Royals: For Their Royal Heir: An Heir Fit for a King / The Pregnant Princess / The Prince's Secret Baby (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Abby Green

  “All right.” He eyed her. “We’ll go get married.”

  “What? You mean today?” She rounded on him and her face went slack with shock for a moment. Then almost as quickly, the fire that he was beginning to recognize lay just beneath the surface of her ladylike demeanor flashed in her eyes. “You had this planned all along,” she accused. “Even before I got on that plane yesterday morning, you intended to force me to marry you today. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?” she demanded when he remained silent.

  Rafe regarded her for a moment, lightning bolts zinging his way from those emerald eyes. Finally he raised both hands in surrender. “I hadn’t decided for sure, but after last night there isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t get married. I told you I mean my child to be legitimate. I’m prepared to do whatever I have to do to ensure that this baby never has to question his rightful heritage.”

  She all but sneered. “Noble words for a man who’s turned his back on his own heritage.”

  The barb was a direct hit. “Bull.”

  “Hah.” She crossed her arms and regarded him scornfully. “You’re afraid to face your own family. The one time you were near your home in more than a decade, you came incognito and didn’t even speak to your parents before sneaking off.”

  “I’m not afraid of my family,” he said, feeling rage welling up from a hidden cache deep in his mind. His lip curled. “They’ve already done everything they can to make me buckle under and it hasn’t worked.”

  Her face lit with the curiosity he was beginning to realize was an integral—if damned annoying—part of her personality. “What did they do?”

  “Never mind.” He knew he sounded like a surly schoolboy, but the memories bombarding him made him feel like a child again as he relived some of the scenes he’d endured with his father.

  I never said he wasn’t a nice boy. But he’s the butcher’s son. Hardly a suitable companion for you, Raphael. I’ve already explained to his family that the friendship simply cannot continue.

  With an effort, he shook off the voices from his past, focusing on the woman who would be his future. “Just be dressed and ready to go in thirty minutes.”

  “I’m having breakfast and taking a shower first,” she said. “I’m not going to rush around just so you can be on whatever little schedule you have planned.”

  “Fine. Will sixty minutes be enough?”

  “Plenty. Shall I meet you at the bar?”

  He was still trying to forget the things her question had called to mind. “All right. I’ll have another dress sent up. Be in the bar in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He ignored the pert salute she aimed his way as he left the suite and stalked toward the elevator.

  Hours later, she remained so angry, she couldn’t stand still as she waited impatiently for the royal limo to be called to the VIP queue. As she paced back and forth, she checked her watch. By now, Rafe knew she’d gone and unless he was a lot less resourceful than she suspected, he knew she’d boarded an international flight. And he knew she was going home.

  It hadn’t been easy. She’d placed one quick call to Laura Bishop at the Colton ranch. Laura had agreed to make her travel arrangements and called back a short time later with all the necessary information.

  Laura also agreed to explain to Alexandra that so far Sam Flynn had been unavailable. Elizabeth had hoped so much that she and her sisters would be able to locate the man they were all convinced was their brother, kidnapped as an infant and presumed dead. Only he hadn’t been killed, after all. And though the records at The Sunshine Home for Children had left something to be desired, she and her sisters had narrowed down the field of possibilities. Now only two remained: Sam Flynn, the man she had been supposed to make contact with in Phoenix, and John Colton, the younger brother of Alexandra’s new husband, Mitch, who, according to Mitch, was unable to be contacted until he decided to show up.

  Elizabeth felt bad about letting her sisters down just when they were getting close to finding their brother, but… They would understand, she was sure. She had to talk to her parents before Rafe did. After that, Laura could make sure Sam Flynn was available before Elizabeth returned to speak with him.

  With her conscience resting easier, she’d packed rapidly. Then she’d sneaked out of the hotel and caught a flight with minutes left in the hour he’d granted her. At JFK, she’d left her connecting flight to board the private plane her father had sent at Laura’s request.

