Page 9 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

Or maybe his imagination was running riot because he’d just had the best sex of his life.

His smile flattened. No. It was more than that. It had been more than that from the moment he’d seen her. Sexual attraction was easy to identify. What he couldn’t name was the other thing between them. It drew them like old friends reuniting or lovers together again after a long absence.

He huffed out a breath, half hoping Aurélie would wake. But she was out for the count. While he’d spent the evening brooding over his troubles, she’d been on her feet for hours, working.

Lucien recalled the touch of her hands on his body. They weren’t soft hands, though they spun magic easily, whether tender or demanding. This was a woman who worked hard, not some pampered socialite.

His own hand slid down the amazing curves of her body, from her ribs to the tight sweep in to her waist then up her hip, lingering there as she shifted in her sleep and murmured something he couldn’t catch.

It struck him that he’d give a lot to be able to do this again. Every night in fact. Imagine coming home to Aurélie. To those big brown eyes that seemed to understand so much. To her pragmatic, understated sympathy. To her warmth and generosity, her passion and...

Lucien slammed an iron door on his thoughts.

It couldn’t be.

Even thinking about it could only bring regret and pain.

Softly he pressed one last kiss to the side of her neck, heard her sigh and felt her tiny wriggle against him, as if even in sleep she needed to be close.

He knew the feeling.

Slowly, determined not to wake her, he withdrew his arm from under her and slid out of the bed.

It took enormous willpower to dress and turn away. He paused in the minuscule living room, switching off the light they’d left burning all night.

As he did, his gaze went to the chess board. A pawn had dropped to the floor, probably when they’d kissed. It was hard and cold in his hand and for a moment Lucien felt again the desperation that had risen inside him yesterday, along with the grief of loss. He’d felt like a pawn, being shuffled around some cosmic chess board without the right to choose his own direction. His future was being mapped out for him by forces beyond his control.

This morning, as he placed the small piece on the board, his gaze swept to another piece, taller and distinctive.

He breathed out slowly, feeling his chest swell and fall. Now he felt the calm of acceptance. There was no use fighting fate. He had a duty to perform and he wouldn’t shirk. Both his cousin and his uncle would have expected it of him. More, he knew in his heart that he’d never live with himself if he didn’t do this, even if it felt like nothing but sacrifice.

He allowed himself one last look over his shoulder, heart squeezing at the picture of pale limbs and tumbled bright hair. Aurélie would only be a memory in his new life.

Lucien opened the door and quietly left.

CHAPTER THREE

ACOUPLEOFmonths later Aurélie looked at the shabby backpack at her feet and wished she’d done the sensible thing and checked into a hostel as planned.

She’d had it worked out. Find somewhere cheap to stay. Have a hot shower after the long bus trip and change into the set of good clothes she’d bought.

But there were roadworks in the capital and the bus had taken a detour through the picturesque old town with its quaint buildings and arched lanes. When it stopped right before the Vallort royal palace it had seemed like providence and Aurélie had taken that as a positive sign.

Besides, today was one of the days part of the royal palace was open to the public. It was already late, due to delays on the journey. If she found a hostel and returned here she might be too late to get in.

So here she was, sitting on a gilt chair in the corner of a grand reception room, being stared at by a granite-faced guard. He and another staff member had told her multiple times that there was no point waiting. But wait she did, feeling totally out of place and more than a little daunted.

She’d tried before, via phone and email, but had been fobbed off. Speaking to a VIP who didn’t want to talk to you or who hadn’t told their staff to allow contact from you was impossible.

Aurélie leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and pretended interest in the frescoed ceiling which, according to the guidebook, was a masterpiece of baroque art.

Above her on the painted surface stood a figure draped in ermine, some grand King of Vallort, surrounded by courtiers and family. She scrutinised his face but, in his wig and regalia and wearing that expression of serene arrogance, he bore little resemblance to the man she’d come to see. Around him fat cherubs strung garlands and elegant women who wore nothing but fabric improbably draped around their hips looked on approvingly. Maybe they were goddesses. No one seemed to notice their state of undress.

Aurélie folded her arms and told herself if they didn’t mind being here half naked she surely couldn’t feel underdressed in faded jeans, boots and her favourite red turtleneck pullover. It was just that she was nervous, her heart beating high in her throat.

She wished she’d found time to change into her dress and heels. Her foot tapped nervously and a churning in her stomach spoke of fear.

Fear that, after coming all this way, she’d be fobbed off. Fear that there was no way of getting a private message to—

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