His Majesty's Child (8 page)

His eyes became shuttered. ‘I have no choice in the matter.'

‘No choice?' she echoed, unsure of what he meant. ‘Surely everyone has a choice—even kings?'

‘Oh, how naïve you are, Melissa!' he mocked softly. ‘Zaffirinthian law dictates that no abdication can be made while there is a living direct heir. So, you see, your revelation about…Ben…means that I am no longer free to renounce my throne.'

She realised instantly—as perhaps he had intended her to realise—that she had effectively trapped him as well. That the baby was yet another bar in the gilded cage he had spoken of. And as Ben's mother, so was she.

And trapping him was the last thing she had wanted, or wished for. Yes, he had been harsh and cruel in the wake of her revelation—but, in spite of the pain it had caused her, she could understand his reaction. Yes, he was arrogant and uncaring, but once she had adored him—and she had never set out to snare him. She felt the telltale prickle of tears to her eyes.

‘I'm sorry, Casimiro,' she whispered. ‘So very sorry.'

It was the bright glimmer of tears which did it. Tears which made her eyes look as bright and as brilliant as emeralds. And their brilliant gleam—combined with the faint lilac of her scent—took him back to a place he'd thought he'd left forever. The memory which had
stubbornly stayed in the depths of his mind now rose to the surface, like a bubble of air set free.

Emerald stars, he thought. He had once told her that her eyes were like
emerald stars
.

He stared into her face. ‘I've remembered,' he said coldly.

T
HROUGH
the flickering gleam of candlelight, Melissa saw the dawning comprehension in Casimiro's eyes.

‘Remembered what?' she questioned breathlessly.

He rubbed his fingertip against the scar at his temple and for one brief moment he felt intense relief as his memory came flooding back, as if someone had just lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders. ‘You. Us.'
She had been telling the truth all along
, he realised. She was not just some woman on the make. Not some kind of ‘crazy' who was stalking him. She was a woman with whom he had enjoyed a brief and heady affair—but one which had never been meant to endure.

And now? Now their destinies were entwined whether he liked it or not—but let them both be clear about the reality, lest she spin fairy-tale fantasies as women were so prone to do. ‘Except that there wasn't really an “us”, was there, Melissa? We met at an after-show party and it happened very quickly after that. What was it, three days—or four? I hardly think our few hours of snatched sex would qualify as a grand romance, do you?'

A few hours of snatched sex
. It was as if her memory of that time had been a delicate and intricate glass structure she'd carefully pre served—and Casimiro had
smashed it without thought or care. Melissa threw her napkin down over the fast-congealing fish and began to get up.

‘Sit down!' he ordered.

‘No, I won't sit down! I don't care if I have to walk all the way home—I will not sit here and be insulted by you!'

He could see that she meant it. He could also see the maître d' hovering anxiously over in the doorway, but a faint shake of Casimiro's head was enough to dispatch him. For a moment he was torn between fury at her outrageous insubordination—and a grudging respect for her spirit. ‘Sit down, Melissa.' He met the unwavering resistance in her eyes. ‘Please.'

Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of his appeal which made Melissa hesitate—or perhaps it was just the acknowledgement that this was not a word with which he was familiar. She doubted whether kings had to say ‘please' very much in the normal run of events—and what kind of example was that to set to Ben, who she was determined was going to have the best manners in the world?

Melissa sank back down into the chair, secretly relieved to rest the suddenly shaky legs which she doubted would carry her outside, let alone all the way home. It was all so much of a shock. Everything. The test result and his reaction to it. Yes, of course she had known that there could only be one possible candidate for the role of father to her baby—but she hadn't been expecting this great swamp of emotion. She had bottled up her secret for so long that she felt quite shaky now that it was all out in the open.

‘You've remembered
everything
?' she whispered.

He shrugged. ‘For what it's worth.' Yet the missing piece of memory came as a huge relief—as if he had been made complete once more. And, reluctantly, he allowed himself to fill in some detail on their affair. He remembered the taste of freedom he'd felt with her. The heady sensation of feeling normal—and the subsequent feeling of emptiness when he had returned to the restrictions of his kingdom. He had felt like a condemned man being given his last meal and knowing he would never eat again.

‘Do you…do you regret it?' she questioned.

The emotional gates which had briefly swung open now slammed shut. ‘Regrets are a waste of time,' he said icily. ‘We need to discuss what we're going to do—and the most pressing matter is our marriage, which must take place as soon as possible.'

