Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

by Nina Milne

  Determination that he would not let Amil down fought with the bone-deep knowledge that of course he would. He wasn’t equipped for this—didn’t have the foundations to know how to be a parent, how not to disappoint.

  But he would do all he could. He could give this boy his name, his principality, and perhaps over time he would work out how to show his love.

  Amil gazed back at him with solemn hazel eyes and again panic threatened—enough that he wrenched his gaze away.

  ‘You OK?’ Sunita’s soft voice pulled him into focus and he saw understanding in her eyes, and perhaps even the hint of a tear at the edge of her impossibly long eyelashes.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Get a grip.

  He had no wish to feature as an object of compassion. So he kept his gaze on Sunita, absorbed her vibrant beauty, observed her change of outfit from casual jeans and T-shirt to a leaf-print black and white dress cinched at the waist with a wide red belt. Strappy sandals completed the ensemble.

  ‘Bababababa!’ Amil vouchsafed, and a well of emotion surged anew.

  ‘Do you want to hold him?’

  ‘No!’ Think. ‘I don’t want to spook him—especially just before the photo call.’

  It wasn’t a bad cover-up, but possibly not good enough to allay the doubts that dawned in her eyes.

  ‘You won’t. He’s fairly sociable. Though obviously he doesn’t really meet that many strange me—’ She broke off. ‘I’m sorry. Of all the stupid things to say that took the cake, the biscuit and the whole damn patisserie.’

  ‘It’s OK. I am a stranger to Amil—that’s why I don’t want to spook him.’

  His gaze returned to the baby, who was watching him, his eyes wide open, one chubby hand clutching a tendril of Sunita’s hair.

  ‘We need to go.’

  ‘I know. But first I have a couple of questions about the press conference and the Kaitlin question.’

  Frederick frowned. ‘What question would that be?’

  ‘A couple of reporters said, and I quote, that you are “broken-hearted” and that perhaps I can mend the chasm. Others have suggested you would welcome a dalliance with an old flame as a gesture, to show Lady Kaitlin you are over her.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what your question is.’

  ‘Two questions. Are you heartbroken? Are you over her?’

  ‘No and yes. I need to get married for Lycander. My heart is not involved. Kaitlin understood that—our relationship was an alliance. When that alliance became impossible we ended our relationship. Since then she has met someone else and I wish her well.’

  Sunita’s expression held a kind of shocked curiosity. ‘That’s it? You were with her for months. You must have felt something for her.’

  Momentary doubt touched him and then he shrugged. ‘Of course I did. I thought that she would be an excellent asset to Lycander.’

  Kaitlin’s diplomatic connections had been exemplary, as had her aristocratic background. She’d had a complete understanding of the role of consort and had been as uninterested in love as he was.

  ‘I was disappointed when it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Yes. I see that it must have been tough for you to have the deal break down.’ Sarcasm rang out from the spurious sympathy.

  ‘It was—but only because it had an adverse impact on my position as ruler.’

  And that was all that mattered. His goal was to rule Lycander as his brother would have wished, to achieve what Axel would have achieved. Whatever it took.

  ‘So all you need to know about Kaitlin is that she is in the past. My heart is intact.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And now we really need to go.’

  A pause and then she nodded. ‘OK. This is our chance to change the mixed reaction into a positive one. An opportunity to turn the tide in our favour.’

  ‘You sound confident that you can do that.’

  ‘Yup. I’m not a fan of bad publicity. Watch and learn.’

  One photo call later and Frederick was looking at Sunita in reluctant admiration. He had to hand it to her. By the end of the hour she had had even the most hostile reporter eating out of her hand. Somehow she had mixed a suggestion of regret over her actions with the implicit belief that it had been the only option at the time. In addition, she had managed to make it clear that whilst two years ago Frederick had been a shallow party prince, now he had morphed into a different and better man, a worthy ruler of Lycander.

  No doubt Marcus had been applauding as he watched.

  Hell, even he had almost believed it. Almost.

  ‘You did a great job. And I appreciate that you included me in your spin.’

  ‘It wasn’t spin. Everything I said about you was true—you have worked incredibly hard these past two years, you have instigated all the changes I outlined, and you do have Lycander’s future at heart.’

  The words washed over him like cold, dirty water—if the people of Lycander knew where the blame for Axel’s death lay they would repudiate him without compunction, and they would be right to do so. But he didn’t want these thoughts today—not on his first outing with Amil.

  He glanced down at Amil, secure now in his buggy, dressed in a jaunty striped top and dungarees, a sun hat perched on his head, a toy cat clasped firmly in one hand.

  ‘Amamamamam...ma.’ Chubby legs kicked and he wriggled in a clear instruction for them to move on.

  Sunita smiled down at her son. ‘I think he wants to get going—he wants to see all the animal hedges. They seem to utterly fascinate him.’

  As they wandered through the lush gardens that abounded with shades of green tranquillity seemed to be carried on the breeze that came from the Arabian Sea, and for a moment it was almost possible to pretend they were an ordinary family out for the day.

  Sunita came to a halt near a topiary hedge, one of many clipped into the shape of animals. ‘For some reason this is his favourite—I can’t work out why.’