  The limo arrived and before she was ready, before she really wanted to be there, she was being driven through the familiar gates of the palace to the main entry stairs where her mother and father, wearing smiles wide enough to crack their faces, waited to greet her. They hurried down the steps as the chauffeur opened the door, and as she slid out, she was enveloped in her mother’s arms.

  She knew the moment her mother realized what the bulge between them was. Gabriella’s body stiffened. She pulled away and stood back, holding Elizabeth at arm’s length to look at her. All of her. Shock, surprise, bewilderment all flashed across the Queen’s face. Then compassion filled her eyes.

  “Oh, my darling,” she said. “Is this an occasion for celebration? Are you happy about this?”

  “Happy about what?” Her father’s voice boomed over her mother’s softer tones.

  “Brace yourself, Phillip,” said Queen Gabriella. “Our little girl is pregnant.” She shepherded Elizabeth up the steps as she spoke, issuing orders to the staff for refreshments in the family drawing room.

  “Pregnant! But where…who…how…?” The King’s voice trailed off into astonished silence as he strode along at his wife’s heels.

  “I imagine we’ll learn where the father is and who the father is very shortly, dear,” her mother said over her shoulder. “And if you don’t know how by now, I truly despair of you.”

  Despite the tears that threatened to fall, Elizabeth had to giggle. She’d been so afraid to tell them. Well, afraid wasn’t exactly the right word. More like sorry. She knew being an unwed mother must be the last thing her parents wanted for one of their daughters. She’d put off this moment for so long because she hadn’t been able to face the thought of their disappointment in her.

  And there was another reason, as well.

  They had to locate James! If they didn’t, and if this baby she carried was a son…she couldn’t bear to think about what it would mean for her child. Please, God, let this be a girl.

  “So.” Her mother pressed her into a wingbacked chair and lifted her feet onto the matching hassock, making Elizabeth smile. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Some kind of juice would be wonderful. Cranberry, please?”

  Her mother nodded, and the hovering maid took off at light speed. Anyone in the palace employ who hadn’t already heard that Princess Elizabeth had come home with a baby on the way would know in a matter of minutes, she was sure.

  One more reason she dreaded the idea of raising her child in the palace environment in which she’d been raised.

  “How are you feeling?” her mother asked.

  Simultaneously the king asked, “Do you know if it’s a boy?”

  Her father was pacing back and forth in front of the wide windows, looking rather…agitated. She supposed he had the right to be.

  “I feel fine,” she answered her mother. “A little bit of morning sickness early on, but now I couldn’t feel better.” Unbidden, an image of the heated lovemaking she had experienced only hours ago flashed through her head and she felt herself blush.

  Her mother raised her eyebrows with a knowing smile, but didn’t comment.

  “I’m about five months along,” Elizabeth went on. “The baby’s due in mid-June. And, no, I don’t know its gender. We’ll have to wait and be surprised.”

  “Is the father in the picture?” Her own father had stopped his pacing and turned to toss the question at her.

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Yes. But not in the way you might hope.”

&n
bsp; “In other words, he’s not prepared to marry you.” Her father was glowering.

  “No, Daddy,” she said, smiling gently. “It’s the other way around. I’m the one who won’t marry him.”

  “Does this man have a name you’d like to share with us?” her mother asked. “If you’d rather not, I suppose we can accept that.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less, but she knew there was no point in hiding it. The truth would come out sooner or later. Sooner probably, if she knew Rafe. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that this was anything but a successful skirmish in what looked to be a long siege.

  “He has a name,” she said reluctantly. “You know him.”

  “The Prince of Thortonburg,” her father said.

  “Yes. Although he goes by Rafe Thorton these days.” She looked at him in surprise. “Has he already spoken to you?”

  “No, but it makes sense,” her father said. “That young man couldn’t shake his royal title fast enough to suit him. When he told me you’d be staying with him, it seemed out of character.”

