Robyn Donald - The Royal House of Niroli - Innocent Mistresses - Expecting His Royal Baby / The Prince's Forbidden Virgin

But it was more than physical contact that she resented, much more. It was the intimacy of shared conversation and getting to know each other that tore at her heart. But she had to face facts. She didn’t stand a chance with Nico, she never had. And if he hadn’t wanted her three months ago he would hardly want her now. And when she told him about the baby … What would he think when he compared the mother of his child to Princess Anastasia?

By the time she had dredged up every negative thought and examined it twice, Carrie was close to tears. But as crying wouldn’t get her anywhere she pulled out her purse and paid the stallholder for a simple summer dress and a pair of plastic flip-flops instead.

Wasn’t that the perfect outfit for her meeting with Nico at the palace? Carrie reflected wryly. On impulse she added some new underwear to her purchases. Why not? No one would see the frivolous garments, but she would know they were there. It was a small defiance, but sometimes she found small things the most effective.

Having showered and changed into her new outfit, Carrie splashed cold water onto her face and then tied her hair back. By the time she left the guest-house the temperature was soaring and even the stone beneath her feet seemed to radiate heat, which didn’t bode well for her plastic sandals.

She hadn’t realised how far she would have to walk, or that it would all be uphill. She hadn’t thought about the shops closing in the afternoon, or the fact that they wouldn’t open again until seven that same evening. And she had forgotten her sunglasses and her sun lotion in her rush to fly to Niroli. In fact, she had forgotten all the essentials. It was unlike her to be so reckless and impetuous, but her life had never collided with Nico’s before.

Turning the corner, she frowned with concern seeing how many people were waiting to take the tour of the old city. The queue snaked round another corner out of sight, and she was already exhausted, plus she had developed blisters between her toes where the plastic thong of the flip-flops had rubbed her. Looking down, she saw her feet were bleeding.

Pausing in the shade next to one of the palace control posts, Carrie watched the vehicles driving in and out. There was a guard seated behind a glass window in a small command station, and the palace courtyard was just a tantalising few steps away. Going up to the window, she tapped on it politely.

Thanks to the young shop assistant she knew all about the state banquet, and when the officer looked up she told him that she was one of the casual staff hired for that evening to work in the kitchen.

Consulting his list, the officer shook his head.

‘I’m not there?’ Carrie pretended dismay. ‘But I must be … they’re expecting me.’

‘This is the wrong entrance,’ the man told her. ‘Waiting staff must go round the back.’ He tipped his chin.

‘What if they don’t have my name there, either?’ Carrie pressed, adding a plaintive note to her voice. Maybe she reminded the guard of his sister, or some other female he knew, because to her relief the guard’s manner changed towards her.

‘All right.’ He gave her a reassuring wink. ‘I’ll call them and tell them to expect you.’

‘Oh, would you? That’s really kind of you. Thank you so much.’ She dropped her gaze and assumed a meek expression, waiting on tenterhooks for the guard to lift his receiver and speak to his opposite number on the other gate.

Without looking at her he waved her on….

She was inside the palace! Steeling herself to inquisitive eyes, Carrie walked quickly through the servants’ door, her heart thundering with apprehension.

‘La cucina?’ she said when anyone stared directly at her. Her knowledge of Italian was limited to the name of the Italian restaurant close to her aunt’s house, which fortunately had been called La Cucina Italia, or The Italian Kitchen.

Everyone was in such a hurry to get to their appointed place no one thought to question her, or notice when she slipped away. Darting up a stone staircase, Carrie had no idea where she was heading, only that reason told her the private apartments of the royal family would be above the servants’ quarters.

This was madness, she decided, pausing on the stairwell to shed her shoes. She would have to chance her luck and take the next door she found….

Stepping cautiously through an arched doorway, Carrie lingered a moment on the plush carpet to get her bearings. She was in a long and splendid corridor where grizzled Fierezza ancestors stared down sternly from the walls. There was a faint aroma of beeswax and lavender and hangings were ruby-coloured silk.

This was Nico’s home, Carrie reminded herself, shivering as she looked around. It was imperial splendour on the grandest scale, but it was cold and unwelcoming … But Nico was here somewhere, and now all she had to do was find him.

He had to get some air. The artificial atmosphere in the air-conditioned palace was getting to him. But above that, he was in a mood so black he wouldn’t inflict it on anyone, not even his grandfather the king, who was largely responsible for it.

King Giorgio was ninety years old, a fact Nico couldn’t ignore. It was the only reason he hadn’t made his views clear in his usual blunt fashion. His grandfather had proved himself shrewd enough and hard enough to hold the throne and guide Niroli into the twenty-first century, but that didn’t give him licence to construct a future for his heirs. Nico was prepared to accommodate reasonable requests, but he would not allow his grandfather to direct his life….

Increasing the pace of his stride, he took a short cut through the covered walkway leading to the private apartments. He grew angrier as he reviewed his conversation with the king. His grandfather had offered him the kingdom of Niroli as if it were the winning ticket in a lottery. Nico Fierezza, King of Niroli? He had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. The idea of living at court had never appealed to him. He would rather take a swim in a sea of sharks than become the ruler of a kingdom surrounded by sycophants.

His grandfather’s offer had only proved the king didn’t know him at all. What was he supposed to do? Land on the island, grab a crown and cheer? He had a life and people who depended on him away from Niroli. There wasn’t a chance he was going to leave the team who worked with him in the lurch in order to accept the crown.

But his grandfather was old and ailing, and he couldn’t turn his dearest wish down flat. And so he had agreed to withhold his final answer for a day or two, though his decision was already made. He would find a way to break the news gently to his grandfather in spite of the fact that delay went against everything he believed in.

And then there was the Princess Anastasia, the lure by which his grandfather had thought to tempt him to take the throne. She was beautiful enough, but not for him. Nico preferred his women without adornment, and his sense of humour had suffered a severe malfunction when he had found himself tricked into a lunch date with the overdressed princess. As gaudy as the pennants flying in her honour, Princess Anastasia was about as subtle in her intentions towards him as a bitch in heat.

And now there was a state dinner to sit through, which was also being held in her honour. To soften the harder blow yet to come he had agreed with his grandfather that he would partner the princess, and she was waiting for him now, no doubt sporting half a ton of diamonds.

He wasn’t exactly dressed down, himself, Nico conceded, easing his neck beneath the stiff winged collar. A state dinner required him to wear full regalia, and so he was wearing the official uniform he kept at the palace, complete with the sash that marked him out as a grandson of the king. The formality irked him, but it wouldn’t hurt him to follow tradition for one night.