‘That was my father—not me.’
‘Yes, but you had become the Lycander heir. Are you saying your father wouldn’t have fought for custody of his grandson? Even if you’d wanted to, how could you have stopped him? More to the point, would you have cared enough to try?’
The words hit him like bullets. She hadn’t believed he would fight for the well-being of their child. She’d thought he would stand back and watch Alphonse wrest his son away.
He shook his head. Do you blame her? asked a small voice. He’d been the Playboy Prince—he’d worked hard, played harder, and made it clear he had no wish for any emotional responsibilities.
‘I would never have let my father take our child from you.’ He knew first-hand what it felt like to grow up without a mother. All the Lycander children did.
‘I couldn’t take that risk. Plus, you didn’t want to be a father—you’d made it more than clear that you had no wish for a relationship or a child.’
‘Neither did you.’
His voice was even, non-accusatory, but she bristled anyway, tawny eyes flashing lasers.
‘I changed.’
‘But you didn’t give me the chance to. Not at any point in the past two years. Even if you could justify your deceit to yourself when my father was alive, you could have told me after his death.’
His father’s death had unleashed a fresh tumult of emotion to close down. He’d had to accept that he would now never forge a relationship with the man who had constantly put him down—the man who had never forgiven him for his mother’s actions. And on a practical level it had pitchforked him into the nightmare scenario of ascension to the throne.
But none of that explained her continued deceit.
‘I read the papers, Frederick. You have had enough to contend with in the past year to keep your throne—the revelation of a love-child with me would have finished you off. You were practically engaged to Lady Kaitlin.’
‘So you want my gratitude for keeping my child a secret? You’ve persuaded yourself that you did it for me? Is that how you sleep at night?’
‘I sleep fine at night. I did what I thought was right. I didn’t want Amil to grow up knowing that he had been the reason his father lost his throne, or lost the woman he loved. That is too big a burden for any child.’
The words were rounded with utter certainty.
‘That was not your decision to make. At any point. Regardless of the circumstances, you should have come to me as soon as you knew you were pregnant. Nothing should have stopped you. Not Axel, not my father, not Kaitlin—nothing. You have deprived him of his father.’
‘I chose depriving him of his father over depriving him of his mother.’ Her arms dropped to her sides and a sudden weariness slumped her shoulders. ‘We can argue about this for ever—I did what I thought was best. For Amil.’
‘And you.’
‘If you like. But in this case the two were synonymous. He needs me.’
‘I get that.’
He’d have settled for any mother—had lived in hope that one of the series of stepmothers would give a damn. Until he’d worked out there was little point getting attached, as his father quite simply got rid of each and every one.
‘But Amil also needs his father. That would be me.’
‘I accept that you are his father.’
Although she didn’t look happy about it, her eyes were full of wariness.
‘But whether he needs you or not depends on what you are offering him. If that isn’t good for him then he doesn’t need you. It makes no odds whether you are his father or not. The whole “blood is thicker than water” idea sucks.’
No argument there. ‘I will be part of Amil’s life.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s easy.’
‘Those are words. Words are meaningless. Exactly how would it work? You’ll disguise yourself every so often and sneak over here to see him on “unofficial business” masked by your charity work? Or will you announce to your people that you have a love-child?’
Before he could answer there was a knock at the door and they both stilled.
‘It’s my grandmother...with Amil.’ Panic touched her expression and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t want my grandmother to know until we’ve worked out what to do.’
Frederick searched for words, tried to think, but the enormity of the moment had eclipsed his ability to rationalise. Instead fear came to the podium—he had a child, a son, and he was about to meet him.
What would he feel when he saw Amil?
The fear tasted ashen—what if he felt nothing?
What if he was like his mother and there was no instinctive love, merely an indifference that bordered on dislike? Or like his father, who had treated his sons as possessions, chess pieces in his petty power games?
If so, then he’d fake it—no matter what he did or didn’t feel, he’d fake love until it became real.
He hauled in a deep breath and focused on Sunita’s face. ‘I’ll leave as soon as you let them in. Ask your grandmother to look after Amil tonight. Then I’ll come back and we can finish this discussion.’
Sunita nodded agreement and stepped forward.
His heart threatened to leave his ribcage and moisture sheened his neck as she pulled the door open.
A fleeting impression registered, of a tall, slender woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun, clad in a shimmering green and red sari, and then his gaze snagged on the little boy in her arms. Raven curls, chubby legs, a goofy smile for his mother.
Mine. My son.
Emotion slammed into him—so hard he almost recoiled and had to concentrate to stay steady. Fight or flight kicked in—half of him wanted to turn and run in sheer terror, the other half wanted to step forward and take his son, shield him from all and any harm.
‘Nanni, this is an old friend of mine who’s dropped in.’
‘Good to meet you.’ Somehow Frederick kept his voice even, forced himself to meet the older woman’s alert gaze. He saw the small frown start to form on her brow and turned back to Sunita. ‘It was great to see you again, Sunita. ’Til later.’
A last glance at his son—his son—and he walked away.
* * *
Sunita scooped Amil up and buried herself in his warmth and his scent. She held him so close that he wriggled in protest, so she lowered him to the ground and he crawled towards his play mat.
‘Thank you for looking after him.’
‘I enjoyed it immensely. And thank you, Sunita, for allowing me to be part of Amil’s life. And yours.’
‘Stop! I have told you—you don’t need to thank me.’
Yet every time she did.
‘Yes, I do. I was neither a good mother nor a good grandmother. You have given me a chance of redemption, and I appreciate that with all my heart.’
‘We’ve been through this, Nanni; the past is the past and we’re only looking forward.’
Her grandmother’s marriage had been deeply unhappy—her husband had been an autocrat who had controlled every aspect of his family’s life with an iron hand. When Sunita’s mother had fallen pregnant by a British