Page 2 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

Lucien couldn’t imagine ever wanting to party again.

Not when his world was a yawning maw of hurt.

He frowned into his glass, swirling the liquid then downing it in one, heat spilling down his throat. Yet still he was chilled to the marrow. He’d thought alcohol might dampen the biting ache but it had no effect.

He kept imagining Justin, his car smashed by the impact. And when he couldn’t stand that, his brain conjured images of the trip they’d made here years ago. Justin had been ecstatic with his incognito escape. Lucien’s memories of that time were filled with the sound of his cousin’s laughter. At the simple joys of camping. At paragliding or sailing on the lake or drinking beer by a barbecue like two ordinary guys.

That was why Lucien had found himself turning off theautorouteand heading for this town in eastern France that was only marginally on the way to Vallort. They’d wanted him to fly straight there but he’d insisted on driving himself. Tomorrow would be time enough to face his grim responsibilities.

Tonight he needed to be alone with his memories.

First Uncle Joseph, the only father he’d ever known, had succumbed to what had at first seemed a mild illness. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, Justin, as close as any brother. Had his reflexes been impaired by grief over his father?

They were the last of Lucien’s family.

He dragged in a breath laden with lacerating ice shards, despite the heat of the room. With it came skewering pain, lancing his chest, so sharp his lungs froze and the edges of his vision blackened.

Lucien lurched to his feet.

He needed to get out of here.

It was snowing when Aurélie left the restaurant. Soft plump flakes drifted across her cheeks and settled on her dark sleeves, making her smile. All around was silence, as if everyone else was tucked up snug and warm and she was the only one to witness the light fall.

Hugging her old coat closer, she stepped across the cobblestones towards the shallow river flowing through the heart of the old town. The Palais de l’?le was illuminated, its ancient stonework picturesque on its island in the centre of the river.

Would she miss this place when she left? Would she—

Movement at the corner of her vision made her turn. A tall form melded with an old wall but wasn’t part of it.

In her pocket Aurélie’s hand closed around her keys, threading them between clenched fingers. She’d always felt safe here even after a late finish, but it paid to be cautious.

She was turning away, deciding to take the long way to her tiny flat, when something about that shadowy figure made her pause.

He, for it was definitely he, looked familiar.

For three heartbeats she stood there, not sure why she hesitated, till her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she recognised him.

‘Monsieur?Are you all right?’

It was him, the solitary customer who’d awakened her curiosity.

Aurélie realised he was coatless, wearing only jeans and a pullover. From the way the finely knitted fabric clung to him she’d wondered earlier if it might be cashmere. Certainly it was expensive. But it wasn’t warm enough for standing out in the snow. How long had he been here? He’d left almost an hour ago. Snow had settled on his shoulders and dark hair.

She frowned. He could certainly afford a coat given the generous tip he’d left.

Aurélie took a step closer and saw a ripple pass through him. Like someone waking from sleep. Or someone on the verge of hypothermia?

‘It’s you.’ His deep voice had a roughened quality she didn’t recall from earlier. There was no threat in it. Instead it sounded rusty, as if his vocal cords had seized up.

‘What are you doing here?’ she probed.

Waiting for you.

She could imagine the young Spaniard saying that, grinning lasciviously.

‘Just...thinking.’ She heard him swallow. ‘I needed some fresh air to...’ His words petered out.

‘To think.’ She nodded briskly, telling herself she wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t waiting for her.

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