Crowned for the Prince's Heir Page 13

  But Lisa couldn’t shake off her sudden sense of emptiness as she went to her studio and looked at her sketches she’d been making for her next collection. Maybe she should make some more. Because what else was she going to do during the days leading up to the birth? Prowl around the palace like a bulky shadow, staring at all the beauty and storing it away in her memory to pull out on lonely days back in England—as if to remind herself that this hadn’t all been some surreal dream.

  For the next few days she immersed herself completely in her work. She began drawing with a sudden intensity—her designs taking on clean new lines as she liaised with her workshop back in London about an overall vision for the new collection. She worked long sessions from dawn to dusk—punctuated only by brisk walks in the gardens, where sometimes she would sit on a stone bench and watch the sunlight cast glittering patterns on the sapphire sea far below—and tried not to wonder what her husband was doing.

  Mostly he left her alone, but one evening he came to her studio, walking in after a brief knock, to find her bent over a swatch of fabrics.

  ‘Don’t you think you’re overdoing the work ethic a little?’ he observed, with a frown. ‘One of the servants told me you’ve been here since sunrise.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. And I’m nearly finished. I just want to get this last bit done.’

  ‘You’re looking tired,’ he said critically. ‘You need to rest.’

  But this single concerned intervention had been the exception, because mostly she only saw him at mealtimes. Perhaps he was already withdrawing from her and preparing for the reality of their separation. And in truth, it was better this way. She spent a lot of time convincing herself of that. It was how it was going to be and she had better get used to it.

  Dr Gautier visited daily, pronouncing himself quietly satisfied at her progress—and if he wondered why Luc no longer attended any of the appointments, he made no mention of it. That was yet another of the advantages of being royal, Lisa realised. People just accepted what you did and never dared challenge you—and that couldn’t be a good thing. It would make you grow up thinking that you could fashion the world according to whim. Wasn’t that what Luc had done by bringing her here and forcing her to marry him?

  She was over a week away from her due date when the first pain came in the middle of the night, waking her up with a start. A ring of steel clamped itself around her suddenly rock-hard belly and Lisa clutched her arms around it in the darkness, trying to remember the midwife’s instructions. It was the early hours of the morning and the contractions were very irregular—she had plenty of time before she needed to let anyone know.

  But as they got stronger and more painful, she rang for Almeera, whose eyes widened when she saw her mistress sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking forward and back.

  ‘Fetch the Prince,’ said Lisa, closing her eyes as she felt the onset of another fierce contraction. ‘Tell him I’m in labour.’

  Luc arrived almost immediately, looking as if he’d just thrown his clothes on and not bothered to tidy his hair. His cell phone was pressed to his ear as he walked into the room, his gaze raking over her.

  ‘Dr Gautier wants to know how often the contractions are coming,’ he said.

  ‘Every...’ She gasped as she glanced at the golden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Every five minutes.’

  He relayed this information, slipping naturally into French before cutting the connection. ‘The ambulance is on its way and so is Dr Gautier.’

  She gazed up at him. ‘My...my waters have broken,’ she stumbled.

  He smiled. ‘Well, that is normal, isn’t it, chérie?’

  His soft tone disarmed her and so did his confidence. It made her forget about the distance between them. And suddenly Lisa wanted more than his support—she needed some of his strength. And comfort. ‘Luc?’ she said brokenly as another contraction came—surely far sooner than it was supposed to.

  He was by her side in an instant, taking her hand and not flinching when her fingernails bit into his flesh as another contraction powered over her. ‘I’m here,’ he said.

  ‘I’m supposed to have the baby in the hospital,’ she whispered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter where you have the baby,’ he said. ‘We have everything here you need. You’re going to be fine.’

