Her King's Secret Baby Read online

  William picked up his pen and readjusted his glasses. “In a moment. As I said, I will finish these documents first.”

  Keeping Asher in his place was a full time job. He expected his nephew to continue fiddling like a child in his seat, but he sat quietly, respectfully, which was uncommon but…nice. He flipped a page and signed his name in the required spot, then did the same on the last page. Reading over it one more time, he finally set the documents aside and glanced up. Asher was flipping through his phone, his cheeks flushed, his jaw set hard.

  “All right, Asher. Let’s talk.”

  “The Americans have sent forty requests for interviews. Forty. More than any other country, as far as I can determine at the moment. They will try and dominate the media.”

  “I’ll be selective about whom I let in. There are three American media companies I’d like to come. Future Magazine, World Element, and Next Gen Media. Are any of those on your list?”

  “So far, only Future.”

  “Excellent. Set it up for next week. Ensure housekeeping prepares the guest suite accordingly. Future is a leading media contender for philanthropic work in conservation. I’m more than thrilled to have them.”

  Asher made a disapproving sound. Since his broken engagement to an American actress, Asher had taken a pretentious dislike to the country as a whole. It was a bit disturbing how far he took his distaste. “Consider it done, sir. Now shall we talk about Norway, France, and Greece?”

  William gave a nod, listening intently as Asher threaded through the media requests. He gave his approval or not, until they’d filed through each request and made a list of approvals. He resisted the urge to sit back against his chair and let himself slide down into a more comfortable position. His body was tightening with tension as ripples of unease built inside him. Common aftereffects of being closed up with Asher for any length of time. Finally, Asher rose and took his leave.

  William closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. He was going to have a hectic few months ahead in managing this project, but he was looking forward to each moment. He woke up his computer and flipped to the Future Magazine website from his bookmarks. Scrolling through the lists of reporters, he wondered which would arrive for the interview. An entire page showed reporters of various upper ages, grayed men, and professional appearing women. He’d done several phone interviews with the media company over the past two years, but never face-to-face. He clicked through to the last page. Junior reporters. Two young women and one male stared back at him. His gaze fell to the image of a smiling blonde, her face glowing with youth and health. Bright blonde hair, beautiful teeth. High cheekbones.

  But it was her eyes. Intelligence and spark reflected back at him. He leaned forward as if drawn to her still gaze.

  Sarah Jones. Junior Reporter.

  He sat back against his chair and closed his laptop. She was stunning, but no junior reporter would be sent on a mission of this importance. Too bad. Something about her eyes made him want to know more about her.

  William rose and slipped off his glasses. Kicking off his shoes, he peeled off his socks and loosened his belt as he walked to the glass patio doors leading out to his private pool. He dropped his slacks, letting them hang on his narrow hips beneath the deep V in his lower abdomen as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. Striding to the water, he removed his slacks and underwear, kicking them off as he stretched his arms high above his head before bending and diving into the pool. He made a full lap before flipping onto his back and treading water.

  Staring up at the clear sky, he felt profound peace wash over him. This project would make a global impact. He was on his way to leaving a bigger legacy for himself than simply being king. He pictured the knowing eyes of that young reporter, thinking briefly how enjoyable it would be to find out if she was as intelligent as she appeared to be. And sexy.

  He grinned. Everything was on its way. And he couldn’t be more pleased with himself.

  Chapter Three

  Sarah

  Sarah checked her lipstick in her small compact mirror and frowned.

  It had faded in the two hours since she’d reapplied it, and now her entire face looked washed out. The tight, professional bun she’d twisted her hair into was loose, strands fraying around her face. Her suit was slightly wrinkled, her feet hurting inside her three-inch heels. Why did Brixton have to be so dang far away again? This was a never-ending flight, yet in all these hours she still hadn’t managed to rein in the furious pounding of her heart whenever she remembered that soon she was going to be face-to-face with the King of Brixton while she conducted the most important interview of her life.

