Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage

‘I imagine he’d be grateful to learn he has some family,’ Leo replied, his tone still cool.

‘He has my mother—’

‘On his father’s side. But you’ve never even told Christian about Anders, have you? He doesn’t even know that his father is—was—a prince.’

‘And why should he?’ Phoebe flashed. ‘Anders abdicated the throne and had no interest in being a father to Christian. We’re far better here in New York with our friends and family. My mother has been a doting grandmother to Christian, and he’s wanted for nothing.’

Leo merely arched one eyebrow in silent scepticism, making Phoebe fume. ‘You don’t need to live in a palace or ride in a Rolls-Royce to be considered cared for, you know,’ she snapped. ‘Christian has had a perfectly acceptable and happy childhood—’

‘He is the son of a prince, descended from royalty,’ Leo said quietly. ‘And you don’t think he should know?’

‘None of you wanted to know,’ Phoebe returned. ‘Not once—’

‘Ah, but you see, we didn’t know about Christian,’ Leo told her softly. ‘By the time he’d made an appearance, you’d already separated from Anders—or should I say he separated from you? Either way, you disappeared from his life. And the royal family had no interest in you … until we learned you had a child. How old is he, Phoebe? Five, six?’

‘Five.’ Almost six, but she wasn’t about to tell that to Leo. Let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted.

Leo paused, took a step closer. ‘You must have fallen pregnant right away. Or did it happen after he left you? You were together for how long? A few weeks?’

‘A little over a month,’ she answered tightly.

‘What happened, Phoebe?’ Leo asked, his voice as soft as a caress. ‘Did Anders smile and say sorry as he always did? Did he make it up to you?’ Another step and she could feel his breath on her cheek, felt his hand touch her shoulder, trailing his fingers, and even now she felt a sharp, unwanted pang of need—desire—at the simple touch. She shrugged away. ‘Is that how Christian came about?’

‘It’s absolutely no concern of yours,’ she said coldly. The last thing she wanted Leo to know was the truth of Christian’s birth. Let him believe she’d, however briefly, made up with Anders. The idea was repellent, but so was the alternative … Leo knowing the truth.

‘Perhaps not,’ Leo agreed, ‘but the fact remains that Christian is my concern, or at least my uncle, the king’s.’

‘No.’ The word was torn from her, and Phoebe turned to see Leo looking at her again with a strange compassion that rested oddly on the harshly beautiful features of his face. She wasn’t used to seeing a gentler emotion softening his mouth, lighting his eyes. She didn’t like it and she didn’t trust it.

‘Yes,’ he corrected her softly, spreading his hands for a moment before dropping them again, ‘and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The words buzzed like flies in Phoebe’s brain and she tasted bile. She wasn’t ready for this, she realised. She didn’t have the strength for a second round with Leo. She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I’d like to check on Christian,’ she said, and was glad her voice was steady. ‘Alone. And then we can continue this conversation.’

Something sparked in Leo’s eyes, something almost like admiration or at least a certain grudging respect, and he inclined his head. ‘Very well.’ He moved to the door and pressed an unseen button. Within seconds a dark-suited official entered almost soundlessly. Leo spoke to the official in Danish, and Phoebe could only make out a few words.

‘Sven will take you upstairs,’ Leo told her. ‘When you are satisfied Christian is comfortable, we will continue.’

Phoebe nodded, turning to follow Sven. Leo had turned his back on her and was pouring himself another drink, staring out at the black night as if he too was seeking answers in the darkness.

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Leo took a strong swallow of his drink, the alcohol burning all the way to his gut. He needed the sensation, the sedation from feeling. Remembering.

Regretting.

Anders was dead. That was enough to damn him. Dead. A wasted, reckless life, and not once had Leo tried to rein him in, teach him control. No, that hadn’t been his job. His job, Leo acknowledged sourly, had been to stay out of the way, to be the unneeded spare, and of course to keep Anders happy. Entertained.

It hadn’t been very much of a job.

Even now Leo remembered the slow burn of constant dismissals and rejection. Stay out of the way, Leo. Be quiet and do what you’re told. Do not anger the king … His mother’s pleas, the desperate attempts of a woman who had been cast off by the royal family as soon as she’d been made a widow. She hadn’t wanted the same fate for Leo.

