New year, twin babies!

Midwife Freya MacFadden has stuck to night shifts since she was injured in an acid attack. But a hospital costume ball offers her the chance to hide her scars, and, lost in the moment, she seizes a passionate encounter with a handsome stranger. Leaving her pregnant...with his twins!

Desert prince Jameel Al Bakhari fought hard for his medical career, far from his kingdom of Majidar. And he’ll fight for kind and courageous Freya and their babies, too! But first Jamie must show her how beautiful she really is!

Freya bit her lip.

She might have got this all wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t even pregnant at all? A false positive? A molar pregnancy? Then everyone could go back to their normal lives. Jamie could leave and go on to another post, or back to his country, and she could remain unchanged on the night shift, reveling in the joy of other people’s babies and just imagining what it might feel like to hold her own baby...

The technician was smiling. “Everything looks wonderful here.”

Freya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Really?”

“Any history of multiples in either family?”

What?

The technician turned the screen so that Freya and Jamie could see. There, in black and white, was her womb. Filled with not one but two babies separated by a very fine line, which meant...

“Twins? Nonidentical twins?”

Dear Reader,

Many years ago I suffered from panic attacks and anxiety—so much so that I was housebound for a long, long time. No one seemed to understand the fear I had in my heart about such a scary world, and going outside terrified me…

I’ve always wanted to write about a heroine who suffers from anxiety—who hides from the world, getting by as best as she can in such a limited way. But of course my heroine would find freedom from her fear and achieve the happy-ever-after that everyone with anxiety or panic attacks hopes for.

Strength comes from within—but it also helps if you have someone who is prepared to stand by your side and love you, no matter what. So I gave Freya the lovely Jamie.

I do hope you enjoy their story!

Louisa xxx

Pregnant with His Royal Twins

Louisa Heaton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LOUISA HEATON lives on Hayling Island, Hampshire, with her husband, four children and a small zoo. She has worked in various roles in the health industry—most recently four years as a Community First Responder, answering 999 calls. When not writing Louisa enjoys other creative pursuits, including reading, quilting and patchwork—usually instead of the things she ought to be doing!

Born and raised just outside Toronto, Ontario, Amy Ruttan fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. After the birth of her second child Amy was lucky enough to realise her lifelong dream of becoming a romance author. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer she’s mum to three wonderful children who use her as a personal taxi and chef.

Books by Louisa Heaton

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

The Baby That Changed Her Life

His Perfect Bride?

A Father This Christmas?

One Life-Changing Night

Seven Nights with Her Ex

Christmas with the Single Dad

Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise

Their Double Baby Gift

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

This book is for anyone who suffers from anxiety.

Who has to find the courage from deep within just to leave the house.

It’s an endless battle, but this book is for you.

xxx

Praise for Louisa Heaton

“Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise is a compelling read about the irrefutable connection between a man and a woman. The story grips you from the moment you pick up the book, and you will not want to put this one down.”

—Goodreads

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Booklist

Dedication

Praise

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

FREYA SURREPTITIOUSLY SLIPPED the packet from her locker and into her uniform pocket, hiding it under her notepad. The lack of her period and the increasing nausea she was experiencing each morning seemed obvious signs enough, but Freya wanted proof. Scientific proof.

Night shift it might be, but to her this was morning, and walking into the staff room and smelling the strong coffee that had been put on to brew had almost made her share with everyone the ginger biscuits she had forced down for breakfast. It had taken a gargantuan effort to control her stomach, and a sheen of sweat had prickled her brow and top lip as she’d fumbled with her locker. Her fingers had almost tripped over themselves in her haste.

Heading to the ladies’ loo, she told Mona she’d just be five minutes and that she’d catch up to her at the staff briefing in a moment.

‘Okay, hun, see you in five.’ Mona smiled and headed off, her hand clutched around a mug of that nausea-inducing coffee.

The toilets were right next door to the hub, so Freya slipped in and locked the door behind her, leaning back against it, letting out a long, slow breath of relief. She took a moment to stand there and see if her stomach settled.

There didn’t seem any doubt about what was happening to her, but she needed to do this just the same. She pulled the pregnancy test from her pocket and stared hard at it, not quite believing that she was actually going to.

She’d always hoped that one day she would become a mother. But the actual chances of that ever happening to her had—she believed—become very slim the day she had been scarred for life. Because who would want her now?

‘Come on, Freya...you’re better than this,’ she whispered to herself, trying to drum up the courage to get herself through the next few minutes.

Freya loved the nightshift, working on Maternity here at Queen’s Hospital. There was something extra-special about working nights. The quiet. The solitude. The intimate joy of bringing a new life into the world and being with that family as they watched their first sunrise together. A new day. A new family. Life changing. Getting better. New hopes. New dreams. There weren’t the distractions of daytime—telephones constantly ringing, visiting families all over the place. It was secluded. Fewer busybodies.

It was the perfect hiding place for her, the hospital at night time, and those nights afforded Freya the anonymity that she craved. Lights were kept low. There were shadows to stay in, no harsh fluorescent lighting to reveal to her patients the true extent of her scarring.

It was better now than it had been. She had some smooth skin now, over her cheeks and forehead, where just two years before she’d had angry red pits and lines, her face constantly set and immovable, like a horrific Halloween mask.

Not now. Not now she’d had her many, many reconstructive surgeries. Thirty-three times under the skilled scalpel of her plastic surgeon.

And yet she was still hiding—even more so—in a bathroom. Her hands sweating and fidgety as she kept glancing down at the testing kit.

‘Only one thing to do, really,’ she told herself aloud, shaking her head at the absolute silliness of giving herself a pep talk.

She peed on the stick and laid it on the back of the sink as she washed her hands and then took a step back. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, refusing to look down and see the result. She saw the fear in her eyes, but she also recognised something she hadn’t seen for years—hope.

‘This is what you’ve always wanted,’ she whispered.

But wanting something and actually achieving it, when you believed it to be impossible, was another thing altogether. If it were possible then she’d finally get her childhood dream. To hold her own child in her arms and not just other people’s. To have her own baby and be a mum. Even if that meant she’d have to revert back to living in sunlight. With all those other people.

Even if they didn’t stare at her, or do that second glance thing, she still felt that they were looking. It was human nature to look at someone different and pretend that you weren’t. And your face was the hardest thing to hide.

Still...this wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined it happening. As a little girl she’d dreamt of marrying a handsome man, having his babies and being in a settled relationship.

She had no one. Even ‘the guy’ had been a mad, terrific impulse, when her body had been thrumming with joy about the fact that she was out amongst people, having fun, enjoying a party behind the veil of her fancy dress costume.

It had been so long since she’d last been to a social event. Too long. Years since she’d stood in a room full of people, chatting, laughing at poor jokes, being normal.

