Married for their baby? Or for real...

Crown Prince Frederick of Lycander needs a wife and an heir, and discovering he has a secret son with beautiful supermodel Sunita makes him determined to claim them both!

But Sunita has no desire to live and raise baby Amil as part of Frederick’s royal entourage! Until he persuades her it’s the best thing for their son. Their engagement reveals that their passion still simmers but, to keep Sunita and Amil by his side, Frederick discovers he must also admit his love...

For an instant it was as if the world went out of focus.

Sunita could almost see a line being drawn in the sands of time—this was the moment that separated before and after. She nearly took the coward’s route, and wondered if Frederick would swallow the lie that Amil was Sam’s. Then she realised she could not—would not—do that.

‘Yes. He is yours. Amil is your son.’

Now she understood the meaning of a deafening silence. This one rolled through the room, echoed in her ears until she wanted to shout. Instead she waited, saw his body freeze, saw the whole gamut of emotion cross his face, and watched as his expression settled into an anger so ice-cold a shiver rippled over her skin.

Panic twisted her insides. The die had been cast and she knew now that, whatever happened, life would never be the same.

Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

Nina Milne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NINA MILNE has always dreamed of writing for Mills & Boon Romance—ever since she played libraries with her mother’s stacks of Mills & Boon romances as a child. On her way to this dream Nina acquired an English degree, a hero of her own, three gorgeous children and—somehow!—an accountancy qualification. She lives in Brighton and has filled her house with stacks of books—her very own real library.

To the memory of my very lovely ‘Nanni’—

I still miss you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

August 15th—Online Celebrity News with April Fotherington

Who will be the new Lycander Princess?

All bets are off!

It’s official! Lady Kaitlin Derwent is no longer a contender for the position of Lycander Bride—the people’s favourite aristo announced that her new squeeze for the foreseeable future is Daniel Harrington, CEO of Harrington’s Legal Services.

Who’d have thought it?

Exit Lady Kaitlin!

So Prince Frederick, ruler of Lycander, is on the lookout for a new bride.

Who will it be?

Will it be the type of woman who graced his arm and his bed back in his playboy days, before the tragic death of his older brother and the scandalous death of Prince Alphonse, his flamboyant father, in a house of ill repute propelled him to the throne?

FREDERICK II OF the House of Petrelli, Prince and Ruler of Lycander, stopped reading and pushed his screen across the ornate carved desk, resplendent with gilt—a royal gift from an English monarch of yore.

The phrase pounded his brain—tragic death of his older brother—but he forced his features to remain calm, and made himself focus on the man standing in front of him: Marcus Alrikson, his chief advisor. After all, he needed all the advice he could get.

‘I don’t understand what the problem is—this article is nothing more than a gossip fest. And it’s old news.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘That is the problem. The article serves to remind the people of your past.’

‘Don’t you mean my sordid, scandalous and immoral past?’ Might as well tell it like it is, he thought.

‘If you like,’ Marcus returned evenly. ‘The bigger problem is that we both know you are holding on to the crown by your fingertips. The people did not want you on the throne because of your past—so any reminder causes damage.’

‘I understand that.’

The all too familiar guilt twisted his insides—the people had wanted his brother on the throne. Axel had been born to this. He would have been the ideal ruler to bring prosperity and calm to the land after their father’s turbulent rule.

But Axel was dead and buried—victim of a car crash that should have been Frederick’s destiny. Frederick should have been in that car on his way to a State dinner; instead he’d asked Axel to step in and take his place and his big brother had—no questions asked. So Frederick had attended a party on board a glitzy yacht to celebrate a business deal...and Axel had died.

The dark secret tarnished Frederick’s soul, weighted his conscience.

And now Lycander was stuck with the black sheep of the royal line and the people were threatening to revolt. Bleak determination hardened inside him. He would keep the crown safe, whatever the cost—he owed that at least to Axel’s memory.

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘I suggest you find a new bride—someone like Lady Kaitlin. Your proposed alliance with Kaitlin was a popular one. It showed the people that you had decided to settle down with a suitable bride, that you’d changed—proof there would be no repeat of your father’s disastrous marriages.’

‘I have decided to settle down.’ To bind himself to a lifestyle he’d once sworn to avoid and the formulation of a cold-blooded alliance undertaken for the sake of the throne. ‘But Kaitlin is no longer an option—she has fallen in love with another man.’

