Prince's Son of Scandal(10)

“You’ll submit to a blood test, then?”

Her eyes narrowed in mutiny.

“You can submit nicely or I can pin you down while my doctor takes it.” He was clearly a sadist because something in him longed for her to push him into restraining her.

“Touch me and I’ll break your nose.” She started to lift a threatening fist and flinched, quickly cradling her right hand—which is what she’d been doing since her hands had gone into her lap, he realized.

He caught her wrist and held on when she tried to pull away. The backs of her fingers were an angry red, her knuckles puffy.

His heart lurched.

“Did you break any bones? Can you move your fingers? That’s what this is for.” He picked up the ice pack, incensed all over again that she had waded into the fight.

“I know how to throw a punch.” She took the ice and flexed her fingers against it, showing only a wince of discomfort so he presumed she hadn’t fractured anything.

“What were you thinking? It’s a damned good thing his reflexes didn’t take over. You would have been on the ground.”

“My bodyguard was being assaulted.”

“No, my bodyguard was moving into position to cover me. She attacked him. Then you did. Do you understand what bodyguards are paid to do? There is no reason you should have involved yourself.”

Her brows flicked in dismissal of his concern.

Was this really the mother of his heir? If he’d gone to a brothel and bought a man, he couldn’t have picked someone less suitable.

“A simple blood test could prove I’m not the father. We could have it done before we cross the border.” He pointed at the sign they passed that stated they were less than a mile away.

“I’m afraid of needles.”

“Be afraid of me, bella.”

Her flat smile died. Something vulnerable flashed in her expression.

His conscience pinched.

“Is that the problem?” His voice still sounded gruff and aggressive. His animosity hadn’t evaporated just because he was finally getting answers. He didn’t want to soften toward her at all. She was far too dangerous. But fear was an explanation he could understand.

“Have you been afraid of my reaction? I’m not happy.” That was a gross understatement. A well-practiced aloof demeanor had always served him well, but it was impossible to find in the face of this life-altering situation. Still, he tried to reassure her. “Nothing bad will happen if the baby is mine. I’ll recognize him or her as our future monarch. We will marry so it’s legitimate. That’s all. No stake burnings or feeding to dragons. Were you afraid I’d pressure you to terminate? Is that why you’ve kept it from me?”

Silence. She turned her attention out the side window again, so he couldn’t read her expression.

“Do you not know who the father is? How many contenders are there?”

Her glare swung like a blade to slice through him.

“I don’t care how many men you’ve slept with.” Much. He was disturbed to realize he did, actually. It wasn’t because of the paternity question, either. The passion between them had been unprecedented. He didn’t like to think she reacted that way to every man she slept with. It would have made all of this even more intolerable.

“How pregnant are you? Let’s see if that eliminates me, shall we?”

“Pregnant enough to need a pit stop. Can we stop here?”

“No.” The border guard waved them through with only a very minor slowing of their speed, recognizing the plates. “We’ll be at my chalet shortly.”

The car sped along the pass that formed part of the border between Austria and Elazar. As they rounded a bend, the valley opened, allowing a glimpse of Lirona, the capital, once a modest fiefdom, now a thriving city of culture, intellect and wealth. It sat like a heart against the shore of Lac Lirona, the arms of the mountains stretching out to embrace the blue water he loved with everything in him.

Over the centuries, his ancestors had fought to maintain their governance over this small kingdom many times. His great-grandmother had taken up with one of Hitler’s top advisors to keep the Nazi invasion at occupation rather than annihilation.

That is where the bar is set when it comes to duty, his grandmother had extolled as a history lesson, explaining why Xavier’s father was unfit to rule. We are custodians. We do what we must. To put yourself before Elazar is treason.

This, because his father had followed his libido into a high-profile affair with a topless waitress from Amsterdam then married the woman’s aunt, owner of a drug café. His divorce from Xavier’s mother had already been ugly and, even worse in his grandmother’s eyes, common.

