A Royal Scandal (Reluctant Royals #4)

Prologue

MEHER

T he winter sun blazed over the field, bathing us in its warmth as the final chukker ticked down. The score was tied. The crowd hushed, holding its breath as the ponies thundered across the turf, their hooves pounding like war drums.

Suddenly, he broke free. He leant low over his pony’s neck, the reins taut and his mallet poised. I rammed my Dior tortoiseshell sunglasses on the top of my head and prayed fervently under my breath as the ball skipped just ahead of him.

With a swift flick of his wrist, he swung his mallet and connected with the elusive ball, clean and sharp. The ball soared through the air and swung neatly through the goalposts. The flags flew up, and he turned to me with a triumphant grin.

My custom Valentino dress in a gorgeous sky blue georgette flapped in the wind as I threw my hands in the air and cheered my heart out, the crowd in the stands echoing my cry.

“Sammmmraaaat!” we yelled as one, as His Highness Samrat Singh Deora, prince of Deorangir, galloped across the field to join his team. They swarmed him, and for a moment, I lost sight of his broad shoulders and that thick, handsome head of hair.

The Deorangir polo team had defended their title of champions of the IPA Opens for the third year in a row, and it was all because of him.

“Close your mouth, Meher. You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” muttered my mother. “Samrat’s sister-in-law, the Maharani, is staring at you rather disapprovingly.”

I cast a quick glance in the direction of the Maharaja’s box and saw a very familiar expression on Nilanjana’s face. It was the one she wore whenever she looked at me. As if she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Whatever.

“I don’t care, Ma,” I said breezily, as Samrat galloped towards the VIP enclosure.

“Why is he coming here?” asked Ma, panicking at the very thought. “This is most improper. He needs to greet the Maharani first, as per protocol.”

Fuck protocol, I thought defiantly. I was his girlfriend. Of course, Samrat was going to come to me first after his amazing performance. He rode past his brother’s box without a glance at his family and made straight for me.

I ignored my mother’s strictures and leaned over the edge of the box to throw my arms around Samrat’s neck. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me out of the box and onto his horse.

“Meher! Stop that at once,” cried Ma, looking completely scandalised. “Get off his horse!”

I giggled into the crook of Samrat’s shoulder as he rode away with me.

“She is so going to kill me,” I whispered, not caring if my parents locked me up in the family dungeons at our palace in Matta, as long as Samrat was with me.

“I’ll marry you right now. She wouldn’t dare to touch my wife,” he growled, and a delicious shiver ran down my body.

His wife! Princess Meher Singh Deora .

It was all I’d ever wanted to be from the first time I set my eyes on the handsome prince of Deorangir, who had dropped in to visit my brother, Shaurya, two years ago. He was still training at the Indian Military Academy then, and had kept a polite distance from me until six months ago.

And in just six months, he had swept me off my feet in a whirlwind courtship that was one for the romance novels.

“Marry me, then,” I whispered to the button on his polo jersey.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said with a groan, as he pulled up outside the stables.

Samrat jumped off his pony and lifted me off before he set me down carefully.

I could have jumped off that pony just like him, but that would have deprived me of the pleasure of sliding down his body. I shuddered at the sensations that coursed through my body.

Just then, a stable hand approached us to take the reins of Samrat’s pony, and I took a hasty step back and waited till he’d led the pony away before I spoke.

“I’m serious. Speak to Baba Sa this week and ask for my hand, Samrat. You’re going to be posted to some godforsaken corner of the country soon, and I want to go with you,” I said.

“You’re only twenty-two, Meher!”

“And you’re twenty-five. What’s your point?” I demanded.

“You’re too young to be married,” he insisted. “You should be thinking of a career right now. Think about what you’re going to do with your time when I’m away on missions.”

I let out a rude snort that would have made my mother furious.

“As if Ma would ever allow her daughter to take up a career! And you might think I’m too young to be married, Samrat, but my mother wouldn’t agree with you. If she had her way, she would have hog-tied you and dragged you to the wedding mandap as soon as we began dating.”

“You have your whole life ahead of you, Meher. Do you want to waste it on going to polo matches, attending charity luncheons, and heritage auctions?”

“Don’t forget fittings for designer clothes. Those take up a lot of my time,” I said cheekily.

“And I’m very grateful for the results of said fittings, but I’m serious, babe. What do you want to do with your life?”

