Royal Bastard: A Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Emilia Beaumont

  “Sounds good.”

  “We will make this work, Edward. I swear. And you know, if it doesn’t work out we can always try Plan B and bump them off one by one.” I laughed, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “After all, I think I owe it to myself to get some revenge since your dad kinda did call me a whore.”

  “Oh, shit. You caught that then? I’m so sorry.”

  She waved my apologies away with her fork. “Of course I did, Edward, I’m not stupid. A girl can tell when she’s being insulted, even if it’s done subtly.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You didn’t say it. And after all it’s not true, so who cares?”

  “I do.”

  “Edward,” she said as she reached over and took my hand. Her sudden touch sent a jolt up my spine. “You’re not your father. So please, don’t feel bad. You certainly do not need to apologise for it.”

  She took her hand back and concentrated on her food again. We talked a little more after the dust had settled, sticking mainly to business and keeping it professional, for fear I’d scare her off even more, as we finished our meal. We were stuffed to the gills, and I drove her to her sister’s, not far from the chippy. As I parked the car in front of the house I looked at her to find her watching me, her expression pensive.

  “I’m telling you this is going to work. We’re going to get you cleaned up in no time. It’ll be like the Cinderella story but better!”

  “You’re not going to make me wear glass slippers, are you?” I joked, not sure how to handle her sudden, fierce dedication to me. She gave me a playful slap and a smile. “Seriously, Rose, I wish I had the same faith in me that you seem to have.”

  “You will be successful,” she said adamantly, laying her hand on my arm. Even through the multiple layers I could feel her comforting touch. I began to wish she would leave it resting there. “Thanks for a lovely night.”

  I snorted with laughter then, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. “You aren’t hard to please, are you?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she replied, cracking a grin. “Want me to come over tomorrow?”

  “Bring some breakfast this time,” I teased as she dropped her hand and reached for the car door. “Hey, Rose?”

  She turned back toward me, a hesitant look on her face. “Yes?”

  “I… thanks,” I said, my head a jumbled, fucking mess. “For not letting me make an absolute cock of myself tonight.”

  “Shame. Now, that would have made for a great picture,” she winked, opening the door.

  Before she could exit, I grabbed her wrist. She turned expectantly back towards me, and I brought her hand up to my lips, letting my mouth rest gently upon the back of her hand for a moment, while I locked eyes with her. My heart was hammering as I kissed her soft skin, thinking she was going to snatch her hand back. But she didn’t. She just stared wide-eyed back at me, her chest rising and falling quickly.

  I lowered her hand back down and away from my lips before it got awkward. “Goodnight, Rose.”

  She blinked at me in rapid succession, and swallowed. “S-See you tomorrow.”

  I let her go that time and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I watched her go up her sister’s garden path until she was safely inside and the door was closed.

  God, I had screwed up big time tonight—almost falling at the first bloody hurdle—and not only with my father but with her, too. It could’ve gone much, much worse, I considered, had Rose not been there tonight. But even amidst the regret, there was a glimmer of hope. Rose was right; this could all work out.

  I threw the car into gear and headed down the street. With her help, and with her standing by my side, I was going to prove to my father, to them all, that I could do this. That I was a better man than what the tabloids liked to report. And Rose was my sure-fire way of doing that.

  12

  Rose

  I sat the bag of bacon-butties on the kitchen table and fought the urge to run, knowing that last night had been a complete disaster… except for maybe the last part and the impromptu kiss.

  On one hand, I could technically say I met the future king of England, no matter how brief that meeting was. On the other hand (the one that tingled with Edward’s touch), I could clearly see and feel the tension between Edward and his father.

  My gut reaction had been embarrassment for Edward, to be constantly reminded of his failures by the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally. Was it because his father didn’t know what to do with him? Had it been because of the affair that he treated Edward so differently? I didn’t know what the root cause of the issue was, but it was safe to say we weren’t going to attend the ball tonight. Which was fine with me. A ball meant I would have had to spend some time in Edward’s arms, a sensation I was totally unprepared for, and yet I kept thinking about that Cinderella scene, being twirled around in the prince’s arms while everyone looked on.

  I banished the image and grabbed some plates for the breakfast I’d brought. But I couldn’t get him out of my head; his holding my hand had practically sent me over the edge last night.

  “Good morning, is that bacon I smell?”

  Glancing up at the stairs, I took in a rumpled Edward making his way down. He looked like a linen shirt, creased to hell and would never see the business end of an iron. But he was still dashing as fuck. I turned away and took a deep breath to centre myself. Business, not pleasure. “Good morning to you, too. And yes, I brought you some breakfast. There’s one with and one without mushrooms, your pick.”

  “With! You’re an absolute godsend,” he grinned, coming over to the table. “So what’s the plan for the day?”

  “We are going to be visit an orphanage, strike while the iron—or in this case, the idea—is hot,” I supplied as I set the food onto the plates. “I can do a piece on that. We can spin it a bit, to make it sound like it’s been your lifelong dream to work on your own project and not the ones that are normally dictated by the royal family.”

