Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

‘Love changes everything.’

Damn it—he’d stake his fortune on the sincerity in her voice, and there was that irrational nip of jealousy again.

‘So, yes,’ she continued, ‘I met Sam and I decided to take a break, and the break has extended to a couple of years. Simple. No mystery. That’s what you came here to discover.’

Now her tone had lost the fervour of truth—he was nearly sure of it.

‘You promise?’ The words were foolish, but he couldn’t hold them back.

She nodded. ‘I promise...’

He studied her expression, saw the hint of trouble in her eyes and in the twist of her fingers under the table.

‘No scandal will break over Lycander.’

‘Then my work here is done.’

Yet an odd reluctance pulled at him as he rose from the chair and looked down at her, sure now that there was more than a hint of trouble in her eyes. Not his business. She’d made a promise and he believed her. He had a country to run, a destiny to fulfil...

‘I wish you well, Sunita. I’m glad you’ve found happiness.’

‘I wish you well too.’

In one lithe movement she stood and stretched out a hand, caught his sleeve, stood on tiptoe and brushed his cheek with her lips. Memory slammed into him—her scent, the silken touch of her hair against his skin—and it took all his powers of self-control not to tug her into his arms. Instead, he forced his body to remain still, to accept the kiss in the spirit it was being given—whatever that might be—though he was pretty damn sure from the heat that touched her cheeks that she wasn’t sure either.

‘I...goodbye.’ Once again her hands twisted together as she watched him.

‘Goodbye, Sunita.’

He headed for the door, stopped at her audible intake of breath, half turned as she said his name.

‘Yes?’

‘It...it doesn’t matter. It was good to see you again.’

That only confirmed that she had intended to say something else, but before he could respond Sam entered and glanced at them both. ‘All OK?’

‘Everything is fine.’ Sunita’s voice was over-bright now. ‘Frederick is just leaving.’

Minutes later he was in a taxi, headed back to the hotel. But as the journey progressed doubts hustled and bustled and crowded his brain. Something was wrong. He had no idea what, and it most likely had nothing to do with him. Quite possibly he had the wrong end of the stick. Undoubtedly wisdom dictated that he should not get involved. Sunita was more than capable of looking out for herself, and she had Sam to turn to. But what if Sam was the problem?

Hell.

Leaning forward, he gave the driver Sunita’s address.

* * *

Damn it all to hell and back! Sunita strode the length of her lounge and resisted the urge to kick a bright red bean bag across the room. Venting wouldn’t stem the onrush, the sheer onslaught of guilt, the veritable tsunami of distaste with herself.

Why, why, why had he turned up? Not telling Frederick for two years had been hard enough—lying directly to Frederick’s face was another ballgame altogether. Especially as it was a face that mirrored Amil’s—the angle of his cheekbone, the colour of his eyes, the subtle nuances that couldn’t be ignored.

The guilt kept rolling on in and her stride increased. Focus. Concentrate on all the sensible, logical justifications for her actions.

The decision to keep Amil a secret had been one of the toughest she had ever faced, but it was a decision she still believed to be right. She’d done her research: the Lycanders had a track record of winning custody of their children and hanging the mothers out to dry.

Frederick’s father, Prince Alphonse, had fathered five children by four wives; his first wife had died, but he’d fought and won vicious custody battles against all the other three.

Ah, pointed out her conscience, but Alphonse is dead, and in any case Frederick is Amil’s father.