The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Clare Connelly

  His words hit her like a mallet. She shook her head again, feeling like one of those bobble-head dolls.

  ‘Listen to me, Daisy.’ He began to move closer to her so she braced instinctively. Not out of fear of him so much as fear of her reaction. How, even in that moment, could she be aware of trivial matters such as the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms?

  ‘I need an heir. You know this, and you understand why it’s an urgent concern. As the last remaining heir of my family’s line, I am in a vulnerable position...’

  She jerked her head in an aggressive nod. ‘Which is why you’re marrying and planning to have a child as soon as—’

  ‘I have a child.’ The words cut through the room, loud and insistent. He paused, visibly calming himself. ‘We are having a child.’ And now, he closed the distance, gripping her hands and lifting them between them, his eyes boring into hers with the force of a thousand suns.

  ‘You’re wrong. I didn’t come here to tell you about this. I understand your position, which is precisely why I intended to do this on my own. You don’t want to marry me. You don’t want to raise a child with me. Your people need you to do what’s best for them, and that includes marrying a woman who will secure the peace of your kingdom. I can’t do that.’ She was trembling, she realised belatedly. He squeezed her hands tighter. ‘I won’t marry you.’ Oh, no. Her teeth were chattering. Panic was setting in.

  ‘You must.’

  ‘No.’ Fear strangled her words. ‘I’ve already been married, and it was a disaster. I swore I’d never do that again. I can’t.’ Tears fell from her eyes. How angry they made her! How frustrated with herself she felt. This was not a time to cry!

  She ripped her hands free and wiped at her face, hard, turning away from him and grabbing her handbag. She didn’t even remember discarding it but she must have placed it on the chair near the door when she’d entered this room, because it sat there, looking at her in a matter that felt accusatory.

  ‘I want you to forget I came here.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  She spoke as though he hadn’t. ‘I want you to forget I’m pregnant. No, I want you to forget we ever met.’

  ‘You are not leaving here.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ She pushed the strap of her bag over her shoulder and whirled around to face him. She felt like a wild animal, all emotion, no civility. ‘Try and stop me.’

  ‘I do not need to try to stop you.’ He was so infuriatingly calm! It only flared her anger further. ‘Have you forgotten where you are, habibte?’

  ‘I’m in New York City. You might be King of all you survey in the RKH, but here in America we believe in the rule of law, which means no one, regardless of their position or station, has more legal rights than another.’

  ‘I know what the rule of law is.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I’m sorry to say it won’t help you here.’

  It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Cold, claw-like fingers began to wrap around her as the enormity of her own stupidity hit her like an anvil.

  She wasn’t in America any more. Not really. She’d willingly stepped into his embassy, buried herself in the thick of dozens of his guards and surrendered her passport.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ She stared at him, her face heating to the point of boiling, her eyes showing her comprehension. ‘You...bastard.’

  His head jerked a little, as though she’d slapped him.

  ‘You tricked me.’

  His eyes flashed with impatience. ‘I did no such thing. I invited you here because I wanted to see you again—’

  ‘To proposition me,’ she corrected witheringly, but her voice shook, panic making it impossible to speak clearly, much less think straight. ‘That’s why you lured me here to your embassy?’

  And despite the tension, he laughed, and it did something to her insides, reminding her of the warmth they’d shared, of his easy affection. Her stomach squeezed and she reached behind her, feeling for the chair that had, until a moment ago, held her handbag.

  ‘Do you think I have to resort to kidnap in order to get a woman into my bed?’

  His eyes lanced her and she felt angry, stupid and jealous as all heck, all at once.

  He softened his tone. ‘And I didn’t lure you here. This is where I live when I’m in the States. Up until a month ago, it was being renovated and wasn’t fit for habitation, hence I stayed at your hotel. As it’s now restored to its usual condition, I’m here. This was not a trap.’

  ‘It sure feels like it.’

  He dipped his head forward in silent acceptance of that. ‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes pinned to hers and she was powerless to look away. He strode across the room, crouching before her, clasping her hands in her lap. ‘I am sorry.’ His expression showed the truth of his words. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t prevent you from falling pregnant. I’m sorry that my position makes our marriage a necessity. But I am sorriest of all for the fact that I cannot take the time to slowly convince you this is the right thing for us to do. I cannot risk letting you walk out of here because we must marry. It is imperative.’ He stroked her hand and her heart ached, because she wasn’t sure how she felt and what she wanted but she could see, so clearly, what this meant to him and his people.

  But what about her and her needs? Memories of Max had her shaking her head from side to side, needing him to understand. ‘I don’t want to get married. I can’t.’

  ‘I understand that. Put that to one side for the moment and think about our child.’ His hand shifted, moving from her wrists to her stomach, pressing against it, and for a moment he appeared to lose his train of thought as he lost himself in the realisation that inside her belly was their own baby.

  ‘Don’t you think our child deserves this?’

  She bit down on her lip. ‘Our child deserves us to love it,’ she said quietly. ‘To do the best for it, always.’

  ‘And raising him or her together is the best.’

