His Majesty's Mistake

by Jane Porter

  “Madeline’s not unhappy.”

  “How do you know she’s not unhappy?”

  “Because she’s never said she was.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”

  “Madeline’s not afraid of me.”

  “But she can’t feel all that secure. She’s not in a relationship with you—”

  “Time to change the subject.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Do you plan on marrying her?”

  “Again, none of your business.”

  “But she’s been your mistress for three years.”

  “Risa told you that, didn’t she?”

  “Don’t blame her. I ask too many questions.”

  “I can believe that,” he said dryly.

  Emmeline flushed. “It’s just that I would hate to be someone’s mistress. I would hate to spend my life waiting for someone to call me or come see me.”

  “Madeline has friends in Nadir, and a busy social life attending parties and fashion shows.”

  “I’d rather be poor and have someone to love me, than to have lots of money and no love.”

  “You can say that because you wear couture and get invitations to the most exclusive parties—”

  “But clothes and parties aren’t real. Clothes and parties are frills … window dressing. I’d rather someone like me—want me—for me, than for what I have in a bank account.”

  Makin suddenly smiled and shook his head. “You’re like a little dog with a bone. You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

  She looked at him for a long moment before smiling reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess I did get a little carried away.”

  “I admire your strong convictions.”

  Her smile stretched wider. “You know, you’re not all bad, Sheikh Al-Koury. There are some good things about you.”

  “Just hours ago you were saying I was a power monger.”

  She blushed, not sure if she should laugh or cry. “Haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgotten that we’re not friends. And that we don’t like each other.”

  His lips curved faintly. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t think anyone could control you.”

  “Many have tried.”

  For a moment he just looked at her, his hard features set, his gray eyes narrowed. “You can’t move to England. You’d be miserable.”

  “No.”

  “You would. You’d be living in a fishbowl. You couldn’t go anywhere without a half dozen paparazzi following you.”

  “Not in the country.”

  “Most definitely. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy. Once the media discovers you are pregnant and single, you will never be left alone. The tabloids will haunt you. Photographers will shadow you. The paparazzi aren’t going to disappear just because you want to live quietly.”

  “Well, I can’t stay in Brabant, locked behind the palace gate, under my parents’ thumb. It’s not healthy.”

  “Don’t you have a home of your own in Brabant?”

  “My grandparents left me an estate in the north. It’s quite pretty, a small castle with gorgeous grounds—orchards, a rose garden and even a small wood with a lake for fishing—but my parents have said that it’d cost too much for me to actually live there. Staffing it, running it, security. And so it’s mine, but unlivable.”

  “I thought you said you had some money of your own now? That you’d come into your majority?”

  “I do, but it’s not enough to fund the running of a château, and my parents won’t help cover the difference, nor will they ask the taxpayers to help. And I do agree with that. Our people don’t need me being a burden. That’s why I thought that I would just go somewhere else, like England, and find a small place that I could afford.”

  “I think your citizens would be hurt if you left them. They love you.”

  She thought of the large crowds that turned out every time she made an appearance, all ages, waving flags and carrying flowers, of all the little children who lifted their faces for a kiss. “And I love them. They have always been so very good to me. So loyal. But now I am pregnant, and it will bring them shame, which doesn’t seem right. I was to have been their perfect princess, a replacement for my aunt Jacqueline who was a most beloved princess. She’s been gone longer than she was alive, and yet they still mourn her.”

  “She was stunning.”

  “She was so young, too, when she died. Just twenty.”

  “But now you create a new life,” he said firmly. “A new royal baby for your citizens to love and adore.”

  Emmeline throat ached with emotion. “But I’m not royal—”

  “What?”

  She nodded. “And Alejandro is a commoner so the baby won’t be given a title, or be in line for the throne. That’s how it works in Brabant.” Her voice broke. “That’s why I had to marry King Patek. I had to marry a royal, a blue blood. And obviously I can’t marry Zale now—can’t marry any royal—and so I’m no longer in line for succession. Which means, my child won’t be, either.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you not be royal? You are King William and Queen Claire’s daughter—”

  “Adopted daughter.” Emmeline’s eyes met his. She hesitated, struggling to find the right words when none of them felt good. “They adopted me when I was six days old. Apparently I’m a bastard, which even today brings Claire, my adoptive mother, endless shame.”

  He looked dumbstruck. “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

  “Only that my birth mother was a Brabant commoner. Young, pregnant and unwed.”

  “And your father?”

  “No one knows anything about him.”

  “You can’t find out?”

  Emmeline shook her head. “It wasn’t an open adoption. My birth mother had no idea who would be adopting me, and my parents are very private. I had no idea I was adopted until I was sixteen.” She paused, tugged on the cuff of the blouse with unsteady fingers. “My father broke the news to me just before my birthday party.”

  Makin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “The actual day of your birthday?”

