Prince of Montez, Pregnant Mistress Read online

  ‘Then I suggest you call him and tell him that I am here with some very important news.’

  Cally was tempted to tell her what she could do with her suggestion, but she spotted the opportunity to forewarn Leon that she was here.

  ‘Of course,’ Cally replied with artificial sweetness. ‘Do take a seat.’

  Cally went into his office and dialled his mobile. It rang and rang but there was no answer. Skimming her eyes down a list of numbers on his desk, she found one for the principal’s office at the university and tried that instead.

  ‘Bonjour.’

  Cally hesitated at the sound of the unfamiliar, accented voice. ‘Um…Je voudrais parler ù Monsieur Montallier, s’il vous plaćt.‘

  The man on the other end of the phone clearly recognised her less-than-fluent grasp of French. ‘This is Professeur Lefevre. The prince is not here, I am afraid. Can I help?’

  ‘He has already left to return to the palace?’ Cally asked hopefully.

  ‘Non, mademoiselle. He has not been here today.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cally frowned, certain that he had told her he was expected there for the duration of the morning. ‘So you haven’t seen him at all since yesterday?’

  ‘Non, you must be mistaken. I haven’t seen him for at least…’ Professeur Lefevre gave a considered pause. ‘It must be three weeks at least.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Then I…I suppose I must have been mistaken. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

  Cally continued to clutch on to the receiver long after he had hung up, her knuckles white. Leon had told her he had been at the university almost every day for the past month, but he hadn’t been. She tried to tell herself it was no big deal. It was probably easier to say he was there than to go into details about his duties. But it grated on her. And now the woman he professed to hate had turned up with her own set of keys to the palace. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, remembering that their relationship was never likely to work if she was always so quick to distrust him. Plastering on a smile, she re-entered the studio.

  ‘Men do have a warped idea of beauty,’ Toria said, regarding the Rénards with a pinched look as Cally entered.

  ‘Don’t they,’Cally replied, looking right at her. ‘I’m afraid Leon is otherwise engaged. For all I know, he could be hours.’

  ‘Well,’ Toria replied irritably, ‘then I suggest, since I cannot be expected to wait around in my condition, that you give him a message.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  ’Tell him I’m pregnant. With the heir to the throne.’

  Chapter Eleven

  CALLY stared at Toria aghast, dropping her eyes to the swell of her belly.

  Pregnant. With the heir to the throne.

  Her mind raced as she fought to process the information in some way other than a way which felt like a bullet tearing through her flesh. Toria had to mean that Girard was somehow the father, didn’t she? But he had died a year ago, so that was impossible—unless via frozen sperm or IVF? No, she thought, his death had been too unexpected for that.

  Cally lifted her eyes to the other woman’s face, recalling how Leon had described her as ‘incredibly attractive’, how she had swung her own set of palace keys from her forefinger, purring his name. Suddenly Cally felt sick.

  ‘Surely you don’t mean that Leon…?’ Her voice was scratchy, desperate.

  Toria hesitated for a moment and then looked at her squarely. ‘Yes. Leon is the father.’

  Cally blanched and stumbled the short distance to the sofa, her whole body beginning to tremble. ‘No. How?’

  The other woman gave an acidic laugh. ‘How? Surely I do not need to explain that to you? Leon Montallier is not an easy man to resist.’ She shrugged. ‘I made the mistake of believing that because I was his brother’s widow he wouldn’t set his sights on me unless his intentions were honourable. I was wrong.’

  She paused for a moment, and then, seeing that Cally’s head was safely buried in her hands, continued unreservedly. ‘Afterwards I was so angry that I tried to go to the press, but he got there first. Thanks to his carefully engineered law, his pristine reputation on this island remains intact, just the way he planned it.’

  Cally raised her head in horror.

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me, he spun you that line about reinstating the law to get on with his royal duties without the media circus as well?’ Toria clicked her tongue scornfully. ‘That was what the last one fell for. If I were you, I’d leave before he knocks you up and throws you out too.’

  Cally closed her eyes, missing the malicious smile on the other woman’s face.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she choked.

  ‘Good,’ Toria said, tossing her dark mane over her shoulder. ‘And I trust you’ll remember to give him my news. I’ll see myself out.’

  Cally gazed helplessly at a knot on the wooden floor of the studio. More than anything she had ever wanted in her life, she wanted to believe Toria was lying. She tried to think of her as the witch Leon had made her out to be, of her capacity for deceit. But the more minutes that ticked by the harder that seemed. She recalled the girl she’d worked with at David’s father’s estate, the one who had warned her about what he was really like, but who she had chosen to ignore. She couldn’t help thinking that history was repeating itself—and that she really ought to have learned her lesson.

  If Toria and Leon had been living here together after Girard’s death, it hardly required a stretch of the imagination to envisage them falling into bed. And if he had romanced Toria the way he had romanced her, particularly under the delicate circumstances, it was no wonder that Toria had mistakenly assumed his intentions were honourable. Most of all it was remarkably easy to imagine his lust turning to disgust the second she’d attempted to sell her story. Cally had witnessed his anger when it came to the press herself.

