Royal Baby: Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child / Cavelli's Lost Heir / Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress

She rolled her head from side to side against the pillow. ‘You can share access, if that’s what you want. I can hardly deny a child access to its father.’

‘I’m glad you understand that. And there is no better way to share access …’ he smiled, amazed at how neatly the whole thing fitted together—a woman he had no trouble desiring, already pregnant with his child, and an end to Sebastiano’s endless round of prospective wife interviews, all rolled into one neat solution ‘… than to make you my wife.’

CHAPTER SIX

IF SIENNA hadn’t been lying down, her knees would have given way beneath her. As it was, the breath was punched from her lungs. He couldn’t be serious!

‘You have to be joking. There’s no reason on earth why I should marry you.’

‘It is the only solution. I need a wife and an heir.’

‘You need a princess, not a pilot. You need someone off that list of titled wannabes.’

‘But you have something they can only promise. You have conveniently proven your ability to conceive.’

‘Forget it. There’s no way I’m marrying you just because I’m pregnant. No way in the world.’

‘You need not be frightened of the royalty angle. You will be coached in our language and history.’

‘I wouldn’t say yes even if you weren’t a prince! A baby is no basis for a marriage. I would never do that to a child.’

‘And yet you would be happy to let that child grow up without its father. How is that fairer?’

‘You can’t force me to do this. Your father never married your mother simply because she was pregnant.’

‘He didn’t think he needed to. He already had his heir and a spare. My sister and I were surplus to requirements.’

‘But your mother—’

‘Had no choice! She received a substantial settlement and an annual pension on the condition she never returned to Montvelatte, and she never told anyone who her children’s father was.’

Sienna threw back her chin. ‘I would be more than happy to comply with the same conditions. For nothing. It wouldn’t cost you a thing.’

He shook his head. ‘You are kidding yourself. There is no way I would allow you to bring up our child in near poverty.’

‘I have a job!’

‘For how long? How can you fly in the condition you found yourself this morning? How long do you think anyone will employ a pilot who could faint at any minute? Who in their right mind would want to fly with you?’

‘I have some savings. I’ll take time off. Morning sickness doesn’t last forever.’

‘And after the baby comes, how do you expect to keep working when you have a child to care for?’

‘Like plenty of other woman in my situation do. I’ll cope.’

‘Not with my child. Simply coping is not an option. How long do you think you’ll keep the origins of your baby secret?’

‘Your mother obviously managed to.’

‘More than thirty years ago when there was still a measure of respect for privacy. Whereas these days, any hint of scandal, any hint of a royal baby born out of wedlock and the paparazzi will come baying at your door. How long do you think you can hide the truth?’

‘I won’t tell anyone if you won’t!’

‘And when I marry and have a wife and a family, and then the truth inevitably comes out because of something the doctor today tells his secretary or his wife, you would be happy to humiliate the woman I married with the news that I already had a child? How do you think that would look splashed across the gutter press? How do you think this child will feel when he learns that he was the rightful heir of Montvelatte and you denied him that birthright?’

‘Why do you assume it will be a boy?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Girl or boy, you will be denying this child its place in the Montvelattian monarchy.’

‘Only if it finds out. And who is going to tell?’

His arms came down on the bed either side of her, his face bare inches from her own, and it was all she could do not to cower back into the pillows at the anger and pain so starkly reflected in his features.

‘I will tell. Do not think you can deny me access to my child simply because you would rather forget who his father is. I am not like my father. I will not abandon a child I sired or hide it away merely because I was not married to its mother.’

Sienna watched his eyes while he made his speech, watched the way the pain coursed so deeply through them. He’d missed out on having a father all his life. He’d been cast away, exiled with his mother, unwanted by the father who’d sired him.

And he was right. One way or another, no matter how close she played her cards to her chest, there was no way she could shut Rafe out of her child’s life. But in allowing Rafe access to her child, there was no way its parentage could ever be kept secret.

So where did that leave her?