Mike had taken that away from her. That joy and freedom. His jealous actions had imprisoned her in a world of night and pain, surgeries and hiding. Feeling unable to show her face to the world without fearing people’s reactions. A frightened child turning away as if to clutch her mother’s skirts when a stranger did a double-take and tried not to look appalled or disgusted or worse.

The veil she’d worn that night had hidden everything. The high-necked Victorian steam punk outfit had hidden the scars on her neck that had not yet been tackled, and the veil had added a note of mystery.

That night people had looked at her with intrigue and with delight. They’d smiled...they’d complimented her on how wonderful she looked. Their words had made her giddy with happiness. She’d been normal there. Like them.

And then he’d been there. The guy. The pirate. He’d seemed uncomfortable. Had appeared to be waiting for enough time to pass so he could make his escape.

She knew how that felt. She’d felt a kind of companionship with him, despite their not having exchanged a word.

It had helped, of course, that he had seductively dark eyes and a wickedly tempting mouth, and she’d almost stopped herself. She’d taken a moment to register the fact that she was attracted to a man when the very idea of that had been anathema to her for so many years.

But not that night. The costume, the veil, had given her a sense of bravery she hadn’t felt for a long time.

‘I’m Freya. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Jamie.’

‘I saw you eyeing up the exit. Getting ready to make a break for it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘Please don’t. Stay for a little while longer. Let me get you a drink.’

It had been crazy how emboldened she’d felt. Her entire body had been thrumming with adrenaline and serotonin, her heart pounding like a revved-up engine. She’d felt alive, happy, normal again—having a conversation with an attractive man, feeling the thrill of first attraction.

Silly. Childish, maybe, when she really ought to have known better, but it had just felt so good!

He had made her feel that way. The way he’d looked at her, his eyes sparkling with inky delight, his full lips curved in a wicked smile. He’d laughed with joy at her anecdotes, had genuinely seemed happy to stay.

She’d felt warm and wanted again. Desire had filled her the second he’d let go of the stem of his glass and let his fingers trail delicately over the back of her hand. She’d focused on that movement, watched his fingertips on her skin—her very sensitive skin. She’d looked up and met his eyes, and the most extraordinary question had left her lips.

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘With someone?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to be?’

She’d startled herself with the sheer audacity of her question. That wasn’t her! Freya MacFadden did not proposition strange men!

She’d pulled her hand away then, retreating into the shell she was so accustomed to being inside. But then he’d reached for her hand again. Not to stop her from running away. Not to try and possess her or control her. But just to get her to make eye contact with him.

‘I’m guessing you didn’t mean to say that?’

‘No.’

‘Then we can both forget it. Don’t worry.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t ever be.’

He’d been so kind. So understanding. So she hadn’t bolted and neither had he.

They’d continued to sit with each other and talk about what the other guests were wearing and why the charity they were there to support was so important. They’d laughed and had a good time, enjoying each other’s company.

He’d offered to walk her out at the end, and she’d let him, intending to say goodbye at the door. To fetch her coat and leave. For ever to remain an enigmatic stranger at a party that he would remember with fondness. Like Cinderella leaving the ball at midnight, only without the glass slipper.

Freya let out a deep breath. She couldn’t stay here in the bathroom for too long. There was a hand-over from the day shift.

Freya loved her daytime colleagues, and they her, but she was happy when they went home. Because then she could begin to craft the intimacy that the night shift brought. Lowering the lights. Softening the voices.

It was time.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

It was now or never.

She looked down.

And sucked in a breath.

‘I’m pregnant.’

She looked back at her reflection, disbelieving.

‘I’m pregnant?’

She didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or to cry, to gasp or anything else!

She was pregnant.

There was no question as to how it had happened. She remembered that night all too well. The father of her child was quite clear in her mind. How could he not be? Even if she didn’t actually know who he was. Or where he came from.

Their meeting that night had been quite by chance—as sudden and exciting and as passionate as she’d imagined it could be. Scary and exhilarating, and one of the best nights of her life. She’d thrown caution to the wind and felt fully alive again for just a moment. For one desperate moment she had been someone else.

She had gone to the ball knowing she would be able to hide behind her veil and costume all night. It had been very gothic-looking, high-necked, with lots of black and dark purple, layers and petticoats. And there had been a top hat, embellished with a large swathe of plum ribbon, copper cogs and whatnots, and a veil of amethyst silk covering her nose and mouth like a Bedouin bride, leaving only her eyes visible.

Her best feature. The only part of her face not scarred or damaged by the acid. She’d been lucky in that respect. Most acid attack victims were blinded.

Her dashing admirer had tried to remove her veil when he’d leant in to kiss her, but she’d stopped him.

‘Don’t, please. It’s better this way.’

He’d smiled and used his mouth in other ways...

Now everyone at the hand-over would be waiting for her, and they’d all look at her when she went back through. The longer she left it, the worse it would be.

She put the cap on the test stick and slipped it into her pocket, then unlocked the bathroom door. Shoulders back, trying to feel relaxed, she headed off to the briefing.

Okay. I can do this. I’m an expert at pretending everything is fine.

The staff were all gathered around the hub of the unit. Whenever a new patient was admitted, or whenever family came to visit, they would walk down this one corridor that led to the hub. From there they would be directed down different corridors—to the right for postnatal and discharges, straight ahead for medical assessment and long-stay patients, to the left for labour and delivery, and beyond that, Theatre.

From the hub, they could see who was trying to buzz through the main doors to gain access to the ward, with the help of a security camera. They could also see the admissions boards, listing who was in which bed and what stage they were at.

There were usually thank-you cards there, perched on the desk, or stuck to the wall behind them, along with a tin or a box of chocolates kindly donated by a grateful family, and on the walls were some very beautiful black and white photographs of babies, taken by their very skilled photographer Addison.

Senior midwife Jules was leaning up against the hub, and she smiled when she saw Freya coming. ‘Here she is! Last but not least.’

Freya sidled in amongst the group, keeping her eyes down and trying desperately to blend in. She could feel all eyes upon her and folded herself down into a chair to make herself smaller. She had kept people waiting when they just wanted to go home.

She gratefully accepted a copy of the admissions sheet that Mona passed over to her.

‘It’s been a busy day today, and it looks like you girls aren’t going to have it easy tonight either. In the labour suite, we’ve got two labouring mums. In Bed One is Andrea Simpson—she’s a gravida one, para zero at term plus two days, currently at three centimetres dilated and comfortable, but she had a spontaneous rupture of membranes at home. She’s currently on the trace machine and will need to come off in about ten minutes. In Bed Two we have Lisa Chambers, she’s a gravida three, para four. Two lots of twins and currently about to deliver her first singleton baby. She’s had two previous elective Caesareans and is trying for a VBAC on this one.’

Freya nodded, scribbling notes. A VBAC was a vaginal birth after Caesarean—a ‘trial of scar’, as some people put it, to see if the mother could deliver vaginally.

‘She’s labouring fast. At six-thirty she was at six centimetres and she’s currently making do on gas and air.’