Irritation sparked inside him. He wished Kaitlin well, but it was hard to believe that the cool, poised Lady Kaitlin had succumbed to so foolish an emotion.

‘Which is not good news for Lycander.’

Marcus resumed pacing, each stride swallowing up a metre of the marble floor, taking him past yet another portrait of one of Frederick’s ancestors.

‘Kaitlin was the perfect bride—her background is impeccable and she reminded the people of Lycander brides of the past.’

Unlike the succession of actresses, models and gold diggers Frederick’s father had married.

‘The people loved her.’

Unlike you.

The unspoken words hovered in the air between them.

‘I understand all this. But Kaitlin is history.’

‘Yes. And right now the press is focused on your history. That article zones in on your former flames—the actresses, the socialites, the models. Giselle, Mariana, Sunita... Hell, this reporter, April, even tried to track them down.’

Frederick froze.

Sunita.

Images flashed across his mind; memory reached across the chasm of tragedy.

Sunita.

Shared laughter, sheer beauty, almond-shaped eyes of a brown that veered from tawny to light, dependent on her mood. The raven sheen of her silken hair, the glow of her skin, the lissom length of her legs.

Sunita.

The woman who had left him—the woman he’d allowed to go...

Without preamble, he pulled his netbook back towards him, eyes scanning the article.

But where is Sunita now?

This is where it becomes a little mysterious.

Mere weeks after the end of her relationship with the Prince of Lycander—which, according to several sources, she ended abruptly—Sunita decided to ‘take a break’ from her highly lucrative modelling career to ‘rediscover her roots’.

This involved a move to Mumbai, where her mother reportedly hailed from. But the trail ends there, and to all intents and purposes Sunita seems to have vanished.

‘Frederick?’ Marcus’s voice pulled him from the article and he looked up to see his chief advisor’s forehead crease into a frown. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Under the sceptical gaze Frederick shrugged. ‘It just sounds unlike Sunita to give up her career.’

Sunita had been one of the most ambitious people he knew—had been defined by that ambition, had had her career aspirations and goals mapped out with well-lit beacons. The idea of her jacking it all in seemed far-fetched at best.

Marcus drummed his fingers on his thigh. ‘Could her disappearance have anything to do with you?’

‘No.’

‘What happened?’

‘We spent a few weeks together—she moved on.’

‘She moved on?’

Damn. ‘We moved on.’

‘Why?’

Keep it together. This is history. ‘She decided to call it a day as she’d garnered sufficient publicity from our connection.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘So she used you for publicity?’

‘Yes. To be fair, she was upfront about that from the start.’

More fool him for thinking she’d changed her mind as time had gone on. He’d believed their time together, the long conversations, the laughter, had meant something. Well, he’d been wrong. Sunita had been after publicity and then she’d cut and run. Yet there had been something in her expression that morning...a transitory shadow in her tawny eyes, an errant twist of her hands that had belied the glib words dropping from her lips. But he hadn’t called her on it.

Enough! The past was over and did not bear dwelling on because—as he knew with soul-wrenching certainty—it could not be changed.

Marcus’s dark blue eyes met his as he resumed pacing. ‘So weeks after this publicity stunt she disappeared off the modelling scene? That doesn’t make sense.’

It didn’t. But it had nothing to do with him. Two years ago Sunita had affected him in ways he didn’t want to remember. He’d missed her once she’d gone—an unheard-of weakness he’d knocked on the head and buried. Easy come, easy go. That was the Playboy Prince’s motto. Sunita had gone—he’d accepted it. And then, mere months after her departure, Axel had died and his life had changed for ever.

‘I’ll look into it,’ Marcus said. ‘But right now you need to focus on this list. Potential brides. A princess, a lady and a marquesa. Take your pick.’

Frederick accepted the piece of paper but didn’t so much as glance down. ‘What do you mean, “look into it”?’

‘If there is any chance of potential scandal we need to shut it down now. So I plan to find Sunita before April Fotherington or any other reporter does.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I’ll send someone to talk to her. Or go myself.’

‘No!’ The refusal came with a vehemence that surprised him. However it had ended, his time with Sunita had marked something—his last moments of joy before catastrophe occurred, perhaps. He didn’t want her life tainted...didn’t want Marcus or his minions to find her if she didn’t want to be found.

