Royal Baby. Trish Morey

to lose something you’d never had, and Prince Eduardo had never been part of his life.

      But his mother was a different matter. Louisa had loved Montvelatte and had talked endlessly of scented orange groves, of colourful vines, of herb bushes tangy with the spray of sea, and of mountainsides covered with flowers amidst the olive trees that she would never see again.

      She’d never forgotten the small island nation that had been her home for twenty-one years and that had spat her out, sending her into exile for the rest of her too short existence.

      Yannis was right. It had always been her dream to return. It had never happened in her lifetime, but maybe this was his chance to make it happen for her in spirit.

       Merda!

      Sienna emerged from the bathroom ready for work and wearing a frown. They’d made love so quickly—too quickly for either of them to have given a thought about protection. The risks of pregnancy were low, it was late in her cycle, but there were still risks and she couldn’t help but regret her decision not to renew her prescription for the pill when her course had expired last month. At the time there hadn’t seemed much point and finding a new doctor with everything else going on had been the last thing on her mind. She now wished she’d thought about it.

      And at the risk of making her even later for work, she couldn’t leave without at least broaching the subject.

      ‘We need to talk,’ she said, registering that he’d finished the call as she gathered up the last of her things and stashed them in her bag. She turned when he didn’t respond. He was still sitting on the bed with his back to her, his head in his hands, a picture of such utter desolation that she would never have recognised him if she hadn’t known it was him. His air of authority was gone. His power gone. Instead he wore a cloak of vulnerability so heavy that she felt the weight of it herself. ‘What is it?’ she asked, drawing closer but afraid to touch him, afraid she might feel the pain that was torturing him. ‘What’s wrong? Is this about that news report, about Montvelatte?’

      For heavy seconds he didn’t move, didn’t speak—then finally let out his breath in a rush as he lifted his head, his fingers working hard at his temples.

      ‘What do you know of the island?’ Rafe asked, without looking around.

      Sienna shrugged, thrown by the question. But at least he was talking to her and she knew that the pain would be lesser if he did. She rounded the bed and knelt alongside him on the dishevelled linen, finally game to put a hand to him, sliding her hands over his shoulders, feeling the tension tight and knotted under her fingers, trying to massage it away with the stroke of her thumbs. ‘What does anyone know? Other than it’s a small island in the Mediterranean, famous for both its stunning scenery and the string of casinos that have made it rich. A Mecca for tourists and gamblers alike.’

      He snorted dismissively and twisted then, capturing one hand in his and pulling it to his mouth and pressing it to his lips. Hardly a kiss—his fingers were so tight around hers they hurt, his dark eyes almost black. ‘And for gangsters, it turns out. Apparently they’ve been laundering drug money through the casinos ever since Prince Carlo took the crown five years ago.’

      Behind him the clock continued to advance and she cursed inwardly. She had to get to work. It had taken some doing to land the job with Sapphire Blue Charter, only her ability to speak French and three superb references winning her the contract and making up for her being a woman, and an Australian to boot, but she was still under probation. The way she was going this morning she’d be lucky if she still had a job by the time she got to the airport. But she couldn’t leave him, not like this. ‘It still doesn’t make sense. They’ve arrested the Prince and his brother in front of the entire world’s media over unproven money-laundering charges? Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty?’

      Rafe swept from the bed then, grabbing his jeans, quickly dropping those in favour of a snow-white robe that he wrapped and lashed around himself and that showed his olive skin and dark features to perfection. Through the vast expanse of window behind him it seemed the entire city of Paris was laid out like a glorious offering, the Eiffel Tower the centre-point in a brand new morning, but it was the fiery glare from his eyes that demanded her full attention.

      ‘I didn’t say they’d been arrested over the money-laundering charges.’

      ‘Then why?’

      ‘Because now they’ve been linked to the death of the former Prince.’

      For a moment she was shocked into silence, her mind busy recalling the history she knew of the tiny principality. ‘But Prince Eduardo drowned. He fell from his yacht.’

      His hand dropped away, and his face looked even harsher then, if it were possible, his skin drawn so tight it made her jaw ache in sympathy. ‘The authorities have just uncovered fresh evidence. He didn’t fall.’

      Shock punched into her more effectively than any fist. ‘They killed their own father?’ No wonder the news reports were full of it. It was more than a scandal. It was a monarchy in crisis, a diplomatic nightmare. A nightmare that somehow held Rafe in its thrall.

      ‘I still don’t understand, though. It’s horrible, but why does it matter so much to you?’

      Sienna searched his eyes, dark eyes filled with grief and torment and pain that scarred their depths, and saw the shutters come down again even as he moved away from her. But the intention was clear. He’d said all that he was going to say.

      A final look at the clock told her she couldn’t wait any longer. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe, but I really have to go.’

      He didn’t even turn around. ‘Yes.’

      She slipped on her shoes, picked up her jacket. ‘I don’t finish until six tonight. How about I call you once I’m home?’

      This time he did look at her and she glimpsed something skate across his eyes, something warm and maybe a little sad. Then he blinked and whatever she’d seen was gone. ‘No,’ he clipped, ‘I can’t see you tonight.’

      ‘Oh.’ She swallowed, trying desperately not to show on her face how disappointed she felt. ‘I’ve got a late shift tomorrow, but how about Wednesday, then?’

      But he just gave a toss of his head and opened a closet door, pulling out a travel bag. ‘No. Not then. I’ll be away.’

      ‘You’re leaving?’

      His eyes, when they turned on her, were cold, unfathomable. ‘Like I said. It’s over.’

      And mere disappointment curdled into despair, leaving her feeling wrong and suddenly shaky inside her gut. Hadn’t he been talking about Montvelatte when he’d said that? ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘Away.’

      Crazy. She should have accepted his response for the dismissal it was intended to be—no doubt would have if she had been thinking rationally. But right now she felt crazy. He’d pursued her for a week for the sake of just one night? She’d known she would never be more than a short-term distraction for him and could live with that, but, damn it, she wasn’t prepared to let it end just yet, not when such a short time ago he hadn’t so much as asked her, but told her he would see her again.

      ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘I thought you were late for work!’ He tossed the words roughly over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at her as he dragged things from his closet.

      Breath snagged in her chest. In another life she would have already left, his dismissal of her more than plain. But not now. Not after the night they’d shared, and when he’d been the one to promise more. ‘Is this something to do with that news report, because until that happened, you seemed quite happy to meet up with me again? Why is it that what happens on a tiny island in the Mediterranean is so important to you anyway?’

      He stopped pulling things out of the wardrobe then and swivelled around, dumping underwear and shirts carelessly into his carry