  “Raphael.” Her mother smiled. “I always did like his spirit. Victor never succeeded in training that one to his ridiculously outdated notions of aristocratic conduct.”

  “He didn’t know who I was when we…when we… met.” Her face felt hot again, and the disappointment in her mother’s eye didn’t help.

  “I see,” the Queen said.

  “He was upset at first,” Elizabeth confessed. “As you said, he doesn’t have a very high opinion of royalty. But once he’d gotten over the shock, he decided we would get married.”

  “And that’s a problem for you?” her mother asked in a soft voice. She stood and came around behind the chair, setting her hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders and rubbing gently.

  “I don’t want to be married out of duty.”

  “Is that the only reason he wants to marry you?”

  Elizabeth shrugged and avoided the question. “This is all Serena’s fault. She’s the one who talked me into tracking him down and telling him.”

  Her father turned from the window. “Coming from Serena, that was amazingly sensible.” But his voice was indulgent and he was smiling. Serena had been a handful since the day she was born. Every silver hair in his head could be attributed to her, he’d said more than once.

  “Daddy…” She hesitated, feeling ridiculous for even asking the question when she knew the answer. Still… “Rafe has some notion that you and his father arranged, or at least promised, that he’d marry one of us. I told him it’s not true.” But she knew her eyes were asking her father for the truth.

  Phillip shook his head. “Victor hounded me about that for years. I always told him that I’d never oppose a match if one of my daughters chose either of his sons. As you said, it’s not true.” The King hesitated. “Does Thortonburg understand the manner in which the Wynborough crown is passed on?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I—I’m not sure.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “You’d better be sure, dear. If this child is the first-born grandson to the King—”

  “I know.” Elizabeth linked her fingers. “I know.”

  The King moved to the side of Elizabeth’s chair and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “I have an appointment with the Minister of Public Works, but when I return I want to be filled in completely.”

  As he rose, a commotion in the hallway had them all turning. Trained to react instantly to threatening situations, the guard on duty slammed the door shut. As he did so, Elizabeth could see him drawing the gun from his holster.

  Then she recognized the voice echoing down the hall, though it had an imperious quality that she’d never associated with it before. “…Thortonburg and I’m going to be marrying the Princess Elizabeth, so do not tell me they’re unavailable. I’ll search every damned room of this palace if I have to.”

  She half rose from her chair, but the King moved faster. Throwing open the door to the room, he spoke at the top of his considerable voice. “The Prince of Thortonburg is welcome. Put away your arms, everyone. Thank you for your vigilance, though in this instance it isn’t necessary.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. If Rafe had wanted a demonstration of the ridiculous lengths her father went to with security, she couldn’t have provided a better one if he’d specifically asked.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was there, striding into the room. Bigger, as always, than she remembered and looking as totally furious as she’d ever seen him. His expression today made his face the day he’d found her by her broken-down rental car look almost friendly.

  His blue eyes speared her in the chair where she sat, and he took three steps forward before realizing he was in the presence of the King. Abruptly, he spun and bowed formally from the waist. “Your Majesty.”

  He crossed to the Queen and took the hand she extended, bowing low over it and kissing it in a formal salutation. “Your Majesty.”

  “Welcome, Raphael.”

  Before the Queen could add anything else, Rafe stalked around to stand before Elizabeth. He held out his hand in regal demand, and when she placed hers in it, he bowed again. But he didn’t give her hand the perfunctory peck she expected. Instead, he turned it over and slowly, leisurely pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. When she felt his tongue tracing secret patterns on her flesh, she tried to jerk her hand away, but Rafe held it firmly for another moment before raising his head. “Your Royal Highness.”

  “Subservience doesn’t suit you,” Elizabeth said, snatching her hand back and linking it tightly with the other in her lap, ignoring both her mother’s snort of amusement and the leap of her own pulse at his touch. “So just stop it. How on earth did you get here so fast?”