‘It needs to be done.’ Marcus leant forward, his hands on the edge of the desk. ‘I understand you don’t like it, but you can’t take even the smallest risk that there is a scandal floating around out there. The crown is at stake. The throne is rocking, Frederick, and if it topples it will be a Humpty Dumpty scenario.’

Great! A Humpty Dumpty scenario—exactly what he needed. Of course he could choose to ignore the warning, but that would be foolish. Marcus knew his stuff. The sensible option would be to allow Marcus to go ahead, investigate and deal with any problem. But for some reason every fibre of his being cavilled—dammit, stupid though it sounded, it wasn’t the honourable thing to do.

A small mocking smile tilted his lips as he faced his chief advisor. Frederick of Lycander—man of honour. Axel would be proud of him. ‘Fine. I’ll check out Sunita.’

Marcus’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘With all due respect, that’s nuts and you know it. The press will jump on it.’

‘Then let them jump. I’m the boss and this is what’s going to happen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’ And for once he’d like to stand on a tiny wedge of the moral high ground. ‘What would Axel have done? Sent you in to spy on a woman he’d dated?’

‘Axel would never have got himself into a position where it was necessary.’

‘Touché. But I have and I will deal with it.’ His brain whirred as he thought it through. ‘I can schedule a trip to Mumbai—I’d like to follow up on how the Schools for All project is rolling out anyway.’

It was a project set up by Axel, but Frederick had taken it over and had every intention of making it into a success.

‘I’ll locate Sunita, confirm there is no scandal, and then I’ll come back and find a wife from your shortlist. No argument.’ A mirthless smile touched his lips. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.’

August 17th, Mumbai

Sunita stared down at the screen and reread the article for approximately the millionth time in three days as a mini-tornado of panic whirled and soared around her tummy.

She told herself that she was climbing the heights of irrationality. April Fotherington hadn’t found her—she was safe here in this spacious, anonymous Mumbai apartment, surrounded by cool white walls and the hustle and bustle of a city she’d come to love. Soon enough the flicker of interest the article might ignite would die out. No one had discovered her secret thus far—there was no reason to believe they would now. She was safe. They were safe.

But she couldn’t help the sudden lurch of fear as she gazed round the living room and the evidence of the life she’d created. Signs of her baby son were everywhere—a wooden toy box in the corner, the cheerful play mat by the sofa, board books, beakers... She knew all too well how quickly life could change, be upended and destroyed.

Stop. No one would take Amil away. Alphonse of Lycander was dead, and he had been the greatest threat—a man who had fought virulent custody battles for four of his children and used his position and wealth to win them all. She had no doubt he would have done the same for his grandchild—would have used the might and power of his sovereignty to win Amil.

Just as Frederick still might.

The peal of the doorbell jolted her from her thoughts and a scud of panic skittered through her. It couldn’t be her grandmother and Amil—they had only left a little while before. Chill. They could have forgotten something, it could be a neighbour, or a delivery or—

Only one way to find out.

Holding her breath, she peered through the peephole.

Shock dizzied her—she blinked and prayed the man at her door was a figment of her overheated imagination, brought on by reading the article so many times. The alternative was too ghastly to contemplate. But, however many times she blinked, Prince Frederick of Lycander was still right there.

What to do? What to do? Ignore him?

But what if he waited outside? What if he was still there when Amil came back? Or what if he went away and returned when Amil was here? What if he was here to take Amil?

Enough. She had not got this far to give up now. She was no longer that ten-year-old girl, reeling from her mother’s death, powerless to stop the father she had never known from taking her. No longer that eleven, twelve, thirteen-year-old girl at the mercy of her stepmother and sisters who had graduated with honours from Cinderella school.

She’d escaped them without the help of a handsome prince and left that feeling of powerlessness far behind. No way was she going back there—especially now, when her son was at stake.

Adrenalin surged through her body as she did what life had taught her—moved forward to face up to whatever was about to be thrown at her. She might dodge it, catch it, or punch it, but she would confront it on her own terms.

True to her motto, she pulled the door open and raised her eyebrows in aloof surprise. ‘Your Highness,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

Stepping out into the communal hall, she closed the door behind her, searching his gaze for a sign that he knew about Amil.

‘I came to see you. April Fotherington wrote an article saying you’d vanished.’

Sunita forced herself not to lean back against the wall in relief. Instead, she maintained her façade of reserve as they stood and studied each other. Against her will, her stomach nosedived and her hormones cartwheeled. Memories of the totally wrong sort streamed through her mind and fizzed through her veins as she drank him in. The same corn-blond hair, the same hazel eyes...

