The Queen's Nine-Month Scandal
The Queen’s Nine-Month Scandal
USA TODAY
Bestselling Author
Abby Green
USA
TODAY
bestselling author
Abby Green takes you on one Queen’s sensational journey from a masquerade
ball to a royal scandal in this fantastic digital novella!
Desperate for a last taste of freedom before she enters a
political, loveless marriage, Analia—the famous Virgin Queen of Azoria—hides
behind her mask at a glitzy Venetian ball. Until the stormy grey gaze of an
enigmatic, disguised stranger lays her soul—and her body—bare in one
passionate night!
World-famous photojournalist Daniel Petrovsky learned years
ago to harden his heart against emotions and the morning disappearance of his
anonymous lover should mean nothing. But when a certain queen’s shock pregnancy
hits the headlines, the brooding billionaire will stop at nothing to fight for
what is his!
Don’t miss the other titles in this
fantastic collection that celebrates Royal Babies all over the
world!
CHAPTER ONE
‘I
WILL
LEAVE
you now to rest, Your
Majesty.’
‘Thank you, Pierre.’ Queen Analia of Azoria hoped the relief
she felt wasn’t obvious.
Her grand vizier bowed and left the room. Analia was dragging
in a breath when suddenly a knock sounded and a different door to her suite
opened to reveal her lady-in-waiting. She quickly pasted a smile on her
face.
‘Do you need anything else, Your Highness?’
Analia curbed the spiking of irritation, which had nothing to
do with her staff. She shook her head and wished that just for once someone
would address her as Analia. ‘No thank you, Cecily. That’ll be all for this
evening.’
‘Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Good night. And thank you for today.’
The young woman left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Now
Analia did drag in a big breath while kicking off her shoes. She went to both
doors and turned the locks, pathetically grateful for even this small gesture of
privacy between her and her demanding world. A world that had been demanding her
attention since she’d been crowned Queen at the unfeasibly young age of nine,
following the tragic deaths of her parents.
Now twenty-two, Analia sometimes felt double her age, presiding
over matters of government and shouldering a massive responsibility for the
people of her small island principality, which lay off the southern coast of
Italy in the Ionian Sea.
She sighed deeply and undid the top button of her silk shirt
and padded over to the open french windows of her Venetian hotel suite which
looked out over the Grand Canal. She curled her hands around the stone balcony
railing and drank in the majestic view, willing herself to relax.
Dusk was drawing the ancient city into a lavender-hued embrace,
tingeing everything with a dreamy quality. The rigours of the past two days
spent on a trade mission to Venice faded against this timeless backdrop. Her
country had once been ruled by Italy, and Analia was taking advantage of these
indelible links while on her mission to bring her country properly into the
twenty-first century.
She sighed again, unable to shake a growing feeling
of...emptiness. Usually she pushed these feelings aside, telling herself that
she simply didn’t have the luxury to wallow. Too many people depended on her.
But here, now, Analia couldn’t seem to stop them. She hated to admit it, but she
felt lonely.
As she looked across the canal she saw lights winking in
crumbling
palazzos
and wondered about the lives
going on inside. Were they families gathering for dinner? A speedboat sped along
the canal leaving a surge of white spray in its wake. In the back of the boat
Analia saw a man with his arms around a woman, their faces close together. This
was a city made for lovers.
An incredible poignancy filled her. She’d never experience
that. She was destined to rule and to marry someone who would be a suitable
consort. She was due to announce her engagement to a German prince within
months, signalling the end of one era and the start of another. Producing heirs
for Azoria.
The man she was due to marry was perfectly nice. Suitable. The
right lineage. Analia knew he would make a good husband, for he was kind. But
she was not attracted to him and she would not love him. She knew that. And to
yearn for love now was a futile dream.
Still, the thought of Prince Wilhelm becoming her first lover
made something wither inside her. Her mouth flattened into a thin line to think
of her infamous nickname.
The Virgin Queen
. Thanks
to a well-known archaic requirement of her constitution, and the fact that she’d
had little or no privacy since she was a baby, everyone knew she was a virgin
and had to stay pure until her marriage. It was ridiculous but until Analia got
married, she wouldn’t actually be able to change the constitution to reflect
more modern values.
With a spurt of anger she wondered,
Was
nothing to be sacred
,
just for me?