Ugh! Why was he asking such questions? It was all very well for him to talk of a career, but I had been raised to believe I had only one goal in life…

to make an advantageous marriage. Sure, I had a degree of sorts, from an American university, but it wasn’t worth more than the paper it was printed on.

I had no employable skills, but I could tell a real Birkin from a fake one.

I could host dinner for seventy people at a day’s notice.

I could manage a full housekeeping team remotely.

I could help my future husband pick out a yacht, plan a skiing holiday in the Swiss Alps, and I could decorate all his homes with one hand tied behind my back.

I knew how to sweet-talk the most miserly old curmudgeon into loosening his purse strings in the name of charity.

And more importantly, I knew how to navigate the shark-infested waters we called high society. What more did I need?

Before I could explain any of this to Samrat, there was a furious clip-clop of heels on the cobblestoned path of the stables, and his sister-in-law came into view. She was panting as if she had run all the way here.

“There you are,” she exclaimed. “Your Bhai Sa is waiting to congratulate you, Sam. Besides, it’s time to present the trophy.”

“We’ll be there in a minute, Bhabhi Sa,” he said politely, gripping my hand tightly.

“Uff! How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nilu?” she said sweetly, and the expression on her face turned my stomach.

Why the hell was Nilanjana staring at her husband’s brother like he was a delicious piece of meat? Eww!

I took a step closer to him, and her eyes fell on our clasped hands. She gave me a wintry smile.

“Your mother is looking for you, Meher. You shouldn’t go wandering around strange places. You might get lost,” she said, as if I were a child.

“I was with Samrat. And I knew he’d keep me safe,” I said, giving him an adoring glance that I knew would piss her off.

Nilanjana hadn’t changed much. She was a couple of years ahead of me at the prestigious Swiss boarding school I had attended, and although I had lost touch with her after she passed out, I knew one thing.

She was a bully in school, and I knew that under that veneer of politeness and charm, she was a bigger bully now that she had married the Maharaja of Deorangir.

Samrat’s older brother, Adhiraj, was a rather sickly man, but he was heir to a vast fortune. I guessed money trumped good health as far as Nilanjana was concerned. Well, she could keep all the wealth. All I wanted was Samrat.

“And what about Sanjay? He’s here just to meet you. How do you think he’s going to feel when he finds you canoodling with another man?” she snapped.

Sanjay was Nilanjana’s brother, and I couldn’t believe she was using him to cause a rift between Samrat and me. Well, it wouldn’t work!

Just as I thought that, Samrat’s hand tightened on mine.

“What the hell do you mean, Bhabhi Sa?”

“Ask her. I don’t want to cause any problems,” said the nasty, lying bitch, before she walked away with a triumphant smile at me.

“Explain,” barked Samrat, and I turned to him in disbelief.

“There’s nothing to explain! I went out with Sanjay a couple of times last year, until someone sent me his Bumble profile. He was trying to hook up with chicks on the side while he tried to convince me to go steady. I dumped him way before you and I started dating.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” I said, exasperated at having to explain all this. It was just a couple of dates, for fuck’s sake.

Samrat merely grunted in response, and we went back to the polo field. I ducked my head to avoid my mother’s glare. Samrat squeezed my hand before he went off to join his teammates on the field for the prize-giving ceremony, and I returned to my seat next to Ma.

“How dare you make such a fool of yourself, Meher? I’ve never been so mortified,” said Ma through gritted teeth. “Samrat’s sister-in-law made some very pointed remarks about your unladylike behaviour.”

I bit my tongue hard and kept my opinions about Nilanjana to myself. But I would have dearly liked to point out that lusting after your husband’s younger brother was even more unladylike.

Samrat and I couldn’t keep our eyes off each other through the gala dinner that followed the match, and he kissed me hard when he dropped me off at my room in his palace.

“Some day soon, I’m going to carry you off to my bedroom and never let you go,” he said between kisses.

“You could do it right now,” I gasped, as he nibbled on the delicate skin beneath my ear.

Samrat pulled away with a groan.

“Stop tempting me, you witch! Fine! Have it your way! I’ll speak to your father as soon as I get back from probation,” he promised with another long, deep kiss.

But his promises meant nothing.

Because when my world turned upside down the next morning, Samrat was the first one to turn his back on me.