Freya sat and listened to the rest of Jules’s assessment. They had in total twenty-one patients: two on the labour ward, seven on Antenatal and twelve on Postnatal, five of whom were post-surgery.

And the phones would continue to ring. There would also be unexpected walk-ins, and no doubt A&E would send up one or two.

But she didn’t mind. Her job was her life. Her passion. The only thing that brought her real joy. It was all she’d ever wanted to be, growing up. A midwife and a mum. And, as of ten startling minutes ago, it looked as if she was going to achieve being both of those.

Freya was excellent at her job, and she truly believed she was only so good at it because it was something she adored doing. Every new baby born was a minor miracle. Every witnessed birth a joy and a privilege. Every moment she sat and held a mother’s hand through a contraction was another courageous moment.

It was a weird place, Maternity. A place where staff and patients met often for the first time, total strangers, and then just hours later Freya would know so much about a person—about their family, their hopes and dreams, their sense of humour, what their favourite foods were, what they craved, what they wanted to be, what they wanted to name their children...

She saw them at their worst, but more often at their best and bravest, and when her patients left Freya knew she would always be remembered as being a part of that family’s life. Someone who had shared in their most special and cherished moments. Never to be forgotten.

It was an immense responsibility.

Jules put down her papers. ‘Now, ladies, I want you to calm yourselves, but we have in our midst a new midwife! His name’s Jamie and he’s hiding at the back. Give us all a wave, Jamie!’

Jamie? No. Relax. It’s a common name.

Freya didn’t want to turn and look. She knew how that would make the poor guy feel, having all those women turning and staring at him, eyeing him up. But she knew that it would look odd if hers was the only head that didn’t turn. It would single her out. So she gave him a quick glance.

Lovely. No...wait a minute...

She whipped her head back round, her mind whirling, and pretended to scribble some more notes about what Jules had just reported on her sheet. But her pen remained still above the paper.

It’s him. It’s him! Oh, God, oh, God, oh...

Her trembling fingers touched her lips and her nausea returned in a torrent so powerful she thought she might be sick with nerves right there and then—all over Mona’s shoes. She wanted to get up and bolt. Run as fast as she could. But it was impossible.

She frantically eyed the spaces between the rows of staff and wondered how quickly she could make a break for it at the end of the briefing.

It couldn’t be possible. How could it be him? Her one-night stand.

‘Jamie is with us for a couple of months, filling in for Sandra who’s away on maternity leave, so I’d like to say welcome to the team, Jamie, it’s good to have you here. For the rest of you—Jamie has been working all over the country in various midwifery posts, so he’s got a lot of experience, and I hope you’ll all take the time to welcome him here, to Queen’s.’

Jules smiled.

‘Right, then. We’re all off. Have a good shift, ladies. And Jamie!’

She smiled, waved, and the majority of staff disappeared off to the locker room, to grab their things and go.

Freya, frozen to the spot, wished she could do the same.

Okay, so the simplest thing to do is to stay out of his way.

So far she’d done a sterling job of that.

Mona was showing him around, pointing out where everything was, getting him acquainted with the temperamental computer and how to admit people to the ward—that kind of thing. Freya, on the other hand, had just been given the task to introduce herself to the two labouring mothers and work on the labour ward—which she was very happy about because that gave her the opportunity to stay in her patients’ rooms and not see or have to engage with him.

The irony of the situation was not lost on her. The first time they had met she had been brimming with temporary confidence, an urge to experience life again as a normal woman meeting a handsome guy at a party. But now she was back to reality. Hiding and skulking around corners, trying her best to avoid him. The man she’d propositioned.

And what the hell were the odds of him turning up on the very same day that she took a pregnancy test? It had to be millions to one, didn’t it? Or at the very least a few hundred thousand to one?

Jules had said he’d been working in various posts around the country. Why hadn’t he got a job at one of those? Why did he keep moving?

What’s wrong with him?

The weight of the pregnancy test in her left pocket seemed to increase, its weight like a millstone.

She entered Andrea Simpson’s room quietly.

‘Hello, it’s Andrea, isn’t it? I’m Freya and I’m going to be your midwife tonight.’

She smiled at her new charge and then glanced over at her partner, who was putting his phone in his back pocket and standing up to say hello.

He reached over to shake her hand and she saw him do that thing with his eyes that everyone did when they noticed her face—noticed that she’d been burned, somehow, despite her corrective surgery and skin grafts. Noticed that she’d had work done.

His gaze flittered across her features and then there was that pause.

‘Hi, I’m George,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m just here to do what I’m told.’

Freya smiled. ‘Mum’s the boss in this room.’

She glanced over at the belt placement on Andrea’s abdomen and checked the trace on the machine. The trace looked good. No decelerations and the occasional contraction, currently seven or eight minutes apart. Still a way to go for Andrea.

‘I want you to stay on this for ten more minutes, then I’ll take it off—is that all right?’

Andrea nodded, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a short drink.

‘Do you have a birth plan?’

‘Just to have as much pain relief as I can get.’

‘Okay. And what sort of pain relief are you thinking of?’

‘I want to start with gas and air, see how I go with that, and then maybe get pethidine. But I’m open to whatever you suggest at the time.’

Freya smiled. ‘So am I. This is your birth, your body. I’ll be guided by you as long as it’s safe. Okay?’

‘Yes...’

Freya could see that Andrea had questions. ‘Nervous?’

Andrea giggled. ‘A bit. This is all so new!’

Tell me about it.

Freya had seen hundreds of babies come into the world. She never tired of it. Each birth was different and special, and now she knew that if all went well and she didn’t miscarry she’d be doing this herself in a few months. Lying on a bed...labouring. It was actually going to happen.

‘You’ll do fine.’

She laid a reassuring hand on her patient’s and wondered who’d be there to hold her hand during labour? Her mum?

Her mind treacherously placed Jamie beside her bed and she felt goosebumps shiver down her skin.

No. It can’t be him.

It can’t be.

But isn’t that what you always wanted? A cosy, happy family unit?

It had been. Once.

* * *

It was her. He’d have known those blue eyes anywhere. The eyes that had been haunting his dreams for weeks now.

He’d been invited to that charity ball after he’d attended a small event in Brighton that was meant to have been low-key. But word must have reached the ears of the hospital that the heir to the throne of Majidar, Prince Jameel Al Bakhari, was around and an invitation had got through to his people.

It had been for such a good cause he hadn’t been able to refuse it. A children’s burns unit. He’d seen the damage burns could cause, from a simple firework accident right through to injuries sustained in a war zone, and it was shocking for anyone. A painful, arduous road to recovery. But for it to happen to a child was doubly devastating.

So he’d attended, dressed as a pirate, complete with a large hoop earring and a curved plastic scimitar that had hung from his waist by a sash.