  “That sounds good,” he said, yawning. “Yeah, that has a nice angle to it. I can see the headlines now: Bad Boy Prince Strikes Out on His Own.”

  I nodded. “Yup, it’ll be a start. Then, if you really are passionate about it,” I continued, but hesitating slightly, knowing I was probably about to set myself up for a fall, “then maybe we could organise our own ball, or maybe just a fundraiser of some sort, to get some money for the charity. The publicity and goodwill after that should sky-rocket you in your father’s good books.” It was an idea I had drawn up last night in my head when sleep eluded me once again. What better way to show that he was being sincere than to throw some type of fundraiser?

  “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” he said, chewing slowly as he mulled it over. “People love those silent auctions. But I do also like the sound of a ball. You know me, can’t keep me away from a good party.” He put his hands up in mock submission before I could give him a lecture. “I know, I know. But how else I am going to get you into a ball gown?”

  “Oh, so that’s your plan all along, is it? Maybe I should sell that story to the papers? Royal Prince Fashion Stylist Extraordinaire!”

  He chewed on his buttie then swallowed, a quick shrug following shortly after. “It’s not my fault that I do actually have good taste.”

  I frowned at his words, trying not to read too much into them and their potential double entendre. I nodded with a weird awkwardness that he surely was aware of, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do or say and instead hoped the last part of the conversation would drift away into nothingness, something to be forgotten.

  Edward finished his meal, the crusts the only remnants left on the plate, and washed his hands before picking up the morning paper I’d set on the counter. He opened it up with a frown on his face. “Well,” he said, throwing it back down onto the counter. “Anything has to be better than this dr
ivel.”

  I walked over and saw the real headlines. “Rogue Royal Storms out of State Dinner with Mystery Woman in Tow.”

  Great. Now not only was Edward back in the news, I apparently had made it, as well. The picture looked nothing like me today, though. Maybe I would get lucky and no one would put two and two together. That was the last thing I needed. “A minor setback,” I finally decided on, folding the paper in half and obscuring the offending headline and photo. “Look at the bright side, at least you didn’t cause any issues, not really. And your father has to give you some credit for making an effort.”

  “I guess you are right,” he said. “He can’t blame that one on me, anyway. He started it.”

  “And that’s why we aren’t going that route anymore,” I reminded him. I was going to help Edward make his own legacy, one that any man or father would be proud of.

  I sat back and watched Edward talk to the administrator of the orphanage, his charming smile working over the stern woman as he explained his ideas. In my research, I had found that the Duvel Orphanage had been around since the eighteenth century and was also one of the places that benefited from the royal family’s charitable endeavours. So it wasn’t going to be too farfetched for Edward to stop in and lend a hand to their cause.

  “I appreciate your interest,” the administrator was saying, a cautious smile on her face as she looked at Edward. Perhaps she thought all this was too good to be true. And she no doubt would’ve preferred another one of the royals to take in an interest instead, but beggars couldn’t be choosers; she had to say yes to Edward helping. “We do have a charitable fundraiser coming up, though it’s only small at present. So it would benefit us greatly for a member of the royal family to attend. A few kind words wouldn’t hurt, either.”

  “I will be more than happy to do so,” Edward said smoothly as I discreetly snapped a few shots of their meeting for the piece I was working on. “And I’m sure we can do better than small; we’ll figure out to make it the best fundraiser you’ve ever had.”

  “It’s settled then,” the woman clapped her hands, standing and beaming at him. “Would you like to meet some of the children? I’m sure they would be delighted to meet a real live prince.”

  “I, meet the children?” Edward asked, looking over at me. I gave him a shooing, encouraging motion with my hand, thinking this was going to be a great photo op for him. People automatically sympathised with people whose work involved children. He swallowed hard, but he followed the woman out of the office anyway, me on their heels a few feet away.

  “We house around thirty to forty children at a time here,” she explained as we walked down a long hall bright with children’s colourful drawings and collages. “Most go to the local schools, while some are educated here. And all of them participate in at least one extracurricular activity, too; sports, arts, that kinda thing. We also, when the funds allow, take trips to the beach or countryside. It’s not much, but they’re all looked after, I can assure you of that. But, of course, all that’s possible only with benefactors on our side.”

  I watched as Edward wiped his hands on his jeans, very quiet and reserved as we entered a brightly lit room lined with small beds, neatly made. “This is the boys’ dorm,” the administrator explained as we walked through the rows of beds. “They are all outdoors right now.”

  I was taken aback at the simplicity of the room, without what seemed a single personal possession in sight. It was so regimented, and cold. These were children, not soldiers in army barracks… Weren’t kids supposed to be messy, especially boys?

  “Where are their toys?” Edward asked before I could.

  The administrator smiled and pointed to the small chests situated at the end of every bed. “They all have a storage chest for their toys and belongings, though most do not come with anything. Again, another way we use the money.”

  Edward turned sombre and didn’t say anything else as we walked through the dorm room and out a door into the noon sunshine. A fair number of children ran around an enclosed courtyard, enjoying the warm day. “Do they get regular time outdoors?” I asked, curious to know what their schedule was like.