  She gave a hasty look around, then pinched the skin on her forearm. Ouch! Rolling her eyes at her own antics, she settled back against the seat and took a calming breath. She was doing this! This was happening!

  “Champagne, ma’am?” A stewardess in a form-hugging burgundy pantsuit bent and handed her a glass flute.

  Sarah smoothed the front of her black blazer. She’d never flown first class before. The prompt attention from the stewardess and the constant array of treats was a delightful change of pace. She accepted the champagne, her second, with a smile and took a sip. She had a window seat all to herself. A fluffy pillow with a cotton covering that smelled like lemons. A fuzzy white blanket, and a little basket of snacks on her seat tray.

  A girl could get used to this.

  The lights flashed above, signaling they were preparing for descent. Sarah tossed back the champagne and grabbed her small travel bag. She’d need the restroom before the seatbelt sign came on so she could freshen up. No way could she meet the king or his representatives looking like this. Just as she moved to stand, the seatbelt sign flashed yellow.

  “Preparing for our final descent. Please stay seated and fasten your seatbelts.”

  As the overhead voice came through, the stewardess came by and took Sarah’s trash, then pushed her tray upright until it clicked. Nerves raced through her core. Oh, God. This was really happening! Pulling her notebook from her bag, she flipped to the list of questions she’d created to ask the king. The plane gave a little lurch, and she remembered she still looked like hell. Putting the notebook away, she unzipped her cosmetics bag and opened the compact mirror again. She touched up her powder and blush, then dipped her finger in her lip stain and dotted it on her lower lip. The plane lurched again; her finger streaked across her chin, leaving a red line behind.

  “Damn it!” She tried to rub it off but smeared it, giving her chin a bright red circle.

  “Ma’am.”

  She looked to the sound, her cheeks heating to see the stewardess there with a wet wipe outstretched to her.

  Sarah took it with a sheepish smile. “Thank God for first class. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You look nervous about something.” The woman’s heavily accented voice was kind, her eyes sparkling as if she really was curious about Sarah’s wellbeing.

  She wiped at her chin and curled the wipe into her fist with a feeling of disbelief. “I’m…going to meet the king.”

  “King William?”

  “Yes. I’m a reporter. For Future Magazine. I’m interviewing him.” She didn’t know why she was compelled to talk about it. Maybe because saying it out loud made it even more real?

  The woman’s eyebrows darted up. “He is a good king. He’ll be good to you. Best of luck on your interview.”

  Sarah thanked her and settled against the seatback. She wasn’t worried about the king being unkind to her or uncooperative with the interview. No, it was something else making the pit of her stomach dance like circus ponies. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  The plane landed and taxied down the runway. They came to a stop, Sarah’s pulse picking up as the engine wound down. Smoothing back her hair and re-tucking her bun, she gathered her bag and exited the plane. She had just stepped out of the tunnel when she spied a slight woman wearing a severe looking, tan business suit, holding a
sign with Sarah’s name.

  The administrative assistant at the magazine had made all the travel and interview arrangements. Sarah had a sparse itinerary and had been told someone would be picking her up, but no idea who.

  “Sarah Jones?” The woman stepped forward and extended a hand. “I’m Florence Cromley, International Ambassador of Brixton. Welcome. I’m here to take you to Ravenshire Palace.”

  Excitement quickly replaced her nerves. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Florence gave her a quick onceover. “You look a mess. Hard flight?”

  Sarah gave a little start. She patted her hair, wondering if she hadn’t gotten all the lip stain off her chin after all. Before she could think of a response, Florence was clipping away on smart, short heels.

  “Do you have baggage to retrieve from the carousel?”

  She clutched the strap of her sensible carry-on over her shoulder and hurried to catch up to Florence. “No, I packed light.”

  “Very smart. You won’t have to worry about your underthings being lost for a week, now will you?”

