by: Emmy Grayson
Series: The Van Ambrose Royals
Genre: Contemporary Billionaire Romance
Release Date: October 25, 2022
Publisher: Harlequin Presents
In this royal baby romance by Emmy Grayson, becoming pregnant with the prince’s heir was completely unexpected!
One night. One baby.
One royal wedding!
Though Clara Stephenson takes five different pregnancy tests, she’s still unprepared for the result: she’s carrying her royal boss’s baby! The last thing that Clara wants is to become Prince Alaric’s convenient princess when the painful memories of her previous relationship still remain.
Making Clara his bride is the only way for Alaric to save his heir from a scandal-filled childhood like his own. But when their honeymoon reminds Clara and Alaric of the desire that led them to the altar, will they realize that more than duty binds them?
From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.
A different kind of tension tightened his back. He kept his eyes trained on the mountain peaks beyond the lake. A familiar, dependable sight. Better to focus on that than the heightened awareness of his secretary.
Executive assistant, he acknowledged internally with a slight quick of his lips. Clara despised being called "secretary."
"I'm a prince, Clara. Not a hero in a fairy-tale. The engagement was never about love or even compatibility. It's always been about money."
He spat the last word out. He'd spent his entire life fighting to distance himself from his father's legacy of womanizing, drinking and spending what little wealth Linnaea had.
Yet here he was, obsessing over money. That one of his first thoughts had been satisfaction that, because Celestine had been the one to break the engagement, Linnaea would still receive a handsome payout from Osborn Construction, said enough about who he had become and what his priorities were. He’d almost dragged a very reluctant bride to the altar for her fortune.
Revulsion rippled through him.
"I've prepared an initial statement for your approval-"
“Send it.”
He felt more than heard her huff.
“I need your approval.”
“Granted.”
A louder sigh.
“That’s not how this works, Your Highness.”
The quelling glance he delivered over his shoulder didn’t stop Clara’s determined march across the room. The closer she got, the tauter his muscles grew.
She stopped next to him and handed him the tablet, a document now replacing Celestine’s photo. He focused on the black-and-white text. Better that than the tantalizing floral sweetness teasing him.
Prince Alaric Van Ambrose and Miss Celestine Osborn have announced they are no longer engaged. They wish each other the best…
His lips twisted. Celestine’s voice, shrill and frazzled, echoed in his ears. Somehow her screaming that she wouldn’t be caught dead in a marriage to a stone-cold bastard or stuck living in a frozen backwater country didn’t align with “wishing him the best.”
“Fine.”
The tablet disappeared. Clara, unfortunately, didn’t. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her attention drop down to the tablet as she tapped something out. The glow of the screen lit her delicate profile.
He knew the exact moment Clara had gone from being trusted employee and confidant to something more. Someone he could depend on, someone he looked forward to seeing.
The first few years of their engagement, Alaric had kept his distance from his fiancée. Celestine had seemed so young. Neither of them had been in a rush to get married, not wish Max’s construction projects finally flooding some much needed cash and prestige into Linnaea. Clara had told him after the signing of the contract that she intended to live the next few years as she saw fit, including dating. Given that he’d known her for less than an hour, he’d been all too glad to agree.
Idiot.
While he’d been busy building up Linnaea behind the scenes and indulging in the occasional discrete affair, Celestine had started to act out, each year getting worse and worse as they neared the end of the engagement period. The last couple of years, he’d ceased his romantic involvements and tried to get to know his future wife better. He’d despised what he saw; a pampered, spoiled heiress who could have done anything with her life and instead chose to overindulge in the same manner his father did.
But he was not going to go back on his word or risk Linnaea’s financial future.
It was why a year ago, the day before the annual Christmas Eve ball at the palace, he’d sought solace in his private gym downstairs when Celestine had shown up to a dinner with Linnaea’s top officials already tipsy and wearing a dress better described as a shirt given how little it covered.
He’d made it through that dinner. Barely. A guard has escorted Celestine to her room after dessert, not allowing her the opportunity to join the party in after-dinner drinks and further embarrass herself and him. He’d made his excuses, ignoring the mix of pity and condescension, and sought solace in the small gym in the depths of the palace. He’d been in the middle of beating the hell out of a punching bag, wearing nothing but sweatpants with sweat pouring down his back, when Clara had walked in. He hadn’t let up, for once not caring that he wasn’t being seen in a princely light. Who cared about how people saw him when the future Queen of Linnaea was making an ass of herself just a few floors above?
She hadn’t run away screaming. She hadn’t chastised him for leaving the dinner. No, she’d sat down on a weight bench in all of her evening finery, clasped her hands in her lap and asked if he wanted to talk about it.
He hadn’t. Hence the punching bag. But for the first time in years, someone had cared. When he’d growled that he’d rather be left alone, she’d given him a smile tinged with sadness before getting up and heading for the door. It had pissed him off. He didn’t want her pity, and he’d said so.
The gentle tinkling of her laughter still rippled across his skin.
