Page 6 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

‘I think you underestimate my sister.’ People always had.

‘Why are you even thinking this?’ asked Theo.

Again, Valentine had no answer for him. Funny how impossible it was to talk about the infertility that had resulted from his recent illness. Funny how his ability to sire children was so entwined with his role as King and his identity. Funny, not funny. ‘I could still advise her.’

‘Or you could remain King.’ Theo’s patience had reached its limit. ‘I am a king. Born, bred and steeped in all that the role entails. So are you. We serve, like it or not. Never do we turn our back on crown and country. I don’t know what else you want me to say.’

‘Nothing. I want you to say nothing.’

‘It would help if you actually told me what was behind your thinking. Because “I’m tired” is not exactly cutting it as an excuse for abdication!’

‘It’s all you’re getting.’ Valentine’s temper itched to be unleashed, but on what he did not know. Theo was right in all he’d said. There was no way out of service for the likes of them. There never had been. And still anger rode him, played him in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be played in years, looking for an outlet, any outlet would do. ‘And why on earth do you have amateurs playing with pros here today? I can’t even watch this game without cursing the mess that number four is making of the play. Look at the way he’s gouging his horse. How is this entertaining?’ It wasn’t. ‘Who is he?’

‘He’s Europe’s latest shipping billionaire, there’s twenty seconds left on the clock, and if you’d been watching the game instead of Angelique you’d already know that both teams have deliberately kept him out of play for at least half the chukka. What’s more, that’s a Cordova pony he’s attempting to ride. I fully expect that privilege to be revoked the moment he dismounts.’

The referee called time. The players left the field. The number four on the blue team rode to where Angelique stood waiting. Her shoulders formed a rigid frame, her hands rested on her hips, and even from here Valentine could tell she was livid. Angelique Cordova consumed by her emotions always had been a sight to behold.

Some things never changed.

‘Do me a favour, since you’ve no quarrel with the Cordovas,’ Theo challenged dulcetly. ‘Get over there and give Angelique some backup. Europe’s newest shipping billionaire didn’t amass his vast wealth by being tolerant and kindly.’

‘Why me? What are you going to do?’

‘Me? I’m going to take the man’s place on the polo field. Someone has to replace him in the next chukka and it may as well be me.’

‘You’re a terrible host. I don’t know why I humour you.’ But they’d already started walking towards the stables.

A flash of teeth and glinting grey eyes. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

Leverage. How quaint. ‘You certainly will.’

‘I’ll change your seating arrangements for dinner tonight, how’s that?’

He already knew he was seated at the head of a table and across from Theo’s current Minister for Agriculture—a happy man and an excellent raconteur. To his right would be the very married, very elderly, former Grand Duchess of the Opera—a woman whose golden voice had been surpassed only by her rapier wit. ‘I like where I’m sitting tonight.’ He’d already approved the new arrangements swapping his ex-fiancée out and the old Duchess in.

‘Trust me—’

‘Highly unlikely,’ Valentine interrupted.

‘—you’ll like my seating arrangements more.’

If Angelique’s raw beauty had been her downfall in her teens, by her late twenties she’d honed it into a dagger with which to pierce men’s hearts. Lush lips in an otherwise finely drawn face. A body full of feminine strength and dangerous curves. Elegant black brows to accompany her masses of black hair. Flashing black eyes full of passion and pride. There was knowledge in her eyes when her gaze swept briefly over Valentine—knowledge of him—and so there should be.

She’d been his first.

And he’d been hers.

‘Hello, Valentine. Whatever you want, it’s going to have to wait,’ she said as she turned back towards the horse and rider she was tending. The reins were in her hands now, not the billionaire’s, and Valentine was of the firm belief that that was where they should stay. Up close he could see pink spittle around the horse’s mouth and a skittishness about the pony that he was willing to bet hadn’t been there seven minutes ago.

‘Blood in my horse’s mouth,’ she muttered. ‘Torn skin from the gouging of your spurs.’ She turned on the man. ‘What were you trying to do? Gut the horse?’

The man puffed up: chest out and a sneer to go with it. ‘Do you have anything more responsive?’

‘Responsive to you? No.’ Angelique eyed the man with undisguised disdain. ‘I don’t care how much money you paid to be here or who vouched for you—although, believe me, I will be having words with them—you will have no more horses from me. Not today. Not any day.’

‘Keep your horse. It was no good anyway. Who’s in charge here?’

‘In charge of the horses on loan to visitors?’ She was practically vibrating with anger. ‘That would be me—Horsemaster Cordova—so let me repeat, I have no horses available for your next chukka, or the one after that, or the one after that. I have no horses available for your use, ever! I don’t care if I am the only one willing to say it to your face. You can’t ride.’

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