The Queen's Baby Scandal Read online

“England seems to have done all right for itself,” he pointed out.

  “It isn’t the same. Our country is smaller, the government is run differently. We don’t have parliament.”

  “Let us go inside,” he said.

  They were standing out in the chilly air, Astrid looking up at him, and he had a feeling that she was putting off the moment that they would have to go in and face the public. But then, she had no idea the level of public that would be in attendance.

  “All right,” she said slowly.

  She allowed him to lead her into the restaurant, and he knew that he was being allowed. After all, this woman did not seem to cow under any threat or circumstance. Whether or not the council respected all that she was, he did. He could see what she was. It oozed from her every pore. From the very way in which she carried herself.

  He moved his hand to her lower back as they walked into the warm restaurant. It was very Scandinavian, with a sparse design aesthetic, the windows looking out over the impressive mountain view, the trees inky and black against the backdrop of the rich velvet sky, the stars glittering like diamonds.

  “This is a beautiful place,” he commented, keenly aware of the fact that all of the eyes in the room had turned to them.

  “Yes,” she said, somewhat absently. “It truly is.”

  He leaned in, conscious of the fact that they would be being photographed now. “And what is your favorite thing on the menu?”

  “I always get the special,” she said. “Whatever is seasonal. Oh, and if there’s an appetizer with one of the Bjornish aged cheddars, I always get that.”

  “You have a fondness for cheese?”

  “I would distrust anyone who doesn’t.”

  “I see. So that is how you arrive at conclusions regarding who you can trust and who you can’t? Which foods they have an affinity for?”

  “I’ve yet to surmise a more adequate way of parsing a person’s character.

  “Well,” he said, “I like cheese. What does that say about your metric?”

  She looked at him, those lovely, green eyes appraising. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

  The words were cool and unsettling. They made him feel much more like she might be in the driver’s seat than he was comfortable with.

  The maître d’ appeared and quickly ushered them to a semiprivate table, which Mauro liked because it gave the appearance that they were attempting to stay out of the way, while still allowing for the paparazzi to be able to get discreet photos.

  In his experience, the quality of the publicity was all in how you courted it. Or how you appeared not to.

  And just like that, he was reminded of who was in control.

  At least tonight.

  She was a fascinating woman in some ways. He was not accustomed to dealing with women—with anyone—who had even a comparable amount of power to his own. Astrid was a queen, and the idea that she could snap her fingers and have him executed infused him with a particular kind of fascination he had not dealt with before.

  He hadn’t anticipated a powerful woman being quite such an aphrodisiac, and yet it made sense. What good was strength and power if it went untested? What good was strength and power when pitted against someone weaker?

  Far more interesting to spar with an equal.

  When a waiter appeared, Mauro spoke quickly to him, procuring the specials, and requesting a special appetizer with local cheese for the queen.

  “You did not have to order for me,” she said.

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I thought it might make an interesting challenge.” He looked at her. “You did not have to let me order for you. I imagine you could have stopped me at any point.”

  “It’s true,” she bit out.

  “I imagine that you could call the waiter back now and reverse my order if you find it unsatisfactory.”

  She sniffed. “Well, you got what I would have ordered anyway.”

  He smiled. “That isn’t true.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes. It isn’t true because you would never have asked for a special entrée to be made for you.”

  She sniffed again. “I told you, I was raised to be a queen. Why do you think that is beyond my scope?”

  “Because you were raised to be very careful. That is something else I know.”

  “It’s true. My mother always stressed that I would be scrutinized much more closely than a potential king would be. It’s impossible for me to know if it would have been different for Gunnar if he were the heir. But he gets much more leeway in the press, and his behavior is considered something of a national pastime. Of course, he is not in immediate line to the throne. So perhaps that’s the reason why. But it really is impossible to know.”

  “I imagine you could never risk looking overly commanding.”

  “No,” she said. “Neither could I... Neither could I ever risk dancing too close to a man.”

  “And so you disguised yourself in something unsuitable and went to my club?”

  “The truly amazing thing,” she said, “is that people don’t look closely at other people. We never search for the unexpected. I’ve never put a foot out of line, and so no one would ever think that they might spot me at your club. Least of all wearing the dress I had chosen. It was the perfect moment to engage in a small rebellion.”

  “It was coup in many ways, it could be argued.”

  “I suppose. To claim the power that should’ve been mine all along.”

  The two of them began to eat in silence and Mauro became aware of the sound of a camera. It was subtle, but it was evident, and he made sure to reach out and brush his fingertips across Astrid’s knuckles. She startled, drawing her hand back.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “Never make the mistake of thinking that we might not be in the presence of an audience.”

  “An audience?”

  “I made sure the press knew that we were here.”

