His Majesty's Mistake

He sipped his coffee and returned the cup to the saucer. “Is that how it was?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting, but not true. It was a scene in the salon yesterday, and your mother showed a side of her personality that I’ve never seen before, and hope to never see again, but Emmeline, you’re mistaken if you thought I felt powerless. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

For a moment she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “What?”

“I knew what I was doing when I left your bedroom. I fully intended to speak for you.”

“But you did it out of pity,” she whispered, suddenly chilled. “You did it because you couldn’t bear not to do anything.”

He looked at her long and hard, his dense black lashes concealing his expression. “You still have it wrong. I didn’t do it because I couldn’t bear not to do anything. I did it because I could do something. And I wanted to do something.”

“But how does it help?”

“Because it changes everything. It gives your baby a name and a family. By marrying me, your child will have legitimacy, security and respect. He or she will want for nothing.”

“Except your love.”

“You can’t say that. You don’t know that.”

“But I do. I was a baby adopted by well-meaning people, and they gave me every material thing they could, but it was never enough. I never felt wanted. I never felt loved. And I won’t do that to my child. Not ever!”

Emmeline didn’t wait for him to respond. She turned and practically ran, dashing down the terrace steps to the stretch of emerald lawn. She hurried across the lawn, her high heels sinking into the grass with every step, her emotions wildly chaotic.

When she turned and disappeared around a tall yew hedge, the grass gave way to gravel and the path led to the rose garden and Emmeline let out a hiccup of sound.

She hated him, hated him, hated him!

How could he do this to her? She’d trusted him. Trusted him to protect her.

Emmeline blinked back tears and walked in circles around the rose garden, but her quick steps failed to soothe her. Her emotions ran even hotter.

She felt betrayed by Makin. Worse, she knew he was right.

Marrying him would change everything.

Marrying him guaranteed her child a life of unknown luxury and protection. There would be private jets and private schools and round-the-clock security. The baby would be envied, admired, doted on by all simply because he or she was Sheikh Al-Koury’s child.

Amazing what money and power could do.

And she’d be a fool to walk away from that kind of power and security just because she wanted more. Because she needed love.

Emmeline swallowed hard, torn between the knowledge that Makin could provide a good life for her child and the desire to be free and independent, aware that freedom and independence would come with a price.

People would talk. People could be cruel. People could make her baby’s life a living hell.

Emmeline paused, her gaze skimming the rosebushes. It was too early and cool yet for the roses to be in bloom and they still looked sharp and thorny, still shorn from the pruning they’d had several months before. She felt like the rosebushes—bare, prickly, unlovable.

“I’m not King William.” Makin’s deep voice came from behind her, at the entrance to the rose garden, and he sounded furious. “Nor am I Queen Claire. I am Makin Tahnoon Al-Koury, and I am here because I choose to be here. I didn’t have to fly to Brabant with you. I could have put you on the plane and sent you off. But I didn’t. I wanted to travel to the palace with you. I wanted to be there when you announced you were pregnant—”

“You wanted to see me humiliated?”

“No. I wanted to make sure you were all right. And when I listened to your mother tear you apart yesterday, I realized you needed me. You needed someone to stand up to her and tell her to back off. You needed someone to believe in you. Someone to protect you. And I can. And I will.”

“But why? You might be altruistic when it comes to third-world nations, but you’ve no patience with spoiled, cosseted, self-indulgent royals like me.”

“Obviously, I didn’t know you. I thought I did, but I was wrong. But now that I do know you, there’s so much to like—”

“Like, not love. You don’t love me. You don’t. And you can’t pretend you do.”

His silver-gray gaze raked over her, from the top of her pale golden head to the tips of her dark heels. “I don’t have to love you to want you.” He paused to allow his words to register, his expression intense. “And I do.”

She stared at him, her heart starting to race. “You mean. my body.”