Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child(13)

‘Not with my baby, you’re not.’

He heard her gasp. Smelt her fear. ‘What are you talking about?’ She was still fighting, but the guilt was there, in the defensive sheen in her eyes, in the faint tremor in her lips.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

Her breathing was shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the action. ‘I don’t know why you think it’s any of your business, but maybe I didn’t know.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Then maybe it’s not your baby? Did you ever stop to consider that?’

He reeled back as if she’d physically lashed out, but only for a moment, before the feral gleam in his eye returned. ‘You went from my bed to another’s? I don’t believe you.’

‘You threw me out. Why should you care who I sleep with?’

‘I care because I do not believe you. You were hiding it from me and you’re still trying to. It’s my baby, isn’t it? You’re having my baby!’

If he hadn’t sensed her need, if he hadn’t let her go, she would never have made it to the bathroom in time. There was precious little in her stomach, nothing more than dry toast and some of the same sweet tea she’d had yesterday that had been so soothing at the time. And yet it felt like she was being torn apart from the inside with each violent heave.

And he was there, holding back her hair and steadying her shoulders as she held onto the bowl for grim death.

Oh, God, if it wasn’t bad enough that Rafe should see her like this, the doctor had obviously told him why.

A total disaster had just got worse.

At last it was over; the thrashing of her stomach calmed. She heard the sound of running water, felt the cool press of a flannel against her face and she took it gratefully, pressing it to her tear-stained cheeks and wishing that there was something that could so easily soothe her soul.

The doctor had told him, and Rafe knew!

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ he said, helping her to rise on unsteady legs and steering her from the room. She went with him, the fight gone from her, her strength drained, her mind numb with it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as he eased her down on the bed, knowing that a terrible wrong had been done, knowing she was at least partly responsible, not having a clue what to say. Having even less idea of how to fix it. ‘I realize this is inconvenient. I’ll go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

And the band that had bound his gut ever since he had heard she was pregnant grew even tighter, until even his lungs felt squeezed with the pressure. Better than any test result, it was the final confirmation he needed, banishing any lingering doubts in an instant. ‘So it is mine!’

Her eyes looked up at him, pained and dull. ‘Nobody will ever know. I promise.’



‘Merda! I will know! Or are you already planning on disposing of the “inconvenience”, as you so clinically put it, in order to assure that outcome?’

Her eyes sparked with indignation, their hazel lights suddenly flashing gold as if someone had thrown a switch, though her skin was still deathly pale and her voice was still rough and raw. ‘As it happens I haven’t had a chance to consider my options, but just what kind of person do you think I am?’

‘It doesn’t matter what type of person I think you are. What matters is what you plan on doing with my child.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe you care? Don’t bother. I promise not to go to the papers or get in the way of your precious princess hunt.’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, “no”?’

‘It means that’s not good enough. I will not allow another generation of Lombardi bastard children to be cast aside as if they are not family. There is only one solution.’

She rolled her head from side to side against the pillow. ‘You can share access, if that’s what you want. I can hardly deny a child access to its father.’

‘I’m glad you understand that. And there is no better way to share access…’ he smiled, amazed at how neatly the whole thing fitted together—a woman he had no trouble desiring, already pregnant with his child, and an end to Sebastiano’s endless round of prospective wife interviews, all rolled into one neat solution ‘…than to make you my wife.’





CHAPTER SIX



IF SIENNA hadn’t been lying down, her knees would have given way beneath her. As it was, the breath was punched from her lungs. He couldn’t be serious!

‘You have to be joking. There’s no reason on earth why I should marry you.’

‘It is the only solution. I need a wife and an heir.’

‘You need a princess, not a pilot. You need someone off that list of titled wannabes.’

‘But you have something they can only promise. You have conveniently proven your ability to conceive.’

‘Forget it. There’s no way I’m marrying you just because I’m pregnant. No way in the world.’

‘You need not be frightened of the royalty angle. You will be coached in our language and history.’

‘I wouldn’t say yes even if you weren’t a prince! A baby is no basis for a marriage. I would never do that to a child.’

‘And yet you would be happy to let that child grow up without its father. How is that fairer?’

‘You can’t force me to do this. Your father never married your mother simply because she was pregnant.’

‘He didn’t think he needed to. He already had his heir and a spare. My sister and I were surplus to requirements.’



‘But your mother—’

‘Had no choice! She received a substantial settlement and an annual pension on the condition she never returned to Montvelatte, and she never told anyone who her children’s father was.’

Sienna threw back her chin. ‘I would be more than happy to comply with the same conditions. For nothing. It wouldn’t cost you a thing.’

He shook his head. ‘You are kidding yourself. There is no way I would allow you to bring up our child in near poverty.’

‘I have a job!’

‘For how long? How can you fly in the condition you found yourself this morning? How long do you think anyone will employ a pilot who could faint at any minute? Who in their right mind would want to fly with you?’

‘I have some savings. I’ll take time off. Morning sickness doesn’t last forever.’

‘And after the baby comes, how do you expect to keep working when you have a child to care for?’

‘Like plenty of other woman in my situation do. I’ll cope.’

‘Not with my child. Simply coping is not an option. How long do you think you’ll keep the origins of your baby secret?’

‘Your mother obviously managed to.’

‘More than thirty years ago when there was still a measure of respect for privacy. Whereas these days, any hint of scandal, any hint of a royal baby born out of wedlock and the paparazzi will come baying at your door. How long do you think you can hide the truth?’

‘I won’t tell anyone if you won’t!’

‘And when I marry and have a wife and a family, and then the truth inevitably comes out because of something the doctor today tells his secretary or his wife, you would be happy to humiliate the woman I married with the news that I already had a child? How do you think that would look splashed across the gutter press? How do you think this child will feel when he learns that he was the rightful heir of Montvelatte and you denied him that birthright?’

‘Why do you assume it will be a boy?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Girl or boy, you will be denying this child its place in the Montvelattian monarchy.’

‘Only if it finds out. And who is going to tell?’

His arms came down on the bed either side of her, his face bare inches from her own, and it was all she could do not to cower back into the pillows at the anger and pain so starkly reflected in his features.

‘I will tell. Do not think you can deny me access to my child simply because you would rather forget who his father is. I am not like my father. I will not abandon a child I sired or hide it away merely because I was not married to its mother.’

Sienna watched his eyes while he made his speech, watched the way the pain coursed so deeply through them. He’d missed out on having a father all his life. He’d been cast away, exiled with his mother, unwanted by the father who’d sired him.

And he was right. One way or another, no matter how close she played her cards to her chest, there was no way she could shut Rafe out of her child’s life. But in allowing Rafe access to her child, there was no way its parentage could ever be kept secret.

So where did that leave her?

It was all too much to take in. She’d only just discovered she was pregnant, and now he was demanding that she marry him, a man she’d spent one short night with and the last twenty-four hours trying to get away from, a man who would, without a second thought, bully her into a marriage she neither wanted nor needed.

A shotgun wedding, just like her mother’s. Except this time there were no parents holding a gun to Rafe’s head to persuade him to do the right thing by their daughter. This time it was Rafe holding a gun to her head.