Their Royal Baby Gift Read online

  Her tears were for the realisation that she would never again have the chance to experience this intense fulfilment with him.

  No regrets, she fiercely reminded herself. Perhaps it was so perfect because it was only for the one night.

  Insomnia had plagued her since her older brother’s return. She was too wired from worry about whether the tattered remnants of their once happy family could be woven into something new and strong. But now, replete, she drifted towards a deep sleep with her rescuer’s—Edward’s—arm slung across her.

  * * *

  When she awoke it was well past midnight, according to the clock glowing on the nightstand. The myriad lights of Singapore twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. For a moment she didn’t know where she was and looked around the room in momentary panic. Then she remembered and smiled. A beautiful man slept next to her on his back, the linen sheet rumpled over his hips. Edward—if that was indeed his name. His breathing was deep and even, his face heartbreakingly handsome in repose, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. She ached to kiss him lightly on his lips, thank him, whisper her goodbye.

  But she couldn’t risk waking him. The awkwardness that would surely follow would be unbearable. She’d never done this before. Perhaps there was an etiquette to be followed after a one-night stand with a stranger. If so, she hadn’t read the rule book. The best thing she could think of to do was to leave without any fuss. They’d agreed on one night. He’d had his reasons for setting the limit; she’d had hers for accepting it. It had been the most glorious one night. In fact, every moment with him had been memorable, from when he’d fished her out of the pool, to eating dim sum, to sharing passion like she’d never known existed.

  The thawing of the Ice Queen.

  She was grateful to him more than he could know. No regrets.

  She slid as silently as she could to the edge of the bed. He murmured something in his sleep, in a language she didn’t understand. She froze. But then his breathing returned to the steady rhythm of a deep sleep.

  She stepped over the discarded velvet robe, his clothes tossed nearby. Then tiptoed to the door of his bedroom. She turned back just the once to blow him the most silent of kisses. Then crept away.

  Hastily, as silently as she could, she opened the boutique bag to find an elegant straw-coloured linen dress that bore the label of a famous Italian designer. It was a perfect fit and fell modestly below the knee, which was a good thing as she was without underwear. There was a pair of designer open-back sandals in the bag too. They were a little on the small side, but she was grateful for them. She would slip them on once she was out of the suite and headed down to the hotel lobby. Then she’d catch a taxi back to her own hotel.

  Sally found the bathroom and stuffed her own wet clothes and shoes into a hotel laundry bag to take with her. Inside her small handbag, she heard her phone ping with a message. She stilled, fearful the sound would wake her lover. But there was no sound from Edward’s bedroom.

  Carefully, she reached for the phone and found several missed messages from her twin, Jay. She would call him later, when she could speak coherently. The unanswered calls could be blamed on the time zones. Jay would understand. She and her twin were opposites in personality, he the outgoing one people flocked to, she the more introverted one who found it difficult to trust people enough to open up to them. Jay was the sunshine to her shadow. But they’d always been on the same wavelength in that special way that twins, even fraternal ones, could be.

  But she wouldn’t tell anyone, even Jay, about Edward. Or indeed anything that had happened after she’d fallen into the pool. Edward would remain her private secret to hug to herself. No one would ever know about the night where she had scaled the peaks of sensual ecstasy with a handsome stranger.

  * * *

  Edward awoke at dawn to a cold, empty bed. Immediately he realised he was alone and was overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss. He reached out a hand to find sheets still with a hint of her warmth, her scent.

  Sally.

  He suspected she was long gone. But he threw himself out of bed to check the rest of the suite. The only trace of her ever having been there was the carefully folded tissue paper sitting next to the empty boutique bag. Nothing in her bathroom save the lingering scent of the body wash she’d used. He breathed it in, but it did nothing to ease his sense of loss. He cradled his head in his hands and groaned.

  Why had he let her go?

  The answer came to him with stark clarity, almost as if it were his father the King intoning the words.

  Because of your duty to the throne and your people.

  She had done him a favour by slipping away in the dark. Her actions had spared him—and her—the awkwardness of a morning-after encounter. He could give no glib promises that he could keep in touch or they would meet again. The truth was he was destined to marry in a loveless political union.

  He had only the memories of an amazing woman with whom he’d shared unforgettable lovemaking and a connection that went so much deeper than the sexual. That kind of connection was rare. Instinct told him that, if nurtured, what he had shared with her could grow into something profound. But he could never see that connection flourish. The one night was all he could ever have with her.

  Sally. It was a common enough English name. He could track her down if he was so inclined. Access to the hotel’s CCTV cameras would be easy—after all his family owned this hotel. He could note the licence plate of the taxi she would no doubt have taken. Then trace it to her hotel. But that would put him in no less of an untenable position. He should be grateful for that brief time he had shared with her.