  And somehow she believed him, even when Dr Gautier arrived with another doctor and two midwives and said there was no time to go anywhere. All the things she’d read about were starting to happen, only now they were happening to her. At first she was scared and then it all became too intense to be anything but focussed. She tried to concentrate on her breathing, aware of the immense pressure building up inside her and Luc smoothing back her sweat-tangled curls. The medical staff were speaking to each other very quickly—sometimes in French—but Luc was murmuring to her in English. Telling her that she was brave and strong. Telling her that she could do this. She could do anything.

  And then it was happening. The urge to push and being told she couldn’t push, and then being unable to do anything but push. Still gripping Luc’s hand, Lisa gritted her teeth and tried to pant the way she’d been taught—and just as she thought the contractions couldn’t get any more intense, her baby was delivered into the hands of the waiting doctor and a loud and penetrating wail filled the air.

  ‘C’est une fille!’ exclaimed Dr Gautier.

  ‘A girl?’ said Lisa, looking up into Luc’s eyes.

  He nodded. ‘A beautiful baby girl,’ he said unsteadily, his eyes suddenly very bright.

  Lisa slumped back against the pillows as a sense of quiet and purposeful activity took over. The intensity of the birth had morphed into an air of serenity as the doctor finished his examinations, and, now cocooned in soft white cashmere, the baby was handed to her.

  She felt so light, thought Lisa as a shaft of something fierce and protective shot through her. So light and yet so strong. With unfamiliar fingers, she guided her daughter to her breast, where she immediately began to suckle. Dimly, she became aware that Luc had left the room and, once the baby had finished feeding, the midwives helped her wash and gave her a clean silk nightgown. And when she next looked up, Luc was back and it was just the three of them.

  She felt strangely shy as he dragged up a gilt chair and sat beside her, his elbows on his knees, his palms cupping his chin as he watched her intently. Their eyes met over the baby’s head and Lisa suddenly felt a powerful sense of longing, wishing he would reach out and touch her. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship, she reminded herself. They’d gone too far in the wrong direction and there was no turning back.

  ‘We need to discuss names,’ she said.

  ‘Names?’ he echoed blankly.

  ‘We can’t keep calling her “the baby”. Are you still happy with Rose and then both our mothers’ names?’

  ‘Rose Maria Elizabeth,’ he said, his slow gaze taking in every centimetre of the baby’s face. ‘They are perfect. Just like her.’

  ‘Rose,’ Lisa echoed softly, before holding out the snowy bundle towards him. ‘Would you like to hold her?’

  Luc’s hesitation was brief as he reached out but his heart maintained its powerful pounding as he held his baby for the first time. He had never known real fear before, but he knew it now. Fear that he would prove inadequate to care for this tiny bundle of humanity. Fear that he might say the wrong thing to the woman who had just blown him away by giving birth to her.

  As he cradled his sleeping daughter and marvelled at her sheer tininess, he felt the thick layer of ice around his heart begin to fracture. He could feel the welling up of unknown emotion—a whole great storm of it—packed down so deeply inside him that he hadn’t even realised it was there. It felt raw and it felt painful, but it felt real—this sudden rush of devotion and a determination to protect his child for as long as he lived.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly, glancing up to meet Lisa’s eyes.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  He sa
w the cloud which crossed like a shadow over her beautiful face but there was no need to ask what had caused it. For although their child had been born safely and mother and daughter were healthy, none of their other problems had gone away. They were still estranged. Still leading separate lives, with Lisa no doubt counting down the days until she could return to England. Concentrating only on her shadowed eyes, he stood up, carrying Rose over to her crib and laying her gently down before looking at Lisa’s pinched face.

  ‘You’re exhausted,’ he said. ‘Shall I phone your sister and tell her the news and you can speak to her yourself later?’

  She folded her lips together as if she didn’t trust herself to speak, and nodded.

  Resisting the desire to go over and drop a grateful kiss onto her beautiful lips, he took one last look at her before walking over to the door. ‘Go to sleep now, Lisa,’ he said unevenly. ‘Just go to sleep.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS LIKE living in a bubble.

  A shining golden bubble.

