Royals: For Their Royal Heir - Эбби Грин Mills & Boon M&B

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his judgment. Just lust. Nothing more. If anything, it was a timely and valuable lesson.

      By the time Alix was getting out of his car and entering his new temporary home, Leila Verughese wasn’t a recent or even a distant memory. She had been excised from his mind with the kind of clinical precision Alix had used for years to excise anything he didn’t want to think about. Women...the death of his brother.

      His destiny was about to be resurrected from the ashes like a phoenix, and that was the most important thing in the world.

      * * *

      It was only when the train had left Paris far behind that Leila felt some of the rigid tension seep out of her locked muscles. Her jaw unclenched. The ache in her throat eased slightly.

      She sent up silent thanks for the old friend of her mother’s who would let her stay for a while with her in Grasse. There was no meeting about sharing factory space, but it would get her out of Paris until Alix was gone.

      And then the pain started to seep in from where she’d been blocking it out. The pain that told her it had taken more strength than she’d thought she had to stand in front of Alix and pretend he’d meant nothing to her. That she’d used him.

      He’d used her. Thank God the press hadn’t discovered her identity.

      Her naivety made her want to be sick. And that reminded her of the slightly nauseous feeling she’d had for the last few days—not strong enough to cause concern, but there in the background. She’d put it down to Matilde’s rich food.

      She’d lied to him about her period. It hadn’t come yet. But she’d wanted him gone. If he’d thought there was the slightest chance... Horror swept through her at the prospect.

      She put her hand on her belly now and told herself fiercely that she wouldn’t be pregnant, because the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to inflict the sins of the mother on the daughter. It couldn’t.

      If she was pregnant she didn’t want to contemplate Alix Saint Croix’s reaction. After their last conversation he would advocate only one thing to protect his precious ascent to power: termination. Because Leila Verughese had just comprehensively ruled herself out of the suitable bride stakes.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Seven weeks later

      ALIX LOOKED OUT over the view from where his office was situated in the fortress castle of Isle Saint Croix. It was at the back, where the insurmountable wall of the castle dropped precipitously to the sea and the rocks below. The most secure room.

      The window was open, allowing the mildly warm sea breeze to come in, bringing with it all the scents of his childhood that he’d never forgotten: earth, sea, wild flowers. And the more exotic scents of spices and herbs that always managed to infiltrate the air were coming from the main town’s market.

      It had been a tumultuous few weeks, to say the least, but he was still here and that was something.

      Leila. She was a constant ghost in his mind. Haunting him. Tormenting him. As soon as he’d returned to Isle Saint Croix on a wave of triumph the perfume of the island had reminded him indelibly of her. Of the perfume she’d made for him.

      Was she sitting in a luxurious hotel suite right now, with her potions arrayed before her? Smiling at some hapless man? Enthralling him? Witch.

      He still couldn’t believe she’d turned her back on the opportunity to become his Queen. Or that her rejection had smarted so badly. He told himself it was a purely ego-based blow. He’d chosen Leila because he’d genuinely believed she had the necessary attributes. Plus he’d had the evidence that they got on well, and he’d felt she had integrity and that he could trust her.

      Not to mention the insane chemistry between them.

      And all along she’d had her own agenda.

      An abrupt knock at the door interrupted his brooding and made him scowl. ‘Come in.’

      It was Andres, looking worried. Holding a tablet in his hand. When he got to Alix’s desk he was grim. ‘There’s something you need to see.’

      He turned the device around and Alix looked down to see rolling news footage. It took a second to compute what he was looking at, but when he did his entire body tensed and a wave of heat hit him in the solar plexus.

      It was a picture of him and Leila, arguing in the street that day seven weeks ago. He had his hand on her arm and she looked angry. And beautiful. Even now it took his breath away.

      The headline read: ‘Want to meet the very fragrant mystery lover of the new King of Isle Saint Croix? Turn to page six...’

      Alix looked at Andres. ‘Do it.’

      Andres scrolled through and stopped. Alix read, but couldn’t really take it in. Words jumped out at him:

       Illegitimate secret daughter of Alain Bastineau...next President of France?

       Pregnancy test...positive...royal heir?

       Does King Alix know if he’s the father?

       Scandal and controversy don’t seem to want to leave this new King in peace...

      * * *

      Leila was still in shock. It hadn’t left her system yet even though she’d had since yesterday to come to terms with the news. She’d had it confirmed, after weeks of trying to deny the possibility when one period hadn’t materialised and then the next one. She was pregnant— approximately eight weeks, according to the doctor she’d gone to see after doing three home tests: positive, positive, positive.

      Pregnant and without the father. Just like her mother.

      A sense of shame and futility washed over her. It was genetic. She’d proved no less susceptible to a gorgeous man intent on seduction. The only difference being that this time around the father would have been quite content to marry the mother of his child.

      Leila smiled, but it was mirthless. Perhaps that was progress? Maybe by the next generation her child would manage not to get pregnant and would avoid dealing with the prospect of rejection and/or a convenient marriage?

      Oh, God. Leila clutched her belly. Her child. A son or daughter. With this legacy in its past. How pathetic. Bitter tears made her eyes prickle.

      A furious pounding on the door of the shop downstairs made her jerk suddenly upright. She heard a clamour of voices. She was late opening up, but her clientele hardly arrived in droves, so desperate to get into the shop that they’d pound on the door like that.

      Momentarily distracted out of her circling thoughts, Leila hurried down to the shop, thinking that perhaps an accident had happened.

      More banging on the door...urgent voices. Leila fumbled with the lock and swung the door wide—only to be met with a barrage of flashing lights, shouting voices and people pushing towards her.

      It was so shocking and unexpected it took a moment for what they were saying to sink in, and then she heard it.

      ‘Is it true you’re pregnant with Alix Saint Croix’s baby?’

       ‘Are you getting back together?’

       ‘How long have you been seeing him?’

       ‘Why did you fight?’

       ‘Are you in touch?’

       ‘Does he know about the baby?’

      The voices morphed into one and Leila finally had the presence of mind to slam the door shut again before someone got their foot in the door. Just before she closed it, though, someone threw in a newspaper and it landed at her feet.

      She

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