‘Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted. ‘But I just don’t want either of us to look back and think this was a mistake.’
‘No one can know what the future holds,’ he said with all the gravity of a man who had experienced the arbitrariness of fate. ‘But surely it could never be a mistake to try and raise our child together?’
He had her there, Cally thought, for how could she ever regret raising their baby with him in Montéz when the alternative was going it alone in her damp two-up two-down in Cambridge? However much she’d once hated the concept of privilege, she couldn’t think of any better start in life for their child than growing up at the palace. Besides, she realised with a start, he or she would be first in line to the throne; how could they grow up anywhere else and be prepared for what lay ahead?
Leon hadn’t even mentioned that, and suddenly she loved him all the more for it. Of course it would be important to him that his heir be raised on the island, yet he hadn’t pushed it, just like he hadn’t stressed that her acceptance would mean an official role for her too. But it would, she thought anxiously, wondering whether saying yes would mean kissing everything in her old life goodbye.
‘As well as raising our child, I had hoped to continue working, Leon.’
‘Of course,’ he replied with none of the sarcasm she might once have expected. ‘Perhaps you can freelance out of the studio.’
Cally almost couldn’t believe her ears. He wasn’t asking her to give up the work she loved, he wasn’t assuming that that was what she wanted. Yes, there were so many unknowns, so much to overcome, but surely if they were both willing to try ? ‘Perhaps I could.’ She nodded tentatively.
‘Are you by any chance thinking that you wouldn’t be averse to the idea of marrying me either, chérie?’
‘Yes, Leon, I think I am.’
‘Good,’ he said, leaning across the table and whispering in her ear. ‘Because I’ve already booked the church for this time next week.’
‘This time next week?’
Leon nodded.
It was arrogant. Maybe it was overly romantic too. But the joy in her heart overtook her exasperation and in an instant she was on her feet and closing the short distance between them. But just as she pressed her body into his and raised her hands to tangle them in his hair he placed one hand on her elbow and stopped her.
‘What is it?’
Cally followed his eyes, which had dropped to her pregnant stomach.
‘I just—’ It was the first time it had really occurred to him that his child was growing inside her womb, and he was shocked by the feelings of both helplessness and strength that swelled within him. ‘Can I touch it?’
‘Of course you can!’ Cally grinned, breathing a sigh of relief and grabbing his hand to place it on her belly. She was equally unprepared for the weight of her own emotions as he stroked her protectively.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, drawing in a deep breath as the magnitude of what she had denied him truly hit home. As she did, her agitation caused the baby to give a tiny kick. He jumped back and looked at her in awe.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ she repeated.
Leon felt a muscle tighten at his jaw but he forced himself to let it go.
‘My twenty-week scan—it’s booked in at the hospital here in three days. Come with me?’
He nodded with a conviction that told her he wouldn’t miss it for the world. ‘And then to Montéz.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘HOW about Jacques?’ Leon grinned as they drove over the hilltop and the palace came into view. It was even more resplendent than she remembered in the low November sunshine.
Cally looked down at her lap. She was holding their marriage licence which they had just collected from the town hall in one hand, and the ultrasound photo of their baby boy in the other. If she had had a third hand she would have pinched herself again.
‘Inspired by Jacques Rénard?’ she asked, studying the photo as only an expectant mother could, ignoring the fuzzy patches of light and shade and trying to discern whether their son might look like a Jacques. She turned back to Leon and her smile widened in approval. ‘I love it.’
They had both wanted to know the sex. Maybe it was because having a baby in the first place had been surprise enough, or maybe it was because they had both wanted to discover one thing about this pregnancy together, but either way they were delighted.
‘Remind me again of your nephews’ names?’
‘Dylan and Josh. Dylan’s the eldest.’
It continued to amaze her that Leon had not only insisted her family be invited to their wedding in four days’ time, but that he seemed genuinely interested in them too—even Jen, despite her being a journalist, which she knew deep down he viewed as a heinous crime. However, Cally’s amazement couldn’t be greater than her sister’s had been when she’d called her yesterday.
‘Married? To the Prince of Montéz?’ Jen had cried when she’d finally stopped apologising for the hundredth time for only hearing ‘I wish’ and ‘Don’t mention him’ during that telephone conversation when she’d suggested running the article. ‘But I thought you said he was a complete bastard?’
‘He has his moments.’ Cally had laughed. ‘But I’ve fallen in love with him, Jen, and, well We’re expecting a baby in March.’
Her sister had been even more flabbergasted then. But she decided that no one could be more amazed than she already was herself as she drew up outside the palace and she saw Boyet descending the steps, ready to unload the car of the few bits and pieces she’d brought with her to begin their new life together. Like the beautiful cot that had been a farewell gift from Michel, Céline and the rest of the gallery team, and enough knitted babygrows from Marie-Ange to clothe the entire maternity ward—she had been beside herself to discover that she had been renting a room to a future princess and heir of Montéz.