No, not the same. His eyes were now haunted by shadows and his lips no longer turned upward in insouciance. Prince Frederick looked like a man who hadn’t smiled in a while. Little wonder after the loss of his brother and his father, followed by a troubled ascent to the throne.

Instinctively she stepped closer, wanting to offer comfort. ‘I saw the article. But before we discuss that, I’m sorry for your losses. I wanted to send condolences but...’

It had been too risky, and it had seemed wrong somehow—to send condolences whilst pregnant with his baby, whom she intended to keep secret from him.

‘Why didn’t you?’

The seemingly casual question held an edge and she tensed.

‘If all your girlfriends had done that you’d still be reading them now. I didn’t feel our brief relationship gave me the right.’

Disingenuous, but there was some truth there. For a second she could almost taste the bitter disappointment with herself for succumbing to the Playboy Prince’s charms and falling into bed with him. Hell—she might as well have carved the notch on his four-poster bed herself.

She’d woken the morning after and known what she had to do—the only way forward to salvage some pride and dignity. End it on her terms, before he did. It had been the only option, but even as she had done it there had been a tiny part of her that had hoped he’d stop her, ask her to stay. But of course he hadn’t. The Playboy Prince wouldn’t change. People didn’t change—Sunita knew that.

Anyway this was history. Over and done with.

‘I am offering condolences now.’

‘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?

That last was so unexpected that it jolted her into further words. ‘His name is Amil.’

‘Amil,’ he repeated.

He took another step forward and instinctively she moved as well, as if to protect the life she had built, putting herself between him and her home.

‘Is he mine?’

For an instant it was if the world went out of focus. She could almost see a line being drawn in the sands of time—this was the instant that separated ‘before’ and ‘after’. For one brief instant she nearly took the coward’s route, wondered if he would swallow the lie that Amil was Sam’s. Then she realised she could not, would not do that.

‘Yes. He is yours. Amil is your son.’

Now she understood the origins of a deafening silence. This one rolled across the room, echoed in her ears until she wanted to shout. Instead she waited, saw his body freeze, saw the gamut of emotion cross his face, watched as it settled into an expression of anger so ice-cold a shiver rippled her skin.

Panic twisted her insides—the die had been cast and she knew that now, whatever happened, life would never be the same.

CHAPTER THREE

STAY STILL. FOCUS ON remaining still.

The room seemed to spin around him, the white walls a rotating blur, the floor tilting under his feet. Good thing he didn’t suffer from seasickness. Emotions crashed into him, rebounded off the walls of his brain and the sides of his guts. His heart thudded his ribcage at the speed of insanity.

A child. A son. His child. His son.

Fourteen months old.

Fourteen months during which his son had had no father. Anger and pain twisted together. Frederick knew exactly what it was like to have no parent—his mother had abandoned him without compunction in return for a lump sum, a mansion and a yearly stipend that allowed her a life of luxury.

Easy come, easy go.

Yes, Frederick knew what it was like to know a parent was not there for him. The anger unfurled in him and solidified.

‘My son,’ he said slowly, and he couldn’t keep the taut rage from his voice.

He saw Sunita’s awareness of it, but she stepped forward right into the force field of his anger, tawny eyes fierce and fearless.

‘My son,’ she said.

Stop.

However angry he was, however furious he was, he had to think about the baby. About Amil. Memories of the horrendous custody battles his father had instigated crowded his mind—Stefan, Emerson, Barrett—his father had treated all his sons as possessions.

‘Our son,’ he said.

The knowledge was surreal, almost impossible to comprehend. But it was imperative that he kept in control—there was too much at stake here to let emotion override him. Time to shut emotion down, just as he had for two long years. Move it aside and deal with what had to be done.

‘We need to talk.’

She hesitated and then nodded, moving forward to close the front door. She watched him warily, her hands twisted together, her tawny eyes wide.

‘How do you know he’s mine and not Sam’s?’

The look she gave him was intended to wither. ‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘That is a questionable statement. But what you have shown yourself to be is a liar. So you can hardly blame me for the question, or for wanting a better answer than that. How do you know?’

Her eyes narrowed in anger as she caught her lower lip in her teeth and then released it alongside a sigh. ‘Sam isn’t my boyfriend. He has a perfectly lovely girlfriend called Miranda and they live together. I asked him to fake it to try and explain to you why I left the modelling world.’