  Frederick studied it. ‘I’m not sure I can even work out what it is. I spotted the giraffe and the elephant and the ox-drawn cart, but this one flummoxes me.’

  Sunita gave a sudden gurgle of laughter. ‘I know what Amil thinks it is. Amil, sweetheart, tell Mu—Tell us what the animal does.’

  The little boy beamed and made a ‘raaaah’ noise.

  Frederick felt his heart turn over in his chest. Without thought he hunkered down next to Amil and clapped. ‘Clever boy. The tiger goes “rah”.’

  ‘Raaah!’ Amil agreed.

  And here it came again—the paralysis, the fear that he would mess this up. He’d never managed any other relationship with even a sliver of success. Why would this be different?

  Rising to his feet, he gestured around the garden. ‘This is a beautiful place.’

  ‘I used to come here as a child,’ Sunita said. ‘It’s one of my earliest memories. I loved the flower clock.’

  She pressed her lips together, as if she regretted the words, and Frederick frowned. Her publicity blurb skated over her childhood, chose to focus instead on her life after she’d embarked on her career. Almost as if she had written her early years out of her life history...

  ‘Come on,’ she said hurriedly. ‘This morning isn’t about my childhood. It’s about Amil’s—let’s go to the Old Woman’s Shoe.’

  Five minutes later Frederick stared at the shoe—actually an enormous replica of a boot. As landmarks went, it seemed somewhat bizarre—especially when the words of the nursery rhyme filtered back to him.

  There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.

  She had so many children she didn’t know what to do.

  She gave them broth without any bread,

  Then whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.

  ‘Isn’t this a slightly odd thing to put in a c
hildren’s playground?’

  ‘Yes. But I loved it—I used to climb it and it made me feel lucky. It was a way to count my blessings. At least I didn’t live with a horrible old woman who starved me and beat me!’

  At least. There had been a wealth of memory in those syllables, and for a daft moment he had the urge to put his arm around her and pull her into the comfort of a hug.

  As if realising she had given away more than she had wanted, she hastened on. ‘Anyway, I looked up the rhyme recently and it turns out it probably has political rather than literal connotations. But enough talk. This is about you and Amil. Do you want to take Amil into the shoe? I’ll wait here with the buggy.’

  The suggestion came out of nowhere, ambushed him, and once again his body froze into immobility even as his brain turned him into a gibbering wreck.

  ‘I think that may be a little bit much for him. He barely knows me.’ Think. ‘We haven’t even explained to him who I am.’

  The accusation in his own voice surprised him—and he knew it masked a hurt he didn’t want her to see. Because it exposed a weakness he didn’t want her to know. ‘Never show weakness, my son.’ The one piece of paternal advice he agreed with. ‘Show weakness and you lose.’ Just as all his stepmothers had lost. Their weakness had been their love for their children—a weakness Alphonse had exploited.

  Heat touched the angle of her cheekbones as she acknowledged the truth of his words. ‘I know. I’m not sure what you want to do. I don’t know what you want him to call you. Dad? Daddy? Papa?’

  In truth he didn’t know either, and that increased his panic. Sunita stepped towards him, and the compassion in her eyes added fuel to the panic-induced anger.

  ‘But remember, he is only fourteen months old—I don’t think he understands the concept of having a dad.’

  The words were a stark reminder of her deception.

  ‘Amil doesn’t understand or you don’t?’

  The harshness of his voice propelled her backwards, and he was glad of it when he saw the compassion vanish from her expression.

  ‘Both of us. Give me a break, Frederick. Until yesterday it was just Amil and me. Now here you are, and you want to marry me and make Amil the Crown Prince. It’s a lot to take in.’

  For an instant he empathised, heard the catch in her voice under the anger. But this was no time for empathy or sympathy. Now all that mattered was the knowledge of what was at stake.

  ‘Then take it in fast, Sunita. You chose to hide Amil from me and now you need to deal with the consequences of that decision. Most people wouldn’t think they were so bad. I am the one who has missed out on the first fourteen months of my son’s life. My son. I am Amil’s father and you need to deal with it.’

  There was silence, broken only by the sound of Amil grizzling, his eyes wide and anxious as he looked up at Sunita.

  Oh, hell. Guilt twisted his chest. What was wrong with him? This was his first outing with Amil and he’d allowed it to come to this. Shades of his own father, indeed.

  He squatted down beside the baby. ‘I’m sorry, Amil. Daddy’s sorry.’ Standing up, he gestured to the Old Woman’s Shoe. ‘You take him up. I’ll wait here with the buggy. I’ve upset him enough—I don’t want to compound my error.’

  Sunita hesitated, but then Amil’s grizzling turned to tears and she nodded assent.

  ‘OK.’ Leaning down, she unbuckled Amil and took him out. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s try some walking.’

  Frederick watched their progress and determination solidified inside him. He might be messing this up big-time, but he would not concede defeat. At the very least he would give his son the chance to be a prince. Their outing to the Hanging Gardens might be a disaster, but going to Goa wouldn’t be.

  By the end of their time there Sunita would agree to marry him.

  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.