell was he thinking? More to the point, what part of himself was he thinking with?

  Maybe he was more like his father than he knew. Alphonse had always put physical desire above all else. If he’d been attracted to a woman he’d acted on that attraction, regardless of marriage vows, fidelity or the tenets of plain, common decency. The last ruler of Lycander had believed that his desires were paramount, and it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process.

  Frederick wouldn’t walk that road. He never had—that, at least, was one immoral path he’d avoided.

  His business with Sunita was exactly that—business. He had an idea to propound, an idea he would not mix with the physical.

  ‘You look fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you. I know it sounds shallow, but it is awesome to dress up again.’

  She smoothed her hand down the skirt and her smile caught at his chest.

  ‘You look pretty good yourself. Where did the suit come from?’

  ‘I had it delivered whilst I was waiting.’

  ‘Good thinking, Batman.’

  Her voice was a little breathless, and he knew that she was as affected as he was by their proximity. Her scent teased him, her eyes met his, and what he saw in their deep brown depths made him almost groan aloud.

  Enough.

  Right now he had to focus on the most important factor, and that was Amil. Irritation scoured him that he could be letting physical attraction come into play.

  He nodded to the door. ‘We’d better go.’

  * * *

&nb
sp; Sunita wanted, needed this journey to come to an end. Despite the spacious interior of the limo, Frederick was too...close.

  Memories lingered in the air, and her body was on high alert, tuned in to his every move, and she loathed her own weakness as much now as she had two years before. She needed to distract herself, to focus on what was important—and that was Amil.

  The day’s events had moved at warp speed and she was desperately trying to keep up. The truth was out, and it was imperative she kept control of a future that she could no longer reliably predict.

  Frederick wanted to be a real part of Amil’s life—he had made that more than clear. But at this point she had no idea what that meant, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

  The limo slowed down and she took a deep breath as it glided to a stop.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Ready.’

  With any luck she wouldn’t have lost her touch with the press. In truth, she’d always liked the paparazzi. Her mother had always told her that publicity was a means to measure success, part of the climb to fame and fortune and independence.

  They stepped out into a crowd of reporters, the click of cameras and a fire of questions.

  ‘Are you back together?’

  ‘Friends or lovers?’

  ‘Does Kaitlin know?’

  ‘Where have you been, Sunita?’

  Frederick showed no sign of tension. His posture and smile were relaxed, his whole attitude laid back.

  ‘At present we have no comment. But if you hold on I promise we will have an announcement to make after dinner.’

  Next to him, Sunita smiled the smile that had shot her to catwalk fame. She directed a small finger-wave at a reporter who’d always given her positive press, a smile at a woman she’d always enjoyed a good relationship with, and a wink at a photographer renowned for his audacity.

  Then they left the reporters behind and entered the restaurant, and despite the knowledge of how important the forthcoming conversation was a part of Sunita revelled in the attention she was gathering. The simple ability to walk with her own natural grace, to know it was OK to be recognised, her appreciation of the dress and the inner confidence it gave her—all of it was such a contrast to the past two years, during which she had lived in constant denial of her own identity, burdened by the fear of discovery.