‘Is there a boyfriend at all?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

So there had been no one since him. The thought provoked a caveman sort of satisfaction that had no place in this discussion. Sunita had deceived him to his face in order to hide his son from him—now was not the moment to give a damn about her relationship status. Apart from the fact that it meant Amil was his.

Hold it together, Frederick. Shelve the emotion...deal with the situation at hand.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Sunita started to pace. Her stride reminded him of a caged animal.

‘Because I was scared.’

Halting in front of him, she looked so beautiful it momentarily pierced his anger.

‘I know how hard this must be for you, but please try to understand I was terrified.’

For an instant he believed her, but then he recalled her profession, her ability to play to the camera, and he swatted down the foolish fledgling impulse to show sympathy and emitted a snort of disbelief.

‘Terrified of what? What did I ever do to make you fear me?’

The idea was abhorrent—he’d witnessed his father in action, his delight in the exertion of power, and he’d vowed never to engage in a similar manner. Thus he’d embarked on a life of pleasure instead.

‘It wasn’t that straightforward. When we split obviously I had no idea I was pregnant. I found out a few weeks later and I was in shock. I did intend to tell you, but I decided to wait until I got to twelve weeks. And then your brother died. I couldn’t tell you then, so I decided to wait some more.’

Now her expression held no apology, and her eyes met his full-on.

‘And?’

‘And obviously there was a lot of press at the time about Lycander. I did some research, and it’s all there—your father fought custody battles over every one of his children except Axel, and that was only because Axel’s mother died before he could do so. Your mother never saw you again, his third wife fought for years before she won the right even to see her son, and wife number four lost her case because he managed to make out she was unfit and she had to publicly humiliate herself in order to be granted minimal visiting rights.’

‘That was my father—not me.’

‘Yes, but you had become the Lycander heir. Are you saying your father wouldn’t have fought for custody of his grandson? Even if you’d wanted to, how could you have stopped him? More to the point, would you have cared enough to try?’

The words hit him like bullets. She hadn’t believed he would fight for the well-being of their child. She’d thought he would stand back and watch Alphonse wrest his son away.

He shook his head. Do you blame her? asked a small voice. He’d been the Playboy Prince—he’d worked hard, played harder, and made it clear he had no wish for any emotional responsibilities.

‘I would never have let my father take our child from you.’ He knew first-hand what it felt like to grow up without a mother. All the Lycander children did.

‘I couldn’t take that risk. Plus, you didn’t want to be a father—you’d made it more than clear that you had no wish for a relationship or a child.’

‘Neither did you.’

His voice was even, non-accusatory, but she bristled anyway, tawny eyes flashing lasers.

‘I changed.’

‘But you didn’t give me the chance to. Not at any point in the past two years. Even if you could justify your deceit to yourself when my father was alive, you could have told me after his death.’

His father’s death had unleashed a fresh tumult of emotion to close down. He’d had to accept that he would now never forge a relationship with the man who had constantly put him down—the man who had never forgiven him for his mother’s actions. And on a practical level it had pitchforked him into the nightmare scenario of ascension to the throne.

But none of that explained her continued deceit.

‘I read the papers, Frederick. You have had enough to contend with in the past year to keep your throne—the revelation of a love-child with me would have finished you off. You were practically engaged to Lady Kaitlin.’

‘So you want my gratitude for keeping my child a secret? You’ve persuaded yourself that you did it for me? Is that how you sleep at night?’

‘I sleep fine at night. I did what I thought was right. I didn’t want Amil to grow up knowing that he had been the reason his father lost his throne, or lost the woman he loved. That is too big a burden for any child.’

The words were rounded with utter certainty.

‘That was not your decision to make. At any point. Regardless of the circumstances, you should have come to me as soon as you knew you were pregnant. Nothing should have stopped you. Not Axel, not my father, not Kaitlin—nothing. You have deprived him of his father.’

‘I chose depriving him of his father over depriving him of his mother.’ Her arms dropped to her sides and a sudden weariness slumped her shoulders. ‘We can argue about this for ever—I did what I thought was best. For Amil.’

‘And you.’

‘If you like. But in this case the two were synonymous. He needs me.’

‘I get that.’

He’d have settled for any mother—had lived in hope that one of the series of stepmothers would give a damn. Until he’d worked out there was little point getting attached, as his father quite simply got rid of each and every one.

