Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ THREE

      ‘WHAT …?’ The single word came out involuntarily, a gasp of shock and fear as the sight of Leo standing there so calm and assured brought the memories flooding back. Phoebe threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a calmer voice.

      Leo arched an eyebrow as he strolled into the room, closing the door softly behind him. ‘Is this not the Amarnesian Consulate?’ he asked, and Phoebe was conscious of how effortlessly he made her feel like an interloper. An ignorant one.

      ‘Then I suppose the question to ask,’ she replied coldly, ‘is why I am here.’

      ‘Indeed, that is an interesting question,’ Leo murmured, his voice as soft and dangerous as it had been six years ago. Phoebe felt it wrap around her with its seductive chill and tried not to shiver.

      He was the same, she thought numbly, the same as he’d always been. The same sleepy, bedroom eyes, the same aura of confident sensuality even dressed as he was in a dark suit, undoubtedly coming as he did from Anders’s funeral, although there was no sign of grief in his saturnine features.

      ‘How did you get here?’ Phoebe blurted. ‘You were in Paris, at the funeral—’

      ‘I was this morning,’ Leo agreed blandly. ‘Then I flew here.’

      She tried for a laugh. ‘Am I that important?’

      ‘No,’ Leo replied, and turned from her to move to a small table equipped with a few crystal decanters and glasses. ‘May I offer you a drink? Sherry, brandy?’

      ‘I don’t want a drink,’ Phoebe replied through gritted teeth. ‘I want to know why I’m here and then go home.’

      ‘Home,’ Leo repeated musingly. He poured a snifter of brandy, the liquid glinting gold in the lamplight. ‘And where is that, precisely?’

      ‘My apartment—’

      ‘A one-bedroom in a rather run-down tenement—’

      Phoebe stiffened, thinking of the rather astronomical rent she paid for an apartment most people would think more than adequate. ‘Obviously your opinion of what constitutes run-down differs from mine.’ She met his gaze directly, refusing to flinch. ‘I’m not sure what the point of this is,’ she continued. ‘I assume I was summoned here for a purpose, to sign some paper—’

      ‘A paper?’ Leo asked. He sounded politely curious. ‘What kind of paper?’ He smiled slightly, and that faint little gesture chilled her all the more. Leo’s smiles were worse than his scowls or sneers; there was something cold and feral about them, and it made her think—remember—that he was capable of anything. She’d read it in the tabloids’ smear stories; she’d felt it the last time she’d stood across from him and listened to him try to bribe her, and she’d seen it in the cold, cold look he’d given Anders.

      ‘Some kind of paper,’ she repeated with a defensive shrug. ‘Signing away any rights to Anders’s money—’

      ‘Anders’s money?’ Leo sounded almost amused now. ‘Had he any money?’

      ‘He certainly seemed to spend it.’ Phoebe heard the ring of bitterness in her voice and flinched at what it revealed.

      ‘Ah. Yes. He spent money, but it wasn’t his. It belonged to his father, King Nicholas.’ Leo took a sip of his brandy. ‘Actually, Anders hadn’t a euro or cent or whatever currency you prefer to his name. He was really quite, quite broke.’

      His words seemed to fall into the empty space of the room, reverberate in the oppressive silence. ‘I see,’ Phoebe finally managed, but sadly, scarily, she didn’t. If Anders didn’t have any money … then why was she here? ‘Then is it about the Press?’ she asked. Hoped. ‘A gagging order or some such? So I don’t write some sort of embarrassing memoir?’

      Leo’s smile widened; he really was genuinely amused now, and it made Phoebe feel ignorant again. Stupid. ‘Have you memoirs?’ he queried. ‘And would they be so … embarrassing?’

      Phoebe felt herself flush, and she shrugged, angry now. Angry and afraid. Not a good combination. ‘Then just tell me why I am here … Your Grace.’

      The smile vanished from Leo’s face before he corrected with lethal softness, ‘Actually, my title is now Your Highness. Since Anders abdicated, I am the country’s heir.’

      Phoebe stilled, the realisation trickling coldly through her. She hadn’t realised Leo was now the crown prince, although of course she should have known. She knew there was no one else. Anders and Leo were both only children, which was why they’d been raised like brothers.

      For a second the old myth flashed through Phoebe’s mind as it had the last time she’d seen Leo: Hod and Baldur. Twins, one dark, one light. One good, one evil. Except she knew Anders’s true colours now, and he was far from being good or light. Not evil perhaps, but silly, shallow, selfish and vain. She shook her head, banishing the memories. ‘Your Highness, then. What do you want with me? Because I’d prefer to get to the point and go home. My son is waiting upstairs and he’s hungry.’ Brave words, she knew. Strong words, but she didn’t feel particularly brave or strong. The longer she remained in Leo’s company, bearing the weight of his silence, the more she felt her strength being tested. Sapped. ‘Well?’ she snapped, hating the way he was toying with her, sipping his brandy and watching her over the rim of his glass as if she was an object of amusement or worse, pity.

      ‘I don’t want anything with you in particular,’ Leo replied coolly. ‘However, my uncle, King Nicholas, hasn’t been well, and he has suffered great regret over what happened with Anders—’

      ‘You mean forcing his son to abdicate? To leave his country in disgrace?’ Phoebe filled in.

      Leo smiled over the rim of his glass. ‘As I recall, you told me Anders didn’t even want to be king.’

      Phoebe coloured, discomfited that he remembered the particulars of their conversation six years ago … as did she.

      ‘He didn’t,’ she mumbled, turning away to gaze unseeingly out of the embassy window. Outside, night had fallen, and a passing taxi washed the room in pale yellow light before streaming onwards into the darkness. Phoebe was suddenly conscious of how long she’d been in this room with Leo, and she turned around. ‘I want to see my son.’

      Something flickered across his face—what?—but then he gave a tiny shrug. ‘Of course. He’s upstairs, quite happy, but I’ll have Nora bring him down as soon as we’ve concluded our conversation.’

      ‘And what more is there to say?’ Phoebe demanded. ‘I’m sorry King Nicholas regrets what happened, but the past is the past and can’t be changed. And frankly none of it has anything to do with me.’

      ‘Doesn’t it?’ Leo queried softly, so softly, and yet it felt as if he’d dropped a handful of ice cubes down her back, or even straight into her soul. Those two little words were spoken with such confidence, such arrogance and power and knowledge, and suddenly, desperately, Phoebe wished she’d never agreed to come to the consulate. Wished, almost, that she’d never met Anders—she’d certainly wished that before—except for the saving grace of Christian.

      Still, even under the СКАЧАТЬ