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He nearly smiled at the something green in her teeth. She was funny. All these years he’d thought he’d known her, but he hadn’t. He’d known of her, and then he’d projected onto her, but he’d gotten her wrong.
She wasn’t stiff and dramatic and petulant. She was emotional, but she was also smart, warm, with a mischievous streak running through her.
“I have a feeling you were a handful as a little girl,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “I must have been. Until I was thirteen I thought my name was Emmeline-get-in-here-you’re-in-trouble-d’Arcy.”
Makin laughed softly, even as his chest suddenly ached. She was funny. And sweet. And really lovely. Heartbreakingly lovely and he didn’t know why he’d never seen it before.
Was it because she was so pretty? Was it because she looked like a princess that he had assumed the worst?
“I’m glad I had the chance to spend the past few days with you,” he said. “When you get past the body guards and ladies-in-waiting and multitude of assistants, you’re quite likable.”
She choked on a laugh. “Careful. Don’t be too nice. I might think we were friends.”
It crossed his mind that she could probably use a friend. He was beginning to understand there wasn’t anyone in her life to protect her. It was wrong. “So tell me, how will it go once we reach your home?”
The warmth faded from her eyes. “It won’t be pleasant. There will be hard things said, particularly from my mother.”
“She has a temper?”
“She does. She can be … hurtful.”
“Just remember, sticks and stones might break your bones…”
“… but words will never hurt me.” She finished the children’s rhyme, and her voice trailed off. She smiled a little less steadily. “It’ll be fine.”
That smile nearly pushed him over the edge.
He understood then that it wasn’t going to be fine. It wouldn’t be fine at all.
He looked away again, out the window at the elegant gray eighteenth-century buildings lining the square. It was raining, just a light drizzle, but the gray clouds made the afternoon feel dark and gloomy. The only color on the streets were the rows of trees leading to the adjacent park, lushly green with new spring growth.
“It seems bad now,” he said, aware that he was in danger of becoming too involved, caring too much. He needed to step back. Put some distance between him and Emmeline. He was merely bringing her home, returning her safely to her family. “But this will pass. In fact this time tomorrow you could have a whole new set of problems.”
“Oh, I hope not,” she answered with a cool, hollow laugh as the palace gates loomed before them. “I think I have enough on my plate. Don’t you?”
Entering the palace salon where her parents waited was like walking into a minefield, Emmeline thought several minutes later. She hadn’t even walked all the way through the salon doors before her mother exploded in anger.
“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?” Queen Claire d’Arcy was on her feet in an instant, her voice a sharp ricochet of sound. “Or was your intention to humiliate us?”
“Absolutely not,” Emmeline answered firmly, forcing herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, closing the gap between them. In a dim part of her brain she knew that Makin was behind her but he was the least of her worries now. “I would never want to humiliate you—”
“But you did! Zale Patek didn’t give us a specific reason why he felt it necessary to break off the engagement, only that he was concerned about a lack of compatibility. Compatibility,” the queen repeated bitterly. “What does that even mean?”
“He was merely being polite. The fault is mine.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Emmeline ignored the jab. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you—”
“When haven’t you?”
“—and will try to make amends.”
“Good. At least we agree on something. You are to return to Raguva immediately and beg His Highness for forgiveness. Do whatever it is you must do, but do not return without his ring on your finger—”
“I can’t.”
“Emmeline, it’s not an option. It’s your duty to marry him. Your duty to provide heirs for him—”
“I can’t, Mother. I’m already pregnant.”
The grand salon, coolly elegant in white and gold, went strangely silent. For a moment there was no sound, no motion, and then her mother sank into her chair by her father’s side.
Finally her mother’s head tipped. “What did you just say, Emmeline?”
Emmeline glanced at her father, who, so far, hadn’t said a word. True to form he sat silent and grim, letting her mother do all the talking. “I … I’m…” She drew a deep breath. “…nearly eight weeks pregnant.”
“Please tell me I heard you wrong.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I wish I could.” Emmeline’s voice sounded faint to her own ears.
“And of course it’s not Zale Patek’s.”
“No.”
“Slut.”
Emmeline heard Makin hiss a breath, but she didn’t even flinch. She’d expected this. Had known it wouldn’t be pleasant. And it wasn’t.
“How dare you?” Claire choked on the words. “You ungrateful girl! How dare you throw every good thing we have done for you back in our faces?”
Emmeline felt rather than heard Makin move to her side. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? You ruin your chances, you ruin us, and you’re sorry?”
Emmeline lifted her chin, determined to stay calm, determined to remain strong. Tears would serve no purpose, just make her look weak and emotional. Instead she’d accept the consequences, no matter how painful. It’d been her decision to sleep with Alejandro. Now she had to deal with the repercussions. “Yes. And while this is the last thing I wanted to happen, it has, and I’m going to take responsibility.”
