The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride. Maisey Yates
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long-suffering sigh. “All right. Ask away.”
“He arrived late. He was wearing a mask that looked like a skull, dressed all in black.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Renzo’s lips. And then, he did something that Allegra rarely saw him do: he laughed.
“What?” she asked, fury rioting through her. She was having a crisis and he was laughing at her. “What’s so funny about that?”
“I’m very sorry to tell you that I believe your head was turned by Cristian. I know you will loathe that. As I know you loathe him.”
Ice slipped down through her, chilling her, making her feel ill. “No,” she said. “That was not Cristian.”
“Protest all you like, but it was. Perhaps it’s for the best that Mother and Father have arranged your marriage? It seems that left to your own devices you have terrible taste.”
“No,” she said, getting more furious. “There is no way that that was Cristian Acosta. I would have... I would have... Turned to stone.”
“Just by looking at him?” Something strange crossed over her brother’s face.
“Yes,” she said.
Obviously he would find out eventually. They all would. Unless... They didn’t. Perhaps, Cristian did not have to know.
Raphael would have to know, there was no way around that. Their engagement was off. And her life would be all the better for it. But, if the man she had been with was truly Cristian, then he would no more believe it than she did.
He saw her as a spoiled, selfish child, and nothing more. If she turned up pregnant, he would never connect the woman he’d had up against the wall with Allegra.
Her stomach turned. Cristian. It didn’t seem possible. How could she... How could she have ever...
A question she had asked herself over and over again, even before she had discovered the identity of the man she had been with.
And so she made a decision then. She was not going to tell him. What good would come of it? He would either want nothing to do with her and the baby, or he would want everything to do with them. Frankly, she preferred the former, but feared the latter.
“Never mind,” she said. “Clearly I was being silly.”
“Clearly,” Renzo said, going back to his work.
Allegra’s mind was made up. She would break off her engagement, and seeing as she was already going to be disgraced, she would embrace it fully. She would raise her child alone.
She would ask nothing of Cristian.
“Your sister’s broken engagement seems to be making headlines.” Cristian poured himself a drink and turned to face his friend.
Anger that was somewhat unequal to the situation rioted through his blood. He had put his own reputation on the line, introducing Raphael to the Valentis. Vouching for Allegra as a future spouse.
He and Raphael were not really friends, more acquaintances. A hazard of being nobility, especially in these times when titles and the like were sinking into obscurity and obsolescence. But still, he had been the one to make the introduction. The one to suggest the union.
Out of respect and gratitude for the support the Valenti family had always shown him, more than anything else. He should have known she would ruin it.
It had only been a matter of time before Allegra had blown her life up completely. She had always seemed on the verge of it. A shimmering flame even while she sat, trying to look serene at parties and family meals.
He had always seen it. That restlessness. That dissatisfaction. But he’d hoped she’d find herself safely married to a prince and not...well, headline news.
A woman with her temperament was always in danger of being tabloid fodder, and he’d tried to warn her. She was too headstrong to listen.
He had hoped the promise of Raphael would keep her in line. Had hoped it would keep her secure.
It apparently had not.
“The cancellation of a royal wedding is always going to be a major deal,” Renzo said.
“I suppose that’s true.”
Cristian remembered, clearly, her behavior the one time he had been at dinner when Raphael was in attendance. The one time he had seen the two of them together. She hadn’t had a clue what to do with him, and he clearly hadn’t the inclination to handle her.
Raphael was a prince, and accustomed to deference. Allegra didn’t seem to know how to give it and had remained sulky and silent throughout the meal.
She’d been very young then. He’d hoped she might mature.
Perhaps it’s for the best.
He knew all too well how marriages made for political gain could end up. And how unhappy a young bride who wished to have some freedom might crumple beneath the weight of expectation.
But she is not Sylvia. And he isn’t you.
Yes, undoubtedly Allegra could have made good on this marriage. Had she any notion of just how good she had it.
“Thank God the reasoning behind the breakup has not come forward yet. But it will,” Renzo said, standing and making his way across the office, helping himself to the alcohol as well.
He frowned. “What’s the reason?”
“She’s pregnant.”
Something about that hit him hard and low. The image of her growing round...of her holding a baby in her arms...he despised it.
Which was ridiculous. She’d been set to marry Raphael in a few months’ time, and she would have been pregnant by him soon enough. Why it should feel such an assault now, he didn’t know.
He gritted his teeth, fighting against the rising tension in his body. “Not with her prince’s child, I take it?”
“No. She refuses to tell our parents, or me, who the father is. I have never even seen her with anyone. I don’t even have a guess.” He frowned. “I worry about the circumstances behind it, frankly. Unlike me, Allegra has never been particularly wild. I have concerns she was taken advantage of.”
It was strange to hear Renzo’s assessment of his sister. Cristian had always sensed wildness in her. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she had been conducting something of a double life behind the backs of her family members all this time.
The idea made his skin feel too tight for his body. That all the time she’d sat there at the dinner table during evenings he’d spent with her family, pretending to go along with her parents’ plans, she was going out. Letting men touch her. Kiss her.
Have her.
“Has she not?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone innocuous.
“No. She has no experience with men, as far as I know. As far as I knew,” he corrected. “In fact only recently she was asking me quite breathlessly about a man she saw at the masked ball we went to a month or so ago.”
Cristian gritted his teeth, a strange tension taking him over. “Was she?”
Flashes of the ball played back in his mind. A beautiful, lush figure. Tight, wet heat. A kind of indulgence he had not had in years.
“Yes. She was chagrined to discover that the man who’d caught her eye was you.”
Cristian set his glass down, his pulse thundering in his temples. It was not possible. But he had to ask. He had to know.
“What was she wearing?” His heart was thundering hard now, his blood roaring through his veins.
“A