Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage. Кейт Хьюит
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She hadn’t wanted the same fate for Leo.
So his fate—his duty—had been to exist as Anders’s older shadow. He’d accompanied his cousin on his escapades and he’d enjoyed them himself and now …
Now those days were over, and his duty lay elsewhere.
Leo turned away from the window, impatient with his own maudlin reflections. He thought of Phoebe, felt a flicker of reluctant admiration for her strength and courage, even though she was clearly shocked by Anders’s death … and its repercussions. Sometimes, Leo thought, he wondered if they’d ever be free of Anders’s repercussions, the messes he made, the people he disappointed.
And Phoebe and her son were just another problem Leo had to solve. Leo took another long swallow of brandy and closed his eyes. He knew what was required of him; the king had made it clear. Bring the son, pay off the girl. So simple. So cold-hearted. So treacherous.
Already he doubted the success of such a plan. Phoebe showed a fierce and unwavering loyalty to her child, and no doubt an offer of cold cash would enrage her, as it had before, and entrench her even more deeply in her disgust of Amarnes and its royal family. A subtler tactic was needed, a more sophisticated deceit.
He needed to keep her pliable, sweet, until he could decide just what he would do with her. What he wanted to do with her … Leo felt a tightening in his gut as he thought of how she responded to his lightest touch … She was so transparent in her desire. And yet he felt it as well, deep inside, a need …
He pushed the thought—as well as the feeling—away. He couldn’t afford to desire Phoebe. She was a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be dealt with, just as she’d surmised all those years ago. Even now he remembered every word of the conversation, could feel the smooth silk of her skin against his questing hand …
No. He clamped down on the thought, straightening his shoulders, and tossed back the last of his brandy. As the first stars began to glimmer in the sky, he considered his next move.
CHAPTER FOUR
PHOEBE followed Sven up the thickly carpeted stairs, the long velvet curtains drawn against the night. Everything was silent and still, hushed and muted, so she could hear the relentless drumming of her own heart, loud in her ears.
Sven came to the end of an upstairs corridor and opened the door.
‘Mommy!’ Christian sprang up from where he’d been sitting with a scattered pile of Lego.
‘Having fun?’ Phoebe asked lightly, even as her arms ached to clasp her son to her in a tight hug and never let him go. Dash out of the consulate and run from the ever-grasping claws of the royal family, with their power and their ruthless arrogance.
‘Yes …’ Christian admitted a bit grudgingly. Looking around the room, Phoebe could see that was indeed the case. The sumptuous carpet was scattered with Lego and action heroes, and a pile of Christian’s favorite DVDs rested by the large-screen plasma TV.
‘Can we go?’ Christian asked, and Phoebe saw him chew nervously on his lip. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘You can have dinner here,’ Phoebe suggested. ‘I’m sure they’ll let you order whatever you like. You can have that pizza you wanted.’
‘Of course,’ Nora murmured.
‘But I want to go now …’
So do I, Phoebe thought grimly, but she simply rested a hand lightly on Christian’s head, resisting yet again the urge to grab him and run. ‘Soon, I promise. Why don’t you watch a DVD?’ She gestured towards the huge television. ‘You’ve been asking for one of those for ages.’
‘I don’t want to watch a DVD,’ Christian said at his most obstinate, and Phoebe sighed, crouching down so she was at eye-level. ‘Christian, I’m sorry, but we have to stay a bit longer. I told you I had some business to take care of, and it will be finished—soon. I need to talk to—to Prince Leopold for a few more minutes—’
‘Prince?’ Christian repeated, his voice sharpening with curiosity and then, worse, realisation. ‘Like the prince on TV? The one who died?’
Phoebe silently cursed her son’s mental agility. ‘Ye-es,’ she agreed reluctantly, adding a caveat, ‘sort of.’
‘You know a prince,’ Christian said, sounding impressed, and then he actually puffed out his chest. ‘And so do I.’
‘A prince with a big-screen TV,’ Phoebe reminded him, desperate for a diversion. ‘I’ll just be a few more minutes, OK?’
‘OK.’ Christian nodded slowly, won over by the promise of pizza and a DVD.
Phoebe straightened, smiling in relief, even as she steeled herself for another round with Leo. Yet at that moment all she could remember was that dark look of compassion in his eyes, and the way his fingers had burned through her coat.
Sven took her back downstairs, but instead of returning to the large reception room at the front of the consulate he led her to a smaller, more private room at the back.
He opened a door and ushered her inside, retreating and closing the door softly behind him before Phoebe even had a chance to register where she was.
‘What is this?’ she demanded, and Leo turned to her and smiled.
‘Dinner, of course.’
But it wasn’t just dinner, Phoebe acknowledged with a fluttering of panic she knew she shouldn’t feel. It looked—and felt—like some kind of seduction.
The room was dimly lit by a few small table lamps, and a table for two had been laid by the marble fireplace, set with a creamy damask cloth, delicate porcelain and the finest crystal, glinting in the light. The flames of the fire cast leaping shadows over the room, and half of Leo’s face was in shadow, so she could only see the faint curling of his mouth in what she supposed was a smile.
He looked far too confident, Phoebe thought as the panic rose, far too powerful, too predatory. Too sensual. For there could be no denying that Leo Christensen was a completely sensual being.
He’d taken off his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt so that Phoebe’s gaze was instinctively drawn—as it had been six years ago—to the strong column of his throat. She jerked her gaze upwards, felt herself flush as she saw how Leo had been watching her. Knowing.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Phoebe said, taking a step towards the door.
‘Aren’t you?’ Leo murmured, and Phoebe’s flush intensified as though her whole body was burning. Burning not just with awareness, but with shame, for something about Leo invoked a helpless response in her that she hated.
Desire.
She felt it stretch and spiral between them, sleepy, seductive and far too powerful. No, Phoebe corrected fiercely, not desire. Fascination. It was like a child’s fascination with fire, fingers aching to touch the flickering flame, so forbidden and dangerous. It didn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t, of course it wouldn’t. She didn’t even like Leo. As long as she remembered that and kept herself well away from the flames, she’d be all right. Safe.
Except now the source of heat and danger was walking right towards her with that long, easy stride, smiling with sleepy sensuality as he held out a glass of wine he’d just poured while she’d been standing here, her mouth hanging open and her eyes as wide as a child’s, or worse, a lovesick girl’s.
‘Here.’ He handed her the glass of wine, which Phoebe accepted before she could think better of it, her nerveless fingers curling around the fragile stem.
‘You’ve gone to rather a lot of effort,’ she finally said. Leo merely raised his eyebrows.
‘I must admit I did little more than bark a few orders, but I thought we’d both be more comfortable having eaten something.’
‘Did