It was all too much to take in. She’d only just discovered she was pregnant, and now he was demanding that she marry him, a man she’d spent one short night with and the last twenty-four hours trying to get away from, a man who would, without a second thought, bully her into a marriage she neither wanted nor needed.

A shotgun wedding, just like her mother’s. Except this time there were no parents holding a gun to Rafe’s head to persuade him to do the right thing by their daughter. This time it was Rafe holding a gun to her head.

Was it because it was the right thing to do by their child? Or was it simply because it was convenient to him?

Either way, his wanting to marry her clearly had nothing to do with her.

‘You can’t make me do this.’ She’d wanted to sound strong and sure but her voice came out sounding more like a plea.

‘It’s the only thing to do. I’ll inform Sebastiano and have him make the necessary arrangements.’

The necessary arrangements? Rafe had it sounding like a royal wedding was no more hassle than a trip to the local corner store.

‘No! I haven’t agreed to anything. You can’t make me do this.’

‘You have no choice.’

‘I have a choice! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.’ She scooted to the other side of the bed, swinging her legs over the side and pushing herself off, but he was already there, standing in front of here like a storm cloud, angry and potent and thunderous. But the hand he put to her face was gentle and warm, and she trembled into his touch. His eyes studied her face, his thumb traced the line of her lips, and her heartbeat jagged, and when his words came, it was more a promise than a threat.

‘Leave and I will bring you back. Run and I will catch you. There is no escaping the truth of this, Sienna. You will marry me. You will become my wife.’

She looked up at him, afraid to blink, afraid to breathe, lest she broke this spell he’d somehow woven around her. How long he stood there stroking her face, how long she allowed him to, she didn’t know. And only the sense that she was losing herself, spinning out of control into a place with no horizons, into a place she had no way of navigating her way out of, shot a burst of fear straight to her heart.

‘There has to be another way,’ she whispered.

His hand cupping her jaw, he dipped his face to hers and pressed the barest of kisses to her lips. ‘There is no other way.’

Sebastiano wasn’t so sure. He took the news of the cancellation of the remaining marriage candidates and the reason with the look of a man heading for the gallows. ‘Are you sure this is wise, Prince Raphael, to marry such a woman? The role of Princess of Montvelatte is a demanding one. What background and training has this woman had in the skills necessary to undertake such a role?’

‘I would imagine the same amount of training that I received in becoming Montvelatte’s Prince. And yet nobody questioned my qualifications.’

‘You have royal blood, Highness. There is a difference.’

‘And she carries it!’

His aide gave a brief cough into his hand, too pointed to miss. ‘You have something to say, Sebastiano?’

‘Merely that I think it would be wise to guarantee that fact before we make any announcements.’

Rafe had no doubt. The way she’d reacted to his accusations, the way she’d apologized and promised to keep it quiet—he had no doubt at all. But Sebastiano needed facts, and it was better that they did the digging before some gossip magazine got there before them. ‘Arrange for whatever tests you need—even a date will help to confirm the truth—and meanwhile find out all you can about her—her past, her boyfriends, and anyone she’s seen apart from me in the last eight weeks.’

Sebastiano nodded, looking more satisfied than he had all day, and gave a little bow. ‘It will be done.’

Rafe watched him take his leave and felt a pang of regret that one had to be so careful, knowing it had to be done, and knowing equally that if there was any dirt to be had on Sienna Wainwright, Sebastiano would dig it out.

He just hoped there was none.

Sienna picked up the telephone in the library and listened for a dial tone, hoping that, unlike the phone in her room, this one would not be switched through to the housekeeper. Satisfied, she nervously dialled the direct number of her boss at Sapphire Blue Charters and waited what felt like agonizing seconds for the call to be answered.

She’d been thinking about it all night. She had no way of getting to the town except by foot and she had no doubt that Rafe would find her and bring her back as promised, even if she’d had the money to buy a fare off the island. And there was no point calling the police, because the palace guard were the ones who’d threatened to arrest her if she didn’t accompany them to the Castello in the first place. Asking for help from the Australian Embassy was tantamount to taking out a full page ad, and that was hardly the way she wanted to slip quietly out of Rafe’s life. But Monsieur Rocher might send a helicopter, once he knew she was being held against her will.

