The Future King's Pregnant Mistress

He turned his thoughts back to his grandfather; despite his frustration with the older mans arrogant and domineering attitude, he was very aware that the king was not in the best of health. He must continue to temper his reaction to him as much as he could. But it wasn't easy.

‘Emily, why don't you go and see your doctor?' Jemma suggested, her face shadowed with concern as she studied Emily's wan complexion.

‘There's no need for that. It's as I've said before—it's just that virus hanging around.' Emily explained tiredly. The doctor will only tell me to take some paracetamol, and that it's bound to wear off soon.'

'You've been sick every morning this week, and now you've left your lunch. You look exhausted.’

‘I need a holiday, some sunshine to perk me up a bit that's all.' Emily replied lightly. She didn't want to continue this discussion, but she didn't want to hurt Jemma's feelings either; she knew her assistant was genuinely concerned about her.

‘You certainly need something—or someone,' Jemma agreed forthrightly, leaving Emily regretting that she had ever allowed her guard to slip and admit that she was missing Marco.

‘Why don't I pop across the road and bring you back a sandwich and a cup of coffee?’ Jemma suggested.

‘Coffee?’ Emily shuddered with revulsion. The very thought made her feel nauseous. ‘I couldn't face it.’ she protested. Just thinking about the smell makes me feel sick.’

‘I think you're right about you needing a holiday.’ Jemma told her firmly.

Emily gave her a forced smile. The truth was what she needed and wanted more than anything else was Marco—Marco's arms—to hold her close. Marcos body next to hers in bed at night and, most of all, Marco's love, and the knowledge that it would last a lifetime. But she wasn't going to be given any of those. She hadn't realised just how hard it would be for her after their relationship had ended.

The emotional pain she was suffering now was almost unendurable; it tore through her emotions like a fever in her blood, burning up her immunity. Every night when she went to bed she told herself that it couldn't get any worse and that soon she would start to feel better. But every morning when she woke up it was worse. She hated herself for wanting him like this after the way he had deceived her. However, hating herself couldn't stop her from loving him...

The business that had brought Marco to London had been concluded, and the first consignment of the generators he'd bought at his own expense were already on their way to the airport to be flown out by a cargo plane to Niroli. He had been on his way back to his hotel when, for no logical reason he could find, he had leaned forward and told the cab driver he had changed his mind, then given him the address of Emily's small shop in Chelsea. He didn't owe her anything; she had refused to let him fully explain to her that his decision to conceal his real identity had been one he had made long before he had met her. Sleeping dogs were best left to lie and anyway, their relationship would have had to end sooner or later.

Marco’s purchase of the generators would infuriate his grandfather, as would the knowledge that he was seeing Emily, he acknowledged as he paid the cab fare and looked along the pretty Chelsea street basking in afternoon sunshine. So was that why he was here? To infuriate his grandfather? Marcos mouth curled in sardonic awareness. The days when he had been immature enough to need to infuriate the man he had seen as an unwanted authority figure were long gone.

No. he didn't want to upset his grandfather at all. But he was not quite ready to let go or move on. Therefore a little reinforcement to him of the fact that Marco wasn't going to be dictated to wouldn't do any harm. Plus, he liked the idea of dealing with two separate issues at a single stroke—Emily had walked out on him without giving him the chance to explain his situation to her rationally. She owed him that opportunity and his pride demanded that she retract the contemptuously angry insults she had thrown at him.

That was what had brought him here: his own pride. And no one not his grandfather, and certainly not Emily herself, was going to stop him from seeing her and demanding that his pride was satisfied. And his body, which needed satisfaction so desperately? Any woman could provide him with that! Marco dismissed the throb that was increasing with every step that took him closer to Emily.

No way would he ever allow one woman to dominate his senses to that extent. He could see into the window of her shop-cum-showroom from where he was standing. The simple elegance of the set Emily had created was both immediately refreshing and soothing on his eye. She had a remarkable, indeed an inspired, gift for transforming the dull and utilitarian. His Niroli villa could certainly do with her skills!