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

with Christian’s. With half an ear he listened to the boy chatter on about some kind of toy—a robot or a dinosaur?—as his own mind spun in circles. He’d had a plan, he’d carried it out, and it was clearly a success.

      Phoebe was falling in love with him.

      So why did that make him feel so miserable?

      Because I don’t deserve it … I don’t deserve any of it, I never did or will …

      He pushed the thoughts away, the tormented voices of his conscience, his memory. He couldn’t afford to have either. He needed to focus, to keep working towards his goal. And even if Phoebe hated him, even if she discovered the truth, he knew he was doing only what he had to.

      For Phoebe’s sake.

      Phoebe gazed at herself in the mirror, amazed at the transformation. That afternoon several gowns had been sent to her room with instructions she choose one to wear that evening. A single card had been inserted among the folds of tissue paper, with a single sentence upon it, written in a bold scrawl: Have dinner with me.

      Her heart hammered in anticipation and her nerves jangled as she undid the dresses from their folds of paper and hung them on the door, gazing at each one in turn. What to wear to dinner tonight? Dinner alone with Leo. Now finally he would explain what he knew of the king’s plans, yet Phoebe found she could barely think of that.

      All she could think of, her body’s insistent needs drowning out her mind’s, was being alone with Leo. What would happen? What would he do? What would she do?

      ‘Which one should I wear?’ she asked Christian, who was sprawled on the bed, watching a children’s show in Danish with an expression of endearing perplexity.

      He glanced up at her, frowning at the sight of the clothes. ‘Are those dresses?’ he asked and Phoebe laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Christian promptly ducked out of the way and returned to watching the television.

      ‘Yes, silly. And can you actually understand that show at all?’

      ‘I saw it back at home,’ Christian replied with a shrug and Phoebe rolled her eyes.

      ‘Come on, sport. Help me out here.’

      With a long-suffering sigh, Christian turned away from the TV once more. He glanced at the three gowns, his brow furrowed. ‘The silver one.’

      ‘You think?’ Phoebe reached out to stroke the slippery, silky material. It was a bit pathetic, getting fashion advice from a five-year-old, but she needed to talk to someone. To let out some of this energy, this excitement bubbling away inside of her.

      ‘Yeah.’ Christian had clearly had enough of fashion talk, for he turned back to the show, which featured a talking lion that happened to be friends with a zebra. ‘It’s the same colour as my robot.’

      ‘And that’s as good a reason as any,’ Phoebe murmured, slipping the dress off its hanger. She went into the bathroom to change, and the dress’s material flowed over her like liquid silver. It was deceptive in its simplicity, two skinny straps and a bodice decorated with tiny jet beads that ended in a swirl of shimmery silk around her ankles.

      ‘It matches your eyes,’ Christian said when she came out to show him. She laughed, twirling around, feeling beautiful.

      ‘How kind of you to notice.’

      ‘Did you bring your hair stuff?’

      Christian knew how she disliked her curly hair that always tended to frizz. When she had time, she used a special hair serum and blow-dried it straight. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said with some reluctance. ‘Leo will just have to take me as I am.’

      ‘You’re eating with Leo?’ Christian asked, astute as ever, and Phoebe flushed.

      ‘Yes, we’re having dinner together while you get to be with Frances.’

      Christian narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you going to marry him?’

      ‘Christian!’ Phoebe stared at her son in shock. ‘What makes you think such a thing?’

      He shrugged. ‘He’s nice and I don’t have a dad,’ he said simply. Phoebe’s heart ached.

      ‘I didn’t realise you wanted one,’ she said quietly, and Christian gave her a look that clearly said such a thought was incredibly stupid. And wasn’t it? Phoebe asked herself. No matter how many friends she surrounded Christian with, no matter how much love she showered him with, didn’t he still want a father?

      Didn’t he still need one?

      And could Leo be it—him?

      Whoa, Phoebe told herself. You’re getting way, way ahead of the game. Leo had merely asked her to dinner. He’d only kissed her once. And yet … and yet …

      She wanted so much more. She was ready for so much more. For the last five years she’d put her own romantic life on hold, for Christian’s sake. Building her business and caring for her son had been enough.

      Now it wasn’t.

      Now she wanted more. She wanted Leo.

      At seven o’clock Phoebe took Christian up to the nursery and was met at the door by a smiling Frances.

      ‘My, don’t we look nice tonight!’ she exclaimed, taking Christian by the hand. She winked at Phoebe. ‘You’re not going on a date, are you?’

      ‘Just dinner,’ Phoebe murmured, blushing. What was with everybody? she wondered. Were her hopes so transparent?

      ‘Well, enjoy yourself,’ Frances replied comfortably. ‘I’m sure we will.’

      Leaving Christian in the nurse’s capable hands, Phoebe made her way downstairs. A servant directed her not to the main dining room, but to a private salon in the back of the palace.

      The servant opened the door, disappearing quickly and quietly before Phoebe had even properly entered. And then she stopped, for the room, with its fireplace and dancing shadows, the rich wood panelling and the heavy velvet curtains the colour of wine, was sumptuous and beautiful and reminded her of the room at the consulate.

      For just as before there was Leo standing by the fireplace, dressed in an immaculate suit, his hair brushed back from his forehead and curling on his collar. He looked amazing, seductive and beautiful and she wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

      For, while the room seemed so similar to that room at the consulate, the mood was different. She was different … and so was Leo. Gone was the fear, the outrage, the anger. She came into the room smiling.

      ‘Did I really need to wear a formal gown?’

      ‘I was hoping you’d choose the grey one.’

      His words caused a prickly heat of awareness to creep along her arms and flush her face and bare shoulders. ‘You selected those gowns?’

      Leo arched one eyebrow. ‘Are you questioning my taste?’

      Laughing a little, Phoebe shook her head. ‘No. They were all beautiful.’

      Leo started forward, towards her. ‘But the grey one matches your eyes.’

      ‘That’s what Christian said.’

      ‘Smart boy.’ He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to touch him if she reached her hand out and yet still too far away.

      Phoebe’s heart bumped in her chest; she felt as if Leo could see it through the tissue-thin fabric of her dress. She stared at him, unspeaking, helpless, because she had so many things to say and she didn’t know how to begin. ‘I’m hungry.’

      Leo’s lips curved in a smile and Phoebe flushed. She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had come out anyway. ‘So am I,’ he said, and Phoebe knew he wasn’t just talking about food.

      He reached out one hand to touch hers, lacing their fingers