I don’t care much for it either.’ The older man’s shoulders sagged and he seemed to age at least ten years. He turned towards Rafael, every weary movement a silent apology. ‘I had hoped to do this differently,’ he murmured. ‘But every other avenue was closed to me. I want you to know that.’
‘Speak your piece,’ said Rafael. He had a bad feeling about this. Simone’s open hostility. Gabrielle’s alarm when he’d mentioned Etienne de Morsay. De Morsay’s vivid blue eyes drilling holes in Rafael. There was something familiar about him. Something Rafael struggled to place.
He watched in silence as the older man drew himself upright. Finally, he spoke.
‘My name is Etienne de Morsay. Husband to Mariette Sulemon of the Ardennes—lately deceased. Son of Francisco de Morsay—also deceased. Grandson of Pieter. Great grandson of Alain. I am reigning monarch of the territory of Maracey, bordered by Spain, and you, Rafael Francisco Pieter Alexander, are my son.’
Rafael stared at him. Hard. Those eyes. That big, sparse frame. Heaven help him, that face. He saw an echo of that face, that frame, and those eyes every morning when he looked in the mirror. He shook his head. No.
‘Yes,’ said Etienne.
‘No. Harrison Alexander is my father.’
‘No,’ said Etienne gently.
Rafael took the blow in silence. Such a deep and destructive blow. Did Harrison know? Did Gabrielle? The knife inside him tightened. Gabrielle had known. And Simone…Simone had known too. Anger took hold, brutal and burning as he turned towards her and saw knowledge in her eyes. ‘You knew.’ His voice shook. His pain roared. ‘You knew.’
‘No.’ She looked to be on the verge of tears. He was so sick of women and their tears and their duplicity.
‘You knew. That’s why my company suddenly became acceptable after all these years of silence. That’s why you deigned to spend time in my bed. You thought I was a goddamn prince!’
‘No! Rafael, I swear—’
‘You wanted to leave,’ he said harshly. ‘So leave.’
Simone stared at him, dark stricken eyes in an unnaturally pale face as she reached out a hand towards him. ‘That’s not how it was.’
‘Don’t,’ he said sharply. If she touched him, he would break. ‘Don’t touch me. Just go.’
‘You’re a fool, Rafael Alexander Pieter whoever the hell you are,’ she said raggedly as she dropped her hand and reached for her handbag instead. She drew herself up with a glittering gaze that accompanied both him and de Morsay. ‘Both of you, fools.’
He watched her stalk away, beautiful in her anger, the emptiness left by her departure fuelling his.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said the man beside him.
‘Who the hell asked you?’ Anger found a new target, the right target, this time. ‘Who are you to tell me what I should do?’ Anger ruled him. Despair rode him. ‘Let me tell you something, you right royal bastard. You’re no father of mine. I don’t care what you can prove by blood. I don’t know you. I don’t care about you. And I have no intention of ever being your son.’
Simone’s luggage was gone from the car by the time the valet brought it around to the front of the hotel. She’d collected it not ten minutes ago, the hotel employee told Rafe. She’d had the doorman call for a taxi. She had seemed to be in something of a hurry. The young valet eyed Rafael anxiously, as if sensing something of the roiling emotions beneath the contained façade.
The young valet paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and asked Rafe if he’d done the right thing.
‘That’s fine. No problem,’ muttered Rafael before retrieving the keys and heading for his car. He knew the name of the hotel Simone was booked into. He knew what time her flight would leave the following day. He could have found her. Talked to her. Gone to her.
He didn’t.
For all that Simone had known—or guessed—Etienne’s connection to him, she wasn’t guilty of the subterfuge that had created this mess. Josien was. Josien, who’d hated him every day of her miserable life and he finally knew why. Bastard son of a prince who’d abandoned her.
Bastard boy with his father’s eyes and his father’s colouring and God knew what else he’d inherited from the man. Arrogance and ambition that Josien had done her utmost to beat out of him. His burning need for independence. His fierce and cold intelligence. Had all that come from Etienne de Morsay too?
Who knew?
Josien would know, but Josien was dead to him. More so now than ever.
Gabrielle had known. Somehow, Gabrielle had known, and hadn’t seen fit to tell him. The pain of that betrayal cut deep.
And then there was Simone…Rafael closed his eyes to block out the image of Simone’s first frantic attempts to prevent his meeting with de Morsay. Those final whispered words before the older man had walked up to them. Run, she’d whispered, and catapulted him straight back to their childhood. Rafael, run.
Simone hadn’t known of his true relationship with Etienne de Morsay beforehand. Oh, she’d guessed soon enough. The minute she’d seen them together in the same room her formidable brain had probably started connecting the dots. But she hadn’t put it together before then.
De Morsay was right. When it came to Simone’s part in all of this, he’d been a fool.
He almost turned the car around then. He almost went back for her, such was his need to talk with her and take comfort from her and try and make all the jagged shards of his life fit together the way he wanted them to fit.
He didn’t.
Maybe if he’d been a little more trusting he might have turned back.
He didn’t.
Harrison stood waiting for him on the verandah of Rafael’s house when Rafael finally pulled the car up beside it, several hours later. One look at the older man’s worn face and weary eyes and the heart Rafael had been holding together with a piece of string finally shattered.
He left the car and headed for the door, ignoring Harrison at first as he attempted instead to push the house key into its lock. It wouldn’t go in. His hand shook too much and it wouldn’t go in.
‘You knew.’ He still couldn’t look at the older man. He looked at his hands instead and fisted them tight. ‘You knew I wasn’t yours.’
‘Yes, I knew.’ Harrison’s voice came low and strained. ‘You were born seven months after my wedding day, Rafael. A perfectly healthy, full-term baby boy. I didn’t know who had sired you, but I did know that you couldn’t have been mine. I didn’t care.’
‘How could you not care?’
‘You were an innocent child, Rafael. What would you have had me do? Turn you away?’
‘I wasn’t yours.’
‘And
