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

As much as you might loathe her presence, she can’t be bought or intimidated.’

      ‘We’ll see about—’

      ‘She’s American,’ Leo cut across him coldly, ‘and that boy is her whole world. She has no notion of royal duty as my mother did, and she won’t be frightened or bullied the way my mother was.’ Again he felt the old rage, the guilt and sorrow and regret. How could he have acted in such a way, putting Phoebe in the same utterly untenable position as his mother? How could he not have seen what was happening, what Nicholas was planning? Or had he just closed his mind to it, an act of bloody-minded will, because he was determined to do what he could to protect his crown?

      Except the crown wasn’t his any more. Nicholas shrugged impatiently. ‘I’ll find a way—’ ‘No,’ Leo cut him off, ‘you won’t.’ Determination filled him, a cold sense of purpose that made him gaze directly, unflinchingly, at the king, allowing the old man to see his scorn. ‘And if you want Christian to remain in this country, in the crown’s protection, then you need a subtler method.’ The smile he gave his uncle was cold and feral. ‘From now on we’ll do it my way.’

      Phoebe rubbed her arms, fighting a rising sense of panic—near hysteria—as she paced the room, one of the palace’s many salons. The doors, she knew, were locked. She’d tried them, rattled the handles helplessly, unable to believe they’d actually locked her away without a word of explanation … without her son.

      She was a prisoner, and the realisation that she’d walked straight into this gilded jail made her choke. She’d trusted Leo—she hadn’t even known she’d been doing so, he’d insinuated himself into her thoughts, her heart so insidiously—and now look where she was. Locked up like a criminal, and Christian—

      She pressed a fist to her trembling lips and willed the panic to recede. She needed to be calm, to think clearly, rationally—

      They couldn’t just take him from her. Surely, surely in this day and age, in the Western world, a mother couldn’t be forcibly separated from her son—

      Except she really had no idea what could happen, what the royal family could do. Lord, where was he? It had been half an hour, an endless thirty minutes. She resisted the urge to go to the door and rattle the knob once more, to pound and kick and scream until she was heard. Such antics would surely only weaken her position, and she needed to be calm—

      A sound at the door had all sense of calm leaving her as she flew to it, her breath heaving in her chest. The door opened and Leo stood there, looking all too calm, all too unruffled—

      ‘You lied!’ Her voice came out close to a scream. ‘They took him from me, and locked me in here—’ She choked back a helpless sob.

      Leo moved into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. ‘I’m very sorry for what happened,’ he said in a careful voice. ‘That was never my intention.’

      ‘Wasn’t it?’ Phoebe threw back at him. ‘Somehow I have trouble believing you didn’t know exactly—’

      ‘I promise you, Phoebe, I didn’t.’ The intensity in his voice, the throbbing sincerity, made her still. She believed him, she hadn’t been wrong to trust him, and the realisation—the hope—gave her comfort.

      ‘Then what?’ she asked, drawing in a steadying breath. ‘The king acted on his own?’

      ‘Basically, yes.’ Leo thrust a hand into his pocket and strode to the window, gazing out at the cloudless blue sky, the palace courtyard glittering under a winter sun. Phoebe watched him, saw the tension in every taut line in his body, felt the anger simmering under his calm exterior. Perhaps he wasn’t so unruffled after all.

      ‘I thought the king wanted to see his grandson,’ he said abruptly, his eyes on the sun-filled view outside. ‘That’s why I brought you here.’

      Phoebe frowned, an uneasy confusion filling her. Even though Leo was still, his gaze on the palace courtyard, she sensed an anger in him … a restless darkness that she remembered from six years ago. ‘Has something changed?’ When Leo remained silent, gazing outside, she continued more forcefully, ‘What does he want, Leo? Why did he separate us?’

      ‘Because he’s more interested in Christian than you,’ Leo replied flatly.

      Phoebe paced the floor again, rubbing her arms. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I’d be an idiot not to. But …’ All the unspoken fears—fears she couldn’t afford to confess—clamoured up her throat, clawing their way out. Was the king going to seek custody, remove her from Christian’s life completely? Her mother was right, she never should have come, she should have hired that dippy lawyer friend, something, anything—

      ‘Phoebe.’ Phoebe skidded to a halt, for suddenly Leo was there, his hands warm and steady on her shoulders, his eyes meeting, melting into hers. ‘I’m not going to let anything happen, I promise.’

      ‘How can you stop it? What’s he planning, Leo?’ She felt a hiccupy sob rise from her throat and she swallowed it back.

      ‘I didn’t realise …’ Leo stopped, his lips pressed together, his face turning hard again.

      ‘Realise what? Leo, what are you not telling me? What is the king planning?’ Her voice rose with each question until it neared a shriek. ‘Please,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Please be honest with me.’

      Leo glanced down at her, and a surprising tenderness softened his features. ‘I will,’ he told her. He raised one hand to brush her cheek with his knuckles, and it took all of Phoebe’s strength to resist leaning into that caress. She wanted to lean into it, into him, to let someone share the burden of her fear and anxiety. She longed to trust Leo—he was the only one she could—and yet she was afraid that trusting him might be the biggest mistake of all. ‘I will tell you,’ he continued, ‘but not now. You’ve only been in the country for little more than an hour, and I’m sure you want to see Christian.’

      ‘Where is he?’

      ‘Upstairs in the nursery, with my old governess. He’s fine.’

      Phoebe nodded. She still felt shaky and far too afraid, but Leo’s words, his presence, his hand still cupping her cheek made her less so. Perhaps they shouldn’t, but they did and she was even glad.

      Leo smiled, his fingers drifting down her cheek to cup her chin. ‘Tomorrow,’ he told her, and bent his head so his lips brushed hers in the softest whisper of a kiss. He stepped back, his eyes widening slightly, and Phoebe wondered if he felt as dazed as she did. It had been the slightest kiss, their lips barely touching, and yet …! It had lit a fire of yearning in her body, that latent little spark igniting suddenly into a raging blaze.

      ‘Leo …’ she said, and heard the longing in her voice.

      Leo touched her lips with his finger as if he was sealing the memory of his touch. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow.’

      ‘Tomorrow?’ She couldn’t wait that long.

      ‘You need rest.’ Leo smiled, and Phoebe found herself fixated on his mouth, his lips so full, sculpted, perfect. Her own lips parted in memory and desire. ‘I’ll have someone see you to the nursery.’

      ‘All right …’ She knew she needed to process everything that had happened—including Leo’s kiss—even though already she longed to see him again. Touch him again. Yet exhaustion was crashing over her in a numbing wave, and she knew Leo was right. She needed to see Christian, to restore some balance, some sanity to their lives. Still, as Leo turned away, clearly distracted, a prickle of unease rippled along her skin. What was he thinking, feeling and, more importantly—more frighteningly—what was he not saying?

      The door clicked shut behind him and, alone in the salon, Leo swore aloud. His plan was working all too well. Phoebe trusted him, had responded to him—mio Dio, that kiss! He’d barely touched her, yet it hadn’t mattered. That simple touch had set off an unstoppable