He’d not intended to stay for very long. He’d made them keep his presence there quiet, as he didn’t enjoy people bowing and scraping around him. He hated that whole sycophantic thing that happened around members of his royal family. It was part of why he’d left Majidar. To be a normal person.

It was why he tried to live his life following his passion. And his passion was to deliver babies. Something that was not considered ‘suitable’ for a prince back in his own country.

But what could you do when it was your calling? Delivering babies was what he had always yearned to do, and he’d never been destined for the throne. His elder brother had been the heir and was now ruler. So surely, he’d reasoned, it was better to spend his life doing something worthwhile and selfless instead of parading around crowds of people, smiling and waving, a spare heir that no one needed?

He’d faced some considerable opposition. Mostly from his father, who’d been appalled that his second son wanted to do what he viewed as ‘women’s work’. His father had forbidden him ever to speak of it again and, respecting his father, he had kept that promise. Until his father had passed away. Then his brother Ilias had taken the throne, and Jamie had approached his new King and told him of his vocation.

Ilias had proudly granted his younger brother the freedom to pursue it.

So he’d gone to the ball, telling the organisers that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and asking that they did not make any special announcement that he was there, just let him join in as any other person would.

Jamie had mingled, smiled, shaken people’s hands—and found himself losing the will to live and wondering when would be a polite time to leave... And then he’d spotted her in a corner of the room.

Almost as tall as he, she’d been dressed from top to toe in black, accented in dark purple, with some weird cogs and a strange pair of pilot goggles attached to her hat. Her face had been covered by a Bedouin-style gauze veil that had reminded him of home.

Her honey-blonde hair had tumbled down her back, almost to her waist, and above that veil had sparkled the most gorgeous blue eyes he had ever seen. Blue like the ocean and the sky, and just as wild and free.

‘I’m Freya. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Jamie.’

‘I saw you eyeing up the exit. Getting ready to make a break for it?’

He had been. But not any more.

So he’d stayed. And they’d talked. And laughed.

Freya had been delightful, charming and intelligent, and so easy to be with. She’d told him a story about the last time she’d attempted to flee a party. She’d been eleven years old and it had been the first time her parents hadn’t stayed with her. She’d been frightened by all the noise and all the people and had scurried away when no one was looking and run home to hide in her dad’s garden shed.

She’d grimaced as she’d recalled how she’d stayed there, terrified out of her wits not only about being found out, but also because there had been a massive spider in the corner, watching her. He’d laughed when she’d told him she’d almost peed her pants because her bladder had been killing her from drinking too much pop. But she hadn’t been able to go home too early, or her parents would have known that she’d run away.

‘No spiders here,’ he’d said.

‘No.’

‘Nothing to be afraid of. I’ll protect you.’

‘Now, why would you do that? You hardly know me. I might be dangerous.’

‘I think I can handle you.’

His pulse had thrummed against his skin, his temperature rising, his whole body aware. Of her. She hadn’t removed the veil, but she’d kept on peering at him over it with devilment in her gaze, and he’d felt drawn to her excitement and bravado. She hadn’t been drunk on alcohol. Her eyes had been clear, pupils not pinpointed, so no drugs. But she’d definitely been intoxicated by something, and he’d begun to suspect that he was feeling the same way, too.

There’d been something about her. So different from everyone else at the party. But what had it been? What had made her unique? Had it been the veil? The air of mystery? Or just those eyes? Eyes that had looked so young, but had also spoken of a wisdom beyond her years. As if she knew something that no one else did. As if she’d experienced life and the gamut of emotions that came with it. And yet that night she’d been drawn to him, and he to her. She a purple and black veiled moth and he the flame.

‘Do you trust me?’

She’d smiled. ‘Can any woman trust a pirate?’

‘I’m not just a pirate.’

The corners of her mouth had twitched and she’d glanced at his mouth, then back to his eyes, and he’d been hit with such a blow of lust he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d tried to look away, to take a deep breath, to regain control over his senses.

‘I need to go,’ she’d said.

‘Let me walk you home.’

‘No need. I have transport.’

‘Then let me walk you to it.’

He’d offered her his arm and she’d taken it, smiling through the gauze and looking up at him, her eyes gleaming.

He’d been overcome by a bolt of desire.

But what to do about it? He considered himself a gentleman. He had principles...he’d only just met her...but there was something...

They’d stood there staring at each other, each of them trying to force the words to say goodbye, but neither of them ready to leave just yet. Her eyes had glinted at him in the darkness, with a look that said she wanted more than this...

The first door they’d tried had been unlocked, and they’d found themselves inside a supply closet, filled with clean linen and pressed staff uniforms.

He’d stood in front of her, just looking at her, noticing the small flecks of green and gold in her eyes. They’d shone like jewels, and her pupils had been large and black as she’d reached for his shirt and pulled him close.

He’d lost himself in her. Completely forgotten who he was, where he was. All that had mattered had been the feel of her, the taste of her, as he’d hitched up her skirts, her million and one petticoats, slid his hands up those long, slim legs...

Freya...

Like two lost souls that had found each other, they had clutched and grasped, gasped and groaned. He’d reached to remove the veil, so that he could kiss her, so that he could seek out her lips and claim her for his very own, but she’d stopped him, stilled his hand.

‘Leave it. Please.’

‘But, Freya...’

‘No kissing...please.’

He’d respected her wishes. That veil had made her seem like forbidden fruit. An enigma. Her hat had fallen to the floor and her long blonde locks had tumbled around her shoulders like golden waves. And the dark stockings on her ever so creamy thighs had aroused a feeling in him that he’d never quite experienced before.

They’d given each other everything.

And when they were spent they had slumped against each other and just stood there, wrapped in each other. Just breathing. Just existing. It was all that they’d needed.

A sound by the door had made them break apart and rearrange their clothing.

She’d glanced at him, guiltily. ‘I must go.’

He’d stared at her, not knowing what to say. He’d felt as if there was so much he wanted to say to her, but it had all got stuck in his throat and he’d remained silent. He’d wanted to tell her to stay. To come back to the hotel with him. He’d wanted to ask her if he could see her again and that had both shocked and scared him—because he never made commitments.

But she’d slipped from the closet, and by the time he’d adjusted his clothes and made himself presentable again she’d been gone.

He’d scanned the ballroom, looking for her fall of blonde hair, looking for those all-seeing eyes, but she’d gone.

Jamie had signalled his security people and told them to look out for her, to check the car park, but like an enigmatic spy she had simply disappeared. Disappointed, he had got into his own car and been driven home.

But now she was here.

She’d turned to look at him after Jules had asked everyone to welcome him. She was here. Of all the places in the world he could have looked. In this hospital. On this ward. With him. Those eyes of hers had pierced his soul once again, reawakening his dormant desire and making every cell of his body cry out for her.

But there’d been something else. Something that had rocked him. Something he hadn’t noticed before. And now he understood about the veil.