Yes, she would always recall the friends she had made in Paris with affection, but leaving the capital had been a million times easier than it had ever been to leave here, she thought as they walked through the courtyard and up the creamy white staircase. Montéz felt like home. And, whilst living in a palace was going to take some getting used to, she couldn’t help believing her parents had actually been right when they had once told her that wealth and class could be irrelevant. She couldn’t help hoping she’d been wrong to stop believing in happy-ever-after too.
Even if there had been a few moments in the past few days when the look in Leon’s eyes had been so unfathomable it was like he had momentarily shut her out in the cold. But she told herself it was to be expected, that it was just going to take time for two people who weren’t used to sharing their lives to learn to live with one another. She tried to repress the nagging fear that he’d always be closed to her, the realisation that he hadn’t once asked how she actually felt about him. Was it because he didn’t want to make her say things that he thought she might not be ready to say? Or because those things would never matter to him?
‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.’
Cally shook herself and smiled warmly as Boyet opened the car door for her. ‘Bonjour, Boyet, ça va?’
‘Oui, ça va bien, merci.’ He grinned, clearly impressed with her improved accent, and then turned to Leon. ‘I alighted upon a newspaper article that may be of some interest, Your Highness. The daily papers are out on the terrace as usual.’
He nodded ‘Merci, Boyet.’
Cally and Leon entered the hallway together, and whilst she popped to the bathroom Leon continued through to the terrace. He was standing above the wrought-iron table when she entered the drawing room, and she observed him as she walked towards the glass doors; his forehead was deeply lined.
‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously, stepping outside to join him. He raised his eyes casually from the article he was reading, but the second they met with hers he froze. For one long moment he seemed to look at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, and then his frown d
isappeared altogether and his whole face seemed to lighten.
‘It’s nothing, chérie,’ he said, folding up the sheaf of paper and placing it in the top pocket of his shirt. ‘Nothing at all. But I’m afraid there are some documents which urgently await my signature at the Treasury.’ His eyes dropped to her hand that was still clutching their marriage licence and he smiled. ‘I can drop our papers in with Father Maurice on the way. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get some rest?’
Why don’t you tell me what the article is about, if it’s nothing? Cally wanted to retort, but she knew that she was probably just being paranoid, and making him aware of it was hardly going to encourage him to open up. ‘You’re probably right.’
Leon ran his finger tenderly down her arm and took the papers from her hand. ‘I know I am.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or two, and if you’re up to it we can take a stroll along the beach before dinner. It’s not quite as warm at this time of year, but the sunset is always spectacular.’
She nodded as he kissed her lightly on the mouth. ‘I’d like that.’
Cally tried to nap, but failed. Her mind was too full of all that had happened over the last few days and, if she was honest, too troubled by old insecurities. Which was ridiculous; she was lying on the royal bed, carrying his son, with their wedding just days away.
It was probably just coming back to the palace and trying to get her head around actually living here, she reasoned. For, though she had resided here for that month, it had been as nothing more than his lover and his employee, and as a result she hadn’t really ventured beyond his bedroom or the studio. Cally sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the luxurious rug beneath her toes. If she was to embrace her new life and feel comfortable raising their son here, then it shouldn’t feel like the palace was just a sea of closed doors without any idea what lay behind them. Like Leon, she thought bleakly, and then scolded herself. It was going to take time. And, since he’d only just been saying that they should choose a room for the nursery, opening a few doors—literally—seemed like the perfect place to start.
Cally exited the master bedroom and turned right. There had to be at least eight other rooms she’d never entered just in this wing, never mind in all the other wings on the other floors. But she couldn’t imagine choosing a room for their son’s nursery—Jacques’ nursery—more than a few steps away from their bedroom.
The first door she entered, opposite the master bedroom, revealed a large room with an oak ceiling and a view of the inner courtyard. It would have fulfilled its function more than adequately, but it didn’t feel in any way cosy, and it seemed a shame to Cally for their son’s room not to face out to sea when that was the part of Montéz that she most associated with Leon. The second room she entered was to the right of their own, and couldn’t have been more different. It was a moderate size with a fabulous view of the bay, a long window seat and lemon walls bathed in late-afternoon sunlight. She could just imagine the cot in here. A rocking horse, piles of play bricks. She smiled, running one hand over her belly, and felt her heart settle. All it needed was some brightly coloured paintings, she thought, catching sight of a large frame propped face down against the wall and wondering if she could make use of it.
Cally walked towards it and wiped the dust from the edge of the frame with her finger. Leaning it back against her body to discern whether or not it was empty, she saw that behind the glass was an enormous royal-family tree. Fascinated, she carefully manoeuvred the frame so that it was propped against the wall face up and sank to her knees to survey it.
Leon so rarely spoke about his family. Not that she could blame him for that, for she had gathered that both his parents were dead and the pain of losing Girard was still very raw. But she couldn’t help being curious about the royal dynasty that, incredibly, she found herself about to marry into, that her son was going to be a part of. She ran her eyes along row after row of unfamiliar names, sovereign princes past, their wives, their children. Then she dropped her eyes to the bottom of the picture, desperate to find Leon’s name, to trace the branches she knew and to locate the spot where two new ones would soon be added. But the second she saw the swirling typescript of his name she dropped her hand as if she had been burned, shocked to discover that the existing branches around him didn’t even begin to lead where she’d expected.
