Royal Baby: Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child / Cavelli's Lost Heir / Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress. Sabrina Philips
Читать онлайн книгу.
and she’d had a period, admittedly light, but then she’d only just come off the pill. It couldn’t be possible.
And the doctor had looked benignly down at her as he’d clicked up his bag and explained that there was no mistake, that coming off the pill so recently meant her cycle could be late, and that the light period she’d assumed she’d had was most likely no more than an implantation bleed.
And then he’d asked her what she did for a living and warned her that she might have to think about not flying for a while. Not flying? Flying was her job. She’d just got the job of her dreams. It was her life!
And now she knew that the churning in her stomach was nothing to do with any morning sickness, but a gut-wrenching reaction to the news.
She was pregnant. With Rafe’s child. That alone was bad enough. But he wasn’t just a man any more.
He was a prince.
She screwed her face into the pillow and tried unsuccessfully to stem a fresh batch of tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not with him. Not now.
He might be the father of the baby growing inside her, but he was expected to marry. Someone suitable. Someone worthy of being Montvelatte’s princess.
Someone else.
Not some no-name commoner from a dysfunctional family who’d spent one night with him and ended up pregnant.
Which was fine, because she didn’t damn well want any man on those terms anyway.
Sienna sniffed and sat up, grabbing a tissue to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks and blow her nose. Damn it all. Lying here crying wouldn’t help; she had to pull herself together and get moving. She shoved back the covers and eased herself up to sitting on the side of the bed, swallowing air, waiting until the rocking motion inside her settled before she trusted her feet to hold her up.
Rafe wanted her gone from the island, he’d made that crystal clear, so she would oblige. And, let’s face it, the last thing either he or Montvelatte needed right now was the scandal of an unplanned pregnancy with someone unsuitable. So she would get dressed and fly back to Genoa as soon as this damned nausea settled down. As soon as she’d come to terms with the shock of this latest bombshell.
Except that she was pregnant.
How was anyone supposed to terms with something like that?
There was a sharp rap on the door before it swung open, revealing the person she least wanted to see in the world. Her heart slammed into his chest as his dark eyes honed in on her, intent but frustratingly unreadable. Please God, the doctor had not shared her news!
She was dressed in some kind of white nightgown that fitted over her breasts and then fell softly to her ankles and he gave a silent tick of approval for whoever had released her hair from that damned braid so now it rioted around her face in a mass of colour and curl.
She looked like a virgin on her way to a sacrifice.
And then he took in her wide red-rimmed eyes, the eyes that looked up at him with something akin to terror, and revised the description. She looked like hell. As guilty as hell.
‘What are you doing out of bed?’
‘I was just getting up,’ she protested, through lips inordinately pale. ‘Or I was, until you once again decided to invite yourself in unannounced. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.’
‘I thought you were sick.’
‘I’m feeling much better,’ she replied, adding a smile that didn’t go near to erasing the caginess in those hazel eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me back there. I … I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.’
He almost growled. She was still trying to hide the truth. ‘So now you’re accusing my cook of poisoning you?’
‘No! I didn’t mean—’ She gave up trying and shook her head. ‘Look, I’m sorry to put you out, but I’ll be gone soon. So if you wouldn’t mind …’
She gestured towards the door but he wasn’t going anywhere. He stood at the foot of the bed and leant a hand against one of the carved wooden posts. ‘I don’t think so. I really think leaving would be unwise right now.’
Sienna stood up in a rush and sprang away from the bed, a blur of motion as the white gown billowed around her long legs like a cloud, her bare feet pacing the carpet. He could almost see her mind ticking over as her hands busied themselves collecting her hair into a loose pony tail before letting it go to spring back wild around her face again. ‘Look, Rafe,’ she said, turning to him, the colour of irritation high on cheeks that otherwise looked too pale to be human, ‘we’ve been through all this and I’m fed up with the way you think you can push me around. You agreed last night that I could leave today and, quite frankly, it won’t be soon enough. As soon as I’m dressed, I’m out of here.’ She was halfway to the bathroom before he caught up with her, catching her arm and swinging her around.
‘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