Freya was scarred. Something had happened to her. To her face. She’d had work done. Skin grafts, no doubt. Painful surgeries and recovery. How many? What had happened to her? A house fire? Was that why she’d been at the charity event for the burns unit?

And he’d sensed her fear. Her shock. Had seen the horror in her eyes as she’d realised who he was. Then he’d seen her shame, because she’d noticed how he’d reacted when he saw her properly.

Angry with himself, he’d wanted to reach out, touch her, tell her that she should not be ashamed—but she’d bolted.

Jamie sensed a soul like his own. Someone who preferred the everyday to the limelight. Someone who avoided crowds and adulation. Someone who preferred to hide behind a mask.

He felt her magnetism. Her draw.

And helplessly he allowed himself to be pulled in.

* * *

‘It is you, isn’t it?’

Freya had quickly run to the kitchenette to make her patient’s husband a cup of tea. She’d slid into the small room, breathing a sigh of relief, wondering just how the hell she was going to get through work for the next few weeks if he was going to be here, covering for Sandra.

She’d just been kneeling down to put the milk back in the fridge when she’d heard the door open behind her and then his voice.

Freya closed her eyes and looked down, hoping the loose tendrils of her hair would cover her face. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. Tonight had already been overwhelming—finding out she was pregnant—but to have him here too? To have to have this conversation? Now? At work?

‘I’m sorry, I need to take this drink to my patient.’

She held the mug of tea in her hand, not turning to face him, but so very aware of his presence behind her in this small, suddenly claustrophobic room.

This man had made her body sing. Nerve-endings that she’d thought were dead had come alive that night and she had felt every single part of her body as he’d played her like a delicate harp. Knowing what to touch and how to touch, how to make her gasp, sigh and groan. She’d experienced things with this man that she had never felt before. He’d made her reveal a side to herself that she’d never known.

But he’d been with a woman who didn’t exist in reality, and she didn’t need to see his disappointment when he realised.

Just being this close to him now was doing crazy things to her insides and turning her legs to jelly. And was it hot? Her armpits were tingling with sweat.

They’d had an amazing night. And it would stay that way as long as he didn’t ruin the illusion by seeing her for who she really was. He’d probably thought that she was some rare beauty, but if he saw her properly he would soon be surprised. No doubt about that.

She didn’t want to have to watch it happen right in front of her. That look. She’d already noticed his shock when they were at the hub, and work was meant to be her happy place. He was ruining everything.

Holding the mug of tea before her, she kept her head down to pass him so she could get to the door.

He stepped back, keeping a respectful distance, which she appreciated, but as she reached for the handle he spoke again.

‘It is you.’

Keeping her eyes downcast, she stared at the floor, not wanting to see him take in her scars, her wounds. To see that she was damaged goods. This man had wanted her! Wanted her so badly! And it had been wondrous—a memory she’d cherished since that night. A moment of freedom from the poor existence with which Mike had left her. And she had revelled in that.

Did she want to see him realise that the woman he had given himself to was not the one of his dreams? No. Just for once she wanted to be a good memory for someone. For them to believe her beautiful.

‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

‘Look at me.’

‘Jamie, please...’ She glanced upwards for just a moment and painfully met his gaze, her eyes blurry with unshed tears, waiting to see him realise his mistake...

Only it didn’t happen. He simply looked directly at her. Showed no shock this time. No horror.

‘If only you knew how much I’ve wanted to see you again.’

Confused, she stared back. Felt the tears finally escape her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

‘What...?’

What was he saying? What did he mean? Why wasn’t he reacting to her face like everyone else did?

‘You’re unforgettable—do you know that?’

She swallowed hard, looking away, down at the steaming mug. ‘For all the wrong reasons.’

She got out of the kitchenette as quickly as she could. What was it with them and small rooms? Kitchenettes. Supply cupboards. Was Jamie set to startle her in anything less than six by six? Should she stay away from bathroom cubicles, too?

As she hurried back to her patient’s room she madly wiped her eyes and sniffed a few times, to try and look presentable for Andrea and her husband.

What had just happened? How had he managed to turn her understanding of the world completely on its head?

She slipped her hand into her pocket, to reassure herself that the pregnancy test was still there. Only it wasn’t. Her pocket was empty except for her notebook and pen.

She looked back to the kitchenette and saw Jamie come out, his face a mass of confused emotions as his eyes met hers.

Over the small white stick in his hand.

Chapter Two

IT MUST HAVE fallen from her pocket. But when? And how?

And then she remembered crouching down to get the milk from the fridge. Something similar had happened before, due to the design of the pocket on her uniform. It was below the waist, low down. She’d lost her mobile phone once that way, hearing it clatter onto the floor. She’d not heard the test stick fall. Probably because she’d heard his voice instead. Felt his presence.

‘It is you. Isn’t it?’

His words had cut through everything.

Her mind had been on other things. Other concerns. She’d closed that fridge fast. Stood up quickly and made that tea, trying not to look at him, trying to get away as quickly as she could.

She was saved from going over to him and taking the test from his hands. The call light above Bed Two flashed and she went in to see how Lisa Chambers, her labouring mother there, was doing.

Lisa was pacing the room, her abdomen swollen before her, her hands pressed into her back.

‘I felt the need to push with that last one, Freya.’

She handed the mug of tea over to Lisa’s husband and then guided Lisa back to the bed. ‘I’ll need to check you before you can push.’

She didn’t need Lisa pushing too early. It might cause a swelling of the cervix and make delivery more difficult.

Regaining control of her own body, she checked her patient’s. ‘You’re right, Lisa. You’re ten centimetres. You can push with the next contraction.’

Lisa got up off the bed. ‘I can’t lie down, though.’

‘That’s fine. Let your body lead you and I’ll help. Just tell me when you’re ready.’

Lisa beckoned to her husband to stand on the other side of the bed and take her hands. Then she squatted on the other side.

‘When the contraction comes, take a big, deep breath, Lisa—chin to your chest and push, right into your bottom.’

Lisa nodded, waiting, then closed her eyes and sucked in that breath.

Freya quickly washed her hands, dried them and gloved up. Lisa might be five times a mother, but this was her first vaginal delivery. It might take some time and, with the best will in the world and not wanting to prolong her patient’s suffering, she hoped that it would.

Because she herself needed some time before she could leave this room. Needed to think of what she would say. What she would do. How she could escape this situation she’d found herself in.

Lisa was an excellent patient, though, and obviously keen to see her fifth child. Because within forty-five minutes of her first needing to push, her son slithered into Freya’s waiting hands.

She passed the baby to his sobbing mother, clamped and cut the cord, then helped Lisa into bed and wrapped a towel around her son to help keep him warm.

The baby cried—bursts of pure sound, a completely new person announcing his arrival. Freya smiled at the newly created family of seven and quietly gave Lisa the injection of syntocinon that would hasten delivery of the placenta, as per her patient’s request.