‘Oui?’ The grunting voice of the owner-manager of Sapphire Blue greeted her.

She took a deep breath and crossed the fingers of her free hand. ‘Monsieur Rocher, c’est moi, Sienna Wainwright. Je suis désolé—’

‘Bonjour, Sienna!’

Sienna listened in amazement as the tongue-lashing she was expecting turned into high praise as she learned she had been retained on an ongoing basis as Montvelatte’s private pilot, and for three times the going rate, in response to which Monsieur Rocher had awarded her employee of the month.

‘Mais non—’

But Monsieur Rocher was too full of praise to be interrupted. He wished her well, thanked her for her good work and bade her a hasty, ‘Au revoir’, before the line went dead.

‘Can I help you with something?’

Sienna turned, still reeling from the phone call, to find Sebastiano standing in the doorway, his expression looking anything but helpful. Quickly she replaced the receiver, knowing she’d been caught out. ‘I … I was just calling my boss.’

‘So I gathered. And did you find everything to your satisfaction.’

‘I’ve been made employee of the month.’

He gave a slight mocking bow. ‘Congratulations.’

Sienna straightened. It was clear from just his tone that Sebastiano didn’t welcome her presence here, but then little wonder if she’d put paid to his plans of Rafe marrying someone from the noble classes. She could take offence that he clearly thought her unbefitting of the role of Montvelatte’s Princess, or she could use it for her own purposes.

She laced her fingers together and took a step closer. ‘Sebastiano, maybe you can help me.’

His eyes honed in on her suspiciously. ‘In what way?’

‘You could help get me off the island.’

This time those eyes narrowed, and he looked around before closing the door behind him. ‘To what purpose?’

‘So Rafe can marry someone more suitable.’ She saw the glimmer in his eyes that betrayed how appealing he found her words.

‘But you are carrying Prince Raphael’s child, are you not?’

‘It’s still me he would be marrying.’

His expression remained guarded, suspicious, while his eyes looked thoughtful. Then he shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you. But if you would like to make any more phone calls, perhaps you should know that all calls to and from the Castello are monitored for security reasons.’

Sienna shivered. So that was how he’d found her. ‘Thank you, Sebastiano. So if I call my landlady to enquire after my apartment?’

‘Please, feel free. But you will discover that your rent has been paid and your personal belongings sent for, to make your stay here more comfortable.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, I think, allowing herself to be led away, and feeling the noose around her neck growing tighter by the minute.

The next day under the trellised vines shading the terrace, Sienna daydreamed, thinking back to a time she could only imagine, another time when her mother had discovered she was pregnant, with a marriage to Sienna’s father hastily arranged in that discovery’s wake.

Had her mother felt this terror, this fear of having a new life growing inside her and all the unknowns that went with it? Had she been secretly afraid of the prospect of marrying a man who had blown into town on the tide? Or had love blinded her to those fears, so that the prospect of marrying the man she had fallen head over heels in love with, and of bearing him a child, was so utterly exciting that she’d had no doubts?

She’d been so young, barely eighteen at the time and eight years younger than Sienna was now. Surely she must have had doubts, no matter how much she’d thought she’d loved him? Surely she must have wondered if the wanderlust father of her child could ever really change?

‘It’s time for your ultrasound.’

Rafe’s voice intruded into her thoughts, and she blinked, the present world suddenly coming back into sharp focus as she looked up and he filled her vision, instantly kicking new life into her heart rate. How he still had that effect on her when she was basically his prisoner here, she couldn’t understand and didn’t want to analyse. She only knew that the sooner she could put a lid on this inner turmoil she felt whenever he so much as looked at her, the better.

To him she might only be the vessel that carried his child, and a convenient solution to a problem that threatened the Principality, but there was no way she could consider marriage to a man like Rafe—a prince—in such clinical terms. And yet if she was going to have to go through with this, she needed to be able to.