  “Ever heard of private planes?” His voice was surly. Grouchy. Thoroughly out of sorts. She guessed she couldn’t blame him.

  “Raphael, Elizabeth has just finished telling us of your intentions.” King Phillip stepped forward. Gone was the indulgent father, and in his place was the commanding monarch few ever saw in action.

  “Good.” Rafe didn’t even appear to notice the monarch’s attitude. “Then you know that I have chased your stubborn, spoiled, opinionated daughter across the Atlantic Ocean because I intend to marry her. I shouldn’t think that would be a problem for you.”

  “Of course not.” The King’s stern face softened slightly. “You are more than welcome in this family…if you can convince my ‘stubborn, spoiled, opinionated daughter’ to marry you.” He looked over Elizabeth’s head to his wife, then, offering her his arm, said, “Come, my dear. These young people have things to discuss.”

  “Really, that’s not necessary,” Elizabeth began, turning around, trying to send her mother a silent message with her eyes. “Mother, you don’t have to leave.”

  “I’m afraid duty calls me, as well,” the Queen said, shrugging as if she were helpless to alter the matter. She winked at Elizabeth—winked!—and took her husband’s arm as the two of them exited the room.

  Seven

  A heavy silence fell. She kept her eyes on her clasped hands, refusing to look at Rafe. Finally, when he didn’t speak, she could stand the suspense no longer. “You can’t make me marry you.”

  “All right.”

  She raised her head abruptly and stared at him. “All right?”

  He shrugged, and the motion of his wide shoulders shifted the fabric of the fine leather jacket he wore. “I can’t force you to marry me. We’ll let a judge decide what kind of custody arrangements would work best.”

  “You—you wouldn’t do that.” She put a hand to her throat.

  “By now you should know me well enough to realize I mean exactly what I say.”

  “But that’s half the problem,” she said heatedly. In her agitation she rose from the chair and gestured wildly with her hands. “I don’t know you. We’ve spent a total of only a few weeks in each other’s company in our entire lives. How can you think we could m
ake a marriage work?”

  Standing had been a mistake. Rafe stepped toward her, slipping his arms around her and gently rubbing his big hands up and down her spine. “Why couldn’t we? Lots of people make successful marriages from much less.” His embrace felt so wonderful, his arms so strong and secure, that she could feel her willpower draining away like an overused battery.

  “Name some.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  “That’s easy. My parents.”

  She looked up at him. Another mistake. His hard lips and the enticing dimples grooving his cheeks were much, much too close. Hastily she put a hand against his chest, holding him away when he would have pulled her closer. “No kissing!” She could see the amusement gleaming in his eyes. Averting her gaze, she stared at the metal zipper tab where he’d left it halfway up its track on his jacket. “Was their marriage arranged?”

  “Their families wanted to cement a business relationship,” Rafe said. “My grandfather ran through enough of the Thortonburg money that a marriage to a wealthy noble-woman was a necessity for my father.”

  “How sad.” She couldn’t imagine having her husband picked out for her. “My father did the exact opposite. He defied his own father to marry a penniless American. Quite a scandal at the time.” She smiled. “But they never have regretted it.”

  “They seem very happy.” Rafe sounded almost as if he doubted it. “But we aren’t discussing your parents. We’re talking about us. When I realized you’d slipped out of Vegas without me—”

  A knock at the door interrupted whatever he had been going to say. Hastily, Elizabeth pulled herself away from his embrace and smoothed her wrinkled travel clothes. “Come in.”

  “Welcome home, Your Highness.” The tall, handsome man in the uniform of royal security stopped before her and bowed over Elizabeth’s hand.

  “Lance!” Ignoring protocol, Elizabeth reached up to hug the dark-haired man. “Lose any princesses lately?”

  The guard bared his teeth at her, but his eyes were a warm, smoky gray. “Serena was sly, I’ll grant you that. But I will never lose anyone on my watch again. Cost me a promotion, you know.”