“And may I ask who the father is? Or is that secret knowledge?”
Emmeline’s lips parted but Makin spoke first.
“I am,” he said clearly, his deep voice firm.
Emmeline turned to face him, jaw dropping in shock, but he didn’t even look at her. He was staring straight at her mother, a snarl twisting his lips. “I am,” he repeated fiercely, “and I would like a little bit of respect, please.”
Emmeline’s legs turned to jelly, even as her head spun. She reached for Makin. “What are you doing?” she choked, as his fingers curled around hers.
“Making this right,” he growled.
She shook her head frantically. “It won’t… it won’t, trust me.”
“No. It’s time you trusted me.” And then with a small, hard smile in her parents’ direction, he walked Emmeline out and closed the doors behind him.
In the hall Emmeline’s legs threatened to give out. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” she said, holding his arm tightly.
“Yes.” He frowned at her. “You’re feeling faint, aren’t you?”
“A little.”
He swore beneath his breath and swung her into his arms. “I should not have brought you back!”
“But you did. Now, put me down. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
He ignored her, exiting the hall for the grand foyer with the blue-painted dome, and began to climb the stairs two at a time.
“Makin, please. I can walk.”
“Not going to have you faint and risk having you, or the baby, hurt,” he answered, continuing up the marble steps with single-minded focus. “Isn’t your room up here somewhere?”
“On the second floor, yes. But I won’t faint—”
“Good.” He shifted her weight in his arms as he reached the top stair. “Right or left?”
She peeked over his shoulder, saw the familiar hall with ivory-painted woodwork, gleaming chandeliers overhead and the pale gold-and-ivory carpet runner underfoot. “Right. But I can walk—”
“Fantastic. Which room?”
“That one,” she said, nodding at a closed door. “And you didn’t need to claim the baby. I was going to tell them the truth.”
“The truth?” he repeated, leaning down to turn the knob and push the door open, giving her a whiff of his subtle spicy cologne, the scent that always made her insides curl.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly, growing warm and warmer. “It’s what you told me to do.”
“Until I saw your mother in action and thought she was the devil.”
“Makin.”
“I did. I still do.” He crossed the bedroom floor with the same long strides that had eaten up the stairs and hall. “No wonder Alejandro seemed like an attractive option. Your mother is terrifying!”
“She didn’t terrify you.”
His arms tightened around her. “No. But she did make me angry.”
Emmeline inhaled sharply as he held her even closer to his chest. His body was muscular and hard. His spicy fragrance teased her senses and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear. Alejandro had been cold in bed. She didn’t think Makin would be cold. She didn’t think he’d be detached or indifferent, either.
The thought of Makin in bed with her, naked next to her, was both thrilling and terrifying. He was beyond gorgeous, but too big … too strong … too overwhelming in every way.
She was glad when he placed her on the bed and she scooted to the middle to try to clear her head.
He gazed down at her, his arms crossing over his chest, emphasizing the width of his rib cage. “You’re an adult, Emmeline. You don’t owe them your soul.”
“My mother thinks I do.”
“I noticed.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s why I spoke up. She wanted a name, so I gave her one.”
“But that’s just going to make things worse, Makin. She’s going to expect you to provide for the baby—”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t. It’s my baby and I’m responsible. Not you.”
His strong jaw firmed in protest, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked quite so powerful and primitive and male.
“And so what do you want me to do, Emmeline? Just leave you here with them? Allow your parents to ride roughshod over you?”
“I can manage them.”
“Just like you did in the salon?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks and she jerked her chin up. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Have you lost your mind? That was horrendous. A bloodbath. If it had been your father speaking I probably would have punched him.”
“Makin!”
“I’m serious.”
“I appreciate your support, I do, but telling them you’re the baby’s father isn’t the way. We have to go tell them the truth before it’s too late.” Her voice broke and a tendril of pale hair slipped from her chignon to tumble against her cheek. “And please understand that while I appreciate you speaking up for me, it’s time I stood on my own two feet—”
“So what do you want me to do?” he interrupted. “Stand by and do nothing? Allow your mother to attack you? Destroy you?”
Her heart suddenly ached. Hot tears filled her eyes. “Sticks and stones, Makin, remember?”
He held her gaze for an endless span of time. “But the rhyme has it wrong. Words can hurt. They were crushing you.”
For a second she couldn’t breathe: her chest on fire, her heart in pain. “She doesn’t really mean it,” she whispered. “It sounds worse than it is. Mother just has a temper.”
“She crossed the line, Emmeline. She said too much.”
“She did. But she’ll calm down and feel bad later. She eventually always apologizes.’”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Her shoulders twisted. “I know. But this is how it’s always been and I’m not going to change her now.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
