Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake. Jane Porter

when none of them felt good. “They adopted me when I was six days old. Apparently I’m a bastard, which even today brings Claire, my adoptive mother, endless shame.”

      He looked dumbstruck. “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

      “Only that my birth mother was a Brabant commoner. Young, pregnant and unwed.”

      “And your father?”

      “No one knows anything about him.”

      “You can’t find out?”

      Emmeline shook her head. “It wasn’t an open adoption. My birth mother had no idea who would be adopting me, and my parents are very private. I had no idea I was adopted until I was sixteen.” She paused, tugged on the cuff of the blouse with unsteady fingers. “My father broke the news to me just before my birthday party.”

      Makin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “The actual day of your birthday?”

      She shrugged. “I know it sounds childish, but it crushed me. I’d had no idea, and then suddenly my father was telling me I was illegitimate—a bastard—born of sin.” Her lips twisted wryly. “There I was, in my beautiful party dress and brand-new high heels, my first real set of heels, feeling so grown-up and excited. Then Father called me aside and took it all away. I don’t think he meant to hurt me as much as he did. But to call me a bastard? To tell his only daughter that she was a product of sin?”

      Her smile slipped for a moment, revealing raw, naked pain. “I fell apart. I think I cried the rest of the night. Silly, I know.”

      “It would have been shocking for anyone.”

      “Maybe.” She was silent a moment. “So you see, I understand the stigma and shame of being illegitimate. I know what it’s like to be judged and rejected. Who knows who my birth parents were, or why they had to give me up for adoption? But they did, and they must have imagined it was the best thing for me. And maybe it was. But I do know this—I want my child—he or she is not a mistake. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he or she has the best life possible.”

       CHAPTER TEN

      EMMELINE sat on the edge of the bed while Risa blew-dry her hair with a big round brush, aware that once she was home, it would be absolute hell. Her mother would lose her temper, probably scream at her that she was stupid. Her father would look morose and deeply disappointed and let her mother do all the talking. It was how they handled problems. It was how they handled problems like her. Not that she’d ever done anything to be considered a problem before, but it was how they’d always viewed her.

      Sometimes Emmeline thought she should do something outrageous to give them cause for complaint, as the worst thing she’d ever done—until now—was skinny-dipping while visiting her cousins in Spain. She’d been twelve and it had seemed so daring to swim naked at night in the palace pool. Thirteen-year-old Delfina had suggested it and ten-year-old Isabel had endorsed the idea so Emmeline, nervous and giggling, joined them. And it had been fun, up until the time the palace security reported them to their parents.

      Aunt Astrid had given them a scolding but Emmeline’s mother had been furious. She’d demanded to know whose idea it was, and when Delfina didn’t speak up, Emmeline took the blame to protect her cousins.

      Emmeline had expected that her mother would spank her and that would be the end of it. Instead her mother spanked her and sent her home to Brabant.

      The spanking had been bad, but being sent away from her cousins in disgrace, so much worse.

      In the fourteen years since then, not a lot had changed. Her parents were still distant, her mother rigid. Emmeline could only imagine their reaction to the news that she was pregnant. She was too old to be spanked or sent away, so what would they do this time? Lock her in a tower and throw away the key?

      “Almost done,” Risa said, turning off the blow-dryer.

      Which meant they were almost there, Emmeline thought, hands knotting into fists.

      While Risa was styling Emmeline’s hair in the rear cabin, Makin sat in his seat in the main cabin replaying the last several conversations he’d had with Emmeline in his head.

      She wasn’t who he’d thought she was. She wasn’t shallow, either. Just sheltered and naive.

      How could you hate someone for being sheltered? Inexperienced?

      He couldn’t.

      He understood now that she’d panicked back in March. She’d turned to Alejandro out of desperation, wanting someone to love her, knowing her prospective bridegroom didn’t. She’d made a gross error of judgment, but she wasn’t a terrible person. He couldn’t condone her actions, but he couldn’t dislike her anymore. Not when he understood how painful it had been for her to be married off to the highest bidder, as if she were an object instead of a smart, sensitive and shy young woman with hopes and dreams of her own.

      Makin suddenly wished he hadn’t been so quick to put Emmeline on the plane for Brabant. But it was too late to turn around. All he could do now was offer her his support and let her know she wasn’t alone.

      An hour later they were in the back of a limousine sailing toward the palace. Just before landing Emmeline changed into a black pencil skirt and a chic black satin blouse, which she accessorized with a long strand of ivory pearls. Her hair, now a gleaming golden blond, was drawn into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. She wore pearls at her ears.

      She was nervous, beyond nervous, but she squashed every visible sign of fear, flattening all emotion, refusing to let herself think or feel. Things were what they were. What would happen would happen. She would survive.

      “Not that it matters, but I’m not a fan of arranged marriages,” Makin said abruptly, breaking the silence. “They’re popular in my culture, but it’s not for me.”

      She looked at him, surprised that he had shared something personal. “Your parents didn’t try to arrange anything for you?”

      He shook his head. “They were a love match. They wanted the same for me.”

      “Are they still alive?”

      “No. They died quite a few years ago. My father first—I was twenty—and my mother the year after.” He hesitated. “We expected my father’s death. He had been ill for a long time. But my mother … she was still young. Just forty-one. It was quite a shock. I wasn’t at all prepared to lose her.”

      “An accident?” she murmured.

      “Heart attack…” His voice drifted off and he frowned, his strong brow creasing. “Personally, I think it was grief. She didn’t want to be without my father.”

      Emmeline looked at Makin and the emotion darkening his eyes. Until he’d kissed her last night, she’d imagined him to be cool…cold…and quite detached. Now she was beginning to understand that with him, still waters ran deep. His cool exterior hid a passionate nature. “They were happy together?”

      “Very. They had an extraordinary relationship, and they were devoted to each other, from the day they met until the very end. I was lucky to have parents who loved each other so much, and to be part of that circle of love. It made me who I am.”

      “So why haven’t you married?” she asked, noting that he, too, had showered and dressed just before they landed. He now wore a gray shirt and black trousers, and the crisp starched shirt was open at the collar and exposed the hollow of his throat. His skin was the burnished gold of his desert, perfectly setting off his black hair and striking silver eyes.

      And it was a good question, she thought, waiting for him to answer. He was gorgeous. Brilliant. Ridiculously wealthy. He would be the catch of the century.

      His broad shoulders shifted. “I haven’t met the right one.”

      “And