  She shrugged. “I know it sounds childish, but it crushed me. I’d had no idea, and then suddenly my father was telling me I was illegitimate—a bastard—born of sin.” Her lips twisted wryly. “There I was, in my beautiful party dress and brand-new high heels, my first real set of heels, feeling so grown-up and excited. Then Father called me aside and took it all away. I don’t think he meant to hurt me as much as he did. But to call me a bastard? To tell his only daughter that she was a product of sin?”

  Her smile slipped for a moment, revealing raw, naked pain. “I fell apart. I think I cried the rest of the night. Silly, I know.”

  “It would have been shocking for anyone.”

  “Maybe.” She was silent a moment. “So you see, I understand the stigma and shame of being illegitimate. I know what it’s like to be judged and rejected. Who knows who my birth parents were, or why they had to give me up for adoption? But they did, and they must have imagined it was the best thing for me. And maybe it was. But I do know this—I want my child—he or she is not a mistake. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he or she has the best life possible.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  EMMELINE sat on the edge of the bed while Risa blew-dry her hair with a big round brush, aware that once she was home, it would be absolute hell. Her mother would lose her temper, probably scream at her that she was stupid. Her father would look morose and deeply disappointed and let her mother do all the talking. It was how they handled problems. It was how they handled problems like her. Not that she’d ever done anything to be considered a problem before, but it was how they’d always viewed her.

  Sometimes Emmeline thought she should do something outrageous to give them cause for complaint, as the worst thing she’d ever done—until now—was skinny-dipping while visiting her cousins in Spain. She’d been twelv
e and it had seemed so daring to swim naked at night in the palace pool. Thirteen-year-old Delfina had suggested it and ten-year-old Isabel had endorsed the idea so Emmeline, nervous and giggling, joined them. And it had been fun, up until the time the palace security reported them to their parents.

  Aunt Astrid had given them a scolding but Emmeline’s mother had been furious. She’d demanded to know whose idea it was, and when Delfina didn’t speak up, Emmeline took the blame to protect her cousins.

  Emmeline had expected that her mother would spank her and that would be the end of it. Instead her mother spanked her and sent her home to Brabant.

  The spanking had been bad, but being sent away from her cousins in disgrace, so much worse.

  In the fourteen years since then, not a lot had changed. Her parents were still distant, her mother rigid. Emmeline could only imagine their reaction to the news that she was pregnant. She was too old to be spanked or sent away, so what would they do this time? Lock her in a tower and throw away the key?

  “Almost done,” Risa said, turning off the blow-dryer.

  Which meant they were almost there, Emmeline thought, hands knotting into fists.

  While Risa was styling Emmeline’s hair in the rear cabin, Makin sat in his seat in the main cabin replaying the last several conversations he’d had with Emmeline in his head.

  She wasn’t who he’d thought she was. She wasn’t shallow, either. Just sheltered and naive.

  How could you hate someone for being sheltered? Inexperienced?

  He couldn’t.

  He understood now that she’d panicked back in March. She’d turned to Alejandro out of desperation, wanting someone to love her, knowing her prospective bridegroom didn’t. She’d made a gross error of judgment, but she wasn’t a terrible person. He couldn’t condone her actions, but he couldn’t dislike her anymore. Not when he understood how painful it had been for her to be married off to the highest bidder, as if she were an object instead of a smart, sensitive and shy young woman with hopes and dreams of her own.

  Makin suddenly wished he hadn’t been so quick to put Emmeline on the plane for Brabant. But it was too late to turn around. All he could do now was offer her his support and let her know she wasn’t alone.

  An hour later they were in the back of a limousine sailing toward the palace. Just before landing Emmeline changed into a black pencil skirt and a chic black satin blouse, which she accessorized with a long strand of ivory pearls. Her hair, now a gleaming golden blond, was drawn into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. She wore pearls at her ears.

  She was nervous, beyond nervous, but she squashed every visible sign of fear, flattening all emotion, refusing to let herself think or feel. Things were what they were. What would happen would happen. She would survive.

  “Not that it matters, but I’m not a fan of arranged marriages,” Makin said abruptly, breaking the silence. “They’re popular in my culture, but it’s not for me.”

  She looked at him, surprised that he had shared something personal. “Your parents didn’t try to arrange anything for you?”

  He shook his head. “They were a love match. They wanted the same for me.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  “No. They died quite a few years ago. My father first—I was twenty—and my mother the year after.” He hesitated. “We expected my father’s death. He had been ill for a long time. But my mother … she was still young. Just forty-one. It was quite a shock. I wasn’t at all prepared to lose her.”

  “An accident?” she murmured.

  “Heart attack…” His voice drifted off and he frowned, his strong brow creasing. “Personally, I think it was grief. She didn’t want to be without my father.”

  Emmeline looked at Makin and the emotion darkening his eyes. Until he’d kissed her last night, she’d imagined him to be cool…cold…and quite detached. Now she was beginning to understand that with him, still waters ran deep. His cool exterior hid a passionate nature. “They were happy together?”

  “Very. They had an extraordinary relationship, and they were devoted to each other, from the day they met until the very end. I was lucky to have parents who loved each other so much, and to be part of that circle of love. It made me who I am.”