  ‘My mother raised me on her own after my father left,’ she insisted, tilting her chin with pride for the job her mother had done even when she’d struggled with her health for years.

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Why would you? We don’t know each other, Sariq. We don’t know each other.’

  ‘Don’t we?’ The question laid her bare and forced her to look inside herself. They might not know one another’s biographical details back to front, but she would have said that despite that, after their time together, she did know him. But that he was capable of this? Of holding her prisoner in his embassy?

  It renewed her anger and disbelief, so she stood a little shakily, moving towards the door. ‘You’re not going to keep me prisoner here until I agree to marry you.’

  ‘No,’ he acquiesced, and relief burst through her. ‘We are getting married this evening, Daisy. There is no point fighting over the inevitable.’

  He watched her from the mezzanine, and he felt many things. Desire. Shock. Certainty. Admiration. But most of all, he felt a sense of guilt. Her displeasure with this was understandable. She’d arrived at the embassy with no concept of how he would react, and he’d wielded his power like a sledgehammer.

  He hated this.

  He hated what he was doing, he hated that he was doing it to Daisy, and yet he knew he had no alternative. Not only was their child incredibly politically powerful, if he didn’t marry her and bring her to the RKH there was a very real threat to both of them. Only in his palace, with the royal guards at his disposal, could he adequately protect them.

  He hadn’t wanted to hit her over the head, metaphorically speaking, with the truth of that. It felt like the last thing you should say to a pregnant woman, and yet undeniably there were some factions within his country who would strike out at his heir. And particularly an illegitimate yet rightful heir who could, at any point, return to the RKH and claim po
wer.

  For years, he’d believed his mother had died in childbirth. His father had wanted it that way. But when Sariq was fifteen, he’d learned the truth. She’d been murdered. When she was heavily pregnant, while on a private vacation, someone had killed her. Sariq should have been there. He was part of the plan, too, but at the last moment he’d come down with a virus and his father had insisted he stay home to avoid making his mother sick in her delicate state.

  He knew, better than anyone, what some factions were capable of and there was no way he was seeing history repeat itself. He would protect Daisy and their unborn child with his dying breath.

  No, he had to do this, even when it left a sour taste in his mouth. As to her suitability? He had no doubts on that score; she’d be a fish out of water at first. Who wouldn’t? She wasn’t raised with these pressures; she had no concept of what would be expected of her. She’d never even travelled outside America, for Christ’s sake. His advisors would question his judgement, and they’d be right to do so. There would be political ramifications, but he was counting on the spectre of a royal baby on the horizon to quell those.

  At the end of the day he had made his decision and there was no one on earth who could shake him from his sense of duty and purpose. She was angry now, but once they arrived in the RKH and she saw the luxury and financial freedom that awaited her, surely that would ease? In time, when she realised that their marriage was really in name only, a legal arrangement, more than anything, to bind them as parents and to right their child’s claim to the throne.

  And the fact he couldn’t look at her without wanting to tear her clothes from her body?

  It was irrelevant. He had a duty to marry her, to protect her with his life. Everything else was beside the point.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE DRESS WAS STUNNING. It was perfect for a princess. A pale cream with beads that she was terrified to discover were actual diamonds, stitched around the neckline, the wrists and at the hem, so that the dress itself was heavy and substantial. It nipped in at her waist to reveal the still-flat stomach. On her feet she wore simple silk slippers, for which she was grateful—the last thing she wanted was to be impeded by high heels.

  They’d make it far more difficult to run away.

  Except she wasn’t going to run away. She caught her reflection in the windows across the room. Evening had fallen, meaning she could see herself more clearly. And more importantly, New York was gone. There were lights, in the distance, and the tooting of cars, but the trees of Bryant Park were no longer visible. She lifted a finger to her throat, toying with the necklace her mother had given her, running the simple silver locket from side to side distractedly.

  There were guards everywhere. Escape wasn’t an option. But even if it were, Daisy wasn’t sure she would take it. She knew there were many, many single parents out there doing an amazing job, and perhaps if Daisy hadn’t already been worn down by extreme poverty, hunger, and the fear of living pay cheque to pay cheque, she might have had more faith in her abilities. But the truth was, she knew what it was like to be poor, to be broke, to have enormous debts nipping at her heels, and she wanted so much more for her baby.

  It wasn’t just the financial concerns though. It was the certainty that if she didn’t marry Sariq she would need to go back to work as soon as possible, and already she hated the idea of leaving her baby.

  Still, marriage felt extreme.

  So why wasn’t she fighting? Insisting that she be allowed to call a lawyer?

  Was it possible that on some level she actually wanted this? That her body’s traitorous need for his was pushing her towards this fate, even when she wanted to rail against it?

  She couldn’t say. But she knew a thousand and one feelings were rushing through her and not all of them were bad. Which made her some kind of traitor to the sisterhood, surely?

  She ground her teeth together, looking around this enormous space idly until her eyes landed on a figure on the mezzanine level and she froze.

