The Royal Baby Revelation (12 page)

‘Oh, it’s always easy to go around London incognito,’ she confided to Melissa as they headed straight for the designer floor of the store. ‘Though not so easy on Zaffirinthos, of course—which is one of the reasons we like living here in England. Although I have to admit that Xaviero got awfully homesick when we were there for the ball. Here.’ She scooped an armful of evening dresses off one of the rails. ‘You’ll need loads of these.’

It seemed to Melissa that she needed loads of everything—skirts, blouses, day-dresses, cocktail dresses, shoes, boots and handbags—and every single garment was made in the most costly fabric and to the highest possible standard. She didn’t think she’d ever worn real silk before and now it seemed it was going to be the exclusive fabric for the underwear and nightwear which she tried on with the guidance of an assistant while Catherine had a bubbling telephone conversation with her husband. Blushing, she remembered Casimiro’s cruel jibes when he’d seen her in her baggy T-shirt and wondered if he might approve of these.

They didn’t even have to carry any of the numerous bags home—because Catherine ordered for them to be dispatched directly to Melissa’s apartment.

‘You can sort them out from there,’ she said breezily as they travelled by limousine to the fancy Granchester Hotel, where they were shown a window table overlooking the park and where afternoon tea was laid out. ‘And get rid of all your old stuff while you’re at it.’

As she was offered a choice between Lapsong or Earl Grey tea Melissa suddenly felt like a fraud. This woman was going to be her sister-in-law—was she going to have to pretend to be something she wasn’t? And would Catherine be quite so friendly if she knew the truth about her?

‘I don’t…I don’t have very much room at home,’ she admitted. ‘It’s just…just a tiny place.’

Catherine looked at her. ‘I know it is,’ she said softly. ‘And I also know about your doubts and your fears because I’ve had them, too. You see, I was a chambermaid when I met and fell in love with my husband.’

Melissa dropped her gaze to the dainty little sandwich which lay on her plate—terrified that Catherine would see the truth in her eyes. Because there hadn’t been any falling in love with her and Casimiro. Nor anything like it. In fact, how had he so charmingly described it? Oh, yes—as ‘a few hours of snatched sex’. What kind of a basis was that for a marriage—any marriage—let alone one where they would be the focus of so many eyes?

Catherine leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be
fine.
It’s just wonderful to think I’m going to have a sister-in-law who’s English, too—and that you will make Casimiro as happy as Xav and I have been.’ She lowered her voice. ‘To be honest, we were really worried—for a while back there it looked like Casimiro wouldn’t find the right woman at all, and Xaviero got this funny feeling that he might be about to renounce the throne.’

‘Really?’ questioned Melissa tentatively. ‘Did they talk about it?’

‘Oh, no. As brothers they’ve never really communicated that much.’ Catherine looked at her with hopeful aquamarine eyes. ‘But maybe that will all change now. There’s nothing like marriage to soften the heart of a hard man.’

Melissa didn’t like to disillusion Catherine by telling her that there was unlikely to be any softening effect from her own cold-blooded union with the King. And could he really have been planning to abdicate in favour of his brother without even bothering to
tell
him? Surely even he couldn’t be that arrogant? But then she thought about the clever and cold-blooded way he had manipulated her into marrying him and she thought that maybe he could.

The following day she took Ben to the same shop and kitted him out with a wardrobe fit for a prince. She enjoyed this expedition much more—because this was every mother’s dream and her curly-headed son soon had all the shop assistants eating out of his hand.

The hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to her aunt Mary, who received the news that her niece was about to become a queen with remarkable composure, congratulating Melissa and telling her that she’d lived too long to be surprised by anything. But she was going to miss Ben, of course.

‘I do wish you’d come out to Zaffirinthos,’ Melissa said with soft yearning in her voice, knowing she could never tell her beloved aunt the truth behind Casimiro’s cruel marital ultimatum. ‘Come out and look after Ben and let me look after you.’

‘And sure aren’t I coming out to help when you marry that handsome King of yours?’

