Page 28 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

Not that there was anything wrong with kind and sensible. They were important qualities in a mother.

Aurélie told herself she was clutching at straws, trying to pretend Lucien didn’t care for his princess bride. How pathetic was that?

‘Your idea is that you and...Ilsa—’ silly how tough it was to say her name ‘—would raise one big happy family? With my baby and any others you have brought up together?’

Lucien caught the doubt in her voice. More—cynicism.

‘You don’t believe I’m serious? Why would I lie?’

He’d known this discussion would be difficult. Naturally Aurélie had strong feelings about her child. Yet he wasn’t used to people questioning his word. He sat straighter, jaw tightening.

Lucien had felt unprepared to become King, but he knew his duty and did it to the best of his ability. Now he felt stuck in a quagmire; whichever direction he went there were complications. Surely Aurélie could see he was trying to find a solution for all of them? That he was doing his best in difficult circumstances?

She must know he’d never deliberately hurt her.

Managing the fallout from this would be diabolically difficult but he was trying to protect Aurélie and the child.

Brown eyes fixed on his and the expression in them sliced the edge off his annoyance. It wasn’t the look of someone being deliberately offensive. He saw sadness there. Sadness and disquiet. It stifled his indignation.

‘I don’t think you’re lying. But you don’t have any idea what the future might hold for this ideal family unit you imagine.’ Aurélie’s voice grew huskier and he had the strangest sensation, as if her words raked through him.

‘And you do? You think you can see into the future?’

Her shoulders lifted in a tight shrug. ‘I can tell you stepchildren aren’t always welcome. Or welcome only on certain terms.’

Everything, from Aurélie’s tone to her expression and tense body language, told him she meant it. And that this wasn’t only about their unborn child. The air seemed to thicken as she spoke. The way she sat higher indicated defensiveness. He leaned forward, sensing this was vital.

‘You need to explain.’

Her eyes flashed. Impatience? Anger? But Lucien refused to put words into her mouth. He waited.

Finally she continued, her voice clipped. ‘I thought it was obvious. Not all stepchildren are loved like the rest of the family. Love, approval, even a place in the family home can be conditional on...’ she paused and waved one hand ‘...good behaviour.’

‘You think we’d discipline this child more harshly than any others?’ Lucien was still coming to grips with the reality ofthisbaby, let alone others.

‘It’s not just about discipline but belonging.’ He watched her hands clasp, fingers knotting as she moved to the very edge of the sofa. ‘Being cared for rather than being seen as a burden or another pair of hands to help with chores.’

Something shifted in Lucien’s chest. They’d gone from talking about theoretical future children to something quite specific.

‘Is that what happened to you?’

Aurélie’s eyes held his for a long moment. Then she turned towards the window.

‘Weren’t you welcome in your family?’ Lucien saw her mouth tighten and regretted the need to push. But he had to know. For the sake of the child they were going to have.

And because he wanted to understand Aurélie.

The suffering he’d glimpsed on her face affected him. He didn’t like seeing the resignation that came with long-standing, deep-seated pain. He forced himself to sit still, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets instead of rising and taking a seat beside her.

She shrugged again. ‘My mother died when I was seven. Within months my father married again.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘My stepmother wasn’t cruel and didn’t beat me. But from the day of their marriage I never felt loved. Not by my father or my stepmother.’

Grave brown eyes met his. Instead of seeking sympathy, that stare felt challenging.

‘I have three younger half-brothers, so I know about being part of a blended family. But my reality was different to your theory.’ Her nostrils flared in distaste.

‘You weren’t happy?’ That was obvious.

‘I’d been loved, you see. My mother truly loved me.’ Her lips curved in a wistful smile that faded almost before it formed. ‘So I felt the loss when it wasn’t there.’ She shrugged and looked at her pleating fingers. ‘Lots of older siblings look after the younger ones, so I wasn’t special in that. But I was never allowed to feel part of the family like before. I was the unpaid help, the one to do all the chores and take the blame when things went wrong.’

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