Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage. Кейт Хьюит

Or would he just go on asking for—demanding—more, and more, and even more, until Phoebe and Christian’s lives were siphoned away in sacrifice to an old man’s selfish whims, drop by tiny drop, week by painful week.

      She turned to Leo. ‘And it will end there? We’ll go home, and the king will never want to see us again?’ She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. ‘You honestly expect me to believe that? That he won’t want—demand—more?’

      Leo’s face was utterly impassive. ‘Perhaps he will be satisfied,’ he said. ‘This might be no more than a passing fancy.’

      ‘And that should make me feel better, I suppose,’ Phoebe tossed back. ‘I’m sure Christian will be happy to have served his purpose and then be thrown away like rubbish!’

      Annoyance flashed across Leo’s face like a streak of lightning. ‘You are being melodramatic. There is no reason why a two-week trip to a beautiful country should be nothing but a lovely holiday for both you and your son. You look exhausted,’ he continued bluntly, ‘and I’m sure you could use some relaxation.’

      ‘I’m hardly going to relax—’

      ‘You might try,’ Leo cut her off. ‘It would certainly make the trip more pleasant for you.’ His voice was sharp with impatience, and Phoebe knew he was done with her objections. Her fate, and her child’s, had been decided. And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

      She saw that now, starkly, understanding once again the kind of people—the kind of power—she was dealing with. She couldn’t face a royal family in the courts. She couldn’t face the tabloids and the paparazzi that would swarm over her little family like greedy vultures when they caught wind of this story.

      ‘Come, why don’t you eat?’ Leo said mildly, sitting down again. Phoebe shook her head.

      ‘Now I’ve really lost my appetite.’

      ‘Suit yourself. But just because you don’t like the state of affairs doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself in the meantime.’

      Phoebe glanced around the sumptuous room flickering with firelight, their decadent meal spread on the table. She thought of what she’d seen of Leo in the papers, years before, and wondered how many meals like this he’d enjoyed with the models and starlets he liked to have on his arm … and no doubt in his bed. A resentment she didn’t quite understand spiked her voice as she said, ‘Like you do, I suppose.’

      There was a second’s hesitation before Leo shrugged and poured them both more wine, even though Phoebe’s glass was still mostly full. ‘Of course.’

      Phoebe took a breath, opened her mouth and prepared for a fight. Yet suddenly, looking at the magnificently laid table and the remains of her delicious meal, she felt all the fight—all the anger and outrage and self-righteous fury—trickle out of her. Leo was right, even if she didn’t want him to be. She had to accept this. The problems her refusal could cause were too dire to consider.

      Two weeks in Amarnes, and then they could return home, to the life she’d built for them both here in New York. Two weeks in Amarnes, and Christian could get to know his father’s side of the family. Perhaps she could even see the positive side of things, make it an adventure …

      And in the meantime, she would eat and enjoy this meal. Resolutely she returned to the table and raised her wine glass to Leo in an ironic toast, earning her a faint smile. ‘Very well,’ she said stiffly. ‘Cheers.’

      ‘Cheers,’ Leo murmured, and they both drank in silence. Phoebe fought the temptation to drain her glass.

      ‘So,’ she said when they’d both finished drinking and she’d picked up her fork, toying with a bit of beef. ‘What’s happened in Amarnes these last six years?’

      ‘More of the same, really,’ Leo replied in a deliberate drawl. ‘Nothing much happens in these tiny little countries, you know, although we like to think it does.’

      Phoebe choked back a surprised laugh. ‘I suppose Anders’s abdication was the news of the century, then.’

      ‘Just about.’

      ‘And it made you king.’

      ‘Heir,’ Leo corrected, his tone light although his expression had hardened. ‘King Nicholas is still alive, as far as I know.’

      Phoebe took another sip of wine. ‘The Playboy Prince will become the Playboy King one day,’ she quipped a bit sardonically, and Leo’s mouth tightened, his eyes darkening to a deep umber. She wondered if she’d actually offended him. ‘Your reputation is well-known, you know. At least it was when I—’

      ‘Yes, I’m aware,’ he said in a bored voice. ‘Although in that regard, I suppose some things have changed in Amarnes.’

      Phoebe regarded him curiously. Was he actually trying to say he’d changed? Yet he seemed so much the same—even as that thought took hold of her, another realisation swept through her. He had changed. Gone were the rumpled curls, as if he’d just risen from bed—from being with a lover. His hair was cut short, and more grey streaked his temples. And even though he’d treated her with the same lazy arrogance as he had six years ago, Phoebe sensed something new—something harder—in him now, a resolute sense of purpose that had been lacking before—or was she simply being fanciful? Imagining things, rewriting history, the man she’d known?

      Except, Phoebe thought, she’d never really known Leo. She’d met him for ten minutes and read about him in the tabloids. That was all, and it occurred to her how very little it was. Now, suddenly—stupidly, perhaps—she found herself wondering just what kind of man he was. What kind of man he’d been, and then, more intriguingly, how he might have changed.

      ‘So what have you been doing, then?’ she finally asked. She took a bit of beef and chewed slowly, watching him. Swallowing, she continued. ‘How have you been keeping yourself?’

      Leo shrugged. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that.’

      ‘That’s hardly an answer.’

      ‘I’m sure a more specific answer would bore you. Do you really want to know the monotonous details of royal duty?’

      ‘You’re not a playboy any more?’ Phoebe pressed.

      Leo smiled, the sleepy, sensual smile Phoebe remembered, and as awareness coiled in her belly and raced through her veins she knew one thing that hadn’t changed: her response to him.

      ‘You know what they say. You can take the man out of the country, but you can’t—’

      ‘You mean,’ Phoebe cut him off, ‘you haven’t changed?’

      Leo shrugged. ‘Judge for yourself. But …’ he leaned forward, his eyes glinting into hers ‘ … enough about the boring, sordid details of my own life. I want to know about you.’

      Phoebe raised her brows, a strange, surprising smile lurking inside her, quirking her mouth. ‘Can something be sordid and boring?’

      ‘Most definitely.’ He dismissed the topic with a shrug of one powerful shoulder. ‘Now, I know a bit about how you’ve been keeping yourself—’

      ‘How?’

      Leo smiled. ‘Phoebe, I always do my research.’

      ‘You had me investigated?’ she demanded sharply.

      ‘Of course. That’s how Christian’s existence was discovered.’

      ‘Why—why would you do that?’ Phoebe asked in a whisper, thinking, if only he hadn’t …

      ‘I’m afraid when Anders died, he left a few skeletons in the cupboard that had to be dealt with. You were one of them.’

      ‘And now you’re dealing with me,’ Phoebe filled in. ‘Once again I’m an inconvenience.’

      ‘But an interesting