  Lisa woke up every morning feeling as if she weren’t part of the outside world any more. As if her experience was nothing like that of other women in her situation—and she supposed that much was true. Most new mothers didn’t live in a beautiful palace with servants falling over themselves to make her life easier. And most new mothers didn’t have a husband who was barely able to look at them without a dark and sombre expression on his face.

  She told herself to be grateful that Luc clearly adored their daughter, and she was. It made a lump stick in her throat to see how gentle he was with their baby. It was humbling to see such a powerful man being reduced to putty by the starfish hands of his daughter, which would curl themselves tightly around his fingers as she gazed up at him with blue eyes so like his own.

  Lisa would sit watching him play with Rose, but the calm expression she wore didn’t reflect the turmoil she was feeling inside. Did Luc feel just as conflicted? she wondered. She didn’t know because they didn’t talk about it. They discussed the fact that their daughter had the bluest eyes in the world and the sweetest nature, but they didn’t talk about anything which mattered.

  Before the birth he’d promised Lisa she could return to England, and she knew she had to broach the subject some time. But something was stopping her and that something was the voice of her conscience. She had started to wonder how she could possibly take Rose away from here, denying Luc the daily parenting he so clearly enjoyed.

  Because Lisa had never had that kind of hands-on fathering. When her own father had died she’d been too young to remember if he cuddled her or read her stories at night. And she’d never really had the chance to ask her mother because she had remarried so quickly. All evidence of the man who had died had been ruthlessly eradicated from the house. Her new stepfather had been so intolerant of her and Brittany that the two little girls had walked around on eggshells, terrified of stirring up a rage which had never been far from the surface. They’d learnt never to speak unless spoken to and they’d learnt never to demand any of their mother’s time. Lisa had watched helplessly as he had whittled away at their fortune—and she wondered if it had been that which had made her so fiercely independent. Was the lack of love in their childhood the reason why Brittany had jettisoned her university course and fallen straight into the arms of the first man to show her some affection?

  All Lisa knew was that she couldn’t contemplate bringing Rose up without love. At the moment things were tolerable because it was all so new. She was getting used to motherhood and Luc was getting used to fatherhood. But the atmosphere between the two of them was at best polite. They were like two people stuck together in a broken-down lift, saying only as much as they needed to—but it wouldn’t stay like that, would it? Once they were out of the baby-shock phase, things would return to ‘normal’. But she and Luc had no ‘normal’. Sooner or later they were going to start wanting different things.

  She decided to speak to him about it after dinner one evening—a meal they still took together, mainly, she suspected, to maintain some sort of charade in front of the staff.

  Leaving Almeera with Rose, Lisa washed her hair before slipping into a long, silk tunic which disguised the extra heaviness of her breasts and tummy. She even put on a little make-up, wondering why she was going to so much trouble. Because I want to look in control. I want to show him that I mean business.

  But when she popped her head in to check on Rose before going down for dinner, it was to find Luc standing by the crib, his fingers touching the baby’s soft black hair as he murmured to her softly.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re here.’

  He glanced over at Almeera, who was fiddling with the intricate mobile which hung over the crib. ‘I wonder if you’d mind leaving us for a moment, Almeera,’ he said.

  The servant nodded and slipped away and Lisa looked at Luc, feeling suddenly disorientated.

  ‘I thought we were having dinner,’ she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I think we’re able to apply a little flexibility about the time we eat, don’t you?’ he said drily. ‘Unless you’re especially hungry.’

  Lisa shrugged, wondering why tonight he was looking at her more intently than he had done for weeks. Automatically, she skated a palm down over the curve of one hip without considering the wisdom of such an action. ‘I ought to be cutting back on food,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, his voice growing a little impatient before it gentled. ‘You look beautiful, if you really want to know. Luscious and ripe and womanly.’