Ever?
Once she married, her life would become even
less private than it already was.
Analia turned back into the room feeling restless and a little
wild. She saw a black strapless evening gown hanging up. It had been put out for
a masquerade ball she’d been invited to that evening—until her chief advisors
had decided that the event wouldn’t really be appropriate. Analia spied the
gilt-edged invitation on a table and went over to pick it up.
You are cordially invited to indulge yourself
and your senses in the company of Andreas Xenakis
,
in the spirit of the famous Venice Carnival.
The rest of the words blurred as something dark settled in
Analia’s belly. Resolve. Andreas Xenakis was one of the world’s most renowned
playboys and hoteliers, hence her advisors’ lack of enthusiasm that she attend.
Earlier, she’d agreed not to go because a party had been the last thing she’d
felt like...but now something was surging in her blood and making her feel
reckless. Rebellious.
* * *
Daniel Sasha Petrovsky felt restless. His mouth thinned,
this was nothing new, he’d been born restless. But for once, he found himself
craving...peace. He’d thought that by leaving his career as a celebrated war
photographer and reporter behind, he might have gained some. When an estranged
Russian oligarch uncle had died leaving his vast fortune to Daniel, he’d taken
the opportunity to do something more worthwhile, using his knowledge of where
money was needed most in the world to become a philanthropist.
But no matter where he went, no matter how his wealth increased
exponentially or how much of it he consequently gave away, it felt as if a void
was growing inside him and there was nothing he could do to fill it.
And yet he knew he couldn’t go back into that chaotic world of
war, carnage and destruction. He’d seen too much, had witnessed too much
horror.
He shook his head as if that could shake off this very
uncharacteristic introspection and took in his glittering surroundings: a
centuries old
palazzo
, which showcased Venice’s
crumbling splendour. It could have been medieval times. Candles flickered
everywhere, dancing on acres of seductively bared female flesh. Daniel’s mouth
twisted. Despite the skin on show, this was no debauched carnival party. This
was at the top end of the scale, the most exclusive invite of the carnival.
Daniel gave thanks for his own mask and the beard which further
disguised him. He wasn’t in the mood to be recognized tonight. The cloak of
anonymity suited him and this strange mood he was in.
A movement to his right caught his peripheral vision and he
turned to look as a woman stepped into the room just a few feet away. Instantly
everything within him seemed to slow down to one long heartbeat. She was
exquisite. Dark lustrous hair fell in loose waves behind her shoulders. Pale
olive skin glowed like a pearl and looked as soft as silk.
The curve of her jaw was graceful and delicate, hinting at the
true beauty which lay hidden under a piece of black lace covering her face from
forehead to nose. Her simple mask made the surrounding, more elaborate ones seem
garish.
She had soft, voluptuous, infinitely kissable lips. She
intrigued him and aroused him all at once, standing so alone. A simple diamond
bracelet glinted at that moment from her wrist as she moved forward with a
hesitation that made him frown slightly. Women in this milieu weren’t
hesitant.
There was something about that hesitance and her isolation that
instantly resonated within him, as if a chord of recognition had been struck.
Welcoming the distraction from his inner tumult, and unable to stop himself, he
moved towards her.
* * *
Analia was still giddy with the knowledge that she’d
managed to escape the confines of her hotel suite, thanks to observing a maid
use a staff entrance earlier in the day. For the first time in her life she
wasn’t surrounded by staff and bodyguards.
The feeling of freedom was heady. Waiters were passing through
the crowd dressed in costumes, their faces covered by masks. The guests looked
beautiful and mysterious. Everyone was anonymous here. She could be anyone.
‘You look thirsty.’
It took a second for the deep voice at Analia’s side to
register and she turned with a start to see a glass of champagne being held out
towards her. She looked up, and up again, to see a broad-shouldered man who
quite simply took her breath away. His face was almost entirely obscured on top
by a black mask, and on the bottom by the dark growth of a beard that hugged his
jaw.
Unlike the other men dressed in tuxedos, he was in a dark suit
but with an open-necked shirt. Unruly dark wavy hair almost touched his collar
and only added to his rakish appearance. The hint of rebelliousness resonated
deep within her.