‘But Amil also needs his father. That would be me.’

‘I accept that you are his father.’

Although she didn’t look happy about it, her eyes were full of wariness.

‘But whether he needs you or not depends on what you are offering him. If that isn’t good for him then he doesn’t need you. It makes no odds whether you are his father or not. The whole “blood is thicker than water” idea sucks.’

No argument there. ‘I will be part of Amil’s life.’

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘It doesn’t matter if it’s easy.’

‘Those are words. Words are meaningless. Exactly how would it work? You’ll disguise yourself every so often and sneak over here to see him on “unofficial business” masked by your charity work? Or will you announce to your people that you have a love-child?’

Before he could answer there was a knock at the door and they both stilled.

‘It’s my grandmother...with Amil.’ Panic touched her expression and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t want my grandmother to know until we’ve worked out what to do.’

Frederick searched for words, tried to think, but the enormity of the moment had eclipsed his ability to rationalise. Instead fear came to the podium—he had a child, a son, and he was about to meet him.

What would he feel when he saw Amil?

The fear tasted ashen—what if he felt nothing?

What if he was like his mother and there was no instinctive love, merely an indifference that bordered on dislike? Or like his father, who had treated his sons as possessions, chess pieces in his petty power games?

If so, then he’d fake it—no matter what he did or didn’t feel, he’d fake love until it became real.

He hauled in a deep breath and focused on Sunita’s face. ‘I’ll leave as soon as you let them in. Ask your grandmother to look after Amil tonight. Then I’ll come back and we can finish this discussion.’

Sunita nodded agreement and stepped forward.

His heart threatened to leave his ribcage and moisture sheened his neck as she pulled the door open.

A fleeting impression registered, of a tall, slender woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun, clad in a shimmering green and red sari, and then his gaze snagged on the little boy in her arms. Raven curls, chubby legs, a goofy smile for his mother.

Mine. My son.

Emotion slammed into him—so hard he almost recoiled and had to concentrate to stay steady. Fight or flight kicked in—half of him wanted to turn and run in sheer terror, the other half wanted to step forward and take his son, shield him from all and any harm.

‘Nanni, this is an old friend of mine who’s dropped in.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Somehow Frederick kept his voice even, forced himself to meet the older woman’s alert gaze. He saw the small frown start to form on her brow and turned back to Sunita. ‘It was great to see you again, Sunita. ’Til later.’

A last glance at his son—his son—and he walked away.

* * *

Sunita scooped Amil up and buried herself in his warmth and his scent. She held him so close that he wriggled in protest, so she lowered him to the ground and he crawled towards his play mat.

‘Thank you for looking after him.’

‘I enjoyed it immensely. And thank you, Sunita, for allowing me to be part of Amil’s life. And yours.’

‘Stop! I have told you—you don’t need to thank me.’

Yet every time she did.

‘Yes, I do. I was neither a good mother nor a good grandmother. You have given me a chance of redemption, and I appreciate that with all my heart.’

‘We’ve been through this, Nanni; the past is the past and we’re only looking forward.’

Her grandmother’s marriage had been deeply unhappy—her husband had been an autocrat who had controlled every aspect of his family’s life with an iron hand. When Sunita’s mother had fallen pregnant by a British man who’d had no intent of standing by her, her father had insisted she be disowned.

Sunita could almost hear her mother’s voice now: ‘Suni, sweetheart, never, ever marry a man who can control you.’

It was advice Sunita intended to take one step further—she had no plans to marry anyone, ever. Her father’s marriage had been a misery of incompatibility, bitterness and blame—an imbroglio she’d been pitchforked into to live a Cinderella-like existence full of thoughtless, uncaring relations.

‘Please, Nanni. You are a wonderful grandmother and great-grandmother and Amil adores you. Now, I have a favour to ask. Would you mind looking after Amil for the rest of the evening?’

‘So you can see your friend again?’

‘Yes.’

‘The friend you didn’t introduce?’

Sunita opened her mouth and closed it again.

Her grandmother shook her head. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

‘I will tell you, Nanni—but after dinner, if that’s OK.’

‘You will tell me whenever you are ready. Whatever it is, this time I will be there for you.’

An hour later, with Amil fed and his bag packed, Sunita gave her grandmother a hug. She watched as the driver she’d insisted on providing manoeuvred the car into the stream of traffic, waved, and then made her way back upstairs... To find the now familiar breadth of Frederick on the doorstep, a jacket hooked over his shoulder.