  Florence delivered the lighthearted quip with such a strict expression that Sarah didn’t dare respond for fear of offending. She followed her outside where a blaze of sunshine welcomed her to this foreign land. She took a deep breath of the new air, letting it fill her up as excitement renewed inside her. Florence abruptly stopped beside a sterling silver-hued limousine, the side imprinted with the royal Brixton emblem. The driver hurried out and opened the door. Florence waved Sarah in, then slid in beside her. Sarah buckled her seatbelt, and the limo pulled away from the airport. Peering out the window to take in the scenery, Sarah was aware that the older woman was watching her.

  “Brixton is beautiful, yes?” she asked after Sarah had been gawking for a few minutes.

  “It really is.”

  “Its beauty is well-cultivated considering the Germans infiltrated our fair country during the first World War and turned it into a giant command center. It took years to rebuild what war destroyed. Now Brixton is an international treasure. A place of peace, beauty, and prosperity. And we have one of the youngest men in history sitting as acting king.”

  Sarah listened intently to Florence, wanting to write some of this down, but not wanting to insult her. “He was sworn in at just twenty-seven, is that correct?”

  A proud smile crossed the older woman’s face. “Correct. For one so young, he’s proven himself a worthy king. And his clean water initiative demonstrates his passion for doing good. This program is the first of its kind, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  She was. “What motivates him, Florence?”

  Her dark eyebrows rose. “You mean, what makes Brixton’s king so selfless?”

  Sarah pondered this. “Yes. It seems he has a history of being exceptionally selfless.”

  The limo slowed, rounded a corner, then rolled to a slow stop. Sarah peered out the window, and her breath caught in her throat. Ravenshire Palace was a splendid brick structure, with endless red-tiled gables and arched windows.

  “I’ll let you ask him yourself, Ms. Jones. Please, let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you straight away.”

  Sarah’s face tingled as she slid out of the limo. “Meet…the king? Now?”

  Florence’s forehead wrinkled. “Yes, of course. I’m to take you straight to him.”

  She hadn’t thought she’d be meeting King William so soon. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d had time to recover from the flight. It was getting late, the sun beginning to set. She barely had time to look around as Florence led her inside towering black double doors, then into a marble floor entry with a cathedral ceiling and a massive chandelier hanging above them. A deep navy runner led the way across the floor, soft and plush beneath her heels. Florence pointed out a few rooms as they went, the formal dining room, the sitting room, the summer kitchen, before leading her up a curved marble staircase to the second floor. And then she opened a heavy walnut door to a room resplendent in hues of gold, cream, and turquoise.

  “You may set your things in your room, and then follow me please. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  Sarah hesitated before crossing the threshold. “This is where I’ll be staying?”

  Florence gave a polite dip of her head. “Of course.”

  Letting out an impressed breath, she gingerly walked inside as if she might tarnish something simply by stepping foot into the interior. Slipping her bag off her shoulder, she deposited it onto the impressively high mattress and followed Florence back out into the hall, down the steps, and through a series of hallways Sarah was sure she’d never remember. They stopped before a set of intricately carved wooden doors. Lions crossed arms over the doors, engraved in impressive detail right down to the sharp points of their exposed canine teeth.

  “If you please, Ms. Jones, I’ll now give you attendance with King Ravenshire.”

  Sarah took a cleansing breath and smoothed her suit, then hurriedly fussed with her hair.

  Florence lightly touched her wrist with soft fingers. “You look very presentable, Ms. Jones.”

  She knocked on the door, waited for the muffled response from inside before she opened them, and briskly stepped inside and across the room to a massive cherry desk where it sat perfectly centered on a rug woven with the country’s emblem. Sarah clasped her hands in front of her, aware of the man sitting before them, his golden head bent as if he were reading something on his desk.

  Florence stopped sharply, her feet slightly splayed as she gave a curtsey and respectful nod of her gray head. “Your Majesty, may I present Ms. Sarah Jones from Future Magazine?”

  He rose without looking at them and grabbed glasses from the desktop as he moved around the desk, sliding them on as he approached.