  Still, he was haunted by the melancholic thought that he had let go something—someone—more precious than the egg-sized rubies and emeralds in the ceremonial crown that would one day be placed on his head when he was crowned King.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Five weeks later

  SALLY HAD FLOWN to Mumbai last week, Dubai the week before and before that made a quick trip to Tokyo for a briefing on the restoration of a small but significant castle. In between trips she’d been flat out working in London. Jet lag was piling up on jet lag with never a chance to get over it. Now early December saw her in Singapore again, five weeks after her first visit, having flown eight hours direct from Japan’s Narita Airport after a brief site visit to the castle. She’d arrived very late the previous night and hadn’t been able to sleep either on the plane or at her destination. No wonder she was so exhausted.

  The fatigue was overwhelming, bringing with it nausea and insomnia worse than she had ever suffered. She threw herself back on her hotel bed in a desperate effort to get some rest before her lunchtime meeting. It wasn’t the historic hotel she’d stayed in last visit. Nor was it the sky-high hotel with the rooftop garden where she had spent the most memorable night of her life. Memorable in the true sense of the word—she had been unable to forget the man who’d called himself Edward.

  It hadn’t been as easy as she’d so blithely anticipated to put that night behind her. Not just the sensational lovemaking but also how much she’d enjoyed his company—in and out of bed. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t think about him. She couldn’t count the number of times her heart had jolted when she’d seen a tall Asian man on the streets of London, only to find up close he looked nothing like her one-time lover.

  She’d felt a connection with Edward like she’d never felt before and couldn’t help but wish she’d been able to explore it. But she’d gone into their encounter with eyes open. One night. That was the agreement. And she didn’t regret it, not for a moment. Letting go of her strict self-control, unleashing her inhibitions, learning what intense pleasure lovemaking could bring when you were with the right person, had done her good. Now she knew to what heights the Ice Queen could soar.

  Trouble was, how could another man ever live up to him?

  No wonder she couldn’t forget him.

  She adjusted the pillow and forced herself to focus on work, the reason she was here again in Singapore. When she’d got home from her first trip to Singapore, she’d asked for a meeting in the boardroom with her brothers Jay and Hugo. The idea for the urban roof garden had been Hugo’s. In a spirited discussion, Sally had expressed her concerns about the practicality of such a venture. ‘Lush green outdoor roof gardens are all very well in a tropical climate like Singapore,’ she’d said. ‘But how successful would something on that scale be in the middle of an English winter? I know there are such gardens in London, but we want something unique. Palm trees and exotic blooms simply don’t feel right for the Harrington brand and our relaunch. I propose something different.’

  Hugo had protested. She’d learned her older brother had strong views; he was now the owner of a very successful chain of boutique hotels in the United States. He was used to his opinions being taken as law.

  ‘Let me outline my alternative,’ she’d said, using every skill she’d learned in dealing with difficult clients in her own business. ‘I didn’t just visit rooftop gardens when I was in Singapore. I also saw the most amazing climate-controlled indoor gardens. The Changi Airport has an indoor forest complete with indoor waterfall. Wouldn’t an enclosed garden be a better option in our climate? Why not an indoor winter wonderland? A splendid mini forest with fir trees, winter berry shrubs, snow and a skating rink that looks like a frozen lake. It would be perfect for an English Christmas. And what an incredible space to hold our Christmas Eve launch party for the restored Harrington Park.’

  Hugo had frowned while Jay had given her an encouraging thumbs-up from behind his brother’s back. ‘Where would you put such a garden?’ Hugo had said.

  ‘The hotel roof would need an incredible amount of reinforcement that’s simply not possible in our timeframe. The large covered courtyard to the north of the entrance foyer is essentially unused, and the gardens have been neglected. Our winter wonderland, enclosed with glass walls and roof, could rejuvenate that under-utilised space. After the holiday season we could convert it to a beautiful conservatory with glamorous outdoor furniture and potted plants appropriate to the season. Then bring back the winter garden the following year as a highlight of the Harrington Park holiday calendar.’

  She’d paused, out of breath from the effort of injecting a high level of enthusiasm to her proposal.

  ‘It’s worth considering,’ Hugo had said slowly.

  ‘Oh, and another thing,’ she’d said, her voice breaking a little. ‘The winter garden could be a memorial to our parents. Daddy loved Christmas and, if you remember, winter was Mummy’s favourite season.’

  ‘Great idea,’ Jay had said.

  Hugo had blanched and Sally had clenched her fists under the table. Had she gone too far with her idea for the memorial? All those years ago, Hugo had taken off to America and abandoned his mother and siblings. However, Hugo seemed to believe they had abandoned him. He was bitter about their mother; Sally couldn’t help but be defensive on her behalf. Yet in Sally’s dealings so far with her newfound brother she’d found him to be scrupulously fair.

  On that first visit to Singapore she’d met with a leading Singapore landscape architect, Oscar Yeo, responsible for some of the indoor gardens that had so impressed her. He had referred her to his associated London office, who also had expertise in working with artificial snow. With their expert input she had come up with a detailed timeline for the winter wonderland and had been able to slide it across the table to Hugo.

  Her computer-assisted drawings had shown him exactly how it would look. Hugo had almost immediately approved her plan. The landscape architects had been engaged and a project manager appointed. Now, five weeks later, thanks to a team of experienced professionals who’d pulled out all the stops, work was well under way on the winter garden.

