Claimed: Secret Royal Son. Marion Lennox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 Mykonis. Successful landscape architect, internationally acclaimed. Her one-time lover.

      The new Prince Regent of the Diamond Isles.

      The father of her baby.

      ‘Doesn’t he look fabulous?’ The woman sitting next to her—a reporter, according to the press pass round her neck—was sighing mistily as Alex knelt to receive the blessing.

      ‘He does,’ Lily whispered back.

      They watched on. He was well worth watching.

      The blessing over, Alex rose and proceeded to sign the royal deeds of office. Trumpeters, organist and choir filled the church with triumphant chorus, but there was room within the music’s shadow for talk.

      ‘There’s not a single woman here who doesn’t think he’s hot,’ the reporter whispered.

      Lily hesitated. She should keep quiet, but she was here with a purpose. If she were to get her baby back she needed all the information she could gather. ‘It’s a wonder he’s not married,’ she ventured.

      ‘He’s not the marrying kind,’ the reporter told her, sighing again with the waste of it. ‘Though not for want of interest. There’s always been some woman or other. My guess is he’s disillusioned. His father, King Giorgos’s brother, disobeyed royal orders and married for love, but the marriage caused nothing but grief.’

      ‘Why?’ she asked, but before the reporter could answer they were distracted.

      The Archbishop, magnificent in his gold and white ecclesiastical gowns, had handed newly signed documents to an elderly priest.

      The priest, a bit doddery and clearly nervous, took the documents with fumbling fingers—and dropped them.

      ‘That’s Father Antonio,’ the reporter whispered as the old priest stared down at the scattered papers in dismay. ‘He’s been the island’s priest for as long as I can remember. The Archbishop didn’t want him to be part of this ceremony, but Prince Alexandros insisted.’

      The old priest was on his knees, trying to gather the scattered documents, clearly distressed. Instead of helping, the Archbishop looked on with distaste. Following his lead, the other officials did nothing.

      It was Alex who came to his rescue. As if this pomp and ceremony was an everyday occurrence, he stooped to help gather the papers, then helped the old man to his feet.

      Then, as the old priest’s face worked, trying desperately to contain his distress at his clumsiness, Alex set his hands on his shoulders and he kissed him. Once on each cheek, in the age-old way of the men of this island.

      It was a gesture of affection and of respect.

      It was a gesture to restore dignity.

      ‘Thank you, Father,’ Alex said simply, his deep voice resonating throughout the church. ‘You’ve looked after the islanders well during my whole life. You baptised me, you buried my parents, and now you do me honour by being here. You have my gratitude.’

      He smiled, and almost every woman in the cathedral sighed and smiled in unison.

      ‘See, that’s why the islanders love him,’ the reporter whispered, smiling mistily herself. ‘That’s why the islanders would have loved him to take the throne himself. If only this baby hadn’t been born. Who’d have expected the old King to get himself a son at his age? He only did it to block Alex from the succession. His marriage to Mia was a farce.’

      But Lily was no longer listening. That smile…that gentleness…

      She’d forgotten, she thought, blinking back involuntary tears. She’d forgotten why she’d lost her heart.

      She was being dumb. Emotional. She needed to gather information and move on. She needed to stay detached.

      Impossible, but she had to try.

      ‘What happened with his parents’ marriage?’ she managed.

      The reporter was gazing adoringly at Alex but she was still willing to talk, and she hadn’t lost the thread of their conversation.

      ‘Horrid story,’ she said absently. ‘Alex was their only child. Because his father was Giorgos’s brother and Giorgos was childless, until this baby was born Alex was heir to his uncle’s throne. When Alex was five his father drowned, and Giorgos banished his mother from the island. But because Alex was his heir, he kept him. He didn’t care for him, though. Alex was brought up in isolation at the castle. When he was fifteen rumour has it that he stood up to his uncle—I have no idea what he threatened him with but it worked. His mother was allowed back. She and Alex went to live in their old home but she died soon after. They say Alex hated his uncle for it—they say he hated everything to do with royalty. But now he’s stuck, minding the throne for this baby but with no real power himself.’

      Suddenly the reporter’s focus was distracted. Some angle of light—something—had redirected her attention to Lily. A glance become a stare. ‘Do I know you?’ she demanded. ‘You look familiar.’

      Uh-oh. She shouldn’t have talked. Not here, not at such close quarters where she could be studied. ‘I don’t think so.’ She tugged her scarf further down over her tight-cropped curls and pretended to be absorbed in the proceedings again.

      ‘I’m sure I know you.’ The girl was still staring.

      ‘You don’t,’ she said bluntly. ‘I only arrived this morning.’ To shock, to heartache and to confusion.

      ‘You’re a relative? A friend? An official?’ The girl was looking at her clothes. They were hardly suitable for such an event. She’d done her best, but her best was shabby. She’d gone for a plain and simple black skirt and jacket, a bit loose now on her too-thin frame. Her only indulgence was her scarf. It was tie-dyed silk, like a Monet landscape, a lovely confection of rose and blue and palest lemon.

      She knew she didn’t fit in with these glamorous people from all around the world. How anyone could link her with her older sister…

      ‘You look like the Queen,’ the girl said, and it took all her control to stop herself flinching.

      ‘I’m sure I don’t.’

СКАЧАТЬ