  Actually, she didn’t want to know and she didn’t want his voice dipping into a sensual caress like that, making her long for something which definitely wasn’t on the menu. She took an unsteady breath. ‘We have to discuss the future,’ she said.

  There was a pause. ‘I know we do.’

  Luc looked into the questioning face of his wife and wondered afterwards if it was the sense of a looming ultimatum and dread which made him drop his guard so completely. He stared at her shiny hazelnut curls and the fleshy curves of her body and he felt his throat dry to dust as he forced himself to confront the truth.

  Because in a sudden flash of insight he realised that the feelings he had were not just for their child, but for the woman who had given birth to her. A woman he’d brought here as a hostage, but who had tried to reach out to him all the same. He could recognise it now but he’d been too blind to see at the time. Because once her initial opposition to being his wife had faded, he realised that she’d tried to make the best of her life here. She had studied the history of his country and quietly gone about her own career without making undue demands on his time.

  But despite the silent vow he’d made on their wedding day, he had continued to keep her at arm’s length, hadn’t he? He had kept himself at a physical distance even though he’d sensed that she’d wanted him. He had deliberately not laid a finger on her, knowing that such a move was calculated to make her desire for him grow. To frustrate her. And deep down, his disapproval had never been far from the surface. If he was being honest, hadn’t he experienced a certain relief that he’d been able to chastise her over the damned necklace? As if he had needed something to justify why he could never allow himself to get close to her. The truth was that he had treated Lisa as an object rather than a person. Because he hadn’t known how to do it any other way.

  But suddenly he did—or at least, he thought he did. Was Rose responsible for opening the floodgates? Emotion flooded over him like a warm tide as he looked down at his daughter. Tentatively, she opened her eyes, and as he gazed into a sapphire hue so like his own he felt his heart clench. He lifted his head to meet Lisa’s watchful gaze, the dryness in his throat making the thought of speech seem impossible, but that was no excuse. Because this was something he could not turn away from. Something he could no longer deny.

  ‘I love her, Lisa,’ he said simply.

  For a moment there was silence before she nodded. ‘I kn
ow. Me, too. It’s funny, isn’t it?’ She gave a little laugh, as if she was embarrassed to hear him say the words out loud. ‘How you can feel it so instantly and completely.’

  Luc drew in a deep breath as he met her eyes. He thought about the first time he’d met her and that rare glint of shared understanding which had passed between them. The way he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head in all the months which had followed. When he’d seen her again, the chemistry between them was as explosive as it had ever been—but what he felt now was about more than sex. Much more. Because somehow he’d come to realise that his spunky designer with the clear green-gold gaze treated him as nobody else had ever done.

  She treated him like a man and not a prince.

  So tell her. Take courage and tell her the words you never imagined you’d say.

  ‘And I love you, too, Lisa,’ he said. ‘More than I’d ever realised.’

  At first Lisa thought she must be dreaming, because surely Luc hadn’t just told her that he loved her? She blinked. But he had. Even if the words hadn’t still been resonating on the air, she knew she hadn’t misheard them from the look on his face, which seemed to be savage yet silky, all at the same time. She felt a shiver whispering its way over her skin as she tried to ignore the sensual softening of his lips and to concentrate on facts, not dreams. Be careful what you wish for—that was what people said, wasn’t it? And suddenly she understood why.

  Luc had let his cold mask slip for a moment. Or rather, it hadn’t slipped—he had just replaced it with a different mask. A loving mask which was far more suitable for ensuring he got what he wanted.

  His baby.

  Yet she wouldn’t have been human if her first response hadn’t been a fierce burst of hope. If she hadn’t pictured the tumultuous scene which could follow, if she let it. Of her nodding her head and letting all the tears which were gathering force spill from her eyes before telling him shakily that yes, she loved him, too.

  And, oh, the exquisite irony of that—even if it happened to be true. Admitting she loved a man who was cold-bloodedly trying to manipulate her emotions by saying something he didn’t mean. What about all the lessons she was supposed to have learnt?