Royal Babies

‘Thank you. But, as I said, that’s not why I am here.’

‘The article?’

‘Yes. I’d like to talk—perhaps we could go inside.’

‘No!’ Tone it down, Sunita. ‘This is my home, Frederick, my private sanctuary. I want to keep it that way.’

He eyed her for a moment and she forced herself to hold his gaze.

‘Then where would you suggest? Preferably somewhere discreet.’

‘In case the press spot us and tips me as the next candidate for Lycander Bride?’

The words were out before she could stop them; obscure hurt touched her with the knowledge he didn’t want to be seen with her.

‘Something like that. You’re my unofficial business.’

For a moment there was a hint of the Frederick she’d known in the warmth of his voice, and more memories threatened to surface. Of warmth and laughter, touch and taste.

‘My official reason for this trip is charity business—I’m patron of an educational charity that is rolling out some new schools.’

The tang of warmth had disappeared; instead impatience vibrated from him as he shifted from foot to foot.

‘Are you sure we can’t talk inside? It shouldn’t take long. All I want is the solution to April’s mystery.’

Sunita checked the hollow laughter before it could fall from her lips. Was that all he wanted? Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

‘I’m sure we can’t talk here.’

Think. But coherent thought was nigh on impossible. Raw panic combined with her body’s reaction to his proximity had unsettled her, sheer awareness wrong-footed her. Think. Yet her mind drew a blank as to any possible location, any café where she and Amil weren’t regulars.

Fear displaced all other emotion—Frederick must not find out about Amil. Not now, not like this. One day, yes, but at a time of her choice—when it was right and safe for Amil.

‘I’ll just grab a coat and we can go.’

‘A coat?’

‘It’s monsoon season.’

Sunita turned, opened the door, and slipped inside, her mind racing to formulate a plan. She’d always been able to think on her feet, after all. If Frederick wanted a solution to the mystery of her disappearance from the modelling scene, then that was what she would provide.

Grabbing her phone, she pressed speed dial and waited.

‘Sunita?’

‘Hey, Sam. I need a favour. A big favour.’

CHAPTER TWO

FREDERICK WATCHED AS she opened the door and sidled out. Coatless, he couldn’t help but notice. What was going on? Anyone would think she had the Lycander Crown Jewels tucked away in there. Hell, maybe she did. Or maybe something was wrong.

Disquiet flickered and he closed it down. He’d vowed emotion would not come into play here. He and Sunita were history—the sole reason for his presence was to ensure no scandal would touch Lycander and topple him, Humpty Dumpty-style.

They exited the building and emerged onto the heat-soaked pavement, thronged with an almost impossible mass of people, alive with the shouts of the hawkers who peddled their wares and the thrum of the seemingly endless cars that streamed along the road. Horns blared, and the smell of cumin, coriander and myriad spices mingled with the delicate scents of the garlands of flowers on offer and the harsher fumes of pollution.

Sunita walked slightly ahead, and he took the opportunity to study her. The past two years had done nothing to detract from her beauty—her hair shone with a lustre that should have the manufacturer of whatever brand of shampoo she used banging at her door, and her impossibly long legs and slender waist were unchanged.

Yet there was a difference. The Sunita he’d known had dressed to be noticed, but today her outfit was simple and anonymous—cut-off jeans, a loose dark blue T-shirt and blue sandals. It was an ensemble that made her blend in with the crowd. Even the way she walked seemed altered—somehow different from the way she had once sashayed down the catwalk.

Once.

And therein lay the crux of the matter. The more he thought about it, the more he recalled the vibrant, publicity-loving, career-orientated Sunita he’d known, the less possible it seemed that she had traded the life path she’d planned for an anonymous existence. His research of the past two days had confirmed that mere weeks after Sunita had ended their association she’d thrown it all away and melted into obscurity.

‘How did you find me?’

‘It wasn’t easy.’

Or so Marcus had informed him. Sunita’s agent had refused point-blank to respond to his discreet enquiries, but Marcus had ways and means, and had eventually procured the address through ‘contacts’—whatever that meant.

‘Was it my agent? Was it Harvey?’

‘No. But whoever it was I promise you they did you a favour.’

‘Some favour.’

‘You mean you aren’t happy to see me?’ he deadpanned.

