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He leaned down, his lips stopping a breath away from hers. For a moment she was seized with a mad desire to raise up on her toes and kiss him. Would it shock him? Would she experience satisfaction that she had thrown him off-balance again in less than a minute?
Or would he do what Alaric did best: take control?
Worry flickered through her. When it came to anything regarding his beloved Linnaea, Alaric had no problem sacrificing any personal gains if it meant a better outcome for the country. He’d dethroned his own father. What sort of definitive action would he take regarding her and their child?
“I have no desire to see this become a legal issue.”
His voice trailed off, leaving a wealth of meaning lingering on the air as the hairs on her arms stood straight up.
“Don’t threaten me, Alaric Van Ambrose.”
“It’s not a threat, Clara. It’s a fact, the only route available if you decline my offer of marriage.” Pity softened his gaze. She hated it. “It’s not how I want things to proceed. But you of all people must understand why it’s imperative that we marry and this child is not only protected but has a clear path to the throne.”
Deep inside, the part of her that had fallen in love with Linnaea, that had adopted the country as her own and fought tooth and nail alongside Alaric the past seven years to free it from Daxon’s selfish ruling, understood all too well.
But the thought of being pressured into another marriage made her feel as if she was being slowly but steadily pushed into a tiny room, one where the walls closed in until she could barely breathe.
Trapped until the day she died.
She started as Alaric’s hand settled on her arm, firm and warm. Comforting. It shouldn’t be. She should resist it all costs. She’d let Miles entice her into marriage against her better judgment. How she could be such a fool to let herself repeat the mistakes of the past?
“We’ll meet at ten a.m. in my office.” His voice was infinitely gentler, coaxing. It lured her in, made her want to believe that things could be as easy as saying yes. More hazardous to her heart than Miles ever had been. Even in her grief, some part of her had been aware that Miles’s charm had only existed on the surface. She’d just told herself that it would get better with time, so desperate had she been to move past the grief of losing her mother and being alone in the world with no family of her own.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The qualities she liked about Alaric, his leadership, his integrity, his steadfast commitment to duty, were embedded in his character and as real as the child growing inside her. Even if the burgeoning intimacy between them was an illusion she’d created, she didn’t doubt the abilities that had first stoked her admiration and, eventually, the crush that had developed. He was everything Miles hadn’t been. Which made him infinitely more tempting, and twice as dangerous.
It wouldn’t be hard at all to fall for Alaric Van Ambrose.
She started to rebut his offer of a morning meeting, but then conceded with a nod. Better to pick her battles, especially when she was facing down an all-out war.
“Ten a.m. Good night, Your Highness.”
As soon as the door closed and she heard his footsteps recede down the hallway, her body drooped, her hand clutching the doorknob like it was a lifeline. She forced herself to breathe and summoned enough strength to wobble back to her bedroom. The thick comforter welcomed her with a pillowy embrace. Her eyes started to drift shut.
You have just a little over twelve hours to put a plan together, the rational side of her brain reminded her.
She would...after a little nap.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEDETERMINEDKNOCKsounded at ten o’clock precisely. Despite his inner turmoil, a smile tugged at Alaric’s lips. Clara was renowned for never arriving early or late, but precisely on time. It was why he had been so concerned by her tardiness yesterday.
The smile disappeared as he crossed the room with a determined stride. He respected that Clara was the one pregnant with their child. But it didn’t stop the pride that filled his chest at the thought of finally having a child of his own to continue the legacy of the Linnaean throne. He’d barely been able to stomach the thought of touching Celestine, let alone creating children with her. Having a woman like Clara, one who was just as passionate about his country as he was, who exhibited qualities like determination, dedication and decorum, carry his child filled him with an emotion he had rarely experienced: happiness.
While he would have certainly changed the way their child’s conception occurred, he couldn’t regret the result. Not when he compared it to the alternative of being shackled to Celestine. Now the only thing standing in his way of achieving everything he’d worked so hard to build, including a proper royal marriage, was Clara’s stubbornness.
He had never not achieved something he’d set his sights on before. He wasn’t about to start losing now.
He opened the door. Clara looked up and blinked in surprise. He took advantage of her surprise to rake her with a swift gaze. She was still a touch too pale, a faint bruising beneath her eyes as if she hadn’t gotten much sleep. But today, instead of glancing at her and then immediately focusing on his work, he noted the blue of her eyes, the contrast of her elfin face with the determined jut of her chin.
His mind drifted to his ex-fiancée. With coal-black hair, caramel-colored eyes and cheekbones that would have made Michelangelo weep, she’d landed on the covers of numerous magazines, lauded as one of the most beautiful women in the world despite her selfish nature and endless partying. He’d agreed with the critics, acknowledging her as physically stunning the same way he would admire a rare artifact. Only her beauty hadn’t had a visceral effect on him.
The opposite of the unexpected awareness that had lodged its hooks into his skin the moment Clara had walked into that gym last Christmas. The awareness that had steadily grown, tunneling far deeper than he’d realized with the passing months, growing and morphing into a physical attraction that had exploded that night in his office. An attraction that even now burned as he looked at the mother of his child. The woman who, sooner rather than later, would be wearing his ring on her finger.
“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked drily.
“No. You usually say ‘enter’ instead of opening the door yourself.”