  And, though she knew Toria had taken a warped pleasure in telling her, even that only served to make her story seem all the more plausible. For she had exhibited exactly the kind of behaviour one might expect of a woman returning to an ex-lover with the news that she was carrying his child only to find another woman in her place.

  Which could so easily have been her. Cally squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying not to contemplate the unspeakable possibility that brought to mind.

  What if they were both carrying his baby?

  She felt the speed of her breathing double, the red of the sofa on which she sat and the blue of the sea outside the window starting to blur before her eyes as though she was spinning around on some garish purple fairground ride. She lay back, curling herself into a ball, threading her fingers through her hair to clutch at her skull, trying to block out everything.

  But just as she was about to slip into the oblivion of unconsciousness she heard his voice.

  ‘No wonder you’re exhausted.’

  It was soft and unbearably tender. Cally blinked and forced her eyes open. He was standing before the paintings, examining the final and most intricate part of her restoration with delight.

  ’It looks fabulous.’

  She didn’t move. ‘I’m not exhausted.’

  ‘No?’ he queried, his eyes never leaving the canvas. ‘In that case, how do you feel about celeb—?’ He turned round and caught sight of her properly for the first time. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’

  Cally pushed herself up on one arm, the blood rushing to her head. ‘Toria was here.’

  He visibly stiffened. ‘Toria?’

  She nodded.

  Leon looked incensed. ‘What did she want?’

  Cally took a deep breath. She was aware that she should probably tell him to take a seat, do this slowly. Aware, too, that it should never have been her news to tell. But above all, selfish though it was, she just wanted to get it out so that she could see his reaction—because she knew that alone would tell her everything she needed to know.

  ‘She came to tell you that she’s pregnant with your child.’
>
  To her disbelief, he laughed. ‘She has resorted to lies before to try and scare away any woman she sees as a threat, but this takes it to a whole new level. After everything I told you, I thought you’d know better than to believe a single word that comes out of her mouth.’

  ‘It wasn’t her words that convinced me,’ Cally whispered brokenly. ‘It was her sizeable bump.’

  When she saw the look that came over Leon’s face then, she would have given anything to have his cynical humour back. The blood shrank from his cheeks and his expression grew so taut that it looked as if his skin had been removed and stretched in order to cover the bones of his face. For the first time since they had met, she witnessed every last glimmer of sardonic amusement vanish from his eyes until there was nothing there but emptiness. It was the look which confirmed that everything she’d feared was true, and which banished Cally’s last remaining shred of hope.

  And that was the moment Cally knew that, if she had even one ounce of self-respect, she had to leave now. If nothing else, the entire stance of his body told her that the prospect of being a father was on a par to him with being told he had some horrible, degenerative disease. With it she understood that whatever she had started to believe about him opening up to her, human commitment of any form would always be unpalatable to him. She had to make sure she was not in danger of carrying his baby, and then she had to get on that plane to Paris and forget she had ever made love with the Prince of Montéz.

  Slowly, on legs which felt like their muscles had disintegrated, she found the strength to stand.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  So she wasn’t completely invisible. ‘To Paris.’

  ‘Your flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow.’

  She stared at him aghast. Surely he didn’t actually expect her to stay? ‘Under the circumstances, I hardly think—’

  ‘Oh, but of course,’ he said, snapping out of his temporary trance. ‘Just because she says I’m the father, it must be true.’

  So now that the initial shock had passed he had decided it was in his interests to deny it, Cally thought bitterly. She shook her head. ‘Why would she lie?’

  ‘Because she’s a bitch, Cally, a cold-hearted, evil bitch.’

  ‘So after Girard’s death, when you were both living here, you’re telling me you never went near her?’

  Leon’s mouth soured as if he resented having to explain himself to her. ‘No, I never went near her.‘

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means she lost no time in attempting to seduce me. What she wanted above all else was to be the wife of a prince, regardless of who the prince was. But I made it perfectly clear to her that I would rather stick pins in my eyes than go anywhere near her, and informed her of my intention to reintroduce the law against the press. She left the island almost immediately.’

  ‘You never mentioned that when you told me about her.’

  Leon shrugged. ‘Compared to the rest of her sins, it’s nothing.’

  ‘So how come she still has keys to the palace?’

  ‘Unfortunately for me, as she’s Girard’s widow there are some rights to which she is still entitled. Access to the palace is one of them.’

  Cally closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling like she had been presented with the prosecution and defence in a trial for which she would face the punishment however she judged it, wishing she could be handed a simple picture which depicted the truth.

  ‘Toria tells it very differently.’

  ‘So you choose to believe her word over mine?’ he bellowed incredulously. ‘Why? Because the first time we met I neglected to mention my title? I thought we were past that.’

  ‘We were.’ Cally felt tears begin to prick behind her eyes and swallowed hard. ‘That’s why as soon as she arrived I tried to warn you by calling the university. But you weren’t there, were you? You haven’t been there for weeks, and yet you’ve been telling me you have!’