A shadow of a smile threatened to touch her lips and he fought the urge to focus on those lips in more detail.

‘Pass.’

Raising an arm, she hailed a taxi and they waited until the yellow and black vehicle had screeched through the traffic to stop by the kerb.

Once inside she leant forward to speak to the driver. ‘Sunshine Café, please,’ she said, and then sat back. ‘I’m taking you to meet the solution to your mystery. The reason I stayed in India.’

Her eyes slid away from him for a fraction of a second and then back again as she inhaled an audible breath.

‘His name is Sam Matthews. He used to be a photographer, but he’s moved here and set up a beach café.’

‘A boyfriend?’

Such a simple answer—Sunita had given it all up for love. A small stab of jealousy pierced his ribcage, caught him unawares. Get real, Frederick. So what if she walked straight into someone else’s arms, into the real thing? That had never been his destiny. Know your limitations. Easy come, easy go. Two stellar life mottos.

‘Yes.’

‘Must be some boyfriend to have persuaded you to throw away your career. You told me once that nothing was more important to you than success.’

‘I meant it at the time.’

‘So you gave up stardom and lucre for love.’

A small smile touched her lips. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘And you’re happy? Sam makes you happy?’

Her hands twisted on her lap in a small convulsive movement. She looked down as if in surprise, then back up as she nodded. ‘Yes.’

A spectrum of emotion showed in her brown eyes—regret, guilt, defiance,—he couldn’t settle on what it was, and then it was gone.

‘I’m happy.’

Job done. Sunita had a boyfriend and she’d moved on with her life. There was no dangerous scandal to uncover. A simple case of over-vigilance from his chief advisor. He could stop the taxi now and return to his hotel.

Yet...something felt off. He could swear Sunita was watching him, assessing his reactions. Just like two years ago when she’d called it a day. Or maybe it was his own ego seeing spectres—perhaps he didn’t want to believe another woman had ricocheted from him to perfect love. Sunita to Sam, Kaitlin to Daniel—there was a definite pattern emerging.

He glanced out of the window at the busy beach, scattered with parasols and bodies, as the taxi slowed to a halt.

‘We’re here,’ she announced.

What the hell? He might as well meet this paragon who had upended Sunita’s plans, her career, her life, in a way he had not.

Damn it. There was that hint of chagrin again. Not classy, Frederick. Not royal behaviour.

Minutes later they approached a glass-fronted restaurant nestled at the corner of a less populated section of sand, under the shade of two fronded palms. Once inside, Frederick absorbed the warm yet uncluttered feel achieved by the wooden floor, high exposed beam ceiling and polished wooden tables and slatted chairs. A long sweeping bar added to the ambience, as did the hum of conversation.

Sunita moved forward. ‘Hey, Sam.’

Frederick studied the man who stood before them. There was more than a hint of wariness in his eyes and stance. Chestnut wavy hair, average height, average build, light brown eyes that returned his gaze with an answering assessment.

Sunita completed the introduction. ‘Sam, Frederick—Frederick, Sam. Right, now that’s done...’

‘Perhaps you and I could have a drink and a catch-up? For old times’ sake.’

The suggestion brought on by an instinctive unease, augmented by the look of reluctance on her face. Something wasn’t right. She hadn’t wanted him to so much as peek into her apartment, and she could have simply told him about Sam. Instead she’d brought him here to see him, as if to provide tangible proof of his existence.

‘Sure.’ Sunita glanced at her watch. ‘But I can’t be too long.’

Sam indicated a staircase. ‘There’s a private room you can use upstairs, if you want to chat without attracting attention.’

‘Great. Thank you,’ Frederick said, and stepped back to allow the couple to walk together.

Their body language indicated that they were...comfortable with each other. They walked side by side, but there was no accidental brush of a hand, no quick glance of appreciation or anticipation, no chemistry or any sign of the awareness that had shimmered in the air since he himself had set eyes on Sunita.

They entered a small room with a wooden table and chairs by a large glass window that overlooked the beach. Sam moved over to the window, closed the shutters and turned to face them. ‘If you tell me what you’d like to drink, I’ll have it sent up.’

‘You’re welcome to join us,’ Frederick said smoothly, and saw the look of caution in Sam’s brown eyes intensify as he shook his head.

