Page 3 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

‘I love to bet.’

It took twenty more minutes before they were riding out towards the heavily forested western edges of the palace grounds. Another thirty before they reached the gamekeeper’s lodge. He was the first to dismount. He tried not to stare as she slid lightly from the horse and stared at the lodge with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to one side.

‘Would you like to go in?’ he asked.

‘Are there any other people in there?’

‘No.’

‘Then, no. If you want to bed me—and you do—you might try getting to know me first.’

‘I already know a lot about you.’ Nothing but the truth. She came from a centuries-old Spanish horse-breeding and training family with extensive holdings in the Pyrenees. Her mother was from Liesendaach originally—the kingdom adjoining his—but had embraced her new country with a wide-open heart. Angelique had an identical twin sister and an older brother. She liked to rise before dawn and take a two-hour lunch at midday and then work again until late. She feared no horse or man—which in his opinion was a mistake. She was beyond beautiful and he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. In his more cynical moments he’d almost convinced himself he’d be doing her a favour by making his interest in her so plain. Some of his father’s men had hungry eyes and brutal ways and they were looking, no mistake.

His sister’s warning hammered away at his conscience, and something...he didn’t know what...made him say, ‘You should go home soon. Don’t stay.’ He had no idea where his chivalrous streak was coming from. ‘Let Alessandro look to the welfare of your father’s mares. Come back at foaling time. Better still, don’t come back here at all.’

‘Why?’ He had her attention, every last scrap of it. He wanted to preen and puff and show off beneath that breathtaking face and steady gaze.

‘It’s not safe for you here. You’re too—’

She waited, but he didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say. ‘Too what?’

Too wild, too innocent, too beautiful to resist. Too much. ‘Too tempting for this court of crows,’ he settled for saying instead. ‘You’ve drawn attention and not just mine. Your father should know better than to send you here. He should have sent his son.’

She dropped her gaze to the ground and toed the edge of the manicured grass with her boot. ‘And what if my brother would have been even more vulnerable than me?’

‘He wouldn’t be.’

Such a strange little smile as she stared at him from beneath that stray chunk of hair and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it, push it gently from her face. Slowly, he reached out to do just that.

She didn’t pull away.

‘You don’t know anything about my brother or me. I can take care of myself.’ And if her voice trembled almost as much as his fingers had, neither of them made mention of it.

‘What’s your favourite food?’ he asked.

‘Mangoes and strawberries.’

‘Your favourite drink?’

‘Good café solo. Of which you have none!’

He could fix that. ‘And where do you like to be kissed?’

Because he’d make that move next. His insides clenched with the promise of it, and the air between them grew syrupy with waiting.

‘Here,’ she murmured at last, touching her fingers to a place on her neck.

‘Got it.’ He logged the spot with his fingers, heat pooling low in his body and causing a stir as she arched her neck as if inviting more. She was warm beneath his fingertips, her skin soft to the touch, and her hair held the scent of summer. He could feel her racing pulse—or maybe it was his. ‘Where else?’

She slid her fingers towards the place where jaw met ear. ‘Here.’

He set his lips to the first place and slowly dragged his way to the next and she trembled for him and made a faint whimper that sounded like encouragement. ‘Yes?’ He barely recognised his own voice, the rough, needy edge of it.

She turned her head, her lips found his and that was all the answer he needed. He didn’t stop until he was sated and neither did she. From the shadow of the lodge to its entrance hall and then the trophy room with its massive leather sofa that they put to wicked use.

Over and over again, in the weeks that followed.

With every sly challenge and laughing touch she dug beneath his skin until he could barely think of anything but when next he could have her. Never mind his father’s men, who watched them with increasing suspicion. Never mind his sister, who covered for his absence on more than one occasion and told him over and over to be careful and discreet and for God’s sake, Valentine, grow some survival skills.

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