  ‘I—’

  ‘No. Let me finish. I told myself there had to be some logical explanation for that, and then I tried as hard as I could to believe that Toria wasn’t telling the truth. That’s why I waited to hear your side of the story. But that look of utter horror on your face when I told you she was pregnant told me everything I needed to know.’

  Leon paused, and for a moment he actually contemplated telling her, but the thought of saying the words aloud was so agonising that he crossed his arms and turned away. ‘I’m just horrified by the prospect of that witch bringing a child into this world.’

  ‘How gallant of you to be so concerned about the life of an unborn baby.’

  ‘It’s an insult to the memory of my brother.’

  ‘The merry widow doesn’t fit into one of your neat little boxes for characterising women?’ she shot out sarcastically.

  ‘Like the giant box labelled “liar” that you have reserved for all men?’

  ‘So, what, you’re telling me that you were at the university all along?’

  Leon scowled, wondering how the hell the one woman he had broken his rule for wasn’t even capable of trusting him in return. ‘Yes. Not at the main campus, but at another building off-site.’

  ‘So why did the principal of the university know nothing about it?’

  ‘Because I haven’t shown it to him yet.’

  Cally looked at him disbelievingly. ‘So, show me.‘

  It was then that the room went ominously silent and Leon looked down at her with an expression that was even more crushing than the one she had read there when she had announced Toria’s pregnancy. It was a withering look which told her she had just made the unforgivable mistake of assuming that he had to prove anything to her. And with it she saw with agonising lucidity that it really made little difference whether he was telling the truth or not, because she didn’t mean anything to him, and she never would.

  ‘And what if I did show you, Cally? Would you demand Toria has a paternity test before we can continue with our affair? Because we could, but something tells me even that wouldn’t be enough. You were envious, were you not, when you met Kaliq and Tamara, so newly engaged? And now Toria claims to be having my child and you are practically inconsolable. Are you sure that you aren’t so upset because what you really want is for me to propose we get married and start making babies of our own?’

  Cally tried her best to steady her breathing as the colours of the room threatened to blur before her eyes again. ‘No, Leon, what I want is to leave. I want to get on the plane to Paris, and I want to get on with my career.’

  ‘Like hell you do, Cally Greenway.’ He raked his eyes mercilessly over her body sending a renewed yearning hurtling through her bloodstream. ‘Why cut off your nose to spite your face?’

  Because if I don’t stem my desire I’ll lose my heart, Cally thought. ‘Whatever is between us is over.’

  ‘Over?’ Leon laughed a low, impertinent laugh that seemed to reverberate around the whole room. ‘This thing will never be over between us, chérie. It’s too damned hot.’

  She should have been quicker, but Leon was one step ahead, catching the top of her arm with his fingers and spinning her round easily to plant his lips on hers. His kiss was a kiss of possession, hot, furious and undeniably physical; it felt like he had poured his whole body into it, though only their lips were touching. She knew what he was doing as her treacherous body responded with predictable arousal thrumming through her veins, her nipples hard, longing for the press of his chest. Oh yes, he was waiting for her to succumb to him, to draw herself to him and clasp her arms around his back with all the wild abandon which she always did.

  Not anymore. Abandoning her senses had got her into this mess, and it certainly wasn’t going to get her out of it. She needed to escape now, while she at least had the promise of the career she had worked so hard for. Even if it seemed to have lost all its meaning.

  But it had more meaning than his kiss ever would, a voice inside her cried, and somehow it gave her th
e strength to push herself away from him and she stumbled backwards, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible.

  ‘Like I said,’ he breathed, his chest rising and falling in double-quick time, his lips as swollen as hers felt. ‘Too damned hot.’

  No, she thought desolately as she drank in the sight of him against the backdrop of the ocean for one final time, too damned cold.

  Chapter Twelve

  Four months later

  CALLY wanted to like Paris. There were plenty of reasons why she should. For a start, professionally speaking, she could finally say that all the years of hard work and study had been worthwhile. The head of the conservation team at the Galerie de Ville had gladly employed her, and had done so based on her merits alone. The work was stimulating and the paintings prolific; last week they had showcased an early Rossetti that she and the rest of the team had restored, and it had been extremely well-received. The other conservationists were dedicated and friendly, the studio state-of-the-art. And, where once her lunch breaks had consisted of a dash down to the rather lacklustre local shops on the outskirts of Cambridge, now she could take a walk along the Seine, wander through the endless rooms of the Louvre, or, as had been her preference of late, sit in a café in Montmartre and watch the world go by.

  When she was not at work, she returned to a small but pleasant apartment near the Eiffel Tower which she was renting from a dear old woman by the name of Marie-Ange who was also giving her French lessons, and with the help of Jen back home she had even arranged to get tenants into her house so that she wasn’t out of pocket. What with her earnings from the Rénards, deposited in her account within a day of leaving Montéz, her bank balance looked positively healthy.

  Oh yes, Cally thought, on the surface everything looked just dandy, that business with the Prince of Montéz far behind her. All except for a couple of minor details. Like the excruciating pain of finding herself in the most romantic city in the world with a broken heart. And the fact that she was pregnant with his baby.