So his fate—his duty—had been to exist as Anders’s older shadow. He’d accompanied his cousin on his escapades and he’d enjoyed them himself and now …

Now those days were over, and his duty lay elsewhere.

Leo turned away from the window, impatient with his own maudlin reflections. He thought of Phoebe, felt a flicker of reluctant admiration for her strength and courage, even though she was clearly shocked by Anders’s death … and its repercussions. Sometimes, Leo thought, he wondered if they’d ever be free of Anders’s repercussions, the messes he made, the people he disappointed.

And Phoebe and her son were just another problem Leo had to solve. Leo took another long swallow of brandy and closed his eyes. He knew what was required of him; the king had made it clear. Bring the son, pay off the girl. So simple. So cold-hearted. So treacherous.

Already he doubted the success of such a plan. Phoebe showed a fierce and unwavering loyalty to her child, and no doubt an offer of cold cash would enrage her, as it had before, and entrench her even more deeply in her disgust of Amarnes and its royal family. A subtler tactic was needed, a more sophisticated deceit.

He needed to keep her pliable, sweet, until he could decide just what he would do with her. What he wanted to do with her … Leo felt a tightening in his gut as he thought of how she responded to his lightest touch … She was so transparent in her desire. And yet he felt it as well, deep inside, a need …

He pushed the thought—as well as the feeling—away. He couldn’t afford to desire Phoebe. She was a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be dealt with, just as she’d surmised all those years ago. Even now he remembered every word of the conversation, could feel the smooth silk of her skin against his questing hand …

No. He clamped down on the thought, straightening his shoulders, and tossed back the last of his brandy. As the first stars began to glimmer in the sky, he considered his next move.

CHAPTER FOUR

PHOEBE followed Sven up the thickly carpeted stairs, the long velvet curtains drawn against the night. Everything was silent and still, hushed and muted, so she could hear the relentless drumming of her own heart, loud in her ears.

Sven came to the end of an upstairs corridor and opened the door.

‘Mommy!’ Christian sprang up from where he’d been sitting with a scattered pile of Lego.

‘Having fun?’ Phoebe asked lightly, even as her arms ached to clasp her son to her in a tight hug and never let him go. Dash out of the consulate and run from the ever-grasping claws of the royal family, with their power and their ruthless arrogance.

‘Yes …’ Christian admitted a bit grudgingly. Looking around the room, Phoebe could see that was indeed the case. The sumptuous carpet was scattered with Lego and action heroes, and a pile of Christian’s favorite DVDs rested by the large-screen plasma TV.

‘Can we go?’ Christian asked, and Phoebe saw him chew nervously on his lip. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘You can have dinner here,’ Phoebe suggested. ‘I’m sure they’ll let you order whatever you like. You can have that pizza you wanted.’

‘Of course,’ Nora murmured.

‘But I want to go now …’

So do I, Phoebe thought grimly, but she simply rested a hand lightly on Christian’s head, resisting yet again the urge to grab him and run. ‘Soon, I promise. Why don’t you watch a DVD?’ She gestured towards the huge television. ‘You’ve been asking for one of those for ages.’

‘I don’t want to watch a DVD,’ Christian said at his most obstinate, and Phoebe sighed, crouching down so she was at eye-level. ‘Christian, I’m sorry, but we have to stay a bit longer. I told you I had some business to take care of, and it will be finished—soon. I need to talk to—to Prince Leopold for a few more minutes—’

‘Prince?’ Christian repeated, his voice sharpening with curiosity and then, worse, realisation. ‘Like the prince on TV? The one who died?’

Phoebe silently cursed her son’s mental agility. ‘Ye-es,’ she agreed reluctantly, adding a caveat, ‘sort of.’

‘You know a prince,’ Christian said, sounding impressed, and then he actually puffed out his chest. ‘And so do I.’

‘A prince with a big-screen TV,’ Phoebe reminded him, desperate for a diversion. ‘I’ll just be a few more minutes, OK?’

‘OK.’ Christian nodded slowly, won over by the promise of pizza and a DVD.