Melissa stared at the cold hauteur of his features and for the first time she realised that the man she had adored no longer existed. Perhaps he never had. Perhaps it had just been a temporary role he had occupied while they'd been lovers. And could she really bear to be shackled to this cold-faced king for the rest of her life? She shook her head. ‘I'm not going to marry you.'

‘I'm afraid that's non-negotiable, Melissa.'

Melissa's breath seemed to catch in her throat. ‘You can't
say
something like that,' she whispered.

‘I can, because it happens to be true.'

‘You can't actually
force
me to marry you—what, drag me screaming and kicking down the aisle?' She fixed him with a look she hoped concealed the fear which was fast growing inside her. That he could do
with her exactly what he wanted. ‘I don't imagine that would do your image much good.'

‘No, I can't force you—but I can take your son from you.'

Melissa froze as the world seemed to grow dark. It was the single most effective and terrifying threat he could have made—and the fact that he had uttered it made her want to lash out at him. ‘You can't do that, either.'

‘You really think so? I wonder if you're prepared to test the full might of the King against a single mother of your standing.'

‘There's nothing
wrong
with my standing!'

‘Do you consider it appropriate that the heir to the throne should be brought up in this way?'

‘He's clean and well fed and stimulated and—
happy
!' she defended.

‘And his home? You think that is a good place in which to bring up a royal Prince?'

It was the first time she'd actually thought of Ben as a Prince and, although the mother in her thrilled with pride, the title terrified her as well. Because didn't it seem an awfully
distancing
thing—to be a royal Prince? Especially since
she
was just a commoner…

‘We don't have to stay living there if you think it's so awful!' she declared wildly, because the expression which was darkening his arrogant features was really beginning to unsettle her.

‘You mean you'd let me buy you somewhere bigger?' he suggested softly.

She walked straight into it. ‘If that's what you want.'

‘Ah! So you don't mind accepting my money, after
all, Melissa? A remarkable change of heart. How come I'm not surprised?'

Now he was making her sound like some kind of cheap gold-digger. Twisting everything she uttered so that she felt as if she were in some sort of verbal maze—with everything she said leading nowhere. ‘I thought that's what you wanted,' she said, in confusion.

‘No, it is
not
what I want!' he snapped. ‘I can just imagine what outcome buying you a big place and settling you with a suitable income would produce. Why, you'd have every male in the vicinity sniffing around you as if all their Christmases had come at once!'

‘You're disgusting!'

‘No, Melissa—I am being practical. Make a woman rich and she becomes a target.'

‘And make her poor and she becomes a puppet?' she retorted.

At this he gave a glimmer of a smile and leaned back in his chair—and maybe he had given some kind of sign to the staff because their untouched plates of fish were whisked away and Melissa's glass of water refreshed.

It was time to call her bluff, he thought.

‘Okay. Have it your way.' He laced his long fingers together and Melissa saw the shiny gold signet ring glinting on his little finger. ‘No marriage—if that's what you want.'

Now she felt as if she were in a hall of mirrors—where reality was distorted differently every time she tried to examine it. Melissa frowned. ‘But…but…you just said it was non-negotiable.'

‘And you charmingly responded by implying that I would have to drag you down the aisle.' His eyes tossed
her a silent, mocking challenge. ‘I agree, not exactly the best public relations exercise for Zaffirinthos. So we won't get married and obviously I
will
have to make some kind of financial provision for Ben. You'll need to live somewhere secure—because once it comes out that he's a royal baby you will be subjected to all kinds of inducements and attempts to exploit that.'

‘From
crazies
?' she echoed sarcastically.

Oh, but her defiance and her sharp tongue inflamed him! Would make his inevitable victory all the sweeter. ‘That's right.' Leaning back in his chair, he studied her. ‘And, naturally, we'll have to draw up some kind of legal settlement.'

‘Settlement?' A sense of wariness began to creep over her.

‘Of course.' He sent her a look of cool challenge. ‘While Ben can never be acknowledged as my
legal
heir because he is illegitimate—nonetheless I still wish to have an equal say in his upbringing.'

It was the word
illegitimate
which leapt out at her like a dark spectre. An old-fashioned word which wasn't used much any more because having a baby out of wedlock was no longer considered shameful in the way it had been in the bad old days. But Casimiro was making it
sound
shameful. Was that deliberate? she wondered.

‘Equal say?' she repeated, swallowing down the terrible nameless fear which was beginning to well up inside her. ‘Well, that
is
only fair, Melissa—and supremely modern. And presumably what you want.'

She was tempted to tell him not to presume anything about her but backbiting was a luxury she could
ill afford—not when she was desperately trying to keep her wits about her. Because it felt as if he was playing some kind of cruel and so phisticated game with her only he hadn't bothered to tell her the rules. Had he really said that he wanted to be fair and modern? Why, he was the least fair and modern man she'd ever met!

