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At their feet Squeak growled at the tall dark man’s proximity, but he was ignored. Shahir lifted hands that were not quite steady and undid the two buttons on her coat and carefully spread the edges apart. ‘You’re going to have a baby,’ he breathed, his entire focus pinned to the sizeable swell of her belly. ‘And soon. Whose baby?’
Kirsten dug her hands into her pockets and used them to whip shut the coat and conceal her stomach again. Her face was as red as fire. ‘Whose do you think?’ she hissed like a stinging wasp, accusation etched in every syllable.
‘Then the baby will be due within the next few weeks…’
‘I’m glad you can count,’ she commented thinly.
A servant already had the door of his penthouse suite open in readiness.
Shahir felt light-headed. If his calculations were correct, in less than two months he would be a father. He was in shock. So he was not to feature as a statistic in the much-discussed global fall in male fertility. The baby she was carrying was his. Of course it was. Did that explain why she looked so ill? He knew less than nothing about pregnant women. But what he did know sent a cold shiver through him, for his own mother had died bringing him into the world.
Kirsten came to a self-conscious halt in the centre of the luxurious sitting room. ‘I want you to know that I hate you for getting me into this situation,’ she told him with feverish force. ‘I really, really hate you for it!’
Shahir released his breath in a soundless hiss. She was understandably upset, he reasoned. She must have had a rough time in recent months, and she was clearly unwell. But now that he was here to take care of her everything was about to change. The world would literally become her oyster.
He was tempted to scoop her into his arms and race for the airport at speed, but he knew he couldn’t take her back to his own country to enjoy the very best of tender care until she was his wife.
‘Did you hear me?’ Kirsten demanded, a tad shrilly.
‘Yes. I acknowledge that we have not enjoyed a conventional relationship—’
‘We didn’t have a relationship…you slept with me!’
‘Dragging up the past in an emotional way at this point is not constructive. You are expecting my child, and that is the key issue at stake here. It is vitally important that we marry as soon as it can be arranged,’ Shahir declared without hesitation, lean, powerful features taut. ‘Why? Because our baby will be heir to the throne of Dhemen—but only if his birth is legitimate.’
Unprepared for either of those two announcements, Kirsten stared back at him in a daze of angry confusion. ‘You still haven’t said anything about what I said.’
‘Rig
ht now I would be grateful if you would acknowledge that we currently have a much more pressing duty towards the child you carry.’
‘You’re still prepared to marry me?’ Without warning her mind had circled back to centre on Shahir’s earlier proposition, and there her mind stuck—as though her thoughts were lodged in cement. Once again she was getting the chance to marry Shahir. Pride and a strong sense of fairness had made her refuse his first proposal seven months earlier. She had not needed a wedding ring to compensate her for the loss of her virginity. Even loving him, she hadn’t wanted him on those humiliating terms.
‘Of course I am.‘
‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to take precautions and make sure that this didn’t happen in the first place?’
‘It would have been. But I didn’t.’ His strong jawline squared. ‘I assure you that I have never before been so careless.’
Although the subject embarrassed her, Kirsten was still amazed that a male of his sophistication and experience should have been so careless as to totally disregard the threat of consequences. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that you might make me pregnant?’
The faintest hint of colour scored his superb cheekbones. ‘By the time I appreciated what I had done, it was too late. Afterwards I confess that I underestimated the level of risk. And although I asked you to stay in contact with me, I didn’t seriously consider the likelihood of you having conceived.’
‘So how do you feel about it now you do know? Cursed? Bitter? Furious?’ Kirsten queried, desperate to get a real live human reaction out of him. She was convinced that he had to be feeling such emotions, even if he was determined not to show them.
‘I feel that this is our fate and we must accept it with grace,’ Shahir countered with rock-solid assurance.
Her teeth gritted at that suave reply. ‘You mentioned something about the baby being the heir to…to a throne? What was that about?’
‘I am the Crown Prince of my country. My father, Hafiz, is King of Dhemen.’ He awarded her a questioning appraisal. ‘Surely that cannot be news to you?’
Kirsten was stunned. She had assumed that the royal family he belonged to was a large one, and that he was only one of a whole bunch of princes. She had not been aware that he was the son of a king—or the next in the royal line of succession. In her brief time working at the castle she had not heard anyone mention those facts.
‘Let us eat now…’
A door had been quietly opened into an adjoining room and a beautifully laid table awaited them. She sat down, accepted a glass of water, and sipped at it.
‘So, Kirsten. Will you set aside your hostility and agree to become my wife?’ Shahir prompted gravely.