  “Of course, when the weather permits,” she replied, clasping her hands in front of her. “Don’t be shy, go say hello. I’m sure they are all wondering who you are. I just have a quick call I have to make, but I’ll send my assistant out; she will be more than willing to help coordinate the fundraiser and such.”

  “Thank you,” I called out as she walked away, leaving us on the perimeter of the courtyard. I turned to Edward, who was watching the children play a few feet away. I picked up my camera. In the sunlight, his profile was so strong, and he looked every inch of the royal lineage that he had come from. I snapped off a few shots, causing him to turn toward me, his expression unreadable. “So?” I asked. “What do you think? Are you going to say hello? Maybe play with them for a little bit. I could get some good shots that way.”

  He shook his head. “I need a drink,” he said curtly, walking away from me towards the door and the exit beyond. I hurried after him, catching him in the hall that led to the front of the building. “What’s wrong? Edward, what’s up?”

  He sighed loudly and pushed his hand through his hair. “I know it seems like I’m always running away, but maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

  Not understanding, I shook my head. “But this is perfect. Please, tell me what’s bothering you, and we can find a way around it.”

  “It’s nothing. There’s no way around it. It’s just, I’ve been there, where those kids are, that’s all.”

  My heart flipped over as I saw the naked pain in his eyes; something very primal and protective welled up inside me, and I wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Shit.” I didn’t know what to say, really.

  He gave me a half-hearted smile, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. “It’s fine, not your fault. You’re right, this will be good for the publicity, but one step at a time.” Edward then walked away, leaving me standing in the hall. I had not expected this from him. My heart literally ached for the younger version of Edward who’d been in a similar position as these children. No wonder he’d chosen this angle. I thought at first it was just that, an angle to get on the good side of the press. But this could actually be his calling, his passion. I swallowed as another false chink of armour fell from the imaginary Edward construct I’d conjured up. It was corny as hell, but he had layers like an onion. First the whole family thing, then the dress thing, and now this whole orphaned from his family thing. I had to be careful, or I was going to really start to like the black sheep prince much more than I had anticipated… or like most onions, he was going to make me cry.

  When we arrived back at his flat, there was a woman waiting in the lobby with the guard, Jim. (I’d taken the time to find out his name.) He looked nervous and hovered by the entry desk. “Edward!” she cried as soon as we walked through the door, launching herself at him. Edward stumbled slightly but was able to catch her, awkwardly patting her back as she nearly squeezed his head off. “Amber?”

  I frowned, looking at the woman who was the total and complete opposite of me. My feeling of self-worth started to sink lower as I compared the two of us. She was tall and reed-thin, her long, shiny brown locks hanging down her back in soft, delicate waves that I could never recreate. She was wearing one of those outfits that I had always wished to fit into—a cute combination of a short, flared skirt and a tiny tee that showed off her tanned skin. I hated her immediately.

  Edward extricated himself from the young woman, and she finally noticed I was standing there, her mouth forming an ‘o’. “Who’s this, darling?” she asked, her hand landing on his chest.

  “This is Rose,” he responded, looking a bit uncomfortable with the woman hanging all over him. “She’s my publicist.”

  I bristled at the title, thinking it was pretty ridiculous to even put that label on me. I wasn’t his publicist,
but I guess I wasn’t his friend or anything else, either. I was, well, I had to admit, just the paid help. How ironic.

  “Oh great,” Amber said, giving me a smile, “then she can be the one who tells everyone the good news for us.”

  “What good news?” I asked before Edward could.

  Amber smiled smugly and leaned against Edward’s shoulder, her hand clutching at his arm. “That we’re going to have a baby, of course.”

  13

  Edward

  I felt the floor disappear under me as I heard Amber’s words.

  A baby? My baby? After what I had just witnessed at the orphanage, I needed a stiff drink. But now I needed the whole bottle.

  A kid? She was pregnant? I hadn’t seen or heard from Amber in over two months, our relationship having been volatile to say the least. I had gotten tired of her constant hinting about marriage and becoming a princess, kicking her to the curb with her raging at me the entire way. But now she was here, claiming to be pregnant. Shit.

  “You’re pregnant?” Rose asked, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked at me. I wanted to deny it, to scrub away that look in her eyes that said I’d fucking failed her and had proved to her that I wasn’t anything but a screw-up. But I couldn’t. I had slept with Amber more times than I could count, and not all of them sober enough to prevent pregnancy. She had always said she was on the pill, and I had taken her word for it.

  “About twelve weeks,” Amber replied, her hand caressing my chest. I wanted to remove it, but I was rooted to the spot, not able to even form words on my thick tongue. Instead I watched as a range of emotions scrolled across Rose’s face, feeling every bit the asshole I was touted to be.

  Instead of running screaming for the hills, Rose shifted her attention to Amber, her eyes narrowing. I half expected her to grab the Amber’s hair and swing her about the room, the thought bringing a small grin to my lips. Hell, I wanted her to do it. For once in my damn life, I wanted someone to fight for me. Just me. Not because I was a prince, but because I was me.