‘I’d love to, but we’re extremely busy and one of my staff members didn’t turn up today, so I’m afraid I can’t.’

‘That’s fine, Sam. Don’t worry,’ Sunita interpolated—and surely the words had tumbled out just a little too fast. Like they did when she was nervous. ‘Could I have a guava and pineapple juice, please?’

‘Sounds good—I’ll have the same.’

‘No problem.’

With that, Sam left the room.

‘He clearly doesn’t see me as a threat,’ Frederick observed.

‘There is no reason why he should.’

For an instant he allowed his gaze to linger on her lips and he saw heat touch her cheekbones. ‘Of course not,’ he agreed smoothly.

Her eyes narrowed, and one sandaled foot tapped the floor with an impatience he remembered all too well. ‘Anyway, you came here to solve the mystery. Mystery solved. So your “unofficial” business is over.’

Were her words almost too airy or had he caught a case of severe paranoia from Marcus? ‘It would appear so.’ He watched her from beneath lowered lids.

‘So, tell me more about your official business—the schools project.’

‘My brother set up the charity—he believed every child deserves access to an education, however basic.’

It had been a philanthropic side Frederick hadn’t even known Axel had had—one his brother had kept private. Because he had been a good man...a good man who had died—

Grief and guilt thrust forward but he pushed them back. The only reparation he could make was to continue Axel’s work.

‘So, I’m funding and working with a committee to set up schools here. Tomorrow I’m going to visit one of the new ones and meet the children.’

‘That sounds incredible—there’s so much poverty here, and yet also such a vibrant sense of happiness as well.’

‘Why don’t you get involved? That would be great publicity for the organisation—I could put you in touch.’

For a second her face lit up, and then she shook her head. ‘No. I’m not modelling at the moment and...’

‘I’m not suggesting you model. I’m suggesting you get involved with some charity work.’

‘I...I don’t want any publicity at the moment—’

‘Why not?’

‘I... Sam and I prefer our life to be out of the spotlight.’

This still didn’t make sense. Sunita had thrived in the spotlight, been pulled to it like a moth to a flame. But before he could point that out, the door opened and a waitress appeared with a tray.

‘Thank you.’ Sunita smiled as the girl placed the drinks on the table, alongside a plate of snacks that looked to range from across the globe. Tiny pizzas topped with morsels of smoked salmon nestled next to crisp, succulent pakora, which sat alongside miniature burgers in minuscule buns. ‘These look delicious.’

Once the waitress had exited, Frederick sampled a pakora, savoured the bite of the spice and the crunch of the batter around the soft potato underneath. ‘These are delicious! Sam runs an excellent kitchen.’

‘Yes—he and...he has made a real success of this place.’

‘You must be proud of him.’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Are you involved with the restaurant?’

‘No.’

He sipped his drink, with its refreshing contrast of sharp and sweet. ‘So what do you do now? Do you have a job?’

‘I...’

Fluster showed in the heat that crept along her cheekbones, the abrupt swirling of her drink, the over-careful selection of a snack.

‘I’m a lady of leisure.’ Her eyes dared him to challenge her, but he couldn’t help it—a snort of disbelief emerged. Sunita had been a human dynamo, always on the go, abuzz with energy, ideas and vibrancy.

‘For real?’

‘Yes.’ Now her fingers tapped on the table in irritation. ‘Why not? I’m lucky enough that I can afford not to work—I pay my own way.’

An undercurrent of steel lined her words—one he remembered all too well. ‘Just like you did two years ago.’

It had become a standing joke—she’d refused point-blank to let him pay for anything, had insisted they split every bill down the middle. The one time he’d been foolish enough to buy her a gift, she’d handed it back.

‘I don’t like to feel beholden. It’s my issue, not yours. Keep it for your next woman. I pay my own way.’

Apparently she still did.

He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘Where you get your money from is none of my business. I just can’t imagine you doing nothing all day.’

‘That’s not how it is. I have a very fulfilling life.’

‘Doing what?’

‘None of your business. You came here to find out why I disappeared. I’ve told you—I fell in love, I’ve settled down, and I want to live my life quietly.’

Instinct told him there was something askew with the portrait she painted. Tension showed in the tautness of her body; but perhaps that tension had nothing to do with him.

