Marrying His Majesty: Claimed: Secret Royal Son. Marion Lennox
said it as if what had happened was an everyday occurrence. As if there was no controversy at all.
‘Prince Alex says he didn’t know he was your baby’s father.’ The younger man had lowered his camera and was holding out a voice recorder. Alex thought about objecting, but then thought why? Maybe Lily’s calm pragmatism was just what was called for.
What the country needed?
What he needed.
She didn’t seem to be aware that she looked… dowdy.
No, he thought. Dowdy was the wrong word. A woman as cute as Lily could never look dowdy. Her swimsuit must have been bought before her illness—it was too big for her. Her nose was turning pink from the sun. Her scarf was slipping backwards, and her curls were twisting in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Cute? More. She was gorgeous. He was starting to feel…
‘Yes, I was dumb enough not to tell him,’ she said to the reporters. She might have been discussing the weather.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I had my reasons.’ She sounded a bit irritated. But then she seemed to think about it. She sat back on her heels and gazed up at Alex, as if assessing him and rethinking her answer.
‘You know, the first time I met Prince Alex I thought he was wonderful,’ she admitted. ‘But I was ill and on medication and maybe I wasn’t myself. Alex didn’t know I was ill—or pregnant—only a rat would have taken advantage of me and you must know by now that the Prince is an honourable man. Now that Alex knows the truth, he’s made me an honest woman. I intend to stay here with my son and my husband, build boats and live happily ever after. I’ll start with repairing this one. Is that okay with you?’
What were the reporters supposed to say to that? They were staring at her, open-mouthed. It was so obviously not a rehearsed speech that she’d taken their breath away.
She’d taken his breath away.
She’d been ill.
She’d downplayed it, but suddenly he thought, how ill? She’d said it before, but it had been brushed aside. She’d implied she’d had a minor operation. Maybe she’d had morning sickness as well.
But… ill when she’d conceived?
And… she’d made their marriage sound ordinary.
He wouldn’t have minded if she’d looked up and smiled at him, formed some sort of connection to make these guys think that their initial attraction still held.
To make him think that initial attraction still held.
Hell, what was he thinking? One part of him wanted a marriage of convenience. The rest of him wanted to claim this woman as his.
Which was ridiculous. What had changed to make him trust her?
‘Do you have any more questions?’ she asked, rising and wiping sand from her hands on the sides of her bathing suit. ‘Michales has been in the sun for long enough. I need to take him up to the house.’ She lifted Michales from Alex’s grasp and waited—politely—for the reporters to leave.
‘Are you in love with Prince Alex?’ the older reporter asked and Alex drew in his breath. Of all the impertinences…
But Lily didn’t seem perturbed.
‘I’d imagine half the hot-blooded women in the western world are in love with His Highness,’ she said and she grinned. ‘Ask your readers.’
‘But your marriage… ’
‘The Prince is an honourable man,’ she said again, flatly. ‘He’s my husband and he’s doing right by me and my son. I think he’s wonderful. You should all be very proud of him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I’ll leave you with Prince Alexandros—he can answer any more questions you might think of. Good evening.’
‘Can we have a photograph of the three of you together?’ the cameraman pleaded. ‘One?’
‘Okay.’
Alex was too bemused to protest. Mia would never have agreed to a photograph like this, he thought, but Lily seemed unperturbed. How many photographs had been taken of her today? Obviously one more wasn’t going to do any harm.
She turned and stood beside him, holding her son. She smiled.
‘Can you lift Prince Michales a little higher?’ the cameraman called and Alex thought, damn this, he was going to be part of this photograph, too.
He took Michales from Lily’s arms and he held him between them.
Michales gave an indignant squeal, twisted and grabbed for his mother.
He caught the tail of her scarf. And pulled.
Maybe if her hair hadn’t been wet he wouldn’t have seen. But her hair was tugged upward with the scarf.
For a moment, before the curls fell again, he saw a scar.
A huge scar—from behind her ear almost to her crown.
The photographers hadn’t seen. But Lily… She knew he’d seen it. Her face stilled.
Don’t say anything, her face said. Please…
He didn’t.
In one fluid movement he was tight against her, blocking the reporters’ view, twisting her to face the camera slightly side on. So the scar was invisible.
He was holding her close, as if he cared.
Hell, he did care. Why hadn’t he asked. Why hadn’t he asked?
He forced a smile. The photograph was taken. He handed Michales back to Lily—still standing as close as he could. He took the scarf from Michales’s chubby fingers and tied it gently around his mother’s curls.
‘I’ll not have you sunburned,’ he growled.
‘It’s almost dusk. There’s no need to fear sunburn,’ the reporter said.
‘No matter. It’s time you went up to the house, Lily,’ he said and gave her a gentle push.
She got the message. She gave the reporters a brief smile and turned and trudged up the beach. Leaving three men gazing after her. Two reporters who thought they’d just gained a scoop.
One Prince who felt ill.
She’d called him honourable, wonderful even…
He didn’t feel either.
‘You look confused,’ one of the reporters said. He tried to get his face under control again. He was watching Lily walk up the beach. What the hell… ?
‘You look like you’d like to bed her again,’ the man said.
Enough. There was only so much a man could take and this was well over the boundary.
‘Excuse me,’ he said coldly. ‘This is a private beach. You have no right to land here. I think we’ve given you enough. Can you please leave now?’
‘We’re going,’ the man said and then he hesitated. ‘She’s a bit different from her sister, then?’
This was where he should turn haughty, supercilious, as if reporters were somewhere beneath pond scum. This was where he should produce a dose of royal arrogance.
He couldn’t do it. Not when they were saying something he agreed with so entirely.
‘Do you think I’d have married her if she was like Mia?’ he demanded.
The reporter hesitated. He looked as if he wanted to say something and finally decided he might as well.
‘We came here on the spur of the moment,’ he said. ‘We never dreamed of getting this close. The old King and his bride… they never let us near.’