It seemed to take no time at all to deliver it, check it, assess the baby’s APGAR score, then Lisa’s, and realise that Lisa hadn’t torn at all. Her five-pound, twelve-ounce son had arrived perfectly.

There was no reason for Freya to stay at all. She prided herself on leaving her families to have some private time as soon as she could after the birth. So they could welcome and get to know their new baby on their own. But tonight she hesitated by the door.

‘Congratulations, you two.’

‘Thanks, Freya. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Nonsense. You were a model patient.’ She smiled, trying to pluck up the courage to go out there and face him. That conversation.

She could only hope and pray that he was busy with a patient of his own.

But she had no such luck.

Jamie was just walking back to the hub desk, sliding his pen into his top pocket. His dark eyes instantly met hers. Challenged her. Demanded an explanation.

She almost faltered. But she had Lisa’s notes to finish writing up, and when that was done she needed to check on Andrea. She’d taken her off the trace a while ago and she’d been steadily contracting every five minutes the last time she’d seen her.

Jamie stood still as she walked past him, and she hoped he wouldn’t see that her nerves were making her hands tremble and shake as she sat down at the desk.

‘It’s not what you think.’ She glanced up at him, then away again. Dammit. He was just as handsome as she remembered. Even more so, this close. He was hauntingly beautiful.

Jamie sat down in the chair next to her. ‘What do I think?’

She paused, her pen over Lisa’s notes. ‘It belongs to a patient.’

‘A patient?’

‘Yes. I must have put it in my pocket without realising and—’

‘We don’t do pregnancy testing here. Mona was quite clear when she showed me around that the fertility clinic is in a whole other ward next to this one.’

She tried her hardest not to look at him. Not to meet the searing gaze that she knew would instantly divine the truth. If her cheeks could have flamed red, then they would.

She looked at him, guilt filling her eyes.

He gazed at her for a moment, his face deadly serious. ‘Tell me the truth. It’s yours?’

Her eyes closed, almost as if the admission would cause her pain. ‘Yes...’ A whisper.

‘Am I...?’

The words choked in his throat and she opened her eyes again in anguish. She hardly knew this man. He was a temp. A locum. A drifter. How could she tell this stranger that the baby in her womb was most definitely his? Because she didn’t sleep around. She never met anyone—never gave herself the chance to.

She didn’t need to get that kind of close to any man, to develop feelings for any man, because look at what had happened to her when she did. She’d suffered more than she’d ever believed it was possible for one body to suffer after getting involved with Mike. The pain she’d gone through, both emotionally and physically, had almost destroyed her.

She never wanted that again. Never wanted to risk it. Having that one night with Jamie—a stranger—had been a moment in which she’d thrown caution to the wind, feeling herself so physically attracted to the pirate she’d met at the ball that she’d decided she would risk it. Keeping her anonymity, she would never have to deal with him afterwards.

Because why shouldn’t she have slept with him? It was allowed, and it had felt so good to let all that other stuff go.

But they’d both been stupid. Believing that one night wouldn’t have consequences. Believing that they could walk away.

They should have known the risks.

They’d been wrong! And no one could be angrier with her than she was with herself.

She’d once sat on a hospital bed, with a plastic compression mask over her burnt features, and promised her mother that she would never get involved with another man ever again. Would never cause her family anguish ever again. Because what Mike had done—throwing that acid at her face—hadn’t just affected her. The tragedy had affected her family and even Mike’s family, who were distraught that their son was in prison.

And all because she’d got involved with him.

And now she was pregnant. With Jamie’s baby.

‘Yes. You’re the father.’

She saw him look down at the ground. Could almost hear the cogs going around in his skull, almost sense his thoughts as he tried to distance himself from her. Maybe even planned to leave this place. Get a temporary post somewhere else less complicated.

‘Right.’ A pause. ‘It’s very early on. Four...maybe five weeks?’

She nodded.

‘You need to start taking folic acid.’

‘I know.’

‘You need to look after yourself.’

She knew he was just trying to say the sensible thing, trying to help and maybe trying to make sense of it in his own head. This had to be a huge shock to him too. But to Freya it sounded as if he was telling her what to do, and no man would ever tell her what to do again.

Her control was slipping. ‘You don’t need to tell me how to do anything. You don’t own me.’

‘I’m not. I’m just trying—’

‘You’re just trying to take over! So back off, Jamie, I don’t need this in my life!’

She tried her hardest not to shout, but it was difficult. All she wanted to do was run away, but it was as if the walls were closing in and she would soon be trapped with him. A man. A stranger. Tied to him for eternity when she knew nothing about him. He could be anybody.

He sat forward in his chair. ‘You’re pregnant with my child. I don’t think you realise what this means.’

She leaned forward too, anger and rage fuelling her bravado, matching his stance. ‘I’m a midwife. Of course I know what it means.’

She stood, grabbing her notes and pen, deciding she would check on Andrea. She would finish her notes in there—give Jamie a chance to think about what she’d said.

He was not going to tell what to do.

* * *

He was going to be a father.

Of course if nothing went wrong they would have to marry. If the people of Majidar ever found out that he’d got a woman pregnant and then abandoned her to have the child alone they’d be appalled. And so would he. He wasn’t just a prince, he was a man, and as such he had a responsibility to do the right thing. No child of his would grow up to be illegitimate—he just wouldn’t accept it. The baby was his and he would be its father.

Honour in this country was different from honour in his. He saw it on the television every day—men getting women pregnant and then leaving them to raise the child alone. There were single parents everywhere, and that was fine for them—but not for him. Not at all. He could never knowingly sire a child and then abandon it to God only knew what kind of future.

This was his child. And, whether Freya liked it or not, he had a duty to it.

And to her.

But what had happened to her? What was making her so frightened and on edge? Why couldn’t she look him directly in the eye? Was it her scars? Her face? Did her shame stem from that? Or was it the unexpected pregnancy?

Clearly she was in shock. All he’d tried to do was make this easier for her. Try and shoulder some of the responsibility.

Because it was his and his alone. And because of who he was it was imperative that he do the right thing.

He would need to speak to his advisor.

* * *

At just after six in the morning Andrea delivered a healthy baby girl.

Freya was reluctant to leave her patient’s room and go back out there and face Jamie again, but she knew that she had to.

She could only hope that as there was less than one hour until the end of her shift he might be busy elsewhere and she would be able to get through it without having to see him.

She’d had her fill of pushy men. To be fair, she’d only been with one, but that one—Mike—had been enough for two lifetimes.

It had started innocently enough. Mike had asked her not to go out with her friends from college one evening.

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t bear to imagine you out on the town like that. I’ve seen gaggles of girls dressed to impress and off their heads on tequila shots. I know what guys think of girls like that, and I don’t want them looking at you like you’re a piece of meat.’

She’d thought he was being sweet! That he cared so much about her.

He’d begged her not to go, and to make him feel better she’d cancelled. The next week, when the girls had wanted to go out again, rather than just accept the invitation straight away she’d said she needed to check with Mike first.

