His Majesty's Mistake

by Jane Porter

  That smile nearly pushed him over the edge.

  He understood then that it wasn’t going to be fine. It wouldn’t be fine at all.

  He looked away again, out the window at the elegant gray eighteenth-century buildings lining the square. It was raining, just a light drizzle, but the gray clouds made the afternoon feel dark and gloomy. The only color on the streets were the rows of trees leading to the adjacent park, lushly green with new spring growth.

  “It seems bad now,” he said, aware that he was in danger of becoming too involved, caring too much. He needed to step back. Put some distance between him and Emmeline. He was merely bringing her home, returning her safely to her family. “But this will pass. In fact this time tomorrow you could have a whole new set of problems.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” she answered with a cool, hollow laugh as the palace gates loomed before them. “I think I have enough on my plate. Don’t you?”

  Entering the palace salon where her parents waited was like walking into a minefield, Emmeline thought several minutes later. She hadn’t even walked all the way through the salon doors before her mother exploded in anger.

  “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?” Queen Claire d’Arcy was on her feet in an instant, her voice a sharp ricochet of sound. “Or was your intention to humiliate us?”

  “Absolutely not,” Emmeline answered firmly, forcing herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, closing the gap between them. In a dim part of her brain she knew that Makin was behind her but he was the least of her worries now. “I would never want to humiliate you—”

  “But you did! Zale Patek didn’t give us a specific reason why he felt it necessary to break off the engagement, only that he was concerned about a lack of compatibility. Compatibility,” the queen repeated bitterly. “What does that even mean?”

  “He was merely being polite. The fault is mine.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Emmeline ignored the jab. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you—”

  “When haven’t you?”

  “—and will try to make amends.”

  “Good. At least we agree on something. You are to return to Raguva immediately and beg His Highness for forgiveness. Do whatever it is you must do, but do not return without his ring on your finger—”

  “I can’t.”

  “Emmeline, it’s not an option. It’s your duty to marry him. Your duty to provide heirs for him—”

  “I can’t, Mother. I’m already pregnant.”

  The grand salon, coolly elegant in white and gold, went strangely silent. For a moment there was no sound, no motion, and then her mother sank into her chair by her father’s side.

  Finally her mother’s head tipped. “What did you just say, Emmeline?”

  Emmeline glanced at her father, who, so far, hadn’t said a word. True to form he sat silent and grim, letting her mother do all the talking. “I … I’m…” She drew a deep breath. “…nearly eight weeks pregnant.”

  “Please tell me I heard you wrong.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “I wish I could.” Emmeline’s voice sounded faint to her own ears.

  “And of course it’s not Zale Patek’s.”

  “No.”

  “Slut.”

  Emmeline heard Makin hiss a breath, but she didn’t even flinch. She’d expected this. Had known it wouldn’t be pleasant. And it wasn’t.

  “How dare you?” Claire choked on the words. “You ungrateful girl! How dare you throw every good thing we have done for you back in our faces?”

  Emmeline felt rather than heard Makin move to her side. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? You ruin your chances, you ruin us, and you’re sorry?”

  Emmeline lifted her chin, determined to stay calm, determined to remain strong. Tears would serve no purpose, just make her look weak and emotional. Instead she’d accept the consequences, no matter how painful. It’d been her decision to sleep with Alejandro. Now she had to deal with the repercussions. “Yes. And while this is the last thing I wanted to happen, it has, and I’m going to take responsibility.”

  “And may I ask who the father is? Or is that secret knowledge?”

  Emmeline’s lips parted but Makin spoke first.

  “I am,” he said clearly, his deep voice firm.

  Emmeline turned to face him, jaw dropping in shock, but he didn’t even look at her. He was staring straight at her mother, a snarl twisting his lips. “I am,” he repeated fiercely, “and I would like a little bit of respect, please.”

  Emmeline’s legs turned to jelly, even as her head spun. She reached for Makin. “What are you doing?” she choked, as his fingers curled around hers.

  “Making this right,” he growled.

  She shook her head frantically. “It won’t… it won’t, trust me.”

  “No. It’s time you trusted me.” And then with a small, hard smile in her parents’ direction, he walked Emmeline out and closed the doors behind him.

  In the hall Emmeline’s legs threatened to give out. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” she said, holding his arm tightly.

  “Yes.” He frowned at her. “You’re feeling faint, aren’t you?”

  “A little.”

  He swore beneath his breath and swung her into his arms. “I should not have brought you back!”

  “But you did. Now, put me down. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

  He ignored her, exiting the hall for the grand foyer with the blue-painted dome, and began to climb the stairs two at a time.

  “Makin, please. I can walk.”

  “Not going to have you faint and risk having you, or the baby, hurt,” he answered, continuing up the marble steps with single-minded focus. “Isn’t your room up here somewhere?”

  “On the second floor, yes. But I won’t faint—”

  “Good.” He shifted her weight in his arms as he reached the top stair. “Right or left?”

