Robyn Donald - The Royal Baby Bargain

‘So why did you send him to a child-care centre with constantly changing workers, most of them almost untrained?’

Goaded, she retorted, ‘I needed the money, and it was only for half of each day.’

He shrugged dismissively, the swift movement reminding her of his Latin heritage. ‘A nanny would provide more stability, and I can certainly make sure he never has to worry about feeling cold in winter.’

Abby stared at him, defiance crumbling under guilt and fear. She took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Of course, you know so much about small boys.’

‘I was one once.’

She snorted. ‘I don’t believe that. You were born six feet four tall and breathing fire.’

Amazingly, his hard mouth quirked. ‘If so, my mother never told me.’ The momentary amusement disappeared instantly, replaced by chilling hauteur. ‘Stop fencing. I asked you before—how much do you want to get out of his life?’

‘And I told you that I won’t sell him,’ she retorted furiously.

A faint stain of colour along his high, magnificent cheekbones told her she’d hit a nerve. The raw note in his voice hardened into intimidating confidence. ‘I’m not buying the child—I’m buying you off.’

His narrowed gaze sent shivers of sensation along every nerve in her body. Her breath stopped in her throat, and something stark and merciless and fierce linked them for a charged moment, until she saw the glint of satisfaction in his cold eyes.

He knew, she thought in wretched embarrassment. Of course he did—he’d been chased by women since his teens; what he knew about them would probably fill an encyclopaedia. He certainly realised her treacherous body had its own agenda, and it amused him to see her struggle against it.

Abby took an involuntary step backwards—a mistake, she realised instantly, and tried to cover it with a swift, proud retort. ‘You don’t have enough money—no one in the whole wide world has enough money—to buy Michael from me, so forget about it right now.’

His broad shoulders moved in a slight shrug that told her just how much this meant to him: nothing. ‘Judging by all accounts you have done a good job with the boy. I’m offering some recompense.’

She stated, ‘I’m not going to abandon him to a loveless life.’ And wished she’d put it some other way because it sounded so prissy.

‘I intend to love him.’ His tone was glacial, as though she’d forced some shameful secret from him.

She said urgently, ‘You can’t fake emotion. It doesn’t work like that. You, of all people, should know. Gemma said that you and she had been taught in a hard school that love is a weakness.’

‘Trust Gemma to pile on the melodrama. Yes, my father was notoriously besotted with his second wife, and losing her to another man shattered him. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to love a child.’

Abby made a swift, rapidly controlled gesture, then froze as the quiet hum of an expensive engine broke into the tense silence.

The prince said crisply, ‘It’s a hire car. I’m going to the airport in Queenstown and my nephew is coming with me. Try to stop me, and I’ll call the police.’

His tone—level, impervious, relentless—echoed in the silent room. The car drew up outside the house and the driver switched off the engine, although Abby could see the round circles of the headlights through the curtains.

Bitter pain stopped any words from escaping her lips. Wringing her hands together in futile agony, she could only look pleadingly at Caelan’s inflexible face.

He glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hands and appeared to come to some decision. ‘All right. I believe that it would be exceedingly bad to put him through the trauma of waking up and finding you gone.’ He lifted his head to pin her with cool detachment. ‘You can come with us, but on my terms.’

Elusive, defiant hope flickered like a candle in a draught. Tautly she demanded, ‘Which are?’

‘That you accept I’ve got a right to know my nephew.’

Too afraid to be cautious, she accepted bitter defeat. ‘I—yes.’ Indeed, it had always worried her that Michael was being deprived of what was left of his family.

Caelan nodded. ‘We can negotiate everything else when you’re a little less emotional,’ he said, his mouth compressing into a straight line. When she didn’t answer or move he said, ‘Make up your mind, Abby. Are you coming with me, or staying here?’

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