  “So why haven’t you married?” she asked, noting that he, too, had showered and dressed just before they landed. He now wore a gray shirt and black trousers, and the crisp starched shirt was open at the collar and exposed the hollow of his throat. His skin was the burnished gold of his desert, perfectly setting off his black hair and striking silver eyes.

  And it was a good question, she thought, waiting for him to answer. He was gorgeous. Brilliant. Ridiculously wealthy. He would be the catch of the century.

  His broad shoulders shifted. “I haven’t met the right one.”

  “And what would she be like?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet. But I’ll let you know the moment I do.”

  Makin saw her lips curve and her eyes dance as she laughed at him. He wouldn’t have thought he’d like her laughing at him and yet he found himself amused by her amusement. She didn’t laugh often, but now she came alive, mouth lifted, dimples flashing, light dancing in her eyes. She was joyous … mischievous … happier and younger than he’d ever seen her and it crossed his mind that he would do almost anything to see her smile like this again.

  He glanced from her eyes to her appealing lips, and suddenly Makin wanted to touch her, kiss her, part those soft, full lips and taste her again as he had last night in the garden.

  He’d thought it was the candlelight and moonlight and dark purple sky bewitching him, but now he knew better. He knew it was her. She was the magic. But he had Madeline, and Emmeline was pregnant. They each had their own path, a path they had been destined to travel.

  “I have a plan,” he said firmly, hating that his body had hardened and he felt hot and restless next to her. He couldn’t let her affect him this way. He did have a plan—he had a vision—he’d vowed to do something significant with his life and he would.

  If his father could be as successful as he had been with a disease so brutal and debilitating, a disease that destroyed his spine and his limbs, eventually robbing him of movement and speech, trapping his brilliant mind in a wasteland of a body, then Makin should be able to move mountains.

  But he couldn’t move mountains if he got distracted. One day he’d have time for more. But not now.

  Not now, he repeated, his gaze moving to the pearls around her neck. He’d never been a fan of pearls. They reminded him too much of old ladies and uptight college girls in cashmere twinsets, but Emmeline made pearls look glamorous. No, make that sexy. The long strand around her neck hung between her breasts almost to her waist. They slid across the black satin of her blouse as she moved, outlining one soft swell of breast and then the other. He found it almost impossible to look away from the luminescent pearls.

  He stifled a groan as he felt yet another hot surge of desire, his attraction to her now complicated by his desire to protect her. He didn’t know when he’d begun to develop feelings for her, but he did care about her, and there was nothing simple about their relationship anymore.

  “Not far now,” Emmeline said quietly, the laughter gone from her voice.

  The car was speeding from the freeway to a quiet city street, and she was focused on the old buildings passing by, but her expression was serene, her blue eyes clear and untroubled.

  If one didn’t know better you’d think she was heading to a fashion show and luncheon instead of an excruciating encounter with her parents.

  If one didn’t know, he silently repeated, realizing he’d never known her. Realizing he’d always looked at the externals—the impossibly beautiful young woman, her effortless style, her placid expression—and had imagined that she sailed through life unmarked, untouched, unconcerned with the human fray.

  He’d been wrong.

  Emmeline suddenly turned her head and looked at
him. For a moment she just looked into his eyes, cool and composed, and then her lips slowly curved up. “Is there something on my face?” she asked, arching a winged eyebrow, looking every inch a princess. “Or perhaps something green in my teeth?”

  He nearly smiled at the something green in her teeth. She was funny. All these years he’d thought he’d known her, but he hadn’t. He’d known of her, and then he’d projected onto her, but he’d gotten her wrong.

  She wasn’t stiff and dramatic and petulant. She was emotional, but she was also smart, warm, with a mischievous streak running through her.

  “I have a feeling you were a handful as a little girl,” he said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I must have been. Until I was thirteen I thought my name was Emmeline-get-in-here-you’re-in-trouble-d’Arcy.”

  Makin laughed softly, even as his chest suddenly ached. She was funny. And sweet. And really lovely. Heartbreakingly lovely and he didn’t know why he’d never seen it before.

  Was it because she was so pretty? Was it because she looked like a princess that he had assumed the worst?

  “I’m glad I had the chance to spend the past few days with you,” he said. “When you get past the body guards and ladies-in-waiting and multitude of assistants, you’re quite likable.”

  She choked on a laugh. “Careful. Don’t be too nice. I might think we were friends.”

  It crossed his mind that she could probably use a friend. He was beginning to understand there wasn’t anyone in her life to protect her. It was wrong. “So tell me, how will it go once we reach your home?”

  The warmth faded from her eyes. “It won’t be pleasant. There will be hard things said, particularly from my mother.”

  “She has a temper?”

  “She does. She can be … hurtful.”

  “Just remember, sticks and stones might break your bones…”

  “… but words will never hurt me.” She finished the children’s rhyme, and her voice trailed off. She smiled a little less steadily. “It’ll be fine.”