Claimed: Secret Royal Son. Marion Lennox
Claimed: Secret Royal Son
Marion Lennox
MILLS & BOON
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Table of Contents
To Sheila, who makes my books better. With gratitude.
CHAPTER ONE
‘WAKE up, Lily.’
There were two doctors and four nurses gathered by the bed. This had been groundbreaking surgery. Heroic stuff. If Lily hadn’t been close to death already, they’d never have tried it.
After the operation she’d been kept in an induced coma to give her damaged brain time to recover. They’d saved her life, but would she wake up…whole?
The junior nurse—the gofer in this small, exclusive French hospital—had nothing to do right now and she was free to think about the patient. She’d seen this girl come in a month ago, deeply unconscious, drifting towards death. Rumour said she was related to royalty, but no one came near her.
A nurse was supposed to be objective. She wasn’t supposed to care.
There wasn’t one person around this bed who didn’t care.
‘Wake up, Lily,’ the surgeon said again, pressing his patient’s hand. ‘The operation’s over. It was a huge success. You’re going to be okay.’
And finally Lily’s eyelids fluttered open.
She had dark eyes. Brown. Too big for her face.
Confused.
‘Hey,’ the surgeon said and smiled. ‘Hello, Lily.’
‘H…Hello.’ It was a faint whisper, as if she’d forgotten how to speak.
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
‘Three,’ she said, not interested.
‘That’s great,’ the surgeon said, jubilant. ‘You’ve been ill—really ill—but we’ve operated and the tumour’s been completely removed. You’re going to live.’
Lily’s gaze was moving around the room, taking in each person. The medical uniforms. The eager, interested faces.
And then, as if she’d remembered something really important, her eyes widened. Fearful.
‘Are you in pain?’ the surgeon asked. ‘What hurts, Lily?’
‘Nothing hurts. But…’ Her hand shifted, slow from disuse, and her fingers spread over her abdomen.
‘Where’s my baby?’
CHAPTER TWO
‘I, ALEXANDROS KOSTANTINOS MYKONIS, do swear to govern the peoples of the United Isles of Diamas—the Diamond Isles—on behalf of my infant cousin Michales, until such time as he reaches twenty-five years of age.’
Alex’s black uniform was slashed with inserts of crimson and richly adorned with braid, tassels and medals. A lethal-looking sword hung by his side, its golden grip emblazoned with the royal coat of arms. His snug black-as-night trousers looked sexy-as-hell, and his leather boots were so shiny a girl could see her face in them.
If she got close enough. As once she’d been close.
Lily could barely see Alex’s face from where she watched in the further-most corner of the cathedral, but she knew every inch of his hawk-like features. His brown-black eyes were sometimes creased with laughter, yet sometimes seemed so severe she’d think he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It had been wonderful to make him smile. He’d made her smile, too.
He’d melted her heart—or she thought he had. Love was all about trust, and trust was stupid. She’d learned that now, but what a way to learn.
She watched on, numbed by the day’s events. Shocked. Bewildered. Trying desperately to focus on what was happening.
The ring, the glove, the royal stole, the rod with the dove, were bestowed on Alex with gravity, and with gravity he accepted them. This coronation ceremony was as it had been for generations. Alex looked calm, assured and regal.
The last time she’d seen him he’d been in her bed, leaning over her in the aftermath of loving. His eyes had been wicked with laughter. His jeans and shirt had been crumpled on the floor.
Alexandros