Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9)

by Barbara Mccauley

  She looked up at him, prayed he couldn’t see through the mask of nonchalance she struggled to project. “You’ve been more than generous with your time.”

  “I have a conference call with my brother in the morning and a business lunch with the Duke of Sydebottom tomorrow. I will pick you up after that and we’ll finish the tour.”

  It wasn’t a request, Emily realized, but more like a royal decree. “Finish the tour?”

  “You haven’t seen the palace grounds. The weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll walk through the gardens.”

  She wanted to protest, to insist it wasn’t necessary for him to take her on a tour, but based on the set look on his face and the resolve in his eyes, she was certain her objection would go unheeded.

  “That would be lovely.” She felt a mixture of dread and excitement of being outside alone with Dylan, away from the palace and its staff. “Thank you again for a lovely afternoon.”

  She slipped into her room, leaving him out in the hallway, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the door. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she tried not to remember the feel of Dylan’s lips on hers and the betrayal not only of her own body when she’d responded so eagerly to his kiss, but the betrayal that had brought her here in the first place.

  She hadn’t much time, she knew.

  Tonight, while Dylan was out, she would break into his suite.

  Briefcase in hand, Dylan armed the alarm panel to his suite, closed the door behind him, then headed for the elevator at the end of the hall where he punched in another set of numbers at the elevator keypad and stepped inside. He glanced briefly at the camera over his head, knew that his image was already on the security monitors. The temptation to make a rude gesture always overcame him when he stepped into the elevator, but he managed to resist. A man with a mission as serious as his should never draw attention to himself, he knew only too well.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop at the basement level. Dylan stepped off and nodded to the guard posted there, then made his way through a private tunnel underneath the palace. At the first fork he turned left and passed the offices where Penwyck’s Royal Elite Team was headquartered. Several guards in this area straightened and greeted him as he passed, but he didn’t pause, afraid if he stopped, they might suspect what he was up to. If he were caught with the contraband in his briefcase, there would be serious consequences.

  At the end of the tunnel, Dylan climbed a set of stairs to a pair of doors, where two guards immediately stood tall. A sign over the door in red letters read, Authorized Personnel Only.

  “Your Royal Highness,” the men said together, then opened the doors for Dylan. He nodded as he passed through and entered a small lobby. To one side of the room, three tapestry armchairs faced a chocolate-brown velvet couch. On the other side was the private nurse’s station reserved for the members of the royal family.

  “Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” the nurse greeted him from behind the counter.

  “Evening, Jennifer.” Dylan’s hand tightened around the handle of his briefcase, but he kept his tone light as he made his way across the room. “Dora off tonight?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Jennifer smiled. “Home with the family.”

  He moved through another door, which led to a wing of rooms, then knocked lightly on the first door to the left. A secret service agent named Jack Myers opened the door, greeted Dylan, then stepped aside to allow him entry.

  King Morgan, dressed in a long, deep-blue robe and slippers, rose from a plush chair where he’d been reading his evening paper. Dylan still found it difficult to believe that a man as robust as his father had been as ill as he had, especially since he’d been recovering so quickly these past few days.

  “Well, it’s about damn time.”

  “Good evening, Father.”

  Morgan dragged a hand through his short, wavy brown hair and frowned at his son, then shot a glance at Myers. “Leave us.”

  “But, Your Majesty, the queen has—”

  “I said, leave us!” King Morgan roared. “As long as I’m still breathing, I’m the king.”

  Obviously nervous, the man glanced from Morgan to Dylan, then bowed and reluctantly left the room.

  “We haven’t much time.” Morgan moved to a desk and sat in the chair. “Your mother has spies everywhere. Do you have it?”

  Dylan stepped beside his father, laid the briefcase on the desk, opened it then pulled out a plastic case and handed it to his father.

  King Morgan opened the case and stared at the corned beef on rye sandwich. Pleasure brightened his face as he picked the sandwich up and took a bite. Closing his eyes, he groaned with delight. “What I wouldn’t give for an ale to go with this.”

  “Absolutely not.” Dylan settled into the leather armchair across from his father. “Mother will have both our heads if she finds out about this, and Dr. Waltham will banish me from the infirmary all together.”

  “Oatmeal, poached eggs and boiled chicken. They feed the royal horses and pigs better than their own king,” Morgan grumbled around another bite, then, overcome with rapture, sank back in his chair. “Now tell me what’s going on outside this dungeon I’ve been exiled to.”

  Morgan listened thoughtfully while Dylan brought him up to date with the palace business. Owen was currently in Drogheda, negotiating an alliance with the neighboring island and the island of Marjorco, as well; two known members of the Black Knights had been spotted at a pub in town, but they’d escaped before they could be apprehended; Broderick, Morgan’s brother, had been forced to step down as the temporary ruler of Penwyck, and there was suspicion that Broderick himself was linked to the group of rebel dissidents.

  “Damn the traitorous bastard.” Morgan shook his head in disgust. “To think my own flesh and blood would jeopardize this country and his own family members infuriates me. Have we proof?”

