In the Royal's Bed. Marion Lennox

Rafael said gently, and her eyes jerked up to his.

      ‘Kass is dead?’ She stared wildly at him and then looked down at the little boy again. ‘Your papa?’

      ‘Papa died in a car crash,’ Mathieu said in a matter-of-fact voice.

      ‘Matty, I’m so sorry.’

      Matty. The name Mathieu had been chosen by his father. It had seemed far too formal for such a scrap of a baby. Matty was what she’d called him for those few short weeks…

      ‘Aunt Laura calls me Matty,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘Aunt Laura says the nurses told her my mama called me Matty.’

      ‘But…’ Her head was threatening to explode. She sank on to a chair because her legs wouldn’t hold her up any more. ‘But…’

      ‘Matty, why don’t you do the honours with the cake?’ Rafael suggested. With a sideways glance at Kelly—who was far too winded to think about answering—he opened the cutlery drawer, found a knife blunt enough for a child to handle, found three plates and set them on the side bench. ‘Three equal pieces, Matty,’ he said. ‘You cut and we’ll choose. As wide as your middle finger is long.’

      Matty looked pleased. He crossed to the bench and held up his middle finger, carefully assessing. Clearly cake-cutting would take a while.

      Rafael pulled out a chair and sat on the opposite side of the table to Kelly. He reached over, took her hands in his and held them. He had big hands. Callused. Work worn. They completely enclosed hers. Two strong, warm hands, where hers were freezing. She must be freezing, she thought. She couldn’t stop shivering.

      She’d had the flu. She wasn’t over it yet. Maybe that was why she was shivering.

      ‘I should have phoned,’ he said ruefully. ‘This has been too much of a shock. But I was sure you’d have heard, and I didn’t understand why you didn’t contact us.’

      ‘It’s me who doesn’t understand,’ she whispered.

      ‘You don’t read the newspapers?’

      ‘I…not lately. I’ve been unwell. This place has been hopelessly understaffed. What have I missed?’

      ‘Alp de Ciel is only a small country but the death of its sovereign made worldwide news. Even right down here in Australia.’

      ‘When?’ What had happened to her voice? It was coming out as a squeak. She tried to pull her hands away but failed. She couldn’t stop this stupid shivering.

      He was still holding her. Maybe he thought she needed this contact. But he was a de Boutaine. Part of her life that had been blocked out for ever.

      Matty was a de Boutaine. Matty was in her kitchen cutting cake.

      ‘I’ve had flu,’ she whispered, trying to make sense of it. ‘Real flu, where you don’t come out from under your pillow for weeks. The whole park staff’s been decimated. For the last couple of months, if we haven’t been sick we’ve been run off our feet covering for those who are.’

      ‘Which is why you’re trudging round in the mud,’ he said softly. ‘My informants say you’re a research historian here.’

      His informants. That sounded like Kass. ‘What I do is none of your business,’ she snapped.

      ‘The woman who is responsible for Mathieu is very much my business.’

      She stared at him. Staring seemed all she was capable of. There was nothing else to do that she could think of.

      ‘Who…who are you?’ she whispered.

      ‘Kass was my cousin.’

      She moistened her lips. ‘I don’t think…I never met…’

      ‘Kass and I didn’t get on,’ he said, with a sideways warning glance at Matty. There were things that obviously couldn’t be said in Matty’s presence. But Matty was doing his measuring and cutting with the focus of a neurosurgeon. These cake slices would be exactly equal if it took him half an hour to get it right.

      ‘My father was the old prince’s younger brother,’ Rafael said. ‘Papa married an American girl—my mother, Laura—and we lived in the dower house at the castle. My father died when I was a teenager, but my mother still lives at the castle. She and my father were very happy and she never wants to leave, but I left when I was nineteen. For the last fifteen years I’ve spent my life in New York. Until Kass died. Then I was called on. To my horror, I’ve discovered I’m Prince Regent.’

      ‘Prince Regent.’

      ‘It seems I’m the ruling Prince Regent of Alp de Ciel until Matty reaches twenty-five,’ he said ruefully. ‘Unless I knock it back. Which I don’t intend to.’

      So the Prince Regent of Alp de Ciel was sitting at her kitchen table. Unbelievable. She didn’t believe it. She was fighting a mad desire to laugh.

      How close to hysterics was she?

      ‘So you’re Prince Regent of Ciel.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you’ve come to Australia…why?’

      ‘Because Matty needs his mother.’

      That was enough to take her breath away all over again.

      ‘Kass decreed he didn’t need his mother five years ago,’ she whispered. She shot Matty a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t a figment of imagination. She’d been delirious for twenty-four hours with influenza. She was still as weak as a kitten. This was surely an extension of her illness.

      But no. Matty was here. He was evening up his slices, taking a surreptitious nibble of an equalizing sliver.

      ‘My cousin,’ Rafael was saying, softly so the words were for her alone, ‘had the morals of a sewer rat. I heard what he did to you. You were a kid; he married you and then you were in no man’s land. Mother of a future Crown Prince. Only of course you’d signed your rights away. As a commoner marrying into royalty, you had to sign an agreement saying if the marriage ever broke down full custody of any children would stay with the Crown. So when you had an affair…’

      ‘I had no affair,’ she said, dragging desperately on to truth as a lifeline.

      ‘It seems now that you didn’t,’ Rafael said grimly. ‘It was the only thing that made it palatable to the world. That there were men who claimed to be your lovers. That you were proven to be immoral. Everyone knew Kass never had any intention of being faithful to a wife—he only married you to make his father furious. But…’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

      ‘No, but you must.’ His hands were still holding hers. She stared down at the link. It seemed wrong but it was such an effort to pull away. Did she have the strength?

      Yes. This man was a de Boutaine. She had no choice. She tugged and he released her.

      ‘The story as I knew it,’ he said softly, ‘is that Kass married a commoner who was little better than he was. Together you had a child, but the only time you came to the castle was in the last stages of your pregnancy. By the time you had the child, the word was out. Your behaviour was said to be such that the marriage could never work. Kass’s public portrayal of your character was so appalling he even insisted on DNA testing to prove Mathieu was his son. Then, once Mathieu was proven to be his, he sent you out of the country. He cancelled your visa and he didn’t allow you back. The terms of the marriage contract left you no room to fight, though the people of Alp de Ciel always assumed you were well looked after in a monetary sense. You disappeared into obscurity—not even the women’s magazines managed to trace you. You weren’t a renowned beauty looking for publicity. You weren’t flying to your lawyers to demand more money. You simply disappeared.’

      ‘And Matty?’ she whispered. For five years… every minute of every day he’d stayed in her heart.