  She peeked over his shoulder, saw the familiar hall with ivory-painted woodwork, gleaming chandeliers overhead and the pale gold-and-ivory carpet runner underfoot. “Right. But I can walk—”

  “Fantastic. Which room?”

  “That one,” she said, nodding at a closed door. “And you didn’t need to claim the baby. I was going to tell them the truth.”

  “The truth?” he repeated, leaning down to turn the knob and push the door open, giving her a whiff of his subtle spicy cologne, the scent that always made her insides curl.

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly, growing warm and warmer. “It’s what you told me to do.”

  “Until I saw your mother in action and thought she was the devil.”

  “Makin.”

  “I did. I still do.” He crossed the bedroom floor with the same long strides that had eaten up the stairs and hall. “No wonder Alejandro seemed like an attractive option. Your mother is terrifying!”

  “She didn’t terrify you.”

  His arms tightened around her. “No. But she did make me angry.”

  Emmeline inhaled sharply as he held her even closer to his chest. His body was muscular and hard. His spicy fragrance teased her senses and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear. Alejandro had been cold in bed. She didn’t think Makin would be cold. She didn’t think he’d be detached or indifferent, either.

  The thought of Makin in bed with her, naked next to her, was both thrilling and terrifying. He was beyond gorgeous, but too big … too strong … too overwhelming in every way.

  She was glad when he placed her on the bed and she scooted to the middle to try to clear her head.

  He gazed down at her, his arms crossing over his chest, emphasizing the width of his rib cage. “You’re an adult, Emmeline. You don’t owe them your soul.”

  “My mother thinks I do.”

  “I noticed.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s why I spoke up. She wanted a name, so I
gave her one.”

  “But that’s just going to make things worse, Makin. She’s going to expect you to provide for the baby—”

  “I will.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s my baby and I’m responsible. Not you.”

  His strong jaw firmed in protest, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked quite so powerful and primitive and male.

  “And so what do you want me to do, Emmeline? Just leave you here with them? Allow your parents to ride roughshod over you?”

  “I can manage them.”

  “Just like you did in the salon?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks and she jerked her chin up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Have you lost your mind? That was horrendous. A bloodbath. If it had been your father speaking I probably would have punched him.”

  “Makin!”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I appreciate your support, I do, but telling them you’re the baby’s father isn’t the way. We have to go tell them the truth before it’s too late.” Her voice broke and a tendril of pale hair slipped from her chignon to tumble against her cheek. “And please understand that while I appreciate you speaking up for me, it’s time I stood on my own two feet—”

  “So what do you want me to do?” he interrupted. “Stand by and do nothing? Allow your mother to attack you? Destroy you?”

  Her heart suddenly ached. Hot tears filled her eyes. “Sticks and stones, Makin, remember?”

  He held her gaze for an endless span of time. “But the rhyme has it wrong. Words can hurt. They were crushing you.”

  For a second she couldn’t breathe: her chest on fire, her heart in pain. “She doesn’t really mean it,” she whispered. “It sounds worse than it is. Mother just has a temper.”

  “She crossed the line, Emmeline. She said too much.”

  “She did. But she’ll calm down and feel bad later. She eventually always apologizes.’”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  Her shoulders twisted. “I know. But this is how it’s always been and I’m not going to change her now.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Go back to Kadar. Focus on your conference. It’s an important conference for you.”

  “But you’re important, too.”

  Her lips twisted wryly. “Not as important as all those dignitaries gathered at Kasbah Raha.”

  His light eyes searched hers. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore, Emmeline.”

  “They won’t. The worst is over.”

  His jaw flexed, a muscle popping, tightening near his ear. “You’re sure of that?”

  She suppressed all thought but freeing him. This wasn’t his mess, or his mistake, and she couldn’t let her life take over his. “Yes.” She held out her hand to him. “And I hope we can part as friends.”

  His hand slowly enveloped hers, his gaze holding hers captive. “Friends,” he repeated slowly.

  She nodded, forcing a smile to her lips to hide her sudden rush of emotion. She would miss him. She’d grown to like him. Probably far more than she should. “Can we stay in touch? Maybe we could drop each other a line now and then?”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTER Makin left, Emmeline stayed in her room and even took dinner there, unable to face anyone.

  She wished Makin had stayed.

  Not because she needed him to fight her fights, but because he was good company. Interesting company. And he made her feel interesting, too.

  She liked that he listened to her when she talked, liked how his eyes rested on her mouth, his brow furrowed intently. No one had ever talked to her as much as Makin had. No one had ever cared so much, either.

  She fell asleep missing him, and woke up thinking of him and was grateful when her father sent for her during her morning coffee, if only to get her mind off Makin.

  Emmeline’s hands shook as she finished buttoning her navy silk blouse. She’d paired it with a long skirt the same color and added a wide, dark chocolate crocodile belt at her waist that matched her high heels. It was a mature, elegant, subdued look, perfect for the morning after yesterday’s histrionics.

  She slipped a necklace of Murano glass beads around her neck, the beads a swirl of gold, bronze and blue, and wondered if her mother would be waiting in the library or if this was to be just a father-daughter talk. One of those unbearably tense conversations her father had with her, where he talked and talked, and she listened and listened?

