Free His Majesty's Child by Sharon Kendrick Page A

would have given in gracefully—deciding that it wasn’t worth falling out over a different taste in clothes.
    The sound of the doorbell stopped her in her tracks and Melissa felt that uncomfortable mixture of excitement and dread begin to grow. Casimiro. When he had telephoned and told her that he was flying to England, she hadn’t really believed it. Hadn’t dared believe it in case it hadn’t happened. For hadn’t there been a part of her which had wondered if he might just try consigning her to oblivion? Waiting to see what she would do next.
    Well, it seemed that he was true to his word because he was here. Casimiro was here !
    â€˜This is very important, darling Ben,’ she whispered as she scooped the baby up in her arms. ‘There’s a very important man at the door.’ He’s your Daddy, she thought, her heart thundering as she went to answer it.
    From his position on the grubby doorstep, Casimiro waited impatiently for Melissa to let him in—even though he wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the prospect. From the moment the car had pulled up outside the poorly built apartment block—and he’d tapped impatiently on the window and asked the driver if he’d made some kind of mistake—his senses had been shaken to the core.
    A letter was missing from the communal sign on the wall and there was a smashed window on the fourth floor, which someone had repaired with a piece of cardboard. Scorched brown earth stood where grass should have been and a wilting tree was the only vegetation in sight. He had seen the two body guards accompanying him look around in alarm but he had ignored their repeated requests to drive on.
    â€˜I need to be here,’ he stated resolutely.
    â€˜But, Majesty.’
    â€˜Enough!’ he clipped out. ‘You will wait here in the car until I return—do you understand?’
    Clearly they could tell he meant it—though it was equally clear they didn’t like it. He had made sure he’d looked as incognito as possible for this visit to see the boy who Melissa claimed was his flesh and blood, but one thing was for sure—what Casimiro had seen had taken him by surprise.
    During his life, he had travelled as much as his role as heir apparent allowed—and his father had seen to it that every summer he had been schooled by tutors from a variety of different countries. Of course he knew that he was immensely privileged and wealthy—and of course he knew that not everyone enjoyed such a rarefied standard of living as he did. But he had never known anyone on a personal level who actually lived like this.
    It didn’t get any better. The stone stair well leading to Melissa’s flat was dark and dank and the paint on her front door was peeling. His mouth curved as he uttered a silent prayer that the whole thing had been some kind of terrible error. That in the fort night since she’d left Zaffirinthos she’d discovered the identity of the real father. And it wasn’t him. Some postman perhaps. Or a man who worked in the local garage. Anyone but him.
    Jamming his thumb on the doorbell, he was forced to wait what seemed like an age until Melissa appeared at the door holding a squirming baby who seemed only half dressed.
    â€˜I’m s-so sorry,’ she stumbled. ‘Ben’s had a bit of an accident.’
    â€˜An accident ?’ he bit out, feeling an instinctive chill of alarm.
    â€˜Oh, nothing serious. He’s just tipped yoghurt over himself and is furious because he had to have an emergency bath and now he’s refusing to let me dress him.’
    Casimiro frowned. He was no stranger to babies—for didn’t Xaviero and Catherine have the infant Cosimo, whom he saw from time to time? But Cosimo was always drafted in on high days and holidays—looking immaculate in crisp white romper suits embroidered with blue silken rabbits or little yellow aero planes. Once he had seen