His grandmother was a hard woman—her father, King Ugo, hadn’t forgiven his wife and Queen Julia had grown up in a harsh climate of blame and sacrifice. If her spare had survived, things might have been different. Instead, she had forced her only son to renounce the throne, disowning him and keeping her grandson as Elazar’s future.

It was all on Xavier to perpetuate the monarchy into the next generation. He had planned to do so through an elegant association with Patrizia, a respected princess with a degree in social justice and a pedigree that couldn’t be faulted.

Instead, he had behaved as impulsively as his father, tangling with a fashion designer whose life was stained with one scandal after another.

He was running out of hope that her child was not his. Whether his grandmother could find it in her to forgive him for this transgression didn’t matter.

He would never forgive himself.





CHAPTER FIVE

AS SOMEONE WHO had grown up in obscene wealth, Trella didn’t bat an eye at the chalet that turned out to be a three-story modern fortress with a nod to its rustic ancestors in its gables and tiered verandas.

She was more interested in counting pairs of eyes—one at the gate, two at the door, the physician who followed them into the house, the chauffeur who took the car around to what she presumed was the garage, a butler who greeted them and a woman named Inga who was asked to prepare tea.

“Powder room?” Trella clung by her fingernails to control.

Ghosts—terrible, terrible ghosts—were creeping in at the edges of her consciousness, but something pressured to diamond brightness inside her kept her from becoming hysterical. This time she would get away.

As each of the Prince’s attempts to draw her out had pulled at her laser-like focus, she had resentfully allowed that she was taking the rough road, not the high one. She could still call in a team to break her out if she wanted, but a furious, too often helpless, part of her demanded she prove she could rescue herself.

Over the last months, she had come close many times to calling him. The problem was, she wasn’t as stupid as many would conclude from her behavior. She knew what would happen and he had confirmed it. He would marry her.

Which meant a profile in the public eye that was even higher than the one she already occupied. One from which she couldn’t retreat at will.

Worse, it meant being honest with him. She would have to reveal exactly how crazy she was. She would have to explain these ghouls tickling across her skin, making her want to scratch herself all over. The nightmare could spring to life with a beat of her heart, the cold sweats and shaking, the profound helplessness...

She hadn’t suffered an attack since well before their night in Paris, but one ticked like a bomb inside her. She could feel it. But no. She wouldn’t succumb, even though fighting it made it worse. She knew that.

With a dry mouth, she locked herself into a bathroom that smelled of potpourri. The small space was pristine, with a porcelain sink in a cherry wood vanity. She glanced from the full bath and shower to the frosted window that, once carefully opened, looked out onto the woods at the back of the house.

No balcony below this window, but it was big enough to allow a woman with a modest six month swelling in her middle to crawl through, and close enough to the nearby balcony she could swing a leg that direction and clamber across.

Not a kidnapping? Damned right it wasn’t.

* * *

“I’m sure she’ll come around,” Xavier told Gunter. He hadn’t lied when he had threatened to hold her down, but he didn’t want to. It wasn’t his habit to manhandle any woman, pregnant or otherwise. “Did she look six months to you?”

Gunter shook his head. “It’s difficult to say. Every woman carries differently. The fact she was able to hide it so long leads me to wonder, but...”

They needed a blood test.

“And this?” Xavier waved to where she had disappeared to use the toilet.

“Extremely common. Although...” He glanced at his watch.

That’s what Xavier had thought. He hadn’t taken his eyes from the closed door and she was still in there. He didn’t want to be indelicate, but he moved to knock.

Silence.

Fainted? His heart swerved.

“Trella.” He tried the handle, found it locked and rattled it. “She wouldn’t have—” The window dropped about thirty-two feet to the ground. That’s why he hadn’t bothered assigning someone to watch that side of the chalet.

“I’ll send someone to check.” Gunter hurried away, moving through the kitchen as Inga appeared with keys and a concerned expression.

Xavier gave the key a hard twist and walked into an empty powder room. A fresh breeze came through the open window. He glanced out to see Gunter below, holding Trella’s clutch, a grim expression on his face as he tracked the distance to the nearest balcony.