Page 32 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

‘He’d like that.’

‘Come,’ Valentine commanded. ‘Let us see this paragon of equine perfection that we are so very lucky to receive. Can he be used for polo at all?’

Angelique snorted. ‘Are you deliberately trying to insult me?’

‘No?’ He hadn’t been. Had he? ‘I’m merely wondering how far his training extends beyond teaching people to ride.’

‘Trust me, the horse knows the difference between a learner rider and a professional. You want to play polo on him, he will not disappoint. Careful, though. He turns on the head of a pin.’

The horse was perfectly formed, superbly conditioned and altogether happy to be fussed over by an enchanted little girl.

‘He has a beautiful temperament,’ she said as they stood back and watched Juliana brush the horse, under Alessandro’s watchful tuition. ‘He really is the best of our best for this purpose.’

‘Thank you.’ He’d asked for a horse and expected a good one. He hadn’t expected quite this level of sacrifice in order to accommodate him. ‘Have you eaten?’ She often didn’t stop for food once she started her workday. He didn’t know how she did it.

Her stomach chose that exact moment to betray her with a loud rumble, but she countered with a grimace. ‘You had to talk about food. I’m not hungry. Really.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Very.’ She seemed subdued now that Juliana was otherwise occupied. ‘Look, can we talk privately? I want to give Juliana a lesson on the horse but after that, can I come and find you?’

Something was wrong. And it wasn’t that he read other people particularly well, but he knew what contentment looked like on her these days and this wasn’t it. ‘All right. Mind if I stay and watch the lesson?’

‘Would it matter if I did?’

‘Is there something wrong?’ Might as well be direct.

‘God,’ she muttered. ‘I just—’ He suddenly found himself with an armful of woman who clung to him as if she’d never see him again after this. She trembled in his arms, her face buried somewhere in his chest, and he hoped to God the choked noise she made was a laugh and not a sob, because a crying Angelique would render him utterly lost.

‘Any time.’ He tightened his arms around her. ‘You can just—any time.’

There was the laugh he’d been hoping for, and if it was a little bit wet, he was all for ignoring it. ‘Let me get Girar’s saddle and bridle and this excited little girl sorted and then let’s do that again.’

He let her go reluctantly, aware of several pairs of eyes upon them. They normally didn’t do displays of affection in public. Standard protocol for him, no matter what kind of relationship he might be in. Self-preservation for her, because the last thing she needed was to draw attention to all the ways she wasn’t a suitable paramour for a king. She walked a fine line between ignoring the judgment of others and accepting that the easiest pathway to acceptance of her position in his life was to keep her head down.

Not since the literacy reading had she put a foot wrong, and, of all the stories about her wild, wild ways, not one of the people involved had a bad word to say about her.

The polo player who, when asked about his debauched weekend with her, laughed himself to tears before saying she was an absolute slave-driver and his arse would never be the same again, but his forward game was one hundred per cent better for knowing her. The soccer player she’d spent a weekend with, helping his four-year-old daughter overcome her fear of horses. The racing-car driver who’d wined and dined her, and had, on their second date, introduced her to his nonna who’d promptly forbidden him to corrupt her because she was far too good for the likes of him. She still kept in touch with the nonna, and with the driver, even though he was now happily married to someone else.

The more the press dug, the more the picture emerged that the Cordova family as a whole were tight-knit, supremely loyal to each other, and had a habit of collecting a wide circle of friends and keeping them. ‘Go do your work. I’ll wait.’

All she’d done was buy herself some time. Angelique smiled absently at Valentine’s earnest young niece, and then shook her head to clear it of all thoughts of babies and betrayal. Right now, she held an eager young girl’s heart in her hands and that was what she should be concentrating on. Quietly, Angelique began to explaining Girar’s regular routine, and showed Juliana how to get the horse to lower his head so a not-so-tall person could put his bridle on and do it up without assistance. She put the girl on the horse and walked along beside them as they walked a lap of the round yard, her instructions warm and clear as she ran Juliana through lesson number one when it came to riding a Cordova pony, and all the while Valentine watched them from a distance, radiating a warmth and approval she could feel from anywhere in the training yard.

Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d realise that it was no one’s fault and perhaps even think it a miracle that she was pregnant at all. Maybe he’d want her and the baby both, and Valentine would gain an heir even as she lost the lifestyle she’d worked so hard to build. Either way, with a pregnancy now in play, her work with the horses would soon be restricted to teaching and advising rather than riding.

Maybe—if wishes counted for anything—happiness would ensue.

She had the patience and enthusiasm reserved for only the finest of teachers. Valentine watched as his niece soaked up the attention like a sponge, her riding confidence improving a hundred times over as Angelique set about building trust between rider and horse. Angelique was good with children, generous and inspiring, and he wondered why that surprised him so much. She’d indicated so early on that having children of her own didn’t interest her. She was with him now and knew full well he could not oblige her with that. She’d made her choice.

And still...

Watching her with Juliana made his heart ache, just a little.

His sister appeared beside him and together they watched the lesson in silence for several more minutes as Angelique ran through the commands for the horse to stop.

‘This is the wildly expensive pony you’re spoiling my firstborn with?’ his sister asked finally.

‘Not just your firstborn.’ It was for his younger nephews too, never mind that they were still too young for the saddle. They’d grow. ‘It’s for all of them.’ He tried another tack. ‘And you too.’

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