  ‘Sariq.’ His name escaped her lips without her consent. Then again, it was preposterous to keep calling him by his title. He was watching her like a hawk, his eyes trained on her in a way that made her stomach clench with white-hot need, so fierce it pushed her lips apart and forced a huge breath from her body. She spun away, ashamed of her base reaction. A moment later, he had descended the steps and was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

  He didn’t speak. His eyes held hers, and he studied her for several seconds. ‘Are you ready?’

  Her heart began to tremble. ‘If I said “no”, would it make any difference?’

  He eyed her for several seconds. ‘Yes.’

  Her pulse raced. Disappointment was unmistakable and that only made her angrier.

  ‘So you’ll let me go?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘But I will delay. We can wait a day or two to let you get used to this. We can talk until you understand. I can prepare you better for what’s in store once we arrive in the RKH...’

  ‘But you won’t let me leave this embassy?’

  Silence prickled between them. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Then I see no point in delay, except to assuage your conscience, which I have no intention of doing.’

  He stared at her, surprise obvious on his features. She knew she was lashing out at him out of fear, and that it wasn’t fair. He had been as caught off guard by this as she was. He was acting out of duty for his country, and she understood that. But becoming a commodity didn’t sit well with her, and her desire for him was making everything else murky and uncertain.

  ‘You’re forcing me to marry you, Sariq. I’m not going to let you think otherwise.’ His face paled beneath his tanned skin, and she was glad. Hurting him, arousing his conscience, made her feel a hell of a lot better. She struck again: ‘You should know that. I’m marrying you because I have to—not because I want to—and I will never forgive you for this. Tonight I’m going to become your wife and I may appear to accept that, I may appear to accept you, but I will always hate you for this.’ She glared at him with undisguised fury so it was easy for Sariq to believe her. ‘I love our child, and, for him or her, I will try to make our marriage amicable, at least on the surface, but don’t you ever doubt how I really feel.’

  His eyes swept shut for a moment, the only movement on his stone-like face the furious beating of a muscle in his jaw. ‘I wish we had an alternative.’

  ‘You do,’ she said quietly.

  His eyes glittered with something like fire and he reached into his robes, removing a phone. It was a familiar brand but the back was pure gold. He loaded something up on the screen then handed it to her.

  She stared at it, her own photo looking back at her, beside his picture, and beneath a headline that screamed Secret Royal Wedding!

  She read the article quickly.

  News broke overnight that the Emir of the Royal Kingdom of Haleth married American Daisy Carrington when he was last in the United States in July.

  The wedding, conducted in secret, means the unknown woman is now Emira to one of the world’s most prosperous nations.

  Little is known of the woman who stole the famously closed-off ruler’s heart, or of how their romance began.

  More details to follow.

  ‘We’re not married.’ She handed the phone back to him, wishing her fingertips weren’t trembling.

  ‘Our marriage certificate will be backdated, to remove any doubts as to my paternity.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘This is your child.’

  ‘I know that.’ He pocketed his phone once more. ‘I have no doubt on that score. It makes things easier, that’s all.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Your name is in the papers, Daisy.’ There was urgency in his tone. ‘The whole world will know that you are carrying my baby before the morning. And that
baby is the heir to my throne. Can you not see how vulnerable that makes you both?’

  She stared at him in disbelief, and desire died, just like that. Now, her feels were not unambiguous at all. Anger sparked through her, overtaking everything else.

  ‘You are such a bastard. You did this on purpose, so I’d go through with this?’

  ‘I didn’t need to,’ he murmured. ‘Our marriage is a fait accompli.’

  ‘But this is insurance,’ she insisted. ‘Because if I somehow managed to walk out of here, my life would never be the same again, right?’

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He’d manoeuvred her into a position that made her agreement essential. She wasn’t as naïve as he seemed to think. She knew what this baby would mean for her, she knew that there’d be a stream of paparazzi wanting to capture their child’s first everything, following her around mercilessly.

  ‘I need you both in the RKH where I can protect you.’ He spoke simply, the words so final they sent a shiver down her spine. ‘I’m sorry for the necessity of this, but I am not prepared to take any chances with your life.’

  ‘You’re being melodramatic.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘My mother was killed by terrorists. She was eight months pregnant. I was supposed to be with her that day.’ Each sentence was delivered with a staccato-style finality but that didn’t make it any easier to digest. ‘I will not let anyone harm you.’

  Her heart slowed down. Pity swarmed her and, despite the situation she found herself in, she lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest. ‘I’m so sorry, Sariq. I had no idea.’

  He angled his face away, his jaw clenched. ‘It was kept quiet. My father was determined to maintain the peace process and so news was released that she died in childbirth.’ His features were like granite. ‘The perpetrators were found and convicted in a court convened for the purpose of conducting the trial away from the media’s eyes.’

  She sucked in a breath, with no idea what to say. A shiver ran down her spine. She was deeply sorry for him, for the boy he’d been and the man he was now, and yet she had to make him see things were different. ‘I’m in America, not the RKH, and if you hadn’t released this, no one would even know who I am.’