Society Secrets. Sharon Kendrick

point—even if he had not necessarily agreed with it. So that when his brother’s wife had given birth to baby Cosimo, it had occurred to him that he could give his people what they surely desired more than anything. A continuation of the royal bloodline. And his throne to a brother who had always secretly wanted it. And then along had come Miss Melissa Maguire and put paid to all his plans.

      He stared into her green eyes, at the spiky shadows made by her long lashes. ‘Because since my accident so much has been forbidden to me that I feel hemmed in,’ he said grimly. ‘Like the bird about to soar up into the sky suddenly being shut in a gilded cage. Trapped.’

      Melissa swallowed, because—despite his hateful arrogance—she could hear an awful kind of emptiness in his voice. And something in her heart went out to him—made her want to offer him comfort even though he would probably just fling it back in her face. ‘But won’t you feel even more restricted if you have to get married just because you’ve got a baby?’ she whispered.

      His eyes became shuttered. ‘I have no choice in the matter.’

      ‘No choice?’ she echoed, unsure of what he meant. ‘Surely everyone has a choice—even kings?’

      ‘Oh, how naïve you are, Melissa!’ he mocked softly. ‘Zaffirinthian law dictates that no abdication can be made while there is a living direct heir. So, you see, your revelation about…Ben…means that I am no longer free to renounce my throne.’

      She realised instantly—as perhaps he had intended her to realise—that she had effectively trapped him as well. That the baby was yet another bar in the gilded cage he had spoken of. And as Ben’s mother, so was she.

      And trapping him was the last thing she had wanted, or wished for. Yes, he had been harsh and cruel in the wake of her revelation—but, in spite of the pain it had caused her, she could understand his reaction. Yes, he was arrogant and uncaring, but once she had adored him—and she had never set out to snare him. She felt the telltale prickle of tears to her eyes.

      ‘I’m sorry, Casimiro,’ she whispered. ‘So very sorry.’

      It was the bright glimmer of tears which did it. Tears which made her eyes look as bright and as brilliant as emeralds. And their brilliant gleam—combined with the faint lilac of her scent—took him back to a place he’d thought he’d left for ever. The memory which had stubbornly stayed in the depths of his mind now rose to the surface, like a bubble of air set free.

      Emerald stars, he thought. He had once told her that her eyes were like emerald stars.

      He stared into her face. ‘I’ve remembered,’ he said coldly.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THROUGH the flickering gleam of candlelight, Melissa saw the dawning comprehension in Casimiro’s eyes.

      ‘Remembered what?’ she questioned breathlessly.

      He rubbed his fingertip against the scar at his temple and for one brief moment he felt intense relief as his memory came flooding back, as if someone had just lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders. ‘You. Us.’ She had been telling the truth all along, he realised. She was not just some woman on the make. Not some kind of ‘crazy’ who was stalking him. She was a woman with whom he had enjoyed a brief and heady affair—but one which had never been meant to endure.

      And now? Now their destinies were entwined whether he liked it or not—but let them both be clear about the reality, lest she spin fairy-tale fantasies as women were so prone to do. ‘Except that there wasn’t really an “us”, was there, Melissa? We met at an after-show party and it happened very quickly after that. What was it, three days—or four? I hardly think our few hours of snatched sex would qualify as a grand romance, do you?’

      A few hours of snatched sex. It was as if her memory of that time had been a delicate and intricate glass structure she’d carefully preserved—and Casimiro had smashed it without thought or care. Melissa threw her napkin down over the fast-congealing fish and began to get up.

      ‘Sit down!’ he ordered.

      ‘No, I won’t sit down! I don’t care if I have to walk all the way home—I will not sit here and be insulted by you!’

      He could see that she meant it. He could also see the maître d’ hovering anxiously over in the doorway, but a faint shake of Casimiro’s head was enough to dispatch him. For a moment he was torn between fury at her outrageous insubordination—and a grudging respect for her spirit. ‘Sit down, Melissa.’ He met the unwavering resistance in her eyes. ‘Please.’

      Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of his appeal which made Melissa hesitate—or perhaps it was just the acknowledgement that this was not a word with which he was familiar. She doubted whether kings had to say ‘please’ very much in the normal run of events—and what kind of example was that to set to Ben, who she was determined was going to have the best manners in the world?

      Melissa sank back down into the chair, secretly relieved to rest the suddenly shaky legs which she doubted would carry her outside, let alone all the way home. It was all so much of a shock. Everything. The test result and his reaction to it. Yes, of course she had known that there could only be one possible candidate for the role of father to her baby—but she hadn’t been expecting this great swamp of emotion. She had bottled up her secret for so long that she felt quite shaky now that it was all out in the open.

      ‘You’ve remembered everything?’ she whispered.

      He shrugged. ‘For what it’s worth.’ Yet the missing piece of memory came as a huge relief—as if he had been made complete once more. And, reluctantly, he allowed himself to fill in some detail on their affair. He remembered the taste of freedom he’d felt with her. The heady sensation of feeling normal—and the subsequent feeling of emptiness when he had returned to the restrictions of his kingdom. He had felt like a condemned man being given his last meal and knowing he would never eat again.

      ‘Do you…do you regret it?’ she questioned.

      The emotional gates which had briefly swung open now slammed shut. ‘Regrets are a waste of time,’ he said icily. ‘We need to discuss what we’re going to do—and the most pressing matter is our marriage, which must take place as soon as possible.’

      Melissa stared at the cold hauteur of his features and for the first time she realised that the man she had adored no longer existed. Perhaps he never had. Perhaps it had just been a temporary role he had occupied while they’d been lovers. And could she really bear to be shackled to this cold-faced king for the rest of her life? She shook her head. ‘I’m not going to marry you.’

      ‘I’m afraid that’s non-negotiable, Melissa.’

      Melissa’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. ‘You can’t say something like that,’ she whispered.

      ‘I can, because it happens to be true.’

      ‘You can’t actually force me to marry you—what, drag me screaming and kicking down the aisle?’ She fixed him with a look she hoped concealed the fear which was fast growing inside her. That he could do with her exactly what he wanted. ‘I don’t imagine that would do your image much good.’

      ‘No, I can’t force you—but I can take your son from you.’

      Melissa froze as the world seemed to grow dark. It was the single most effective and terrifying threat he could have made—and the fact that he had uttered it made her want to lash out at him. ‘You can’t do that, either.’

      ‘You really think so? I wonder if you’re prepared to test the full might of the King against a single mother of your standing.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with my standing!’

      ‘Do you consider it appropriate that the heir to the throne should