‘I meant after that. Permanently. You could have a wonderful life there, Auntie—I know you could.’

But Aunt Mary had been adamant. She had seen too many marriages get off to a bad start because of the interference from older relatives, she said. And besides—what would she do all day in a great big palace?

People are intimidated by the life I am entering,
Melissa realised as she waited in her little apartment for Casimiro to collect her. He was taking her from her old life to the new and unknown one which awaited her on Zaffirinthos. And where the King was that night recording a television broadcast to his nation. For he had decided that the only way to present their wedding to the world was openly and honestly. To tell his people that he took his responsibilities seriously—and to introduce them to his son and bride-to-be.

There was a tap at the door and she pulled it open to find Casimiro standing there. He was wearing a dark suit which looked terribly formal and had instructed her to dress in something ‘suitable for a royal engagement’. She had taken Catherine’s advice on what this should be, but now she wasn’t too sure.

The cut of the green brocade dress and matching jacket was more severe than her usual style and the accompanying jade shoes a little high. So high, in fact, that they made her tower. She was a tall woman anyway, and most men would have been dwarfed by the additional height—though not Casimiro. But these put her almost at eye-level to him. Tall enough to look into the cool golden gleam of his eyes—and to realise just how emotionless those eyes were.

She saw him look down at Ben, who was sitting on a blanket bashing a wooden spoon against an old saucepan in an apartment he would never see again. All bound for his new life in smart little navy shorts and an embroidered poplin shirt—his curls looking like a shiny black mop.

‘Doesn’t he look gorgeous?’ she said, her voice choked with quiet pride and the sudden savage wrench she felt at having to say goodbye to England.

Casimiro glanced down at the infant, who was oblivious to the machinations of the adults around him. Whose life would never be the same again. He was making some primitive-sounding singing noises as he banged the spoon against the metal. His perfect skin had a faint olive tinge to it and you could see the chubby symmetry of each tiny limb. How was it possible that this child had sprung from his loins? Casimiro wondered disbelievingly as he felt a strange clenching sensation around his heart.

Melissa watched them. For a moment, Casimiro seemed about to step forward—something in his body language suggesting that he might be about to pick Ben up—and Melissa willed him to make contact.
Touch your son,
she urged him silently—
touch your son and begin to love him.
But the moment passed and he seemed to change his mind, lifting his gaze to her instead. A gaze which seemed to her to contain nothing other than slightly cool censure.

‘He’ll need to get his hair cut before the wedding,’ he said.

Hot tears threatened to spring to her eyes, but she blinked them away before they’d had a chance to form. Of all the things to say at the beginning of this new life with his son! It had sounded like a criticism of both Ben
and
her.
He will not cut his curls,
thought Melissa fiercely—but even she could see that having a row just before she stepped into the public spotlight was a bad idea.

Instead she conjured up a faltering smile from somewhere and drew a deep breath. ‘So…this is it?’

‘This is it.’ He looked down into her pale, heart-shaped face—against which her eyes looked intensely green. Her lips were parted and gleaming, as if they wanted to be kissed, and suddenly he thought about all the many pleasurable opportunities that this marriage would bring with it. He would be able to make love to her over and over again, he realised—as many times as he wanted. As many times as she wanted…

Leaning forward, he grazed his mouth almost negligently over hers, feeling her own tremble against the brush of his flesh. For a moment he kissed her deeply until he heard her make a broken little sigh, and when he pulled away from her it was to see the unmistakable disappointment which had clouded her eyes.

‘Oh,’ she whispered, unable to keep the note of frustration from her voice.

As a demonstration of his power over her, it was perfect. Casimiro smiled—even though he was aching to possess her once more. ‘Didn’t you scold me the other day for trying to make love to you while our son slept next door?’ he chided softly.

Instead, he withdrew a leather box from his pocket and flipped open the lid to reveal a diamond solitaire ring of such startling clarity and brilliance that for a moment Melissa couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

‘Is it real?’ She forced the joke out like trying to squeeze the last little bit of toothpaste from the tube, but there was no answering smile on his face.