  “Not yet.” Dylan put the plastic sandwich case back in his briefcase and closed it. He knew it was important to remove all incriminating evidence. “The Royal Elite Team has been working on locating the Black Knights’ headquarters, but so far every lead has turned into a dead end.”

  Morgan leaned forward and put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you these past two years, son. You ready to tell me what you were doing all that time?”

  Dylan grinned at his father. “Chasing women and drinking myself blind every night, of course. What else?”

  King Morgan gave a bellowing laugh, then turned his attention back to the last of his sandwich. “I’ve taught you well, my boy, though God forbid your mother hears me say that. Women haven’t much of a sense of humor about these things.”

  Dylan didn’t suppose his mother would have much of a sense of humor over the fact that her son had been working for a special forces group in Borovkia, either. Better to let his parents think he’d been carousing these past two years, rather than being part of a covert search and rescue for kidnapped businessmen and innocent civilians.

  King Morgan brushed the crumbs off the front of his robe, then settled back in his chair and studied his son thoughtfully. “And speaking of women, I’ve been hearing some interesting stories about a certain dark-haired beauty you’re infatuated with. Emma, is it?”

  Dylan felt the flash of annoyance, then shook it off. He knew there were no secrets in the palace, that the entire staff most likely knew what color socks he wore on any given day. He’d had to live with lack of privacy his entire life. He could only accept it as part of who he was, who his family was.

  But that still didn’t mean he had to like it, either.

  “Emily,” he said more irritably than he’d intended. “And I’m not infatuated. I just feel a certain sense of responsibility, that’s all. I nearly killed the woman, for God’s sake.”

  “Responsibility, is it?” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “With a bit of lust thrown in to ease the bitter taste?”

  In spite of his annoyance, Dylan smiled, then shrugge
d. “Perhaps.”

  Morgan grinned. “A healthy thing, lust. Enjoy yourself while you’re young, son. I remember when your mother and I—” he stopped abruptly, then cleared his throat. “Well, never mind. Let’s have a game of cards, shall we?”

  Thankful that he wouldn’t have to hear about his parents’ sexual exploits in their younger days, Dylan reached for the deck of cards on the desk top and shuffled them. “Rummy?”

  King Morgan snorted. “Five-card draw. I win, tomorrow you bring a cigar.”

  “All right.” With those stakes, Dylan knew he’d have to make certain he didn’t lose. “And if I win, you have to eat your poached eggs and boiled chicken until Dr. Waltham says different.”

  “Dr. Waltham is a buffoon,” Morgan complained, then rubbed his hands together briskly. “Deal the cards, son.”

  Bright silver streaks of moonlight poured through the windows and streamed across the plush carpeted floors. Emily lay in bed, staring at her closed bedroom door, listening for any sounds from the hallway outside. Other than the fierce pounding of her own heart, the palace was exceptionally quiet tonight.

  Sally had been a wealth of information regarding the royal family’s plans this evening. Without even asking, Emily had learned that the queen and her daughters were entertaining the Duke and Duchess of Haberson, that Prince Owen was away, and Prince Dylan had given his valet the evening off, which usually meant, Sally had said with a sparkle in her eyes, that His Royal Highness would be dining elsewhere and not returning until the morning.

  Emily knew that she should be elated over the news. Wasn’t this exactly what she needed—for Dylan to be away for the evening? How else was she going to sneak inside his suite without his knowing?

  But she wasn’t elated at all. She was terrified. She was certain she would be caught, that she’d be arrested, then taken away in handcuffs while everyone who’d been so nice to her looked on in shock and disgust.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted the sheets in her hands. She couldn’t think about that, she couldn’t. She had to think success, had to think about her grandmother being safely released and nothing else.

  And though she’d tried to deny it all afternoon, there was something else she had to admit, as well: she hated the idea of Dylan with another woman, especially after the way he’d kissed her this afternoon.

  Did he kiss every woman the way he’d kissed her? she wondered. Did he make every woman feel as if her bones might melt, as if no other man had existed before? As if no other man ever would?

  Of course he did, she’d told herself a hundred times since she’d returned to her room. She knew that he wanted her, physically wanted her—he’d certainly made that clear. But that didn’t mean there was anything at all special about her, the way a woman wants to be special to a man.

  She’d waited her entire life to find a man who would make her feel this way—as if there were butterflies in her stomach. As if her feet were barely touching the ground. As if colors were brighter and sounds were sharper.

  She sighed at her foolishness, then slid out from under the covers. She shivered at the cool air and pulled a robe on over the green satin pajamas she wore. It was only nine-thirty; she’d give herself fifteen minutes tops, then be back in this room. Tucking her feet into the soft forest-green slippers beside her bed, she made her way across the room. Quietly, she opened her door and peered out into the hall.

  It was empty.

  Dylan’s quarters were around the corner from her own. He’d pointed out his suite to her when he’d taken her on the tour this morning, had made it clear that he was close if she needed anything. Anything at all.

