angry. Hurt, humiliated. She cringed now to see her emotions laid so bare. So much for believing she’d been in control.
And the headline: ‘Leila Verughese, secret lover of Alix Saint Croix and the even more secret daughter that Alain Bastineau never wanted you to discover.’
They knew about her father.
Leila’s back hit the door and she slid down it as her legs turned to jelly. She barely noticed the pounding on the door, the shouting outside. She just knew that however bad she’d believed things to be just minutes before...when she’d known she was pregnant and it had still been her secret...they were about to get exponentially worse.
From somewhere came a persistent and non-stop buzzing noise. Leila dimly recognised that it was the phone. On hands and knees she crawled over to where the device sat under the counter. She picked it up.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised to hear the familiar authoritative male voice. It caused her no emotion, though. She was numb with shock.
It told her that in one hour Ricardo would be at the back lane entrance of her property with a decoy. She was to let him in. In the meantime she was to pack a bag, and then leave with him when instructed.
The shock kept Leila cocooned from thinking too much about these instructions, or the baying mob outside. And in just over an hour she let Ricardo in, with a girl who looked disconcertingly like her... Leila didn’t think twice about letting them borrow one of her coats for the girl, nor about the fact that he sent the girl out through the front. The baying mob reached fever pitch and then suddenly died down again as she heard vague shouts of, ‘She’s getting away!’
Ricardo was saying urgently, ‘It won’t be long, Miss Verughese, before they realise she’s not you. Where is your bag? We need to lock up and go—now.’
And then Leila was being escorted into the back of a car with blackened windows and they were racing through the streets of Paris. At one point Ricardo must have been concerned by her shocked compliance and pallor as he asked if she was okay. She caught his eye in the mirror and said numbly, ‘Yes, thank you, Ricardo.’
The shock finally started dissipating when they pulled up outside one of Paris’s most iconic and exclusive hotels. It seemed as if a veritable swarm of black-suited men appeared around the car, and one of them was opening her door.
Leila looked at Ricardo, who’d turned around to face her.
‘It’s okay, Miss Verughese, they’re the King’s security staff. They have instructions to bring you straight to him.’
The King. He was a king now. Leila blanched. ‘He’s here?’
Ricardo nodded. ‘He flew in straight away. He’s waiting for you.’
The man almost looked sympathetic now, and that galvanised Leila. No way was she going to be made to feel that she was in the wrong here. Her life had just been torn to pieces and it was all his fault.
The wave of righteous indignation lasted until she was standing outside imposing doors on one of the top floors of the luxurious hotel and the bodyguard escorting her was knocking on the polished wood.
Indignation was fast being replaced with nerves and trepidation and nausea. She was going to see him again.
She wanted to turn and run. She wasn’t ready—
A voice came from inside the suite, deep and cold and imperious. ‘Come.’
The bodyguard opened the door with a card and ushered her in. Leila all but fell over the threshold to find herself in a marbled lobby that would have put a town house to shame.
It was circular, and doors led off in various directions. For a second she wanted to giggle. She felt like Alice in Wonderland.
And then a tall, broad shape darkened one of the doorways. Alix. He looked even bigger than before, dressed in a three-piece suit. His hair was severely short and he was clean shaven. Leila immediately felt weak and hated herself for it.
She fought it back and lifted her chin. ‘You summoned me, Your Majesty?’
Alix’s face darkened. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t rise to her bait, though, just stood aside and said, ‘We need to talk—please come in.’
Leila moved forward and swept past him with all the confidence she could muster, quickly moving into the enormous room with its huge windows looking out over the Place de la Concorde, with the Eiffel Tower just visible in the distance.
She’d tried not to breathe his scent as she passed, but it was futile. She found herself drinking it in...it seemed to cling to her...but she couldn’t find any of the notes she’d made for him. It was the scent he’d had before. She felt a pang of hurt. He wasn’t wearing her scent any more...
She looked out of the window and folded her arms over her chest, wishing she felt more presentable. Wishing she wasn’t wearing the same old dark trousers, white shirt, flat shoes. Hair up in a neat ponytail for work. No make-up.
‘Is it true? Are you pregnant?’
Leila fought the urge to bring a hand down to cover her belly protectively, as if she could protect the foetus from hearing this conversation.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ she said tightly.
‘And it’s mine?’
She sucked in a breath and turned around. ‘Of course it’s yours—how dare you imply—?’
Alix held up a hand. He looked cold and remote. She’d never seen him like this apart from at that last meeting.
‘I imply because I come with quite a considerable dowry.’
Leila bit out, ‘Well, if you remember, you have come to me—not the other way around.’
Alix dug his hands into his pockets. ‘And would you have come to me?’
Leila opened her mouth and shut it again, a little blindsided. But she knew that her fear of how Alix would have reacted would have inhibited her from telling him—at least straight away.
She avoided answering directly. ‘I’ve only just found out for sure. I haven’t had much time to take it in myself.’
That was the truth.
Alix looked so obdurate right then that it sent a prickle of fear down Leila’s spine. ‘I’m not getting rid of it just because I’m not suitable wife material any more.’
He frowned. ‘Who said anything about getting rid of it?’ His frown deepened and then an expression came over his face—something like disgust. ‘You suspected you might be pregnant that day, didn’t you?’
Leila’s face got hot. She glanced down at the floor, feeling guilty. ‘I hadn’t got my period.’ She looked up again. ‘But I didn’t want to say anything. I had no reason to believe it wasn’t just late, and I was hoping that...’ She stopped.
‘That there would be no consequences?’ Alix filled in, with a twist to his mouth.
Leila nodded.
‘Well, there are. And rather far-reaching ones.’
More than fear trickled down her spine now. But before she could ask him to clarify what he meant he moved towards her. He stopped—too close. She could smell him, imagined she could feel his heat. She wanted to step back, but wouldn’t.
‘You lied to me.’
Leila frowned. ‘But I only just found—’
‘About your father. You said he was dead.’
Leila felt weak again. She’d conveniently let that little time bomb slide to the back of her head while dealing with this.
She glared at Alix. ‘You lied too. You lied about the fact that you were poised to take control of your throne