Meredith Webber – Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake (страница 18)

Emmeline’s stomach fell and her knees went weak. Alarm shot through her. “Alejandro?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She put a hand to her belly, sixth sense telling her that Makin’s news wasn’t good.

Crossing to the marble bench in the dappled shade, Emmeline sat down, feeling the tug of the lace skirt around her hips and how her ivory silk blouse clung to her damp, warm skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Emmeline’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. “What happened?”

“He went into cardiac arrest a couple of hours ago. And even though they had the best doctors and nurses in all of Miami, they couldn’t get his heart beating again.”

It took her a second to process everything. “He’s gone.”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes, besieged by wildly different emotions. Shock, grief, regret. But the grief and sorrow weren’t for herself, or Alejandro. They were for Alejandro’s five children. Their lives would now be changed forever.

“Are you feeling faint?” Makin asked.

She shook her head, opened her eyes. “No.”

“This must be quite a blow.”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry.”

She pushed a loose tendril of hair back from her face. “You didn’t like him.”

“He was a father.”

She nodded. “I feel for his children,” she answered, realizing now that her child would never have the chance to know his or her father. “I wonder if they know yet. I wonder if his wife knows.”

“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

“What?”

“To pretend you care about his family …?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You chase Ibanez, sleep with him—”

“I didn’t know he was married until you told me, and I didn’t chase him. He chased me.”

“So that makes it okay to sleep with a married man?”

“No! Heavens, no! I’m horrified, disgusted. I made a terrible mistake.”

“And your engagement? Did you not know about that, either?”

She swallowed around the thick lump filling her throat. No wonder Makin enjoyed ridiculing her. She sounded pathetic. Stupid beyond belief. “I did.”

“That’s a relief, because I’d hate to think that everyone but you knew.”

She winced. Blood rushed to her cheeks again. “He pursued me, not the other way around. Some days he’d call or text over and over, and this went on for years.”

“So you’re saying it is okay to cheat?”

“No. But I wasn’t married to Zale yet, and I was still hoping to marry for love, not money. My parents knew I didn’t want an arranged marriage. I wanted a love match, and I thought since Alejandro loved me, we would have that.”

“If you didn’t want to marry Zale, why didn’t you say no? Why enter the arrangement in the first place?”

Makin Al-Koury was a powerful man, and he understood a great deal about politics and economics. But he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know what it was like to be a woman. Much less a beautiful, sheltered young woman with no vocation, few practical skills and a numbing lack of real world experience. Emmeline’s only purpose and power lay in her marriage ability. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

“You were forced into the arrangement?”

She shrugged, worn out from trying to make him understand. He’d been raised by different parents, who had a different plan for him than hers had had for her. “There are different kinds of pressure. It’s not always about physical force. Women can be intimidated emotionally, psychologically—” She broke off, shook her head. “But that’s neither here nor there. The fact is, I have known since I was a little girl that my parents would choose my husband for me. They made sure that from a young age I knew my duty.”

“Apparently they didn’t. Because everyone but King Patek knows you’ve been hooking up with Ibanez over the years.”

Emmeline flushed. “That’s not true. We never hooked up.”

“So you’re not pregnant?”

“Yes. Yes, I did sleep with him. But it was only one time, and he was my. first.” Her voice wobbled. “I was a virgin until then.”

Makin snorted with derision.

Emmeline’s flush deepened, heat spreading through her body until she tingled all over. “Believe what you want. I don’t have to answer to you, or impress you, or try to make you like me. You and I will never see eye to eye—” She broke off abruptly and turned away, horrified to discover that she was about to cry.

Thank God he didn’t say anything right away, or laugh. Thank God there was just the bubble and splash of the fountain. But the silence stretched too long. Emmeline glanced at Makin and saw his expression.

Hard. Unforgiving.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his judgment, knowing that others would look at her the exact same way. Including her parents. It would hurt. But it wouldn’t kill her. Over time she’d learn to weather the disapproval without letting it get to her. She’d learn she could stand on her own two feet just fine.

“I know you don’t think much of me,” she said. “But I will be a good mother. I will do what’s right for my child, starting with seeing a doctor as soon as I get back to Europe.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time and get you on a plane for Brabant—”

“I’m not going to Brabant. I’m going to London.”

“Not back to Brabant?”

“No. Never.”

“But that is your home, your country—”

“Not anymore.”

“You can’t change your birthright, Your Highness. You are descended from one of the oldest royal families in all of Europe. Your bloodline ties you to the very country.”

“I will find a new country to call home. Lots of royals do it.”

“Yes, in countries where monarchy has been replaced by democracy or socialism, but Brabant is still a constitutional monarchy and as far as I know, you are the rightful heir to the throne. Why would you give that up?”

“Because I’m not the rightful heir,” she said huskily, walking away from him to approach the pool. “I’m not a true heir at all—”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “But true. And that’s why I won’t be going home, and why I won’t be asking for forgiveness or mercy. I don’t have to tell my parents anything. I’m twenty-five, of majority, and have access to the trust set up for me by my late grandfather. If I am careful, it’s more than enough for me to live on.”

“And your child?” he asked. “If you walk away from them, he or she may never be accepted by your family.”

“I am sure he—or she—won’t be,” she said after a moment.

“Certainly not, if you plan on running away … hiding in the English countryside?”

“I wouldn’t be hiding. I’d be living quietly, raising my child with, I hope, some privacy and dignity—”

“You hope?” His mouth tightened. “Is that your bright plan? To hope to have some privacy and dignity?” He made a rough, low sound of disgust. “Good luck, Your Highness. You’re going to need it.” With another low, derisive snort, he turned around and walked away.

She drew a quick breath, feeling as if he’d slapped her. “I might be running away but you’re great at walking away,” she called after him, hands curling into fists, her voice vibrating with emotion.

“What?”