  But she’d already known where Dylan’s quarters were. Sutton had given her a map of the palace and insisted she commit it to memory before she destroyed it, along with the entry code that would gain her access into Dylan’s suite and the combination of the safe inside.

  A moment later, as she stood in front of the softly lit security panel, her legs shook.

  She knew the code. All she had to do was enter the numbers, then slip inside. It should be easy. She only needed a few minutes to get in and get out. There were no security cameras here, she’d been told. The royal family insisted on privacy in their quarters.

  A privacy she was about to intrude on.

  If only there was another way.

  The truth? she wondered. Would Dylan help her if she told him the truth? Or would he have her thrown in jail, leaving Olivia in the hands of those horrible men?

  She couldn’t risk that. She had no other choice but to proceed with the plan.

  She glanced around the empty hallway, then closed her eyes and drew in a slow, calming breath. I can do this. I can. Heart pounding, palms sweating, she lifted her hand to the control panel.

  “Emily?”

  She whirled at the sound of Dylan’s voice at the end of the hall. He stood there, briefcase in his hand, a dark frown on his face.

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  His frown darkened as he walked toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  Seven

  “Is something wrong?” Dylan asked impatiently when she didn’t answer him. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, thoughts of her, wondering if she were sleeping, what she would look like with that amazing hair of hers spread across her pillow—across his pillow. How much he wanted to wrap his hands in that hair and pull her to him, underneath him.

  And then he found her, standing at his door, as if he’d conjured her up just by thinking of her.

  Wearing her nightclothes, no less.

  When she still didn’t answer him, he pushed the buttons on his alarm panel, then took hold of her arm and quickly pulled her inside his suite. Though most of the palace staff was gone by this hour, there was always an occasional maid or valet wandering the hallways. Obviously, there were enough rumors flying about the palace, he didn’t need to add any more fuel to that fire.

  It was dark inside. He could have reached for the light switch, but he set his briefcase down on the marble floor of the foyer and reached for Emily instead.

  “Are you ill?” He slid his hands up to her shoulders. “Shall I call for the doctor?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. You just startled me.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  “I—I had a dream,” she said. “It was so real. I know it’s silly of me. I certainly shouldn’t be bothering you, but—”

  “You’re not bothering me.” He pulled her into his arms, smoothed his hand up her stiff spine, then down again. When she started to push away, he held her firmly against him. “Relax, Emily. I won’t bite,” he said softly. “Unless you ask me to, of course.”

  Still shivering, she pressed her cheek against his shirt. He breathed in her faint floral scent, felt the heat of her skin, the rapid pounding of her heart. His body tightened in response, but he held back from pulling her closer still, from tugging open the belt of her robe and dipping his hands inside to fill his palms with the soft, firm weight of her breasts.

  But he was only human. He knew his limits, knew he couldn’t take much more of this and not give in to the demands of his body.

  He stepped away, took her arm and led her to the sofa in his parlor. A river of moonlight through the windows cast a silvery edge to the shadows. “Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

  He crossed to the buffet table where his valet kept a full-service bar stocked, dropped ice into two crystal glasses, then poured Scotch into each one.

  She hesitated when he pressed the glass into her hand, then she took a sip. When she started to cough, he smiled and sat down beside her.

  “Well, I suppose that tells us you don’t drink much,” he said. “The next sip should go down easier, though. Now tell me about your dream.”

  She took another sip, closed her eyes as she swallowed, then opened them again. “I’m in a room. There’s a window with bars and a man reaches in to grab me. Every corner I run to, he’s ther
e, his fingers clutching and clawing at me. I can’t get away from him.”

  Dylan couldn’t see Emily’s face clearly, but her voice shook with fear. He took the glass from her hands and set it on the side table, then set his down, as well.

  “Do you know this man?” He pulled her close, amazed at his need to comfort. “Does he have a face?”

  “No.” Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could feel her gaze, intense and frightened. “But he’s real, Dylan. He does exist.”

  Did he? Dylan wondered. Or was it just a dream? A nightmare she couldn’t quite let go?

  “No one’s going to hurt you.” He smoothed her hair back from her shoulders. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She loosened her hold on his shirt, then, with a sigh, she slid her hand up his chest and laid her palm on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  The gentle touch of her fingertips on his face made his blood heat. He turned his mouth into her hand, pressed his lips to her palm. “Come to my bed, Emily. Stay with me.”

  He felt her hesitation, then her shudder. He moved his lips to her wrist and nibbled there, tasted the warmth of her skin, felt the rapid-fire beat of her pulse.

  “You don’t even know who I am,” she whispered.

  “I want you,” he said firmly. “You want me, I know you do. That’s enough for now.”

  “For now, maybe.” Her hand slid away from his face. “But what about tomorrow, or the day after that?”

  “There’s only now,” he insisted, felt the need pumping through his body. “Just you and me.”

  “If only that were true.” She eased away from him, pulled her robe tightly around her. “I—I’m sorry. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She stood, then hurried from the room. He started to go after her, then stopped. He’d certainly never forced a woman into going to bed with him before, and he had no intention of starting now, even though his body screamed different.