‘Come in. Let’s talk.’

He followed her inside and closed the door, draping his dark grey jacket over the back of a chair. ‘Actually, I thought we could talk somewhere else. I’ve booked a table at Zeus.’

Located in one of Mumbai’s most luxurious hotels, Zeus was the city’s hottest restaurant, graced by celebrities and anyone who wanted to see and be seen.

Foreboding crept along her skin, every instinct on full alert. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

‘Because I am taking the mother of my child out for dinner so we can discuss the future.’

Sunita stared at him as the surreal situation deepened into impossibility. ‘If you and I go out for dinner it will galvanise a whole load of press interest.’

‘That is the point. We are going public. I will not keep Amil a secret, or make him unofficial business.’

She blinked as her brain crashed and tried to change gear. ‘But we haven’t discussed this at all.’

This was going way too fast, and events were threatening to spiral out of control. Her control.

‘I don’t think we should go public until we’ve worked out the practical implications—until we have a plan.’

‘Not possible. People are already wondering where I am. Especially my chief advisor. People may have spotted us at the café, and April Fotherington will be wondering if my presence in Mumbai is connected to you. I want the truth to come out on my terms, not hers, or those of whichever reporter makes it their business to “expose” the story. I want this to break in a positive way.’

Sunita eyed him, part of her impressed by the sheer strength and absolute assurance he projected, another part wary of the fact he seemed to have taken control of the situation without so much as a by-your-leave.

‘I’m not sure that’s possible. Think about the scandal—your people won’t like this.’ And they wouldn’t like her, a supermodel with a dubious past. ‘Are you sure this is the best way to introduce Amil’s existence to your people?’

‘I don’t know. But I believe it’s the right way to show my people that this is good news, that Amil is not a secret. That I am being honest.’

An unpleasant twinge of guilt pinched her nerves—she had kept Amil secret, she had been dishonest. She had made a decision that no longer felt anywhere near as right as it had this morning.

‘So what do you say?’ he asked. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’

The idea gave her a sudden little thrill, brought back a sea of memories of the dinners they had shared two years before—dinners when banter and serious talk had flown back and forth, when each word, each gesture, had been a movement in the ancient dance of courtship. A courtship she had never meant to consummate...

But this meal would be on a whole new level and courtship would not be on the table. Wherever they held this discussion tonight, the only topic of conversation would be Amil and the future.

And if Frederick believed this strategy was the best way forward then she owed him her co-operation.

‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ An unexpected fizz of excitement buzzed through her. She could do this; she’d always relished a fight and once upon a time she’d revelled in a show. ‘But I need to change.’

‘You look fine to me.’

His voice was deep and molten, and just like that the atmosphere changed. Awareness hummed and vibrated, shimmering around them, and she had to force herself to remain still, to keep her feet rooted to the cool tiles of the floor. The hazel of his eyes had darkened in a way she remembered all too well, and now it was exhilaration of a different sort that heated her veins.

Stop.

All that mattered here was Amil and his future. Two years ago she had tried and failed to resist the magnetic pull that Frederick exerted on her—a pull she had distrusted, and this time would not permit. Whatever her treacherous hormones seemed to think.

Perhaps he realised the same, because he stepped backwards and nodded. ‘But I appreciate you want to change.’

‘I do. You need a show, and a show is exactly what I can provide. Luckily I kept some of the clothes from my modelling days.’

Even if she’d never once worn them, she loved them still. Silk, chiffon and lace, denim and velvet, long skirts and short, flared and skinny—she had enjoyed showcasing each and every outfit. Had refused to wear any item that didn’t make her soul sing. And now there was no denying the buzz. This was what she had once lived for and craved. Publicity, notice, fame—all things she could spin and control.

Almost against her will, her mind fizzed with possibility. Amil was no longer a secret, no longer in danger—they could live their lives as they wished. She could resume her career, be Sunita again, walk the catwalks and revel in fashion and all its glorious aspects. Amil would, of course, come with her—just as she had accompanied her mother to fashion shoots—and Nanni could come too.

Life would take on a new hue without the terrible burden of discovery clouding every horizon. Though of course Frederick would be part of that life, if only a minor part. His real life lay in Lycander, and she assumed he would want only a few visits a year perhaps.

Whoa! Slow right down, Suni!

