Scandals Of The Crown: The Life She Left Behind / The Price of Royal Duty / The Sheikh's Heir

Lust leached from him as he looked down at her flat stomach. A sense of surreal awe filling him. She was carrying his baby. Their baby.

He’d thought about children, in terms of heirs and fulfilled duty. But he’d never thought about what it would really mean to create a child. To have a baby that was part of him, part of its mother. Part of Angelina.

If they had a daughter, would she have her mother’s red hair? Or would his Middle Eastern heritage dominate? He’d never given time to such thoughts before. And now he seemed to be bogged down by them.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, releasing his hold on her completely and taking a step back. It was no longer desire that was trying to strangle him.

She swallowed visibly. “Yes. That is why I’m here.”

“But…you’re having a baby.”

“That’s what pregnant means,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m a wreck, actually, Taj, but thank you for asking.”

He frowned. “What has wrecked you?”

“I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. I slept with a guy, that’s you, with no protection and there’s no excuse for that. None.”

“It was my responsibility. I failed. You were…you were a virgin,” he said.

“So? I didn’t live under a rock. I know how things work. I know about being responsible and I wasn’t.”

“Desire gets the best of people sometimes.” It had certainly gotten the best of him. For the past three years it had gotten the best of him.

She shook her head. “I suppose that’s true. Because there is no other explanation for it.”

She turned to walk out of the room and he felt something large, indefinable, squeezing his chest. “Do you regret it, Angelina?”

She stopped, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t know yet,” she said, her voice quiet.

He vowed right then that she would never regret it. Not if he could help it.

Chapter Six (#u3deddbef-46f5-59cf-a22b-7d90f6eda70b)

It was only six in the morning and already the temperature was rising. The palace was cool, but stifling, the walls feeling like they were closing in on her. She doubted she would ever get used to this place. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide.

It wasn’t an option.

Taj had sent dressers to her room this morning with beautiful silk gowns in bright colors. They were cut into Western styles but bore beautiful Eastern influences. They were fit for the Queen of Rahat, one of the women said.

And they were right. But she wondered if it was the mistresses of Rahat who had worn them before. If they’d been used by other women. The idea made her skin itch. Made her feel violently possessive and jealous in a way she had no right feeling.

She’d run away from being Queen of Rahat once. Now it seemed she was trapped.

“Sheikh Taj is on his way,” the other woman said. “You are meeting the press this morning and he would like to make sure you are prepared.”

Her stomach sank, a faint impression of nausea wrapping itself around her. “You can tell him that I would rather have bamboo shoots shoved up my fingernails,” she muttered.

“Noted.”

She turned and saw Taj standing in the doorway. She froze and her two aids bent their heads and scurried out of the room.

“Did you bring bamboo, sugar?” she asked, turning her Texas drawl up a notch.

“I thought perhaps you would prefer tea,” he said, lifting a delicate china cup up to chest level. “It’s green tea, no caffeine. I thought it might be preferable to torture.”

“Tea, yes, a meet-the-press moment, no.”

“Our engagement must be announced.”

She wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to keep from falling apart. “I haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours.”

“We’ll need to marry before it becomes obvious you’re pregnant.”

“I forgot you’re traditional around here.”

“Show me the royal family that disregards such traditions completely. Have they disregarded them in Santina?”

Angelina thought of Princess Carlotta, of the shame the press had put her through for having a child out of wedlock. Even now, years after the fact, it marked her. Marked her entire existence, and the existence of her son. “No.”

“Then do not play like Rahat is such an anomaly. We have traditions to uphold, certain expectations we must meet. You will become accustomed to it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she said, her voice hardly achieving the volume of a whisper.

When he responded, his tone was surprisingly gentle. “What other option is there, Angelina?”

She could leave. She could go into hiding. Hope that he never found her. She could take her child away from his father; she could steal her child’s birthright. Deny it the chance to be royalty, the first born of a king.

Yes, she could do that. But it would be wrong. It would be selfish. If Taj were a bad man, if he were incapable of being a good father, of loving their child, then maybe it would be excusable. But the fact was, he was just as likely to be a good parent as she was.

The look on his face after dinner last night, when his eyes had fallen to his stomach, had nearly brought her to her knees. There had been tenderness there, a longing that had made her chest ache in response.

No, she could not take Taj’s child from him. She couldn’t take her baby from his father.

And that meant, no matter how much it sucked for her, she had to stick it out.

She met Taj’s eyes and her heart tripped and fell over itself. There were certain things that wouldn’t be a hardship. Being with Taj…it had been incredible. Unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

He had been as amazing as she’d imagined. No, even more amazing.

But she was afraid of what he made her feel, too. Afraid of getting involved with him again. Afraid of loving him again.

He was arrogant and entitled, with strong and proud tendencies when he was angry. Loving him should take effort. Yet, she found it was a lot harder to stop herself from loving him. And that was just stupid.

“There is no other option,” she said.