‘Ben will need to spend time with me,' he continued. ‘And of course, much of his schooling will need to be done on the island.'

‘His
schooling
?'

‘Where else will he learn to become fluent in Greek and Italian?' questioned Casimiro sardonically. ‘In Walton-on-Thames? He will also need to understand the island's culture since it is his heritage. Because when I
do
marry, any legitimate son I may have will inherit the crown—but Ben will always be able to play a significant role within the kingdom. If he wants to.'

Everything he had said to her was like being slapped in the face with a cold fish, but one phrase hit her with greater force than any other. So hard, it made her feel as if she were reeling from the impact. ‘M-marry?'

Casimiro understood perfectly the stuttered and horrified word for he knew that a woman's jealousy should never be underestimated. ‘If I'm staying on Zaffirinthos—which now I must—then I will need a wife.' He smiled. ‘And in a way, your refusal to marry me has liberated me. This way, I'll be able to find myself someone who's much more suitable. Someone who will care for and love Ben when he is staying with us.'

That did it. There were many disadvantages to bringing up a child on your own, but one of the benefits was
that you didn't have to share them—or not be able to see them 24/7. Melissa thought of another woman with Ben—being a pretend mother to him when she wasn't around. Tucking him up at bedtimes and holding onto his chubby little hand. Perhaps even witnessing his first faltering steps or hearing him stumble out new words. Her son enjoying a parallel life which didn't include
her
. Nausea rose in her throat and threatened to choke her.
Anything
would be better than that. Even marriage to Casimiro.

She looked at him across the table, some inner voice urging her to stay calm—because what if he turned round and told her that it was too late and he'd changed his mind?

‘Actually, Casimiro—when I come to think of it—perhaps I was a little…well,
hasty
.' Her fingers fluttered to the base of her throat where she could feel the mad racing of a pulse. ‘And perhaps, well, what I'm trying to say is that I
would
like to marry you, after all.'

He waited for a moment, just long enough to see anxiety cloud those bright green eyes—and then Casimiro lifted the linen napkin to his lips to hide his smile of triumph.

M
ELISSA'S
whole life changed from the moment she agreed to marry Casimiro. One minute she was struggling to pay the bills and the next she was deciding whether a white wedding would be hypocritical. She tried telling herself that it was the same for every newly engaged woman—but deep down she knew that her experience was entirely different.

Most women weren't tearing out their roots and moving to an unknown land—a Mediterranean island where she was to be crowned Queen. And most women wouldn't need to undergo a dramatic change of image before they walked down the aisle. To ‘look the part'—as Casimiro unemotionally informed her during that tense ride back to her apartment, after the fraught dinner when she'd agreed to be his wife.

‘I won't make any kind of announcement until you're ready, Melissa. Otherwise you won't know a moment's peace. The circus will start soon enough.'

One word had jarred—along with the fact that he had been sitting on the far side of the car seat as if to emphasise the great gulf between them. ‘
Ready?
'

He had turned to her, his face a series of shifting shadows combined with the occasional illumination of
a street light as the powerful car travelled towards her home.

‘But of course. You need to be prepared—and for that you will need an entirely new wardrobe. New everything, in fact—everything that will befit a queen. As will…' He had scowled. ‘Why on earth did you call him Ben?'

This had made Melissa bristle with indignation and hurt. ‘What's wrong with it? My maternal grandfather was called Benjamin—it's a lovely name!'

‘It is not the name of a king!'

‘Funny as it may seem, I wasn't actually thinking about his enthronement when I was giving birth to him!' She had been too scared at the enormity of what was happening and what lay ahead. Even when she had clutched the wet and shiny newborn to her breast she had wondered if she would ever be able to support him properly. Party planning wasn't the most secure career option in the book—everyone knew that.

Well, at least she now knew that Ben would never go short of anything—but at what price?

‘My brother's wife, Catherine—she will accompany you on a shopping trip,' Casimiro had continued. ‘As a royal princess herself, she will know exactly what it is you require.'

‘So you've…you've told her that we're engaged?'

‘We are not yet formally engaged, Melissa—not until I put the ring on your finger. Xaviero and Catherine have been informed that we are to marry, yes—but that was mainly out of courtesy. Nobody else knows. Not yet.'

Melissa had nodded and blurted out a still shell-shocked good night as the chauffeur opened the door
of the limousine. And the next day she was as nervous as a kitten as she waited for Princess Catherine by the perfume section in one of London's glitziest department stores, as arranged.

