Page 31 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

Heaven knew where that photo would end up. Probably in tomorrow’s news cycle alongside a heading declaring her desolate because Valentine had tossed her over.

Which might just be true.

‘Keys.’ Angelique handed them over and let her sister drive them to the manor.

By the time the gate guard nodded to them and waved them in, she had herself under control and even managed a smile. Luciana went one better and lifted her finger from the steering wheel in acknowledgement, all smiles and credible good cheer.

All this luxury. All the beautiful pastures and training facilities for the horses were wholly dependent on the whims of a king who’d only ever taken up with her because he couldn’t have children. The entire foundation on which they’d based their relationship lay in tatters at the feet of her newly pregnant self. ‘I think I’ll take that third test when we get inside. Just in case the other two were faulty.’

‘And when you’ve done that, I’ll give you the next three packets,’ her sister murmured sagely.

‘How many did you bring?’

‘Twelve.’

Angelique huffed a laugh. Slight overkill, but, then again, one could never have too many pregnancy tests when carrying the bastard child of an infertile king. ‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll figure it out,’ her sister reassured her. ‘We’re Cordovas. We always do.’

Valentine strode towards the royal stables with his niece in tow and a spring in his step that had nothing to do with the perfect blue sky or the happily skipping Princess at his side, and everything to do with the woman they were going to meet. Ask him if happiness came in the shape of a woman and a year ago he would have said no. Ask him if contentment meant sharing a simple meal at a kitchen table and he would have asked why?

Why would a woman’s smile and hot temper and sharp observations of the world around them energise him so?

But they did, and continued to do so in spite of so many around him hoping his fascination for Angelique Cordova would fade. He didn’t shove her presence down anyone’s throat these days. They’d agreed she would accompany him to one royal event each month and the rest he would attend alone. Enough to let people know they were still seeing each other. Little enough to keep the worst of the press hounds away from her. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, he and Angelique became ever more entwined. This latest project—a pony for his horse-obsessed niece—had without question required Angelique’s expertise. She’d said to leave it with her, because she had a pony in mind but her father might take some convincing to let the little gelding go.

The cost of the ageing gelding had not been insignificant, even for him.

Alessandro, his stable master, had been disappointed it hadn’t been a breeding mare, preferably in foal.

Angelique had laughed when he’d told her that, and muttered, ‘He can dream. He and my father are cooking up something between them, you know. Be prepared to open your wallet even more when they present it to you. That or bargain. You have a mare my father wants. Cordova bloodlines a few generations back. I tell you this to help you in your upcoming negotiations.’

He’d teased her about putting him before family and she’d huffed and told him loftily that she’d deny it with her dying breath, and then there’d been sex.

Which wasn’t something he needed to be thinking about as he made his way into the stables, with Juliana skipping at his side.

Angelique was already there and so was the horse, and there was no contest as to which of them drew his attention first. Call it a kink but he loved seeing this woman in shiny black riding boots, tight jodhpurs and that little collared work shirt with the silhouette of running horses and mountains making up the bottom third of the shirt. He wondered who had thought it better to put the picture low on the hip area rather than across the chest. Regardless, it drew his eye to the perfection of the body beneath.

‘Afternoon, Horsemaster Cordova,’ he said for Juliana’s benefit. ‘What have we here?’

‘Your Majesty, Princess—may I introduce you to Girar? Although in English we call him Twist. When he was a little foal he used to turn and turn and turn.’

‘Girar,’ said Juliana, mangling the pronunciation, but Angelique nodded.

‘Almost. You want a soft G and to cut off the R. Chop!’ Another hand motion. Her hands often spoke for her. ‘Girar. Say it.’ And when Juliana did... ‘Yes! Again. And again. That’s it. You learn very quickly. He will like you, I know it.’

He hadn’t expected her to have so much time for Juliana after her comments on not being cut out for motherhood. But his niece was entranced, and Angelique seemed equally happy to lavish attention on the girl.

‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ Angelique continued. ‘All the children of the grooms in our Spanish stables get to learn from Girar. They are put on the back of the horses at a very young age, of course, but from ages six through to eight, they get him. And do you want to know why?’

His niece nodded, eyes shining.

‘Because he is the best. If you lose a stirrup he will stop. If he’s going too fast and you clutch at his mane, he will stop.’ She suited mime to words and made his niece laugh. ‘If you yell para really loud Girar will stop.’

‘You taught the horse Spanish verbal commands? Not English?’

Angelique met his gaze and shrugged. ‘Girar is one of our best. Hand-picked, hand-reared, and countless hours of training have gone into him. More than our usual standard of excellence. Normally we keep our best.’ She dug into her pocket, produced a slightly crumpled, folded sheet of paper and handed it to Juliana. ‘The boy who learned to ride on him most recently wrote you a note. It’s in Spanish so you might need help reading it, but it tells you all the things Girar likes best. The boy is of the opinion only very special people are worthy of this pony, and I quite agree.’

‘I’ll write to him,’ Juliana promised solemnly. ‘I’ll draw him a picture of Girar doing all his favourite things.’

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