Page 74 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

‘Oh, Lucien!’ She pulled one hand free of his death grip and cupped his hard jaw. Beneath the prickle of stubble she felt a muscle work and the frantic beat of his pulse. ‘I’ve been so miserable because I thought you only wanted our child. I wanted you to want so much more.’

The transformation in his face was like a blinding flash of sunlight.

‘Tell me.’ It was a rough command and Aurélie adored the sound.

‘I love you, Lucien. I think I’ve loved you since—’

Aurélie never finished. His mouth slammed into hers and for a long time there was nothing but the desperate need for reassurance between them both. The shared shock of realising their love was mutual. The frantic joy that made them cling to each other.

As the minutes passed and the panicked need for reassurance eased, their kisses grew tender. Lucien caressed her face, his touch soft as he brushed hair from her cheeks.

She looked into his eyes and now she saw it. Something she hadn’t seen since her mother. A light that eclipsed all else.

A light that warmed her right to the core of her being.

Aurélie had come home. She was wanted, truly wanted, not for something she could provide but for herself.

She’d found love.

‘I’ve never been so happy,’ she murmured between kisses.

‘Nor have I.’ Lucien’s voice was tender yet serious. Eyes the colour of sunshine and promises smiled down into hers. ‘This is only the beginning, my darling. Only the beginning.’

EPILOGUE

‘ANDSO,MYFRIENDS, I give you our beloved King Lucien. May his next ten years on the throne be as peaceful and successful as his first ten.’

Lucien’s chest swelled with pride. Not because of Aurélie’s kind words about his first decade as King, but because ofher.

Seeing her on the royal podium in the vast ballroom, poised and lovely as she addressed the crowd in all three of Vallort’s official languages, Lucien wanted to sweep her into his arms. To kiss her with all the wild passion nine and a half years of marriage hadn’t dimmed.

A vision in brilliant aqua, in a gleaming sleeveless ball gown, wearing her favourite opal choker necklace and a delicate opal and diamond tiara in her bright hair, she was everything to him.

Almost everything. A small hand twisted in his and he looked down to meet earnest brown eyes beneath copper hair.

‘That’s you, Papa! King Lucien.’ Five-year-old Prince Alex’s voice was almost drowned by the swell of sound as the throng repeated Lucien’s name in a toast.

‘So it is.’ Lucien smiled.

‘He’ll have to go up there to make a speech. You’d better take my hand instead, Alex.’ At nine years old, Justin had a royal’s upright posture and sense of responsibility. At least at official occasions. The rest of the time he was usually haring around with his friends, getting into mischief. He was also, according to Aurélie, the very image of Lucien.

‘Or,’ said a third voice, ‘we couldallgo and joinMaman. She might be lonely up there by herself.’

Lucien tried and failed to suppress a smile as he met his daughter’s beguiling gaze. Another redhead like her mother, seven-year-old Chloe knew far too much about how to get her own way. But she was good-natured as well as smart, with a cheeky sense of humour. She was hard to resist.

Lucien looked up to see his wife watching him with raised eyebrows.

‘An excellent idea, Chloe,’ he said, ushering the children forward. ‘We’ll all go.’

Seconds later, Lucien stood on the podium with his children before him and his sweetheart at his side. He held her closer than royal tradition dictated. But certain traditions had changed in the last decade.

Among the celebrating crowd he saw not one shocked face that he’d bring his brood to the anniversary ball.

To one side of the room, with a glass of champagne in her hand, sat Great-aunt Josephine, regal in crimson, her eyes sparkling.

‘After Papa’s speech we can dance, can’t we, Papa?’

‘One dance only,’ Aurélie whispered, ‘then it’s bedtime.’

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