Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage. Кейт Хьюит
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This was ridiculous. Dangerous.
‘Yes, I did,’ Leo replied, amusement gleaming in those golden, hooded eyes, eyes like an eagle’s, the eagles that were stamped on every piece of priceless porcelain on the table, reminding her just who she was dealing with, what—
Phoebe put her glass down with an unsteady clatter. ‘I appreciate your effort,’ she said, forcing herself to meet Leo’s gaze directly, ‘but I’d really like to finish things here and go—’
‘Home. Yes, I know. However, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple or quick. And I, for one, am starving, having travelled across the Atlantic this afternoon with very little to eat.’ He went to the table and began to remove the covers from several silver chafing dishes.
Leo began serving them both food, fragrant offerings that made Phoebe’s stomach clench and rumble despite her protestations that she wasn’t hungry. ‘Come, sit down,’ he said mildly. ‘There’s no reason to refuse to eat, is there?’
‘I’m not—’
‘Hungry? Yes, you are. I can hear your stomach rumbling from here. And if you’re worried about Christian, I had Nora order pizza. He doesn’t have any food allergies, I trust.’ He spoke with such confidence Phoebe knew he’d already checked. Yet despite his knowing arrogance, she was touched that he had thought to consider Christian’s needs. It was a small detail, irrelevant really, yet it still, strangely, meant something.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, still somewhat grudgingly. ‘Christian loves pizza.’
‘Come.’ He beckoned her, holding aloft a dish that was steaming and fragrant. ‘You know you want to.’
Phoebe almost resisted simply for the principle of it. She didn’t want to be seduced by Leo, not even by the food he offered. He was toying with her, she knew, teasing her because he knew he affected her, knew that there was something basic and primal that she responded to, helplessly, hopelessly.
She’d felt it back then, a little spark leaping to life deep inside her, and now she felt that spark flame to life once more, licking at her insides, threatening to burgeon into a full-grown inferno of need.
‘Fine.’ Phoebe moved over to the table and sat down, accepting the plate of boeuf Bourguignonne in its rich red wine sauce that Leo handed her. It smelled and looked delicious. ‘And now you can tell me what this is all about.’
‘Of course.’ Leo took a sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. ‘Tell me, when was the last time you saw Anders?’
‘That’s hardly relevant,’ Phoebe snapped. She shifted in her seat, uneasy at this line of questioning and where it might lead.
‘I’m curious.’
‘Too bad.’ She took a bite of beef, barely registering the rich gravy or succulent meat. Her heart was thudding with heavy, hectic beats and her hands felt clammy. And all because of Leo. Why did she let him affect her this much?
‘Did Anders ever meet his son?’
Phoebe pressed her lips together. ‘Let’s just say,’ she said tightly, ‘that he wasn’t interested.’
‘I see.’ Leo gazed at her with a shrewd compassion Phoebe didn’t like. She didn’t want to be pitied or even understood. She just wanted to be left alone. ‘All right, Phoebe,’ Leo said. ‘It’s really rather simple. King Nicholas regrets his separation from Anders. He was furious six years ago, as you probably know—he’d already arranged Anders’s marriage with a minor European royal when he announced his relationship with you. It would have been a good match.’
Phoebe’s fingers clenched around the heavy sterling-silver fork. ‘Maybe so, but Anders obviously thought differently.’
‘Perhaps,’ Leo replied, and Phoebe felt it as an insult, even though in essence it was true. Anders had felt differently … for about a month.
‘I already know the king regrets his separation,’ Phoebe said, and heard the impatience fraying her tone. ‘You’ve made that abundantly clear. I just don’t see what it has to do with me—’
‘Nothing to do with you,’ Leo replied blandly, ‘but everything to do with Christian.’ He smiled, that sensual mouth curving, curling, making Phoebe want to shiver. ‘The king,’ he told her, ‘wishes to see his grandchild.’
Phoebe said nothing. Again, she found she wasn’t surprised. Horrified, but not surprised. Wasn’t this what she’d been waiting for, secretly, silently dreading? A claim on her child, no matter how small. A claim that could become stronger than her own. She opened her mouth, groping for words, for a cutting rebuttal, yet nothing came. Her mind was spinning in horrible circles, looking for an escape, some way out of this mess—
‘In Amarnes,’ Leo clarified in a terribly implacable tone. He paused. ‘You’re welcome to accompany him, of course.’
Outrage finally gave her voice. ‘Of course I’ll accompany him! That is, if he was going anywhere—which he’s not.’
Leo gazed at her, rotating the stem of his wine glass between long, lean fingers. ‘Phoebe,’ he said finally, his voice surprisingly, strangely gentle, ‘do you really think you can make such a statement?’
‘I just did—’
‘And back it up?’ Leo cut her off, his voice still soft yet with a chilling knowledge that made Phoebe blink. And blink again.
‘He’s my child. I don’t need to back anything up,’ she finally said, but even to her own ears her voice sounded uncertain. Afraid.
‘And my uncle is the king of a small but wealthy and well-connected country,’ Leo told her. ‘What he wishes, he gets. And frankly there isn’t a court in the world that would rule in your favour. My uncle would make sure of it.’
‘A court?’ Phoebe repeated blankly, and a second later the single word caused a host of unpleasant connotations and images to tumble through her mind: trials and lawsuits, custody battles—all things she couldn’t afford, not emotionally or financially. ‘Your uncle would take me to court?’
Leo shrugged. ‘If you refuse him this small request—’
‘And how is this request small?’ Phoebe demanded. She rose from the table, spinning away, her fists pressed to her eyes as if she could shut out Leo’s voice, the reality he was forcing upon her.
From behind her she heard Leo rise from the table and come to stand behind her; she could feel the heat emanating from him, and for one crazy moment she wanted to lean back against him, feel the strength and hardness of his chest, find some kind of comfort there.
With Leo? her mind mocked. She really was falling apart if she thought there was any comfort to be had from him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a tone that managed to be both compassionate and final, ‘but this is how it is, and you cannot change it.’ He paused. ‘Prepare for a holiday in Amarnes. You might even enjoy it.’
Phoebe whirled around. ‘For six years your family has completely ignored me. And now suddenly they want something from me? And think they can have it?’
Leo didn’t even blink. ‘Essentially, yes.’ His voice was flat, but she thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes, and in desperation she appealed to that faint, frail hope.
‘Leo, please. It doesn’t make sense to drag Christian from the home he loves, the life he knows, and for what? To appease an old man’s sense of regret? It’s not fair to me or to Christian.’
Leo hesitated, and for a moment—a second—Phoebe thought she had a chance. Prayed that he understood, that he’d relent—then his face closed, like a fan snapping shut, and despair fell over Phoebe like a dank fog.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice flat, expressionless.