‘My chief advisor will be relieved—he is worried there is some mystery around your disappearance that could damage me.’

For a fraction of a second her knuckles whitened around her glass and then her eyebrows rose in a quizzical curve. ‘Isn’t that a tad far-fetched? To say nothing of egotistically paranoid?’

‘Possibly,’ he agreed, matching her eyebrow for eyebrow. ‘But it also seems extremely far-fetched to me that you walked away from your career.’

‘Well, I did.’

Frederick waited, but it appeared Sunita felt that sufficed.

‘So you confirm that your retreat and subsequent dramatic change of lifestyle have nothing to do with me?’

Her glance flickered away and then she laughed. ‘We spent one night together two years ago. Do you really think that your charms, manifest though they were, were sufficient to make me change my life?’

Put like that, he had to admit it sounded arrogantly self-involved. And yet... ‘We spent more than one night together, Sunita.’

A wave of her hand dismissed his comment. ‘A publicity stunt—nothing more.’

‘OK. Let’s play it your way. I can just about buy it that those weeks were all about publicity for you, but what about that night? Was that all for publicity?’

These were the questions he should have asked two years ago.

Her gaze swept away from him. ‘No. It wasn’t. I didn’t intend that night to happen.’

‘Is that why you left?’

It was as though the years had rolled back—he could almost imagine that they were in that five-star hotel in Paris, where they’d played truant from the glitzy party they’d been supposed to be at. Attraction had finally taken over and—

Whoa! Reel it in, Frederick!

‘Yes, that’s why I left. I broke my own rules. By sleeping with you I became just another notch on your bedpost—another woman on the Playboy Prince’s conveyor belt. That was never meant to happen.’

‘That’s not how it was.’

‘That’s exactly how it was.’ Tawny eyes challenged him.

‘And if I’d asked you to stay?’

‘You didn’t.’

Her voice was flat and who could blame her? The point was that he hadn’t. Because it had been easier to believe that she’d never cared, to stick by his easy come, easy go motto.

‘But this is all beside the point—there was never a future for us. People don’t change.’ Her voice held utter conviction. ‘You were The Playboy Prince...’

‘And you were very clear that you had no desire for a relationship because you wanted to focus on your career. Then, just weeks later, you met Sam and realised he was the one and your career was no longer important?’ It was impossible for Frederick to keep the scepticism out of his voice.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘So you changed.’

‘Love changes everything.’

Damn it—he’d stake his fortune on the sincerity in her voice, and there was that irrational nip of jealousy again.

‘So, yes,’ she continued, ‘I met Sam and I decided to take a break, and the break has extended to a couple of years. Simple. No mystery. That’s what you came here to discover.’

Now her tone had lost the fervour of truth—he was nearly sure of it.

‘You promise?’ The words were foolish, but he couldn’t hold them back.

She nodded. ‘I promise...’

He studied her expression, saw the hint of trouble in her eyes and in the twist of her fingers under the table.

‘No scandal will break over Lycander.’

‘Then my work here is done.’

Yet an odd reluctance pulled at him as he rose from the chair and looked down at her, sure now that there was more than a hint of trouble in her eyes. Not his business. She’d made a promise and he believed her. He had a country to run, a destiny to fulfil...

‘I wish you well, Sunita. I’m glad you’ve found happiness.’

‘I wish you well too.’

In one lithe movement she stood and stretched out a hand, caught his sleeve, stood on tiptoe and brushed his cheek with her lips. Memory slammed into him—her scent, the silken touch of her hair against his skin—and it took all his powers of self-control not to tug her into his arms. Instead, he forced his body to remain still, to accept the kiss in the spirit it was being given—whatever that might be—though he was pretty damn sure from the heat that touched her cheeks that she wasn’t sure either.

‘I...goodbye.’ Once again her hands twisted together as she watched him.

‘Goodbye, Sunita.’

He headed for the door, stopped at her audible intake of breath, half turned as she said his name.

‘Yes?’

‘It...it doesn’t matter. It was good to see you again.’

That only confirmed that she had intended to say something else, but before he could respond Sam entered and glanced at them both. ‘All OK?’

‘Everything is fine.’ Sunita’s voice was over-bright now. ‘Frederick is just leaving.’