  She went still, as if she’d transformed into a pillar of salt, the stony expression on her face one of biblical proportions. “What are you up to?”

  “Did you honestly think that I called you here without a plan?”

  “I suspected that we would discuss these things together.” She said the words through tight lips, her expression serene, even as the waves emanating from her were not.

  “Smile,” he said.

  As if on cue, she did so, and to anyone observing them it would seem that they were having a friendly exchange.

  “This is not your show,” he continued. “That is one thing you need to learn about me. I am subject to no one and nothing. Least of all you. You made a choice. You stepped into my world. And now, you have ensured that you’ll never fully be free of me. This was your decision, not mine. And now, here I am. I am the thing you must contend with. You assume that your consequence would be carrying my child. No, my Queen. I am your consequence.”

  “Damn,” she said, keeping that smile stretched wide. “A consequence I had not foreseen. How unusual.”

  “Indeed.”

  And he knew that his next move was one she had not seen coming either. It would be cliché to wait for dessert. The move of a man who was calculating the entire event. But he was determined to make it look as if theirs was a spontaneous proposal. If this was what she wanted, the look of love, the look of a real couple, then he would give it to her. But he would give it to her on his terms. If she thought that she could be in charge of creating their narrative, she was about to be sadly disappointed.

  He reached into his jacket pocket, and he produced a small ring box.

  The shock on her face was not manufactured. Not in the least. It was clear to him that she had not been expecting this. Not at all. And it gave him an illicit rush, a thrill, to have her at his mercy. Because that night when he had first met her, he had felt a connection
between the two of them that he had never felt with another woman before. And she had been using him.

  That that bothered him at all was laughable. It shouldn’t. And yet, it did. His every emotion tangled up in this thing that he had neither anticipated, nor ever thought to protect himself from.

  And then it had turned out the connection was a creation. All a part of a tactical war she was waging, unbeknownst to him. He did not handle such things well.

  And now, it was her turn. Her turn to be caught off guard.

  He dropped to one knee in front of her, a position that she probably saw men in often, but this was not a pose of submission. Not a gesture of deference on his part.

  He opened up the ring box, the piece that he was presenting her a true marvel of design. Clean and simple, like this restaurant that she favored so much. Something that reminded him of what she had worn the night they had met. A creation designed to complement who she was, rather than adding unnecessary adornment.

  A large, square cut diamond, clear and bright, in a platinum setting.

  Something that worked with the lines of her elegant hand, rather than overwhelming them.

  “Queen Astrid,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  It was not a question. And she seemed to know it.

  He could sense the electricity around them, the entire restaurant now rapt at the scene in front of them. Shutters were going off, cameras raised, while people snapped completely obvious cell phone photographs of the moment. And now he had her. Now he truly had her.

  “Yes,” she said, her answer wooden, stiff. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  Her smile was effortless, the result of years of practice and breeding, he could only assume. And to anyone else she would look positively joyful.

  But he could feel her rage.

  Her desire to make him pay.

  And it only fueled that damnable fire in his veins.

  “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” he said.

  Then he grabbed her hand and tugged them both to their feet, drawing her up against his chest and gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  The look in her eyes, that glinted there, threatened to cut him. But her actions remained agreeable.

  For a woman for whom reputation was everything, this was a hostage situation. And as a man who didn’t care at all what anyone thought, it was a victory.

  Then, he lowered his head, and claimed her mouth with his own.

  And that was the moment he had not planned for.

  He hated this woman. Despised the way that she had deceived him, used him. The way that she had been intent upon hiding his child from him.

  But this remained. This spark.

  The electricity of the room wasn’t simply coming from the excitement of the spectators around them. No. The electricity was in them. Arcing between them with uncontrollable sparks.

  He wanted to devour her. Part her lips and slide his tongue against hers. Luxuriate in this until it consumed them both.

  And it was that feeling. The sense of being out of control. Of wanting...

  That was what pulled him back. Because he would be damned if he would crave a thing that was out of his reach ever again.

  He pulled himself away from her, staring down in triumph at her swollen mouth, her stunned expression.

  “I believe this makes you my fiancée.”

  And just like that, he had the queen in check.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “HOW DARE YOU make a move like this without consulting the council.”

  “Which move?” Astrid asked as she faced down the long board table of very angry men. Men her father had appointed to their positions over the course of his rule. It was traditional for the monarch of Bjornland to have consult of a council. With more freedom being handed over to the ruler after marriage, or after an heir was produced.

  But the way this particular council had been established, without her approval, even as her reign was approaching, and with life terms given to those who sat in their positions, was unheard of. And allowed only, she imagined, because she was a woman.

  Her father had installed babysitters for her.

