Page 19 of Unknown Royal Baby

How long she sat there, she didn’t know. His lullaby worked on her too. She felt her bones melt into the upholstery as she relaxed properly for the first time in what seemed ages. It was only as he moved towards the cot that her drowsy eyelids lifted.

She said nothing as he put the baby down. Maryam’s long dark lashes curled across perfect cheeks and her rosebud mouth made her look like an angel. A rush of maternal emotion sideswiped Avril, making her blink and get up to fuss with the blanket until Isam moved away.

Neither spoke until they were downstairs.

‘How did you do that?’ she asked as they entered the front room.

Avril had lost count of the number of times she’d sung lullabies and walked the floor with her daughter.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I was just different enough to distract her until she dropped off.’

Avril had a feeling it wasn’t that simple. Again she wondered about her own competence. Maybe Maryam had picked up on her stress despite her best efforts at seeming calm.

Or maybe you’re beating yourself up over nothing.

‘What’s her name?’

Warily, Avril pursed her lips. But after what he’d just done she owed him this at least. ‘Maryam.’

He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. ‘That’s an Arabic name.’

‘Is it?’

You know it is. But you could mention it’s used in other languages too.

‘You didn’t know?’

He paused, waiting for her answer, his gaze searching.

Now the moment had come she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. For a year she’d been determined to share this, but today she’d convinced herself that discretion was better. For her daughter and herself.

Yet after seeing him upstairs...

Isam shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, the movement pulling open his jacket to reveal a wet spot on his pristine shirt. Drool from where he’d snuggled her daughter close.

‘Avril, you haven’t answered me.’

She wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘I knew. I looked it up. I like the name but I also wanted something that worked in both English and Arabic.’

He said nothing but his eyes silvered as he stared at her, and she saw his pulse thrum hard.

She drew a sustaining breath. ‘She’s your daughter.’

He stood utterly still. It was only the flare of his nostrils and that rapid pulse at his temple that proved he was alive, not some graven image.

‘My daughter? Our daughter?’

‘She was born thirty-nine weeks after you left London.’ His head jerked back as if in denial or belated shock. But surely he’d begun to guess upstairs. ‘She’s ours. Conceived the night before you flew to Zahdar.’

Isam might be good with babies but he wasn’t in any hurry to accept fatherhood. He shook his head then turned on his heel and crossed to look out onto the dark street.

Be fair. It took you long enough to get over the shock of being pregnant.

Minutes later he swung back. But instead of excitement or the tenderness she’d seen when he looked at the baby, his expression was set, sending a ripple of disquiet through her.

‘We’ll need a paternity test. I’ll arrange it. Someone will come tomorrow.’

Now it was Avril who rocked back in shock. When she found her voice it was strident but undercut by a telling wobble. ‘You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying about mydaughter?’

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