The Future King's Pregnant Mistress

‘What, reward them for their rebelliousness and their disrespect? They need teaching a lesson, not to be indulged.'

‘Have a care. Grandfather.’ Marco warned. 'Feed their sense of injustice by imposing your royal will, and in the end we will all pay a heavy price’

'Bah...! You are too soft, too much the modern liberal. You cannot rule Niroli like that, Marco. You rule it like this!’ The old king closed his fist and banged it down hard on the table in front of him. ‘By letting them know what it is to fear your anger.’

As he had learned to fear his grandfather's anger as a child? As his son would be forced to learn to fear it? Marco was filled with a sense of revulsion. He had returned to Niroli committed to working to improve things for its people, but now he was beginning to question his ability to do that. With his grandfather so opposed to the changes he wanted to make, and his own views so diametrically opposed to the kings, weren't they more likely to tear Niroli apart between them than anything else? Perhaps Emily was right to refuse to allow their child to be brought up here?

Marco closed his eyes, deep in thought. No. his son should be here because he his father, was here. Emily would have to accept his determination to play his royal role, whether she liked it or not...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EMILY sat huddled in the squashy, cream-ticking-covered chair in the pretty sitting room of her Chelsea home, staring numbly at the letter she was holding. Not that she needed to read it again. She knew its every word off by heart, she had read it so many times since it had arrived two days ago: the consultant at the hospital where she had been for her twenty-week pregnancy scan wanted her to return, so that they could do a further test.

She had of course rung the hospital the moment she had received the summons, and the nurse she had spoken to had assured her that there was no need for her to worry. But Emily was very worried. In fact, she was worried sick, reliving over and over again that tell-tale moment during the ultrasound when the young operative had suddenly hesitated and then looked uncertainly at Emily before carrying on. Nothing had been said; she knew the scan had shown that her baby had all the right number of fingers and toes, and had even confirmed her belief that she was carrying Marcos son.

If she hadn't received the letter requesting her to go back, she suspected she would never have given the girl's hesitation another thought. Why had she hesitated? Was there something wrong with her baby? Oh. please God don't let there be! Was she being punished because of what she had done? Because she had left Niroli? Because she was deliberately planning to lock Marco out of their sons life?

But that was to protect the baby, not punish Marco, she protested to herself. The sound of someone ringing her doorbell brought her out of her painful thoughts: it would be Jemma. The shock of being requested to return for a second scan had brought home to her how alone in the world she was and upset her so much that she had unburdened herself to her friend and assistant. As a result Jemma had started to adopt an almost maternal attitude towards her and had insisted she would accompany her to her repeat scan.

Smoothing down the skirt of the loose linen dress she was wearing. Emily got up to answer the door. Whilst she had been on Niroli a heatwave had come to the city and. at first, when she opened the door the light pouring in from the fashionable London street outside dazzled her so much that she thought she must be imagining things: it couldn't possibly be Marco who was standing on her immaculate doorstep, the formality of his dark business suit a perfect foil for the bright red of the geraniums that filled the elegant containers that flanked the entrance.

But it was Marco, and he was stepping into her hallway and closing the door behind him looking just as impressive against the interiors old-English-white walls as he had done outside.

For a while after her return from Niroli she had barely slept for fear that he would come after her and demand she go back. But there had been no sign of him. Then, the arrival of the letter had given her something much more worrying to keep her awake at night. Her heart was thumping in jerky uncoordinated beats; he had brought with him in the hallway, not just his presence, but also his scent. Helpless tears of longing pricked in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Is this what you're planning to take to the hospital?' Without waiting for her response. Marco leaned down to pick up the pale straw basket into which she had packed everything she thought she might need.

‘The hospital?' Her voice faltered she was shocked by those words, her face nearly as pale as her hall walls.

‘I've just been round to the shop. Jemma told me about the scan. I've got a cab waiting. Where are your keys?'