Minutes later he was in a taxi, headed back to the hotel. But as the journey progressed doubts hustled and bustled and crowded his brain. Something was wrong. He had no idea what, and it most likely had nothing to do with him. Quite possibly he had the wrong end of the stick. Undoubtedly wisdom dictated that he should not get involved. Sunita was more than capable of looking out for herself, and she had Sam to turn to. But what if Sam was the problem?

Hell.

Leaning forward, he gave the driver Sunita’s address.

* * *

Damn it all to hell and back! Sunita strode the length of her lounge and resisted the urge to kick a bright red bean bag across the room. Venting wouldn’t stem the onrush, the sheer onslaught of guilt, the veritable tsunami of distaste with herself.

Why, why, why had he turned up? Not telling Frederick for two years had been hard enough—lying directly to Frederick’s face was another ballgame altogether. Especially as it was a face that mirrored Amil’s—the angle of his cheekbone, the colour of his eyes, the subtle nuances that couldn’t be ignored.

The guilt kept rolling on in and her stride increased. Focus. Concentrate on all the sensible, logical justifications for her actions.

The decision to keep Amil a secret had been one of the toughest she had ever faced, but it was a decision she still believed to be right. She’d done her research: the Lycanders had a track record of winning custody of their children and hanging the mothers out to dry.

Frederick’s father, Prince Alphonse, had fathered five children by four wives; his first wife had died, but he’d fought and won vicious custody battles against all the other three.

Ah, pointed out her conscience, but Alphonse is dead, and in any case Frederick is Amil’s father.

But Frederick was also his father’s son, and who knew what he might do? The scandal of an illegitimate baby was the last thing Lycander’s Prince needed at this juncture, and she had no idea how he would react.

She didn’t like any of the possible scenarios—from a custody battle to show his people that he looked after his own, to an outright and public rejection of Amil. Well, damn it, the first would happen over her dead body and the second made her shudder—because she knew exactly how awful that rejection felt and she wouldn’t put Amil through it.

But the Frederick she’d seen today—would he be so callous?

She didn’t know. Her thoughts were muddled by the vortex of emotion his arrival had evoked. Because something had warmed inside her, triggering a whole rush of feelings. Memories had swooped and soared, smothering her skin in desire. Flashes of his touch, of their shared joy and passion...all of that had upended any hope of rational thought or perspective. Just like two years before.

When she’d first met Frederick she’d expected to thoroughly dislike him; his reputation as a cutthroat businessman-cum-playboy had seen to that. But when he’d asked her to dinner she’d agreed to it for the publicity. And at that dinner he’d surprised her. At the next he’d surprised her even more, and somehow, as time had gone on, they had forged a connection—one she had tried oh, so hard to tell herself was nothing more than temporary friendship.

Hah!

And then there had been that stupid tug of attraction, which had eventually prevailed and overridden every rule she’d set herself.

Well, not this time.

To her relief the doorbell rang. Amil’s arrival would put an end to all this.

She dashed to the door and pulled it open, a smile of welcome on her face. A smile that froze into a rictus of shock.

‘Frederick?’

She didn’t know why she’d posed it as a question, since it clearly was Frederick. Her brain scrambled for purchase and eventually found it as she moved to swing the door shut, to hustle him out.

Too late.

He stepped forward, glanced around the room, and she could almost see the penny begin to drop—slowly at first, as cursory curiosity morphed into deeper question.

‘You have a baby?’

His hazel eyes widened in puzzlement, and a small frown creased his brow as he took another step into her sanctum. His gaze rested on each and every item of Amil’s.

‘Yes.’ The word was a whisper—all she could manage as her tummy hollowed and she grasped the doorjamb with lifeless fingers.

‘How old?’

Each syllable was ice-cold, edged with glass, and she nearly flinched. No, she would not be intimidated. Not here. Not now. What was done was done, and—rightly or wrongly—she knew that even if she could turn back time she would make the same decision.

‘Fourteen months.’

‘Girl or boy?’

‘Boy.’

Each question, each answer, brought them closer and closer to the inevitable and her brain wouldn’t function. Instead, all she could focus on was his face, on the dawn of emotion—wonder, anger, fear and surely hope too?