Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage

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 rushed to get breakfast and pack last-minute things. Harassed and her hair half-brushed, Phoebe watched in dismay as a limousine with tinted windows pulled up to the apartment building, idling at the kerb. Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched Leo, dressed superbly in a dark suit, a wool trenchcoat over one arm, exit the car and press the bell.

Leo’s dark gaze swept over the apartment building with its crumbling steps and soot-stained walls. It was charming, he supposed, in a slightly run-down way. His lips twitched as he imagined teasing Phoebe about it, before he clamped down on that thought. He couldn’t afford it, couldn’t allow Phoebe to matter at all. It would only hurt them both in the end.

Leo pressed the bell again, impatience biting at him. He knew this had to be difficult for Phoebe, knew it was the last thing she wanted, and who could blame her? The royal family had spat her out six years ago and now they wanted to chew her back up. Hardly an enticing proposition, yet one she would have to accept, just as he had.

He pictured her then, not as he remembered her six years ago with her still childishly rounded face and college student’s clothes of torn jeans and a T-shirt, but the woman she’d become. The woman he’d seen yesterday, whose hair was still curly and dark, whose slight figure still possessed improbably lush curves. He thought of how her wide grey eyes sparked defiance—and an irrepressible desire—when she looked at him.

It infuriated her perhaps, that desire, but it was there. It had been there last night; he’d seen it, felt it humming in the air between them when she’d entered the room and had seen the candlelit room with a meal laid out like a planned seduction.

Of course, he couldn’t seduce her, as much as his body begged for that release. Sex was a complication he couldn’t afford. Last night had simply been a way to gain her confidence, her trust, even her friendship.

He needed Phoebe pliant and willing, ready to do the royal family’s bidding … whatever it might be.

Phoebe called for Christian, who had been racing around the apartment like a wild thing, and reached for her suitcase. She didn’t want Leo in her apartment, filling up the small space with his formidable presence, yet she realised it was unavoidable as she heard his tread on the stairs, light yet purposeful. Mrs Simpson must have let him in, Phoebe thought. She never could resist a handsome face or a charming smile, and Leo had both.

And then he was there, knocking on the door, which Christian wrenched open before Phoebe could stop him—not that there would be any point, delaying the utterly inevitable.

‘Hello.’ Leo stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit, looking calm and unruffled and unusually solemn. He surveyed Christian, who stared at him in open curiosity. ‘My name is Leo, and I suppose I’m your cousin.’

Christian’s eyes widened. ‘I have a cousin?’

Leo’s gaze moved questioningly to Phoebe, who bit her lip. ‘We hadn’t quite got round to discussing that yet,’ she said quietly and Leo inclined his head.

‘Well, it’s quite a nice surprise for you, isn’t it, Christian?’ He smiled easily. ‘I like surprises. Do you?’

‘Ye-es,’ Christian agreed after a moment, and Leo reached for the rather large, green plastic dinosaur poking out of Christian’s backpack.

‘My goodness, I wouldn’t want this fellow to catch me in a dark alley,’ he said, inspecting the toy with considerable interest. ‘He’s got a lot of teeth, hasn’t he?’

‘And he makes a noise, too,’ Christian said eagerly, pushing a button so the dinosaur let out a fearsome mechanical roar and clawed the air for a few seconds. Leo let out a little yelp, pretending to jump back in fright, thus earning a great belly laugh from Christian. ‘It’s just pretend,’ he said with a child’s scorn, and Leo returned it to his backpack.