A strange fear zipped up her spine. The fact she was even considering marrying Rafe—when had that change in her thinking taken place? And more importantly, why? It was anathema to her—marrying for the sake of a child—and yet she was entertaining the idea as if it were a done deal. Last night again she’d thought about getting help. Why shouldn’t she call the Embassy, and who cared if the calls were monitored? By the time they discovered who she was calling, help could be on its way, and to hell with the fall out. He had no right to keep her here against her will.

And again she’d shut herself in the library, meaning to call, fully intending to. But she’d only got as far as lifting the receiver. Only pressed it to her ear, before the fingers of her other hand had cut the connection, and she’d slammed the receiver down in frustration.

What was happening to her?

Three days she’d been on the island now. Yesterday had been filled with an endless parade of specialists, nutritionists and exercise gurus, and she’d met Carmelina, the dark-haired young beauty who was to ‘manage’ her new wardrobe, and lay out whatever outfits she’d need in readiness for the day’s and evening’s activities. When she’d protested that she’d successfully managed her wardrobe by herself for the best part of twenty years, Rafe had reminded her that soon she would be a princess, dressing for all manner of events, formal and informal, and that she could not be expected to manage a wardrobe the size of a department store.

And when a fashion consultant arrived, bringing along an entire boutique and three assistants with her and fitted Sienna out in an entire wardrobe in under two hours—and that was only the beginning, she’d assured her, planning on returning with designs made solely for her—Sienna finally believed him.

Today promised to be more of the same. Was it any wonder she felt numb from all the attention? Once yesterday’s obstetrician had confirmed her pregnancy, this juggernaut that was to be a royal wedding rolled and gained momentum with every minute.

And she was still only just coming to terms with her pregnancy. Once again this morning, she’d felt nauseous, though it was more a general queasiness this time that had assailed her, a queasiness that paled in comparison to the illness of those first days here. How much had stress and high emotions played a part in that—the fear of meeting Rafe again, her fury at being held against her will and the accusation that she’d kept her pregnancy secret from him—had this all combined to magnify the worst of her pregnancy symptoms tenfold?

‘Sienna?’ He put out a hand to her, obviously impatient to see the proof of the child they had conceived together. ‘Come.’

She regarded it suspiciously. He hadn’t made a move to touch her yesterday, not after he’d discovered she was pregnant and they’d shared that one brief kiss. Out of consideration for her condition? She wondered. It wouldn’t surprise her if he figured he didn’t need to touch her now, his work already done.

Nevertheless she slipped her fingers into his and let him lead her inside, amazed at how comfortable his grip felt, and how much warmth could be conveyed in the touch of just one hand. It was almost enough to make her forget the litre of water she’d been asked to drink and the knowledge of where that litre of fluid now resided. Almost.

‘Are you all right?’ Rafe asked as they ascended the stairs slower than he obviously would have liked.

‘I’m fine,’ she retorted, knowing his concern had less to do with her and more to do with the welfare of his unborn child. ‘Just don’t stick a pin in me or I might explode.’ And while his low laugh irritated her, she was still grateful for his support as she made her way up the long sweeping stairway to the first floor.

The radiographers had set up their equipment in one of the unused rooms not far from her own, turning a bedchamber fit for a queen into a suite filled with the latest in medical technology. She blinked as she took it all in. Never before had she been in the position of having a doctor, let alone specialists, come to her—to ensure privacy, Rafe had told her, and she could understand that, although part of her wondered whether he thought there was a risk she might bolt if she had the chance to visit Velatte City.

Would she bolt, she wondered as she dutifully changed out of the clothes Rafe’s minions had chosen for her into the robe they’d provided? Nothing of Rafe’s plans to wed her had yet been announced, nobody knew who she was, and in the cover of the harbour city, unknown and unannounced, there was always the chance she’d be able to slip the palace guard and make her way to the port and secure a ticket to somewhere.