‘Oh, it’s the real thing,’ he answered unevenly—because even he couldn’t deny its emotional significance. ‘It was my mother’s engagement ring.’

‘Your mother’s?’ A moment of memory took her right back to a time when he’d caught her crying over her own mother, when he’d offered her a lift to stop the rain getting in her cheap shoes. What wouldn’t she give for a moment like that now—in exchange for all the glittering jewels in the world?

‘A rare Calistan diamond,’ he continued, concentrating on the gem rather than on her question as he prised it from its velvet claws. ‘De-flawless and perfect. You will never wear fake jewellery again, Melissa.’

But a chill passed over her heart as he slid the ring onto her trembling finger. She was about to get married to a man who saw her simply as a commodity—and it occurred to Melissa that she’d never felt so fake in her whole life.

CHAPTER NINE

‘Y
OU
look beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘As beautiful as any bride on her wedding morning.’

Melissa turned round from the mirror to see Casimiro standing in the doorway of her sumptuous suite of palace rooms—a formidable and commanding presence in his Zaffirinthian naval uniform.

Medals gleamed at his chest and the dark livery drew attention to his imposing frame and powerful presence. Her eyes blinked rapidly—as if she still couldn’t quite believe that she was marrying this man and that within a couple of hours they would be man and wife. Or, rather, King and Queen. She kept thinking that in a minute she would wake up and she and Ben would find themselves back in Walton in their tiny apartment with the spluttering shower and the barking dogs outside.

‘You’re…you’re not supposed to be here!’ she stumbled.

He raised his dark brows. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it isn’t traditional for the groom to see his bride on the morning of the wedding!’

‘I hardly think we’re a shining example of traditionalism, do you, Melissa?’ he questioned wryly.

Anxiously, she glanced around. Where were the maids who’d been helping her—scurrying around making unnecessary adjustments to the restrained silk of her wedding suit? ‘Where’s everyone gone?’

‘I sent them away.’

She lifted her eyes to his, aware that the unaccustomed weight of several layers of mascara was making them feel very heavy. ‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to see you. Before the marriage. Alone.’

Melissa’s heart began beating very fast. She had tried to tell herself that this marriage was wrong on all kinds of levels. When doubts had come to her—mainly in the middle of the night—she had convinced herself that she would be insane not to go through with it. That mainly she was doing it for Ben—so that he wouldn’t be wrenched away from her. So that he wouldn’t grow up as a part-time royal who might one day push her away completely.

But although Ben was a valid enough reason for this marriage—she was doing it for someone else too. For herself. For the stupid craving and yearning part of her which had never stopped loving this man and wanting to know him better. Hoping that once he had slipped the wedding band on her finger he might allow her to see beneath the formidable exterior he presented to the world. Would it be possible to chip away at the ice and maybe rediscover the warmth of the man she had once known? Would he give her that chance? Or had that man disappeared altogether—leaving nothing but this beautiful yet icy shell which stood before her now in his uniform?

‘Why alone?’ she breathed. ‘Are you having…second thoughts?’

‘Are you?’

‘No.’ She searched his face for a glimmer of affection—some kind of regard—but all she could see was a telltale darkening at the depths of the amber eyes. ‘I…I am prepared to go through with it. I want to be a good wife.’

‘How dutiful you sound, Melissa.’

‘Well, isn’t this all about duty?’ she questioned quietly. ‘Yours to your country and mine to my son?’

Her logic took his breath away, for it was a quality he looked for in his advisors but had not expected from her. Hadn’t he expected—and wanted—some kind of soft and melting acquiescence? A very feminine capitulation to the allure of wealth and high office he was offering her and which might have made her show a little more
gratitude?

But no. There was nothing soft or melting about Melissa Maguire today. She looked, he thought—like some sort of ice-Queen.

Advised by his aides that a white wedding would be highly inappropriate in the circumstances, instead she wore a muted suit of beaten silver—the colour of some untouched glacier. Mahogany hair had been piled into an intricate confection on top of her head and left unadorned—for she would be crowned during the wedding ceremony itself.