  He’d never cared that she’d done nothing but demonstrate her ability. He couldn’t see past what he considered her fundamental flaw. She was female, and would therefore be a weaker ruler. Inclined to lead with her emotions. To be swayed by her hormones in a way a man was never led about by the member of his body.

  The very idea sent Astrid into a small internal rage.

  Men were always so concerned with what women might do during a certain time of the month, and yet they were slaves to the whims of the lower halves of their bodies at all times of every month.

  That her father had considered her weak and fallible because of her sex was, in her mind, a sign of the weakness in him.

  But with her upcoming marriage, and the baby coming, they were on the way to becoming less powerful, and they were certainly sitting there looking as though they knew it.

  “The one where I decided that I would be taking control of the child that I carry, or the one where I got engaged?”

  “Either,” Lars, the lead councilman, replied.

  “Both are done,” she said causally. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  She had whiled away her time letting these men occupy their seats. Not making waves. So that when she had the moment to consolidate her power they would be blindsided. And that was clearly what had occurred.

  She would remain calm even now. Better to have them unable to anticipate her next moves.

  To the outside world it might appear as if she was taking orders. As if she was allowing herself to be walked on.

  But she had the trump card. And she refused to waste energy flailing when she was in the process of succeeding in a tactical strike.

  The ring on her left hand felt heavy. And her lips still felt tingly from the kiss she had shared with Mauro at the restaurant. Perhaps share was too strong of a word. That kiss had been a conquering. Truly, the barbarian had reached the gates, and no amount of planning on her part had been sufficient to keep it from being so.

  She had handed him the keys to her kingdom. She might as well tilt her head back and let him slit her throat.

  And if it were ancient times, perhaps that’s what would have been done. At least, after she had produced his issue.

  But he claimed that he wanted nothing to do with the kingdom specifically, and right now, looking at all of the faces staring back at her, feeling the rage emanating from them, she could only take comfort in the fact that the only people more upset about this development than she, were them.

  As much as she could feel her plan spinning out of control, she imagined that they could feel their control on the kingdom slipping out of their grasp.

  And as long as that was the case, she would be happy enough.

  “He is the father of your child?” Lars pressed.

  “That is the question on the lips of everyone in the world at the moment, it seems,” she said, keeping her expression serene and her shoulders straight.

  “You claimed there was no father,” another of the men said from the other end of the table.

  “Well, I think we all know that’s a lie. Even men such as yourselves don’t spring from holes in the ground. They are made the typical way.” She received raised eyebrows in return for that statement. “Do not all of you go looking so shocked that I am a woman. After all, if I were not, you would not be here, with the layers of additional power my father bestowed upon you. To protect myself I was willing to invoke that particular law written in our books. But it turns out, I didn’t have to. The issues that Mauro and I were having—personal issues—have been resolved. And now we will be able to present a united front for the kingdom. I fail to see how thi
s is not a winning proposition for the entire nation.”

  “A playboy,” a dissenting voice said. “And one from the gutter at that. He is well beneath you, and beneath this kingdom.”

  “Is he?” she asked, with no small amount of ice in her voice. “Have I not lowered the kingdom sufficiently to reach his level? I should think that by mere virtue of the fact that I am a woman, I would have slipped us down several ranks in your estimation. Not to mention my very nonsecretive pregnancy, which the whole world knows occurred out of wedlock.”

  “My Queen,” Lars said. “You know that you have nothing but support from the council. That is why your father solidified our position before his death. To make sure that we could support you.”

  “Support. Undermine. In the grand scheme of things is there any difference? I knew that in order to claim my independence I had to either marry or produce an heir. Handily, I will be able to do both very soon.”

  “How soon shall the marriage take place?”

  “Two weeks,” she said, the words, the commitment, sending a stab of terror through her body. She had not discussed this with Mauro. But she imagined that the sooner the better as far as he was concerned. After all, he had taken control of the timeline by making their engagement so visible, and thrusting it upon her without giving her any time to be coordinated. He could hardly get angry at her for keeping up with that push forward.

  Well, maybe he could. But maybe it would do him some good to be angry.

  She had the terrible feeling that she was going from one battle of wills straight into another. She also had the terrible feeling that the council wasn’t going to go quietly.

  She suddenly had the distinct vision of being pulled between Mauro and the table full of councilmen.

  She also had the clear vision of Mauro being able to pull her away from all of them.

  She disliked that.

  She had intended to rescue herself. The idea of needing his help was galling indeed.

  “That is impossible,” her largest dissenter said, rubbing his hand over his face. “You know we cannot coordinate a wedding in that time.”

  “Then don’t coordinate it. I assume you don’t want a heavily pregnant queen wandering down the aisle, which means expedience should be welcome. And if that’s too difficult for you, I will arrange it myself. It will coincide with the tree lighting, and other Christmas festivities Bjornland will be celebrating, and I can think of nothing better.”