  Regardless, she had to go. Dressed, with her hair drawn back into a smooth ponytail, and just mascara on her lashes, she left her room for the library, each step making her stomach churn.

  Makin must be back in Kadar now, surrounded by his beloved desert and his important work. She felt an ache in her chest, near her heart.

  Emmeline knocked firmly on the library door and waited for King William to permit her to enter. When he did, she found him seated at his enormous desk searching for an item in the center drawer.

  “I had no idea,” he said, frowning into his open drawer as she crossed the room to stand before his desk. “I wish you had spoken up.”

  She folded her hands in front of her, her own brow furrowing; she wasn’t at all sure what he was referring to but she knew better than to interrupt.

  “It would have helped if you’d explained, might have made the scene in the salon less uncomfortable.” He looked up at her now, blue gaze reproving. “It was damn uncomfortable. Especially with Al-Koury there.”

  She sucked in a breath, hating the butterflies she got every time Makin’s name was mentioned. “Yes, Father.”

  “But at the same time, I understand why you didn’t say anything. I understand that Al-Koury wanted to speak to me first, and I appreciate the courtesy. I’m glad he’s a gentleman and wanted to ask for your hand properly—”

  “What?”

  “Although to be quite honest,” he continued, “Al-Koury should have come on his own, asked for your hand, before traveling with you. It is irregular, what with you being engaged to Zale Patek. A bit presumptuous. Put me in the hot seat, especially with your mother. But you’re both human. Things happen.”

  “Father,” she said sharply.

  But he wasn’t listening to her. He never did. His shoulders rolled as he just kept talking. “But it’s not quite so easy for your mother. She’s struggling to take it all in as she’s very traditional and hasn’t adapted to the way young people do things today. In her mind, you don’t get pregnant and then married. You marry and then have the baby.”

  Emmeline blinked at him. Her father was speaking French but it could have been Mandarin or Egyptian. Because what he was saying didn’t make sense at all.

  King William lifted a hand. “But I promised Al-Koury we wouldn’t criticize you, and we won’t. I also promised that we’d focus on the positives, and so let me congratulate you. Al-Koury will be a good husband. And you know I like Patek, I do. But Sheikh Al-Koury … he’s big money. Serious money. One hundred billion, two hundred billion, maybe more—”

  “Father!”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t mention his wealth. But it is important, and he and I are to sit down later and discuss the pre-nup. You had quite a contract with Zale Patek. I’ll negotiate just as hard for you with Al-Koury.”

  “Father.”

  “Yes, Emmeline?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t worry about the pre-nup. That’s between him and me. And the lawyers, of course. His are flying in as we speak.” He paused, looked at her for a moment and then smiled. “Your mother wouldn’t approve of me saying this, but she’s not here. I’m proud of you, Em. To snare one of the world’s richest men. That says something. He’s not an easy man to please and it’s obvious he dotes on you. Congratulations, my dear. You did very well.”

  “When did you speak with him?” she asked, her voice strangled.

  “Last night. After you’d gone to res
t. He came to see me.”

  “He said he was going home,” she whispered.

  “Maybe to his room. We gave him the Ducalle Suite. I personally thought we could have done better but your mother isn’t entirely happy about a sheikh for a son-in-law, but she’ll come round. She always does.”

  “He’s still here?”

  “Of course.”

  She swallowed hard. “Father, there’s been a mistake.”

  He closed the drawer hard. The entire desk rattled. “How so?”

  “We’re not … we’re not … engaged.”

  “Well, you weren’t. Not until Makin asked for your hand, and I’ve given him permission to marry you. I’m sure he’ll give you the ring today—”

  “Father, he doesn’t love me. He barely likes me.”

  His eyes rolled. “Certainly liked you enough to get you pregnant.”

  “But Father—”

  She was drowned out by the shrill ring of the telephone on his desk. It was a large antique phone and took up an entire corner of the table.

  “I’ve said all I intended to say,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the ring. “The sheikh will be asking for your hand this morning. He’ll put a ring on your finger and your mother should be calm soon. Now I must take this call—”

  “He’s not the father. It’s not his child.”

  “Emmeline, I can’t hear you over the phone. Please, go. I’ll see you tonight at seven. We’re meeting for drinks and then a celebratory dinner. See you then.”

  In the hallway, Emmeline put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath and then another, trying to process everything her father had said.

  Makin hadn’t gone home? He’d stayed and spoken with her father? He’d asked for her hand in marriage?

  What was the sheikh thinking?

  Wishing she’d had more than coffee and a roll for breakfast, Emmeline set off for the Ducalle Suite but Makin didn’t answer the door. She knocked a second time, harder.

  A maid popped her head out of a room from across the hall. “Sheikh Al-Koury is downstairs, Your Highness. He’s having coffee on the terrace.”

  Emmeline grimly thanked her and headed for the large terrace where she found Makin at a table outside enjoying breakfast in the morning sun.