Page 65 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘I know.’ She glanced down at her hands, tightly clasped in front of her. ‘I should have. But after Carlotta died, I thought…’ She took a breath and looked up at him again. ‘I thought this was just another burden you didn’t need.’

‘A child is not a burden.’ Despite his anger, the urge to take her hands in his and warm the tips of her fingers gripped him—the tips of her fingers were always cold. But touching her was always a bad idea, so he didn’t. ‘Especially when that child is my heir.’ As he said it, he glanced down at her stomach, covered by the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing, and a knife of fierce possessiveness slid through him.

His child. His heir.

Your mistake.

That was indisputable. He’d made a mistake, and a serious one, but the child itself would not be a mistake. His own father had often made comments about him being the cuckoo in the nest, and he’d felt like one. But his own child would not. His child would be blameless, no matter what his or her father had done.

As if Wren, too, was thinking the same thing, she put one hand protectively on her stomach. He wanted to cover that hand with his, feel her bare skin against his once more, feel the curve of her belly where his child lay.

This time, a faint flush rose in her pale cheeks, her grey eyes darkening, a sure sign that she was intensely physically aware of him. He should step away, keep some distance between them.

That’s how it had happened that afternoon in his office. Carlotta had slipped up yet again, and he’d been furious about it, despairing of ever being able to save her from herself. They hadn’t shared a bed for years, so when Wren had come around the side of his desk, to comfort him, he’d lost the battle with his darker urges. Both of them, their resistance utterly crushed by years of pent-up longing, had finally given in to their chemistry.

Now, though, he didn’t move. This was a subtle test of his resolve and his control, and he did not intend to fail it.

Wren glanced away, her flush even deeper, and the man in him was deeply satisfied by that. He still affected her and that pleased him, even though it shouldn’t.

‘So, what do you want from me, Isandro?’ She looked down at her hands once more. ‘Given the fact that you’re here personally, you must want something.’

She wasn’t wrong. He was in fact here for something. Something he’d thought long and hard about, and it seemed the only course of action. This was his error, and while he’d managed to cover up the majority of Carlotta’s little indiscretions with Wren’s help, he couldn’t do that with his own. If he tried to cover this up, and it got out, the results would be catastrophic, and that he couldn’t risk. Not given the emphasis he’d placed on how different his reign was from that of his scandalous father.

No, there would be no cover-ups. No rushing Wren out of the country. No pretending the child wasn’t his. He was going to confront this scandal head-on, do as best he could to fix the mistake, and then deal with the consequences.

‘I do,’ he said calmly. ‘I want you to marry me, Wren.’

Chapter Two

Wren could only stare up at him in shock. It was the very last thing she’d expected him to say, and, really, he couldn’t mean it. He couldn’t. It had only been a couple of months since Carlotta died, and for him to marry again so soon would create a huge scandal.

As huge a scandal as carrying the King’s child would?

The thought wound through her brain, sharp as a knife. If anyone knew what the effect of that little revelation would be, it was her. It was why she’d decided to leave. Not only would the date of conception be an issue, but she, herself, would be one.

Most people didn’t know her background and while she hadn’t hidden it, she hadn’t broadcast either. Isandro knew, but it hadn’t bothered him overly. Her mother had made a mistake, yes, but Wren herself was blameless and shouldn’t be punished for it.

Except, she would be punished for it when her past came out, and if she married Isandro, it would come out. That her mother had been the secret mistress of a married cabinet minister, and had fallen pregnant with Wren. After the pregnancy was discovered, she’d gone into hiding back in New Zealand, while the minister concerned had lost his job. Wren’s mother had given birth, and, five years later, left her child with her parents so she could go back to the man she’d had an affair with. She sent Wren emails from time to time, always telling her that she’d like to see more of her, but never actually committing to anything.

As a child, Wren had been furious at her mother for leaving her, and Lily’s half-hearted gestures of reconciliation only made her more furious. Especially now she was pregnant with her own child. The thought of sending the baby away so she could stay working for Isandro was inconceivable, as was exposing that child to any kind of media frenzy.

Yet now Isandro was suggesting… What? That they admit they’d conceived the child while the King was still married?

‘You can’t be serious.’ She stared up at him. There was no give in his expression, his gaze as hard as lapis.

‘I’m perfectly serious.’ His mouth had a hard cast to it, too, and she wished she didn’t keep looking at it. Every time she did, all she could think about was how that mouth had felt on hers and how soft his lips had been. How hot.

He was standing too close. She could smell his scent, cedar and tobacco and warm earth. Spicy and delicious. He’d been keeping his distance since Carlotta’s funeral, and while she knew why, she’d missed him. His absence had been an ache in her heart that she couldn’t escape from, and now it was worse, because he was right here, so close. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, but she knew that would be a mistake. Both for her and for him.

Anyway, he was angry with her, and while his anger hurt, she didn’t blame him for it. Perhaps she should have gone to him.

Coward.

No, there had been good reasons for why she hadn’t, and fear hadn’t been one of them.

Yet something like fear sat in the pit of her stomach now, cold and hard. She’d grown up with her grandparents after her mother’s ignominious fall from grace and they’d been strict about her behaviour. She had her mother’s tendency for rebellion, they’d told her, which made it imperative that if she wanted to be a good and responsible adult, she needed to toe the line, obey the rules. So that’s what she’d done.

Until that afternoon in Isandro’s office with the man she’d grown to love. A man who she’d thought was so far out of her league that he might as well have been the moon. A man she should never have touched.