  But there had been a few hiccups that threatened to delay completion by Christmas Eve. They had to meet that deadline. She’d always found it better to deal face to face with such problems rather than relying on phone calls and emails. Hence her flight to Singapore and her scheduled lunchtime meeting with Oscar Yeo. There was also something nagging at her about the plan, a detail that she had perhaps overlooked, but she couldn’t think quite what it might be.

  Her exhaustion was bone-deep. But, her mind racing, Sally found it impossible to rest. She got up from the bed, too quickly it seemed, as she suddenly felt overwhelmed by dizziness. She clutched onto the bedhead for support and waited until the room stopped spinning around her. As she took a deep breath to steady herself, she was hit by a sudden rush of nausea so urgent she barely made it to the bathroom on time. The bout left her feeling weak and shaky. Food poisoning. Was it something she’d eaten on the plane? Or maybe she’d caught a horrid stomach flu? Great. Just what she didn’t need right now with such a busy schedule. She was booked to fly home to London the following day.

  After a long shower, she felt a little better. The hotel was on Orchard Road, Singapore’s famous shopping strip. There was an underground mall beneath the hotel. She’d head down and get some anti-nausea medication from the pharmacy. It was important to be on top of things for the meeting with the landscape architect.

  From her suitcase she pulled out a full-skirted sundress she hadn’t worn since her last trip here in early November. Surprisingly, it was too tight across the bust. It must have shrunk, although it had been carefully laundered. She tried a button-through shirt and a skirt. Again, too tight. She swore under her breath. How had this happened? It wasn’t the clothes; it was her. She didn’t have large breasts but suddenly they seemed a size larger. How could that be?

  She sat down rather too quickly in the hotel armchair. Swollen, tender breasts. Nausea and fatigue. It couldn’t be. No. She couldn’t possibly be pregnant. Impossible. There had only been that time with Edward. She wiped her hand across her suddenly damp forehead. Just one time was enough to get pregnant—and there had been more than one time. She was on the pill. She’d told him that when he’d mentioned protection. But the pill she was on had to be taken at the same time every day and never missed. With her erratic timetable, regularly crossing time zones and out of routine, it would be easy enough to miss a pill or two.

  With hands that weren’t steady she threw on a light embroidered kaftan—at least that fitted—and headed down to the pharmacy. Her thoughts were running away too fast. Methodical as she was, she bought three different types of pregnancy testing kit. They would prove she wasn’t pregnant.

  All three of the testers indicated that she was, indeed, pregnant. She stared, stunned, at the results. The testers could be faulty. Did the pharmacist have any other brands she could try? But deep in her heart she knew three testers were a good enough sample.

  She was pregnant.

  About five weeks pregnant, she thought as she frantically counted back to the glorious night with Edward. So much for a fling without consequences.

  She paced up and down the room until she got dizzy again.

  How could she have let this happen?

  Her first urge was to call Jay; at one time he had always been the first person with whom she shared momentous news or asked for advice. But she resisted. She had to handle this on her own. Besides, Jay had his own issues with Chloe, his teenage love with whom he had recently reconnected. She hoped all was well; she’d liked his schoolmate. But Chloe had broken her brother’s heart the first time around. She would have to contend with Sally if she broke it again.

  Panic paralysed her. She couldn’t have a baby on her own. Children had been on the distant agenda for when she got married. If she got married, that was. Her lack of luck with men had made her begin to think she wasn’t the marrying kind.

  She wasn’t exactly surrounded by happy marriages. She’d been bridesmaid to her two closest friends from school. They were both already divorced. Her parents’ marriage had been happy although, as her father had died suddenly of a heart attack when she’d been only six years old, she would hardly have noticed if it hadn’t been. Just a year after being widowed, her mother had married Nick Wolfe, an American businessman who had been a regular visitor to the hotel. Nick had been all sunshine and unicorns until he’d got a ring on her mother’s finger. Things hadn’t been so romantic when the honeymoon was over. Sally suspected her mother’s second marriage had been anything but perfect. As well, it had ushered in the decline of the Harrington Park Hotel.

  She was almost glad her mother wasn’t here to see the predicament her daughter had got herself into. Pregnant to a stranger after a one-night stand. She didn’t know the father’s surname, or even if his first name was real. How irresponsible did that sound? She shut her eyes tight at the thought of what her brothers would think. And yet...this baby had been conceived in joy, no matter how temporary. The father was considerate and kind and had made her laugh as well as shared with her the best sex of her life. She could only think well of him.

  She didn’t need to be married to be a mother. Twenty-seven was biologically an excellent age to have a baby. She owned a successful, profitable business and her own home. Her spacious period apartment in South Kensington had been bought with the first part of her inheritance from her maternal grandmother when she was twenty-one. The second part of the substantial inheritance had kicked in when she was twenty-five. She could afford the best for her baby.

  Her baby.

  She placed her hand on her still flat tummy. Such a new thought and already not such a terrifying one.