She didn't know what she had been expecting—maybe a rash of security guards crawling all over the place, a bit like the grand ball in Zaffirinthos. As it was, a petite and beautiful whirl wind of a woman appeared without any fuss or fanfare and embraced her as if they were old friends. Dressed in a simple cotton dress, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, she didn't look at all like a princess. Only the clutch of diamond bands which sparkled on her wedding finger gave any indication of her wealth or position.

‘Oh, it's always easy to go around London incognito,' she confided to Melissa as they headed straight for the designer floor of the store. ‘Though not so easy on Zaffirinthos, of course—which is one of the reasons we like living here in England. Although I have to admit that Xaviero got awfully homesick when we were there for the ball. Here.' She scooped an armful of evening dresses off one of the rails. ‘You'll need loads of these.'

It seemed to Melissa that she needed loads of everything—skirts, blouses, day-dresses, cocktail dresses, shoes, boots and handbags—and every single garment was made in the most costly fabric and to the highest possible standard. She didn't think she'd ever worn real silk before and now it seemed it was going to be the exclusive fabric for the underwear and night wear which she tried on with the guidance of an assistant while Catherine had a bubbling telephone conversation
with her husband. Blushing, she remembered Casimiro's cruel jibes when he'd seen her in her baggy T-shirt and wondered if he might approve of these.

They didn't even have to carry any of the numerous bags home—because Catherine ordered for them to be dispatched directly to Melissa's apartment.

‘You can sort them out from there,' she said breezily as they travelled by limousine to the fancy Granchester Hotel, where they were shown a window table over looking the park and where afternoon tea was laid out. ‘And get rid of all your old stuff while you're at it.'

As she was offered a choice between Lapsong or Earl Grey tea Melissa suddenly felt like a fraud. This woman was going to be her sister-in-law—was she going to have to pretend to be something she wasn't? And would Catherine be quite so friendly if she knew the truth about her?

‘I don't…I don't have very much room at home,' she admitted. ‘It's just…just a tiny place.'

Catherine looked at her. ‘I know it is,' she said softly. ‘And I also know about your doubts and your fears because I've had them, too. You see, I was a chambermaid when I met and fell in love with my husband.'

Melissa dropped her gaze to the dainty little sandwich which lay on her plate—terrified that Catherine would see the truth in her eyes. Because there hadn't been any falling in love with her and Casimiro. Nor anything like it. In fact, how had he so charmingly described it? Oh, yes—as ‘a few hours of snatched sex'. What kind of a basis was that for a marriage—any marriage—let alone one where they would be the focus of so many eyes?

Catherine leaned across the table and squeezed her
hand. ‘You'll be
fine
. It's just wonderful to think I'm going to have a sister-in-law who's English, too—and that you will make Casimiro as happy as Xav and I have been.' She lowered her voice. ‘To be honest, we were really worried—for a while back there it looked like Casimiro wouldn't find the right woman at all, and Xaviero got this funny feeling that he might be about to renounce the throne.'

‘Really?' questioned Melissa tentatively. ‘Did they talk about it?'

‘Oh, no. As brothers they've never really communicated that much.' Catherine looked at her with hopeful aqua marine eyes. ‘But maybe that will all change now. There's nothing like marriage to soften the heart of a hard man.'

Melissa didn't like to disillusion Catherine by telling her that there was unlikely to be any softening effect from her own cold-blooded union with the King. And could he really have been planning to abdicate in favour of his brother without even bothering to
tell
him? Surely even he couldn't be that arrogant? But then she thought about the clever and cold-blooded way he had manipulated her into marrying him and she thought that maybe he could.

The following day she took Ben to the same shop and kitted him out with a wardrobe fit for a prince. She enjoyed this expedition much more—because this was every mother's dream and her curly-headed son soon had all the shop assistants eating out of his hand.

The hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to her aunt Mary, who received the news that her niece was about to become a queen with remarkable composure,
congratulating Melissa and telling her that she'd lived too long to be surprised by anything. But she was going to miss Ben, of course.

‘I do wish you'd come out to Zaffirinthos,' Melissa said with soft yearning in her voice, knowing she could never tell her beloved aunt the truth behind Casimiro's cruel marital ultimatum. ‘Come out and look after Ben and let me look after you.'

‘And sure aren't I coming out to help when you marry that handsome King of yours?'

‘I meant after that. Permanently. You could have a wonderful life there, Auntie—I know you could.'

But Aunt Mary had been adamant. She had seen too many marriages get off to a bad start because of the interference from older relatives, she said. And besides—what would she do all day in a great big palace?