Away from Montvelatte and Rafe, at least she would have a fighting chance of thinking straight. Already her resolve was wavering, her determination not to be steamrolled into a wedding she didn’t want dangerously slipping.

Which made no sense at all. She knew marriage could falter without love to bind the couple together; her own parents’ marriage had taught her that.

Although at least her mother had wanted to marry.

Sienna hadn’t even been asked the question.

‘Are you ready?’

Rafe’s voice broke her from her reverie and she allowed herself a wistful smile. ‘Are you ready?’ was about the most romantic this wedding proposal was going to get.

Moments later she was on the stretcher draped in towels with her gown raised and her naked abdomen exposed. Soothing voices explained the procedure and assured her everything would be all right before cool jelly tickled as it was spread over her belly. She felt the pressure of the sensor sliding over her skin and for the very first time considered what might happen if something was wrong.

Sienna hadn’t asked for this baby, hadn’t wanted it or the marriage that Rafe assumed must go hand in hand with its existence. But if something was wrong with the baby, if he wasn’t getting the package deal he was expecting, there was every likelihood he wouldn’t want her any more.

Just for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, she almost let herself wish for the worst.

It hit her unexpectedly then, a hitherto unknown maternal guilt that she could be so cruel to her unborn child, tumbling and crashing over her in a wave that had her clamping her eyes tightly shut as she tried to blot out the possibility that something could be wrong. Because none of this was the baby’s fault. She had no right to wish away this brand new speck of life just to solve her own problems. No right at all.

And suddenly, as the scanner slid across her skin, all that mattered was that her baby was healthy. Whatever else happened to her, it didn’t matter, she would somehow cope.

But please, God, let her baby be healthy!

The radiographer seemed to be taking forever, biting her lip as she stared at the screen. She said something in her native Velattian-Italian language mix that had the obstetrician nodding as he studied the emerging pictures. She turned her head to see, but the screen was angled away from her, studied intently by the radiographer by her side and by both the specialist and Rafe at the foot of the bed. She strained to get higher. ‘If you could lie still,’ the radiographer encouraged, putting a hand to her shoulder.

‘What’s wrong,’ Rafe asked her, his attention distracted from the screen.

‘It’s taking so long.’

The woman smiled and squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, her accented words strangely soothing. ‘Sometimes it takes a little time. As soon as we have a clear picture, I’ll show you your bambino.’

Rafe joined her at the head of the bed, pulled up a chair and took her hand between his. ‘You can’t see there,’ she warned, knowing how much he wanted to see the evidence of this child with his own eyes.

‘So we’ll see our baby together.’ And the way he smiled at her raised goosebumps on her skin and hope in her heart. It seemed so real, like the smile a man would give a woman when she was carrying a child conceived in love. A smile so seemingly real it made her ache for all those real things she would never have—a real marriage, a man who wanted to marry her because he loved her and not for the baby she carried, a husband of her own choosing …

Sienna turned her head away and concentrated instead on the click and whirr of the machinery and the feel of the press of the device as it traced a path across her belly, the near-excruciating pressure against her over-full bladder all but banished by the feel of Rafe’s hand around hers and the lazy stroke of his thumb.

She was asked to move a little to one side, then to the other, until after some time the radiographer appeared to find what she was looking for.

‘Dottore Caporetto?’ She looked over her shoulder then to the specialist, who was suddenly studying the screen intently, a frown gathering his already bushy brows, and a chill zipped down Sienna’s spine.

Something was wrong.

Rafe’s hand tightened around hers, as if he’d picked up on the vibe in the room as well. ‘What is it?’ he demanded in English. Then, ‘C’e’ qualcosa che non va, Dottore?’

‘Something you need to see,’ he said, and the consultant angled the screen so that both of them had a clear view at last, into a murky sea of light and shadow where nothing made sense.

‘I don’t understand,’ Sienna said. She’d known her baby would be tiny at this stage but she’d expected to see something recognizable, not this unreadable blur. ‘What is it?’