Slowly she had stopped having any contact with her friends. Then he’d started making comments about how her family looked down their noses at him and how family meet-ups made him uncomfortable—could they stay home?

Bit by bit he had isolated her, until her entire life had been his to control and manipulate. She’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe and she’d tried to break away. He’d found her, begged her to stay, promised he would change.

Only he hadn’t. If anything he had got worse—his insecurities, his paranoia.

She’d bolted one day when he was at work and run home to live with her mum again. She’d thought she was free, that her life was hers again, until that terrible day on the high street...

Freya was grateful to see that the hub looked clear and she headed over, her back aching slightly, and slumped into a chair to complete Andrea’s notes. The open tin of chocolates called her name and she unwrapped one and popped a caramel barrel into her mouth.

Mmm...just what I need.

The chocolate began to soften in her mouth, and as she chewed she realised just how hungry she was. She’d not really taken a proper break whilst Andrea laboured, and suddenly she was starving—craving a full English breakfast, washed down with a mug of strong tea.

A banana was placed right in front of her. She frowned and looked up to see who had given it to her.

‘Jamie...’

‘Eat this. You haven’t had anything all night.’

She moved the banana away from her. ‘Thank you, but I have other plans.’

‘So you say—but you’re not the only one who gets to make decisions about yourself any more. This is my baby too and you need to eat. Healthily, preferably.’

He grabbed hold of the tin of sweets and moved it away from her.

Angrily, Freya grabbed the tin back. ‘Keep your voice down. I don’t need the whole ward hearing about it.’

‘Are you going to eat the banana?’

She glanced at the fruit, lying harmlessly on the desk, and felt repulsed by it. The idea of taking a bite of it turned her stomach. She craved hot food. Preferably dripping in grease.

‘Not right now.’ She felt a little hypocritical. She’d often lectured pregnant women about eating well for a healthy pregnancy and here she was craving fat. And maybe another chocolate from that tin.

‘So when are you going to eat?’

‘When I get out of here. At home, where I can cook myself something.’

She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t like to go out during the day. Didn’t like to sit by herself in cafés filled with staring people.

‘Where do you live?’

She looked at him incredulously. ‘Why would I tell you that?’

‘Because, like it or not, we’re involved now and I want to look after you.’

‘I don’t know you!’

‘You knew me enough to make a child with me.’

He stared hard at her, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if daring her to try and wriggle out of that one.

‘Well, I didn’t know I was doing that at the time.’

It was enough to make her remember their assignation—her back against the wall as he hoisted her legs around his waist and thrust into her, her hands frantically grasping at him. Both of them made courageous by darkness and anonymity.

No. She would not tell him her address. He might be anyone and her home was her safe space. Her haven. A place where she could relax and just be. It was her bolthole, and there was no way she was going to give him that information.

‘You’re not going to do this, you know.’

‘Do what?’

‘Go all alpha on me. Order me about.’ She could hear her own voice quaking as she stood up for herself.

‘I care about you.’

‘No, you don’t. You got me pregnant and now you think that you’ve got to be seen to be doing the right thing. Well, I’m giving you an out. You’re off the hook—you can walk away.’

It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To do it alone? Without a man? Because men were frightening. They didn’t know what it felt like to be a woman. To know that half the population was bigger and physically stronger than you. That they could overpower you if they cared to try. Not to be able to walk down a street without fearing the footsteps you could hear behind you. Always having to be aware of your surroundings. Of who might be looking at you strangely. Were they just curious, or were they about to pounce?

He leaned forward and stared at her. ‘I don’t know what experiences previous men have given you, but let me tell you something. I am not that kind of man. When I do something I take full responsibility for it. And that means taking care of you and taking care of that baby.’

‘But you don’t have to. I can do it alone.’

‘I do have to. It’s my child. It has to be honourable.’

‘Why does it have to be honourable?’

Even as she said the words she realised how childish she sounded. Why wouldn’t she want her baby to be honourable? Was she cheapening it already? By saying it didn’t matter if it was ‘honourable’?

But this was her baby! She had dreamt of this for years!

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, as if he was appalled that she could think anything else.

‘Because it has to be. I won’t have it any other way.’

She moved the banana. She could smell it and it was beginning to turn her stomach.

‘If everything you do is “honourable”, then how come you had a quickie with a stranger in a closet? Surely being honourable would make you at least a hotel-room-with-satin-sheets kind of man?’

‘Maybe I am?’ he challenged, pushing the banana back towards her. ‘There is plenty that you don’t know about me, Freya MacFadden.’

The use of her name made her narrow her eyes as she looked at him. God, he was beautiful. Almond-shaped eyes, dark as ink, cheekbones a model would die for, and his lips...

Oh, goodness, I remember those...

Freya cleared her throat and tried to sound as if she was in control of this conversation. ‘Well, perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?’

Jamie checked around them, as if keen to make sure they were alone and no one was listening in.

‘I can’t tell you right now. You wouldn’t believe me. Perhaps if you agreed to meet me here?’

He pulled a card from his uniform pocket and slid it across to her. It was a glossy black card with the name of a hotel in silver.

Why did he want to meet her in a hotel? What kind of movie did Jamie think he was living in? He was deluded. This was normal life. People didn’t do that. There was no way she was going to meet a total stranger in a hotel!

‘Can’t you just tell me?’

‘You wouldn’t believe it. Please meet me there.’

It would be a public place. Safe. But it would be in daylight. When there were other people about. Not in his room. Nowhere they could be alone. But she would have to face other people’s stares.

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow? Before your shift? We do need to talk about this and we can’t do it here.’

She could maybe put on some sunglasses and wrap a thick scarf around her neck, then no one would stare at her. She could get there before everyone else was up and milling around for breakfast. She could listen to what he had to say, give him his five minutes, then slink out quietly.

‘Fine. About six? That gives us an hour before work.’

‘Thank you.’

She nodded, then picked up the banana, gave it back to him and said, ‘Now, take that away, please, before I throw up all over this desk.’

His mouth curled slightly at the corners. ‘Tomorrow I’ll bring you grapes.’

* * *

The Franklin Hotel sat atop a hill, so that as Freya drove towards it she had a sense of awe and magnificence as she approached the beautiful Georgian manor. Looking at it from a distance, she wondered how Jamie could afford to stay in such an opulent place.

I don’t have to go in. I don’t have to hear what he has to say.

But she knew she would. Because, no matter how terrified she felt, she knew that she owed her baby the chance to know something about its father. So she could look her child in the eye and tell him, or her, that she’d tried everything.

It looked welcoming and warm, with yellow lights gleaming out in the darkness of the early morning, the sky above a blue which was fading from inky navy to palest azure.

Parking her little hatchback next to rows of expensive cars with chauffeurs sitting in them made her feel a little uneasy. Why had Jamie asked her to meet him here? What was it that she was about to learn from him?