His lips quirked, firmly sculpted and so undeniably sensual
that she felt a flutter of something hot, deep in her belly. And then he smiled,
flashing strong white teeth, and Analia was dazzled. She also felt very
strangely as if he was familiar to her, but in a way she couldn’t rationalize. A
little shiver went down her spine.
She took the glass and murmured, ‘Thank you.’
‘I take it you’re not meeting anyone here?’
Analia took a gulp of the sparkling liquid and let the bubbles
race down her throat before saying wryly, ‘Is it that obvious?’
The man shrugged minutely, ‘You looked a little lost when you
came in.
Something pierced her at last and she asked him in turn, ‘And
you? Are you alone too?’
He turned his face to cast a look over the crowd and Analia’s
belly tightened to see how strong his jaw was. He was so intensely
masculine.
‘I know our host, that’s about it.’ He turned to look back down
at her. ‘With all these masks it’s hard to know about anyone else.’
‘I like it,’ Analia heard herself blurting out.
He seemed to know exactly what she meant and said slowly, ‘Me
too...so no names then, or that’ll ruin it.’
Flutters increased in Analia’s belly. It was as if she’d agreed
to enter into some kind of illicit pact with this man, which was crazy as they’d
only just met. Nevertheless she heard herself saying, ‘No names.’
Quirking a sexy smile again he said, ‘We could make up
names?’
He held out a hand, ‘I’m Sasha.’
Analia felt a giggle rising up, an incredible lightheartedness.
‘That’s a girl’s name!
He drawled, ‘I think it’s fairly obvious I’m not a girl. I’ll
have you know that
it’s a very respectable man’s name in Russia where my ancestors
come from. Or not...I could be making it all up.’
Analia had a sense that he wasn’t making it up. Something about
him made her think of vast open steppes and an inhospitable environment pitting
man against nature. Very aware of her heart pounding, Analia put her hand in his
and seized on the first name she could think of. ‘I’m...Alexandra.’
Instantly the air around them seemed to crackle with awareness.
Analia was aware of her hand being dwarfed by his. The faint calluses against
her delicate skin. His incredible heat.
Seconds passed, stretching as they stood there, locked in this
bubble of intimacy. She felt his thumb move ever so slightly against the pulse
of her wrist and her eyes widened under the lace of her mask, her breath
choppy.
The lighthearted feel of the last few moments seemed to change
to something more intense. Analia could feel blood rushing to her face and other
parts of her body. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples became hard points
against the silk of her dress.
Without releasing her hand or saying anything else, Sasha
guided her over to where doors stood open, leading her out to a balcony, which
overlooked the canal. Analia felt a little dazed. She’d only met this man mere
minutes ago, and yet she felt bizarrely as if she’d been speaking to him for
hours.
A couple passed them on their way back into the room and then
they were alone on the balcony, the sound of the party muted. He let her hand go
and Analia felt ridiculously bereft. She clutched her glass and said
innocuously, ‘It’s so incredibly beautiful here.’
‘Yes.’
She looked up at Sasha but he was looking at her, not the view.
Under his mask she could make out the dark intensity of his eyes and that they
were gray, like a stormy Atlantic Ocean.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked then.
Emboldened by the prosecco, the headiness of the protection of
anonymity, Analia whispered, ‘Escaping.’
She could imagine him raising a brow under his mark and he
asked inevitably, ‘From what?’
Analia looked away and gulped. Everything was slightly obscured
from under the black lace of her mask. ‘From nothing...and everything.’
She looked at him and lifted her chin. ‘And you? Why are you
here?
He smiled. ‘Because I was looking for you.’
The words were only meant as a light flirtation. A platitude.
The equivalent of asking,
do you come here often?
But Analia couldn’t stop herself from imbuing them with a significance they
didn’t warrant.
His smile faded then and he put down his glass of wine onto a
nearby table. Analia tensed. He stretched out a hand and ran his finger down one
cheek and across the line of her jaw.
Suddenly he muttered roughly, ‘You’re so beautiful.’
Analia’s skin tingled deliciously where he touched her. She
blushed. No one had ever complimented her like that before. It wouldn’t be
appropriate. ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily.
As if unable to help himself, he moved closer and his hand
snaked around to the back of Analia’s neck, under her hair. She felt unbearably
sensitized and languorous all at once. Unable to stop him. Not wanting to stop
him. Not even when he pulled her close enough so that she could feel the latent
strength of his body next to hers.