Page 18 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

Aurélie shuddered. ‘We’ve talked.’

She needed somewhere to lick her wounds and think about what to do next.

Quickly she ducked, scooting under his imprisoning arm and into the flagstoned passage. Her breathing was raw, her lungs aching as she almost ran. From just behind came the sound of footsteps.

‘Aurélie, please! At least slow down. These flagstones are uneven. You don’t want to trip and injure yourself or the baby.’

That stopped her mid-stride. She flung her arm out to the panelled wall for support and drew a shuddering breath. In the light from the high windows she saw the worn stones were uneven.

It wasn’t like her to panic, yet she felt that skittering sensation, the urge to flee.

Because she’d hoped Lucien would live up to the idea of him she’d built in her imagination. If he wasn’t real then she was more alone than ever.

Aurélie dropped her hand from the wall.

She was stronger than that. She’d learned self-reliance long ago. She’d cope, no matter how overwhelming everything seemed.

Slowly she stepped forward, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, all the way back to the grand baroque palace where she’d felt so utterly out of place. But it wouldn’t be for long. She’d grab her pack and go. She’d find a hostel for the night and tomorrow she’d leave.

A veneer of calm cloaked her as she walked. Even the sound of measured steps following didn’t bother her. At least he didn’t try to stop her. He must realise she’d had enough.

Through a massive panelled door that thankfully opened easily then right, left and right to the office where she’d left her pack.

All was quiet, even those following footsteps were muted as they passed onto golden-toned wooden floors then thick carpet.

Aurélie pushed open the final door with relief. She’d get her pack and...

Another door opened and there was the secretary, carrying a cafetière. The coffee aroma hit, rich and pungent. She spun on her heel, trying to hold down a rising tide of nausea.

Aurélie blundered into a hard body. Hard and warm. Hands gripped her elbows and she was encompassed by comforting heat. But not comforting enough to stop the sickness.

The secretary spoke from behind her. ‘Let her go, Lucien. She’s unwell.’

Thankfully those hands released her and she staggered to the now familiar bathroom. She barely had time to snick the lock before she was retching, succumbing to morning sickness.

Fifteen minutes later, Aurélie smoothed her hair, pulling it back into a fresh ponytail. She wished she had lipstick to give her face more colour, but she’d left her purse with her backpack.

What did it matter how she looked when she was leaving? There was no one here she wanted to impress. Yet she felt gauche. This was the second time she’d retreated to be comprehensively ill. She felt washed out and it was an effort to hide her weakness.

What happened to morning sickness being in the morning? She thought of tomorrow’s bus ride back to France and winced. It could be very uncomfortable indeed.

Pulling her spine straight, she entered the office. The secretary wasn’t there, nor, thankfully was his coffee.

Aurélie would almost rather have faced that when her gaze caught on an intense amber stare that feathered memories through her mind and her body. As if she only had to meet Lucien’s gaze to be swept back into the sensual world they’d shared.

She snapped her gaze towards the view of an inner courtyard beyond the desk.

‘Do you feel any better?’ Lucien sounded concerned. He probably wasn’t used to women running from him.

‘Thanks. I’m good.’ For now. She had no idea if this afternoon’s experience was typical of what she could expect. The thought was daunting. ‘I need to collect my luggage.’

She looked to where she’d last seen it but Lucien gestured to another door. ‘This way.’

Aurélie hesitated. She didn’t want to prolong conversation with a man who thought she’d come to take his money. Indignation vied with tiredness.

She entered another office, larger, luxurious, yet clearly a place for serious work. There might be a floor-to-ceiling bookcase on one wall, and comfortable-looking leather sofas either side of a lovely crackling fire, but the mail trays on that big desk were full, and the ergonomic keyboard and sleek computer were all business.

‘Please take a seat.’

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