  Sarah’s heart fluttered, a flustered sensation washing over her. His square face, so familiar from news reports and tabloids, became clear, the strong, angular lines of his features arranging the stunningly handsome face she’d looked at a few times too many on her laptop. His hair was finger-combed to one side, golden blond and setting off the blue of his stunning eyes. His tall, fit body commanded his light blue dress shirt and bespoke, dark gray slacks.

  The King of Brixton stopped inches from her, and Sarah’s mouth went dry, her mind numb. His brow furrowed a bit as he tilted his head and extended a beautifully masculine hand. She hesitated before taking it, awed by how terribly the media had lied. William Ravenshire was a thousand times more handsome in person than he was on the news.

  “Ms. Jones. It’s an extreme pleasure.” His voice dripped with sincerity, the smile that lifted one corner of his mouth displaying he was pleasantly delighted. Maybe even surprised. But over what?

  She was here to do a job, damn it. Not flounder over her sexual attraction to her interview subject. Sarah thrust her hand into his, the warmth of his palm sliding over hers eliciting tingling warmth over her entire body.

  Her eyes went wide, her heart caught between racing and skipping.

  “The pleasure is all mine, sir,” she managed, though her breath was hard. Tight.

  It was all she could do not to pass out at his beautiful feet.

  Chapter Four

  William

  It was her. Sarah Jones, Junior Reporter.

  William curled his fingers around hers with a shock of warmth bursting through him at the contact. A barely-visible shudder rippled over her body, her breath catching with a little puff. Pleasure welled inside him at her reaction. So he wasn’t the only one feeling the burn of instant attraction.

  She was taller than her internet photograph let on. Her skin glowed with youth, the pink hue to her cheeks matching the sexy tint of her full lips. Her body was a blend of slender and curves, her hips deliciously arched beneath a trim waist that her blazer couldn’t hide. She had good genetics to thank for her beauty, but the intelligence glimmering in those blue-green eyes? That was uniquely hers, and he was aching to expose her layers and get to the heart of what made Sarah Jones tick.


  She pulled her hand back, never breaking eye contact with him. Just as their fingertips met, he curled his and lightly brought his fingers together around hers, trapping hers and delaying their contact.

  “Thank you, Florence. That will be all.”

  He relaxed his grip, and her hand fell slowly away. With a nod, Florence turned on one heel and walked briskly away. As the door closed behind the woman’s exit, Sarah let out a breath and crossed her hands over her middle. A spark of nervousness played over her features. He couldn’t have that.

  “Would you like something to drink, Ms. Jones? Sparkling water? Tea? Coffee, perhaps.”

  She looked slightly taken aback that he’d be offering her refreshments of his own accord. She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “Coffee would be great. It was a long flight.”

  William gestured her toward his desk to a pair of antique wingback chairs. “Please, have a seat while I fetch your refreshment. And then we can get started.”

  Moving to the pod-style coffee maker on his credenza, William could almost feel the anticipation rolling off her as he made two cups. Or maybe, it was him. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Black, please.”

  He turned with a mug in each hand. “Excellent. Black coffee is the fuel of great minds; cream and sugar are for those who sleep past five.” He handed her a mug, enjoying her smile of thanks. “Something my father used to say.”

  Her smile brightened. “Based on that sentiment alone, I gather he was a very efficient and accomplished man.”

  William ignored the desire to sit beside her, instead moving around his desk and lowering into his chair. “Yes.”

  “It seems his ambition and drive were heartily passed on, considering the undertaking of your clean water initiative.”

  So, they were going to dive right in, as it were. Good. Let them get the interview over with so they could move on to other things. Like dinner…and dessert. William shifted in his chair, telling himself he was getting comfortable, but the truth was that he was filled with wicked tension that could only be a visceral reaction to the woman across from him. When had he ever felt edgy and overwhelmed by instant attraction like this? Never. His eyes drew to her hands, namely her left, which was devoid of a ring. She took a small sip of her coffee and set the mug down on a coaster on his desk. Opening the top of her canvas bag, she withdrew a notepad and pen. Her movements were feminine and graceful, and he had to pull himself to look away.