“You are not one to be pitied, Your Highness. You just deserve better.”
Executive assistant, he acknowledged internally with a slight quick of his lips. Clara despised being called "secretary."
"I'm a prince, Clara. Not a hero in a fairy-tale. The engagement was never about love or even compatibility. It's always been about money."
He spat the last word out. He'd spent his entire life fighting to distance himself from his father's legacy of womanizing, drinking and spending what little wealth Linnaea had.
Yet here he was, obsessing over money. That one of his first thoughts had been satisfaction that, because Celestine had been the one to break the engagement, Linnaea would still receive a handsome payout from Osborn Construction, said enough about who he had become and what his priorities were. He’d almost dragged a very reluctant bride to the altar for her fortune.
Revulsion rippled through him.
"I've prepared an initial statement for your approval-"
“Send it.”
He felt more than heard her huff.
“I need your approval.”
“Granted.”
A louder sigh.
“That’s not how this works, Your Highness.”
The quelling glance he delivered over his shoulder didn’t stop Clara’s determined march across the room. The closer she got, the tauter his muscles grew.
She stopped next to him and handed him the tablet, a document now replacing Celestine’s photo. He focused on the black-and-white text. Better that than the tantalizing floral sweetness teasing him.
Prince Alaric Van Ambrose and Miss Celestine Osborn have announced they are no longer engaged. They wish each other the best…
His lips twisted. Celestine’s voice, shrill and frazzled, echoed in his ears. Somehow her screaming that she wouldn’t be caught dead in a marriage to a stone-cold bastard or stuck living in a frozen backwater country didn’t align with “wishing him the best.”
“Fine.”
The tablet disappeared. Clara, unfortunately, didn’t. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her attention drop down to the tablet as she tapped something out. The glow of the screen lit her delicate profile.
He knew the exact moment Clara had gone from being trusted employee and confidant to something more. Someone he could depend on, someone he looked forward to seeing.
The first few years of their engagement, Alaric had kept his distance from his fiancée. Celestine had seemed so young. Neither of them had been in a rush to get married, not wish Max’s construction projects finally flooding some much needed cash and prestige into Linnaea. Clara had told him after the signing of the contract that she intended to live the next few years as she saw fit, including dating. Given that he’d known her for less than an hour, he’d been all too glad to agree.
Idiot.
While he’d been busy building up Linnaea behind the scenes and indulging in the occasional discrete affair, Celestine had started to act out, each year getting worse and worse as they neared the end of the engagement period. The last couple of years, he’d ceased his romantic involvements and tried to get to know his future wife better. He’d despised what he saw; a pampered, spoiled heiress who could have done anything with her life and instead chose to overindulge in the same manner his father did.
But he was not going to go back on his word or risk Linnaea’s financial future.
It was why a year ago, the day before the annual Christmas Eve ball at the palace, he’d sought solace in his private gym downstairs when Celestine had shown up to a dinner with Linnaea’s top officials already tipsy and wearing a dress better described as a shirt given how little it covered.
He’d made it through that dinner. Barely. A guard has escorted Celestine to her room after dessert, not allowing her the opportunity to join the party in after-dinner drinks and further embarrass herself and him. He’d made his excuses, ignoring the mix of pity and condescension, and sought solace in the small gym in the depths of the palace. He’d been in the middle of beating the hell out of a punching bag, wearing nothing but sweatpants with sweat pouring down his back, when Clara had walked in. He hadn’t let up, for once not caring that he wasn’t being seen in a princely light. Who cared about how people saw him when the future Queen of Linnaea was making an ass of herself just a few floors above?
She hadn’t run away screaming. She hadn’t chastised him for leaving the dinner. No, she’d sat down on a weight bench in all of her evening finery, clasped her hands in her lap and asked if he wanted to talk about it.
He hadn’t. Hence the punching bag. But for the first time in years, someone had cared. When he’d growled that he’d rather be left alone, she’d given him a smile tinged with sadness before getting up and heading for the door. It had pissed him off. He didn’t want her pity, and he’d said so.
The gentle tinkling of her laughter still rippled across his skin.
“You are not one to be pitied, Your Highness. You just deserve better.”
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Emmy's interest in romance can be traced back to her love of Nancy Drew books, when she tried to solve the mysteries of her favorite detective while rereading the romantic chapters with Ned Nickerson. Fast-forward a few years when she discovered a worn copy of "A Rose in Winter" by Kathleen Woodiwiss on her mother's bookshelf, and she was hooked. Over 20 years later, Harlequin Presents made her dream come true by offering her a contract for her first book.
When Emmy isn't writing or reading, she's chasing around her baby boy, feeding her menagerie of fur babies or carving out a little time on her front porch with her firefighter hubby.
Places to find Emmy Grayson:
Happy Book Birthday, Emmy! The Prince's Pregnant Secretary sounds like a great romance for me to read and enjoy! Good luck with your book and the blitz!
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing it with me and have a terrific day!
This cover is gorgeous. I love royal stories, so I want to read this book.
ReplyDelete