He was a midwife. A damned sexy one, if she was honest, with an accent to die for and eyes that looked right into her soul and grasped her by the heart. She’d never met anyone like him. The mystery was what could he tell her here that she would never have believed if he’d just told her at work?

Whether she liked it or not, whilst this baby nestled in her womb they would be tied to one another—and Jamie seemed determined to be in her life.

Adjusting her scarf and lowering her sunglasses, she strolled across the gravel driveway, her nerves jittery, her legs weak. In the hotel, gentle music playing from a piano met her ears. To her right was a reception desk, where exquisite and perfectly presented staff waited to attend to every guest’s needs.

‘May I help you, madam?’ asked a young man in a navy suit with enough gel in his hair to sink a ship.

No, it’s fine. I’m just leaving.

‘I’m supposed to be meeting a Mr Jamie Baker?’

‘Miss MacFadden? We’ve been expecting you.’ He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. ‘Please take the lift to my right and go up to the third floor.’

Take the lift? Go to the third floor? That wasn’t meeting in a public space. That meant going to his room. Where there was a bed.

‘Oh...um... What room number?’

‘Mr Baker has the entire third floor.’

Freya blinked. What? Who went to a hotel and took up an entire floor? That was the sort of thing celebrities did with their entourages, or royalty, or...

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

What was going on? It was all so confusing. He was just a guy, right? A normal guy.

Was he rich?

The night they’d met at the gala she’d known there was a member of royalty there. She’d heard the rumour but she’d never been introduced to anyone. There’d been no announcement. Everyone had hidden behind their masks and it had been exciting. You could talk to anyone and not know it!

Including royalty.

Have sex in a closet with them, if you so chose...

Freya swallowed hard, trying to control her rapidly weakening legs as she hesitantly went over to the lifts and pressed the button.

I could still go. I could run. Just get the hell out of here!

She stood there, fidgeting with the tassels on her scarf, as she waited for the lift to come down to the ground floor.

I owe it to our baby.

Was Jamie a member of some royal family? How could that be?

She thought about turning tail and running—changing her mind and hiding somewhere. Her parents’ beach house on Hayling Island, perhaps. It was the place she went when she needed to hide and think. She’d gone there when she’d first been released from hospital, months after the acid attack, and she’d had to wear that damned orthotic burns mask every day, marking her out as different.

She’d felt like a leper. As if there was a bright neon arrow over her head screaming that here was someone not normal.

The house on Hayling Island would soon be filling up with summer rentals, but hopefully no one was there right now. Jamie wouldn’t know where to find her. It would be good for her to take a break while the morning sickness was in full swing.

The lift pinged, signalling its arrival, and the doors slid open. On the back wall of the lift was an ornate mirror and she gazed at her reflection, wondering what the woman in the mirror should do. Run like hell? It was like staring into a prison.

All ye who enter here...

But Freya had seen more than enough women arrive on her ward to give birth alone, without a father involved, and she had felt sorry for all those children who would grow up without an interested father.

Jamie wanted to be involved. He’d said he would not shirk his responsibility. All she’d ever wanted was to be loved and to have a baby—something she’d thought would never happen after her acid attack—and here she was, pregnant and with a guy who said he wanted to be involved. She owed him a chance, the opportunity to show her what he could provide for their child.

With hesitation Freya stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the third floor, eyeing the reception area with longing as the lift doors closed her in.

As the lift ascended she gripped the strap of her bag as if it was a lifeline. An anchor to real life. The sensation that her world was about to change for ever was drowning her in anticipation, and she wished she’d eaten more of those ginger biscuits before coming, because her stomach felt as if it was about to explode.

The lift stopped rising. Ping! The doors slid open to reveal two men in dark suits.

Her stomach flipped and she looked from one to the other.

Guards? Why does Jamie need guards?

They were wearing those earpieces that secret service men had on television. They asked her to put her bag through a scanner, and then she had to walk through a metal detector shaped like a doorway before they escorted her down the corridor towards a pair of ornate doors.

What on earth have I got myself into?

Silently she followed, feeling like a little girl between giants. Were they wearing guns beneath their jackets? Her mouth went dry at the thought of it and she gripped her bag tighter, as if that small item would somehow protect her from what was to come.

At ornate double doors the men stopped and grabbed a handle each, stepping back to open the doors wide.

Freya sucked in a steadying breath as her eyes hungrily took in the details of the room. A four-poster bed set with golden drapes in an opulent room adorned with fine art and floor-to-ceiling windows. Gilt-edged tables, fresh flowers in vases that were almost as tall as she was. And standing in the middle, in a long white tunic and trousers, was Jamie. As if he’d been waiting for her.

She stared at him, not sure what to do. Or say.

Now she could understand why he hadn’t just told her all this.

‘You’re right,’ she said, clearing her throat and looking straight at him. ‘I would never have believed you.’

* * *

Jamie poured her some tea, adding two cubes of sugar to the drink. He frowned slightly when he saw how her hands were shaking when she went to take it from him, then set it down on the table instead and took her hands in his to calm them.

‘It’s all right, Freya.’

‘Is it?’ She looked at him askance. ‘Who are you, Jamie?’

‘My name is Jameel Al Bakhari and I am heir to the throne of Majidar. My older brother Ilias is King, ruling with his wife Queen Jasmeen, but they have been unable to sire any children so I am next in line. I also have a younger sister, Zahra, who has just married.’

It all sounded as if it was from a film. ‘Heir to the throne...?’

‘Yes.’

‘Royalty?’

‘Yes.’

It was a struggle to process. ‘But...but you work as a midwife.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why? Why do that, when you’re a...a prince?’

He smiled. ‘I did not ask to be born a prince. Ruling a kingdom and waving at crowds from a distance is not what I felt I was meant to do. I want to know people. Help them personally. When my father sat upon the throne he took us with him to a hospital, where he was opening a new neonatal unit. I was very young—maybe eight or nine. We toured the labour ward, saw the new state-of-the-art theatre and the incubators that held tiny newborns. I was fascinated by the babies, and when we returned to the palace an idea took hold. The more I thought about it, the more I realised I wanted to deliver babies. To hold the miracle of life in my own two hands and experience the joy of bringing a new life into the world.’

Freya nodded. ‘But why be a midwife? You could have been a doctor. An obstetrician. A surgeon!’

‘I could. But those paths didn’t interest me. I wanted to deliver the babies. An obstetrician gets called in only if there’s a problem. A surgeon just takes care of Caesareans. I wanted to be there through the whole labour—to monitor progress, develop that close relationship a midwife creates with each patient. My mother spoke fondly of all her midwives. I would beg her to tell me, over and over again, the stories of our births—mine, my brother’s and my sister’s. Even after all those years she could remember every detail, and it was the midwives of whom she spoke the most highly. I wanted to be that person. To have that impact on people’s lives. To be remembered in such a way. Selfish, perhaps, but true.’

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