Rapidly, she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Leon’s mother Odette had married Arnaud Montallier, the Sovereign Prince of Montéz, and together they’d had one son—Girard. Seventeen years later, Girard was crowned Prince—the same year, quite logically, that his father had passed away. But it wasn’t until the following year that Odette had given birth to her second son, Leon. Whose father was not listed as a prince at all, but as a man named Raoul Rénard.
Cally stared in disbelief. No wonder Leon had implied that his title was a fate that should never have befallen him. It was not simply because Girard had died unexpectedly, but because the royal bloodline—if it was like any other she’d ever read about—had technically died out with him. Which meant that Leon had inherited the throne simply because his mother had been the sovereign’s widow.
Cally felt an icy fear begin to grip her as all that that meant slowly began to hit home. Her eyes rested on the branch between Girard and Toria. Toria, who was the former sovereign’s widow just as Odette had once been. Toria, who had also given birth to a son. A son who—if Leon was an example of what happened in such circumstances—could inherit the throne one day. Unless Leon married and had a child of his own.
Suddenly, Toria’s words that afternoon in the studio echoed through her mind with new and devastating clarity: Tell him I’m pregnant. With the heir to the throne. That was why the expression on Leon’s face had been one of such unmitigated dread. She’d been so convinced she understood it, but she had actually read it as wrongly as she always did. It wasn’t because he was the father of her child; oh no, Cally understood now that Toria had simply alighted on that lie as a way of hurting her. It was because the woman he loathed was carrying a child who had the potential to inherit everything.
And, with that realisation, the trust that Cally Greenway had dared to place in Leon Montallier came crashing down around her shoulders, taking her fragile heart with it. He hadn’t come to Paris because he had missed her, hadn’t proposed because he thought they had a shot at happiness, or even because he thought it was the best thing to do for their child. He had simply discovered that she was pregnant, and that making their child his legitimate heir was preferable to the thought of Toria’s child being first in line to the throne. Hell, he’d even waited until he had accompanied her to the scan before they had gone to get their marriage licence. Fit, healthy and a boy; no wonder he’d proceeded with such enthusiasm!
Cally felt a tortured moan escape her lips and sank back on her heels, head raised as if appealing to some invisible god for mercy. Could she have been any more foolish? How easily she had fallen for his honeyed words and feigned understanding! She’d even supposed that he hadn’t mentioned the small matter of their child’s legitimacy because he didn’t consider that to be the most important thing! Why the hell hadn’t she learned that with Leon the important thing was always the thing that he didn’t mention? Like the fact that he was a prince, that he had bought the paintings for himself, that he had only employed her because he wanted to take her to bed. He had lied to her from the day she had met him, and all this time she had been stupid enough to go on believing what she wanted to believe, thinking he simply needed time to open up.
Unable to bear the evidence of his lies in black and white before her, Cally backed away from the family tree and stumbled out into the corridor. Suddenly the whole palace felt like a conspirator in his betrayal. Tearing down the stairs and out into the grounds, she found herself on the grass verge overlooking the magnificent bay. The bay where Leon had planned to take her for a walk before dinner, that had been the subject of the picture he had inspired he
r to paint after so many years of believing that part of her was dead. Now every part of her felt dead, oblivious to everything except the sobs which began deep inside her chest and took her over. She couldn’t remember the last time she had succumbed to such irrepressible tears, but she did know that her practised mechanism of swallowing hard and blinking repeatedly would do her no good, for her eyes were already sore, and her throat was so constricted it was all she could do not to choke on her own sobs.
She didn’t even stop as she sensed him come up behind her. Looming. Blurred. She wanted to lunge at him, pound her fists against his chest, but she didn’t have the strength.
He swooped down to her level. ‘What the hell’s the matter, are you in pain? The baby?’
‘No, Leon,’ she gasped, her words punctuated by sobs. ‘The heir to the throne is perfectly safe.’
His brows descended into a dark V, and he ran his eyes over her as if checking all her limbs were intact. ‘If not the baby, then what?’
‘What else is there?’ she swiped.
‘Well, clearly there’s something the matter with you, and I think I have a right to know.’
‘A right to know?’ Cally cried hysterically. ‘You mean like I had a right to know that the only reason you wanted to marry me was because you couldn’t bear a child of Toria’s to be first in line to the throne?’
Leon went very still. ‘Has she been here again?’
A ridiculous part of her had been waiting for him to deny it all. His response only drove the knife in deeper. ‘No, Leon. Toria has not been here. Your pathetic little fiancée worked it all out by herself, from the family tree.’
Leon clenched his teeth. The family tree in his old nursery. The one his mother had given him as a child to try and help him come to terms with the truth, but which had only succeeded in making him feel more different.
‘What were you doing, poking around in there?’
‘Poking around?’ she rasped despairingly. ‘I thought this was to be my home, Leon, our son’s home?’
Prince of Montez, Pregnant Mistress Page 14
