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

six years Leo had been doing his damnedest to prove to Nicholas and to the people of Amarnes—to the whole world—that he was worthy of the crown.

       ‘Have you changed?’

      Phoebe didn’t believe he had; she still saw him as a reckless playboy, cut from the same cloth as Anders. And perhaps he was. The old, familiar guilt, as corrosive as acid, roiled in his gut.

      ‘You don’t deserve it … you don’t deserve to be king.’

      Yet he would be, deserving or not. He was his uncle’s only heir now, and nothing could change that. Anders’s abdication was absolute. So Leo would continue to serve his country and his sovereign, and do what was required of him … no matter what it meant for Phoebe.

      He drained the last of his brandy and stood up, preparing for bed. He couldn’t afford to think about Phoebe, her feelings … or the way she’d felt when he touched her. For a moment he savoured the memory of the silkiness of her skin, how her grey eyes had darkened to slate, her lush body almost quivering with desire …

      And he’d felt it too, a current running through him, hot and electric, needing an outlet. He still felt it now; his body was restless and unsated, yet Leo knew he would have to ignore it. Seducing Phoebe was not part of his plan. Couldn’t be.

      Yet what was his plan? Leo mused. He would bring them both to Amarnes, even though Nicholas would be furious. Perhaps the old man would grow bored and let them go, as Phoebe so obviously hoped, yet Leo doubted it. And what would Phoebe do then? Leo rubbed his face tiredly. He had no answers, not yet, but at least he’d done his duty. He always did his duty. He was bringing the boy back, and Phoebe—for the moment at least—was proving to be biddable. The rest, he decided, would have to wait.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      PALE sunshine slanted through the gauzy curtains of Phoebe’s bedroom as she slowly swung her legs over the side of her bed and rested her head in her hands. It had only taken a second of consciousness for the comforting veil of sleep to be ripped away, replaced by the clamorous memories of last night.

      Leo. Leo was here in New York, and would be coming to fetch them to take them to Amarnes in—she looked at the clock and felt a lurch of panic. In less than two hours. Quickly Phoebe rose from the bed, showered and dressed before Christian woke up and demanded his breakfast. She peeked in on Christian, and saw him sprawled across his sheets.

      When she’d taken him home from the consulate he’d been bubbling over, fear so easily replaced by excitement. Phoebe had told him they were going to Amarnes for two weeks, preparing herself for questions, demands, even tears. But Christian’s eyes had simply widened and he’d breathed one word: ‘Cool.’ Five-year-olds, even ones as precocious as her son, were easily appeased.

      She’d also had to break the news to her mother, Amelia, in Brooklyn. She’d called her mother after Christian was asleep, her heart aching slightly at the sound of her cheerful hello.

      ‘What’s up?’

      ‘A lot, actually,’ Phoebe had said, trying for a laugh, but her mother, as always, heard the concern and worry underneath.

      ‘Phoebe, what’s wrong?’

      Phoebe knuckled her forehead and closed her eyes, fighting a sudden, overwhelming wave of weariness. ‘Two government agents from Amarnes showed up at my door a few hours ago.’

      ‘What?’ Her mother’s breath came out in a hiss of surprise. She knew everything about Phoebe’s hasty marriage to Anders; she’d been waiting at the airport with a hug and a smile when Phoebe arrived, weary and heart-sore, with a three-month-old Christian in her arms. ‘Why?’

      Phoebe pressed her lips together before she said shortly, ‘Christian.’

      Her mother was silent. ‘They don’t …’

      ‘No,’ Phoebe said quickly. ‘They don’t. And they won’t know if I can help it.’

      ‘Oh, Phoebe.’ Phoebe nearly buckled under her mother’s compassion. She was just about holding it together, making herself see this as the little adventure she’d promised Christian it was, but hearing the sorrow and worry in her mother’s tone made Phoebe want to cry and confess all her fears.

       What if they want him? What if they keep him? What if there are custody battles and lawsuits and horrible things I can’t control? I’m so afraid.

      She didn’t give voice to any of these questions, merely continued in a rather flat voice, ‘We’re leaving tomorrow for Amarnes.’

      ‘No—’

      ‘For two weeks,’ Phoebe clarified. ‘Apparently the king wants to see his grandson. And then we’ll come home.’

      ‘Phoebe, don’t give in to them. Once you’re in Amarnes you’ll have very few resources, very little power—’

      ‘I have no choice, Mom,’ Phoebe said. ‘They’re royal. They have millions. Billions, probably, and if it came to a court case—’

      ‘Will it?’ her mother asked quickly and Phoebe closed her eyes once more.

      ‘I hope not. I pray not. But … I don’t know.’ Her hand felt slippery around the receiver. ‘If I go willingly now, it might … help me later.’

      ‘Or not,’ Amelia said darkly and Phoebe blew out an exasperated sigh.

      ‘Then what should I do?’

      ‘I have a friend, a human-rights lawyer …’ Phoebe could hear her mother scrabbling for one of the many business cards she kept stuck on her fridge with colourful magnets.

      ‘Oh, Mom, I can’t afford a lawyer. Not for the kind of court case we’re talking about, and I don’t want to drag Christian through that anyway.’ Besides, she added silently, she doubted one of her mother’s hippie friends, leftovers from the flower-power days of the sixties, would give her much credibility in court. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, keeping her voice firm, ‘I’ve been thinking that Nicholas should see Christian anyway. I always felt the way they cut Anders out of their lives was so unfair, and I’d be a hypocrite to do the same thing with Christian.’

      ‘Phoebe, these people don’t deserve your sympathy—’

      ‘Perhaps not,’ Phoebe agreed, ‘but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be like them.’ Strong words, she knew. She only wished she felt as strong and certain inside.

      After speaking to her mother, she’d called her assistant, Josie, who had been more than happy to take over the boutique for two weeks.

      It was, Phoebe thought, all too easy to arrange, almost as if it were meant to be. And perhaps it was. If she simply clung to the belief that this was for merely two weeks, she could be generous. She could allow the king access to her son, she could forgive them all for being so cold-hearted and bloody-minded, she could accept that Leo was simply doing what he had to do …

      Leo. And, Phoebe asked herself with uncomfortable shrewdness, did any of this have to do with Leo, with the wellspring of desire he’d plumbed in her, with the memory of his brief touch still burning up her senses? Was all this magnanimity simply because she wanted a chance to see Leo again?

      He’s a playboy, a rake, a reprobate, Phoebe lectured herself, but the words bounced off her heart meaninglessly. She didn’t know what Leo was any more. And this trip to Amarnes gave her a chance to find out.

      Now, as morning broke, the Washington Square Arch bathed in the pink light of dawn, Phoebe steeled herself for the day ahead. She’d packed quickly last night, throwing in most of their clothes as well as a few of Christian’s books and toys. She dressed simply in grey wool trousers and a pale pink sweater and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves—or was it actually excitement?—in her stomach.

      The next hour passed in a flurry as Christian awoke and Phoebe