She had no idea what Frederick’s plans were, and she’d do well to remember that before she waltzed off into la-la land. She didn’t know this man—this Frederick.

Her gaze rested on him, absorbed the breadth of his body, his masculine presence, the determined angle of his stubbled jaw, the shadowed eyes crinkled now in a network of lines she thought probably hadn’t come from laughter. Her breath caught on a sudden wave of desire. Not only physical desire, but a stupid yearning to walk over and smooth the shadows away.

A yearning she filed away under both dangerous and delusional as she turned and left the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

FREDERICK CHANGED INTO the suit he’d had delivered to him whilst he was waiting and prowled the flat on the lookout for evidence of Amil’s life.

Amil. The syllables were still so unfamiliar—his only knowledge of his son that brief glimpse a few hours earlier. But there would be time—plenty of time—to catch up on the past fourteen months. Provided Sunita agreed to his proposition—and she would agree.

Whatever it took, he would make her see his option was the only way forward.

He paused in front of a framed photograph of Sunita and a newborn Amil. He looked at the tiny baby, with his downy dark hair, the impossible perfection of his minuscule fingernails, and the utter vulnerability of him twisted Frederick’s gut.

Shifting his gaze to Sunita, he saw the love in her brown eyes clear in every nuance, every part of her body. Her beauty was unquestionable, but this was a beauty that had nothing to do with physical features and everything to do with love.

Perhaps he should feel anger that he had missed out on that moment, but his overwhelming emotion was relief—gratitude, even—that his son had been given something so vital. Something he himself had never received. His mother had handed him straight over to a nanny and a few scant years later had disappeared from his life.

For a long moment Frederick gazed at the photo, trying to figure out what he should feel, what he would feel when he finally met Amil properly, held him... Panic hammered his chest and he stepped backwards. What if he was like his mother—what if he quite simply lacked the parenting gene?

The click of heels against marble snapped him to attention and he stepped back from the photo, turning to see Sunita advance into the room. For a moment his lungs truly ceased to work as his pulse ratcheted up a notch or three.

Sunita looked... It was impossible to describe her without recourse to a thesaurus. This was the woman he remembered—the one who dressed to catch the eye. But it wasn’t only the dress with its bright red bodice and gently plumed skirt that showcased her trademark legs. The bright colour was toned down by contrasting black satin panels and silver stiletto heels. It was the way she wore it—she seemed to bring the dress alive. And vice versa. A buzz vibrated from her—an energy and sparkle that epitomised Sunita.

‘Wow!’ was the best he could do as he fought down visceral desire and the need to tug her into his arms and rekindle the spark that he knew with gut-wrenching certainty would burst into flame. To kiss her senseless...

What the hell was he thinking? More to the point, what part of himself was he thinking with?

Maybe he was more like his father than he knew. Alphonse had always put physical desire above all else. If he’d been attracted to a woman he’d acted on that attraction, regardless of marriage vows, fidelity or the tenets of plain, common decency. The last ruler of Lycander had believed that his desires were paramount, and it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process.

Frederick wouldn’t walk that road. He never had—that, at least, was one immoral path he’d avoided.

His business with Sunita was exactly that—business. He had an idea to propound, an idea he would not mix with the physical.

‘You look fantastic.’

‘Thank you. I know it sounds shallow, but it is awesome to dress up again.’

She smoothed her hand down the skirt and her smile caught at his chest.

‘You look pretty good yourself. Where did the suit come from?’

‘I had it delivered whilst I was waiting.’

‘Good thinking, Batman.’

Her voice was a little breathless, and he knew that she was as affected as he was by their proximity. Her scent teased him, her eyes met his, and what he saw in their deep brown depths made him almost groan aloud.

Enough.

Right now he had to focus on the most important factor, and that was Amil. Irritation scoured him that he could be letting physical attraction come into play.

He nodded to the door. ‘We’d better go.’

* * *

Sunita wanted, needed this journey to come to an end. Despite the spacious interior of the limo, Frederick was too...close.

Memories lingered in the air, and her body was on high alert, tuned in to his every move, and she loathed her own weakness as much now as she had two years before. She needed to distract herself, to focus on what was important—and that was Amil.

The day’s events had moved at warp speed and she was desperately trying to keep up. The truth was out, and it was imperative she kept control of a future that she could no longer reliably predict.

Frederick wanted to be a real part of Amil’s life—he had made that more than clear. But at this point she had no idea what that meant, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

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