People are intimidated by the life I am entering
, Melissa realised as she waited in her little apartment for Casimiro to collect her. He was taking her from her old life to the new and unknown one which awaited her on Zaffirinthos. And where the King was that night recording a television broad cast to his nation. For he had decided that the only way to present their wedding to the world was openly and honestly. To tell his people that he took his responsibilities seriously—and to introduce them to his son and bride-to-be.

There was a tap at the door and she pulled it open to find Casimiro standing there. He was wearing a dark suit which looked terribly formal and had instructed her to dress in something ‘suitable for a royal engagement'. She had taken Catherine's advice on what this should be, but now she wasn't too sure.

The cut of the green brocade dress and matching jacket was more severe than her usual style and the accompanying jade shoes a little high. So high, in fact, that they made her tower. She was a tall woman anyway, and most men would have been dwarfed by the additional height—though not Casimiro. But these put her almost at eye-level to him. Tall enough to look into the cool golden gleam of his eyes—and to realise just how emotionless those eyes were.

She saw him look down at Ben, who was sitting on a blanket bashing a wooden spoon against an old saucepan in an apartment he would never see again. All bound for his new life in smart little navy shorts and an embroidered poplin shirt—his curls looking like a shiny black mop.

‘Doesn't he look gorgeous?' she said, her voice choked with quiet pride and the sudden savage wrench she felt at having to say goodbye to England.

Casimiro glanced down at the infant, who was oblivious to the machinations of the adults around him. Whose life would never be the same again. He was making some primitive-sounding singing noises as he banged the spoon against the metal. His perfect skin had a faint olive tinge to it and you could see the chubby symmetry of each tiny limb. How was it possible that this child had sprung from his loins? Casimiro wondered disbelievingly as he felt a strange clenching sensation around his heart.

Melissa watched them. For a moment, Casimiro seemed about to step forward—something in his body language suggesting that he might be about to pick Ben up—and Melissa willed him to make contact.
Touch your son
, she urged him silently—
touch your son and
begin to love him
. But the moment passed and he seemed to change his mind, lifting his gaze to her instead. A gaze which seemed to her to contain nothing other than slightly cool censure.

‘He'll need to get his hair cut before the wedding,' he said.

Hot tears threatened to spring to her eyes, but she blinked them away before they'd had a chance to form. Of all the things to say at the beginning of this new life with his son! It had sounded like a criticism of both Ben
and
her.
He will not cut his curls
, thought Melissa fiercely—but even she could see that having a row just before she stepped into the public spot light was a bad idea.

Instead she conjured up a faltering smile from somewhere and drew a deep breath. ‘So…this is it?'

‘This is it.' He looked down into her pale, heart-shaped face—against which her eyes looked in tensely green. Her lips were parted and gleaming, as if they wanted to be kissed, and suddenly he thought about all the many pleasurable opportunities that this marriage would bring with it. He would be able to make love to her over and over again, he realised—as many times as he wanted. As many times as she wanted…

Leaning forward, he grazed his mouth almost negligently over hers, feeling her own tremble against the brush of his flesh. For a moment he kissed her deeply until he heard her make a broken little sigh, and when he pulled away from her it was to see the unmistakable disappointment which had clouded her eyes.

‘Oh,' she whispered, unable to keep the note of frustration from her voice.

As a demonstration of his power over her, it was perfect. Casimiro smiled—even though he was aching to possess her once more. ‘Didn't you scold me the other day for trying to make love to you while our son slept next door?' he chided softly.

Instead, he withdrew a leather box from his pocket and flipped open the lid to reveal a diamond solitaire ring of such startling clarity and brilliance that for a moment Melissa couldn't quite believe her eyes.

‘Is it real?' She forced the joke out like trying to squeeze the last little bit of tooth paste from the tube, but there was no answering smile on his face.

‘Oh, it's the real thing,' he answered unevenly—because even he couldn't deny its emotional significance. ‘It was my mother's engagement ring.'

‘Your mother's?' A moment of memory took her right back to a time when he'd caught her crying over her own mother, when he'd offered her a lift to stop the rain getting in her cheap shoes. What wouldn't she give for a moment like that now—in exchange for all the glittering jewels in the world?

‘A rare Calistan diamond,' he continued, concentrating on the gem rather than on her question as he prised it from its velvet claws. ‘De-flawless and perfect. You will never wear fake jewellery again, Melissa.'

But a chill passed over her heart as he slid the ring onto her trembling finger. She was about to get married to a man who saw her simply as a commodity—and it occurred to Melissa that she'd never felt so fake in her whole life.