The Prince's Royal Dilemma

by Brenda Harlen

  “Like you’re making an effort?” The boy snorted. “The only reason you’re even here now instead of living your own life in London is that Mom and Dad stuck you with guardianship.”

  “That’s not true,” Rowan said.

  “Bull.”

  Damon goggled at his brother; Lexi started to cry again; and Lara just looked from Christian to Rowan, her pointed gaze telling him that he was going to have to work this out on his own. As if he had the slightest idea how to work out anything with a twelve-year-old boy who clearly resented everything about him.

  “That kind of language isn’t acceptable anywhere,” he said in a low voice.

  “You can’t tell me what to do or say,” Christian shot back. “You’re not my father.”

  “No, I’m not,” he agreed. “But you will speak to me with respect or you will leave this table.”

  Christian shoved his chair away from the table and stormed out of the room, past the server who hovered in the doorway with a silver pot in her hand.

  Rowan held back a sigh as he beckoned to Maria, who poured coffee for both Lara and him, then exited the room quickly.

  Lara added a splash of cream to her cup, then turned her attention to the two younger children.

  “Are you finished eating?” she asked them.

  Rowan frowned at the amount of food still left on their plates but said nothing as both Lexi and Damon nodded.

  “Go wash up,” she said. “Then you can go into the kitchen and ask Marcel if he has any more of that homemade ice cream.”

  Both faces brightened and they scampered off together.

  He figured she wanted the children gone so they could discuss his verbal confrontation with Christian, but she remained silent, stirring her coffee.

  She might be prepared to ignore the boy’s behavior, but Rowan was not. “He’s going to have to learn to control his impulses.”

  Lara lifted her cup, sipped.

  “His outburst was inappropriate and his language was vulgar,” he continued.

  “You should focus on the content rather than the delivery,” she finally said. “If you did, you’d realize that what he said was a true expression of his feelings.”

  “It was inappropriate,” he said again.

  “But not inaccurate.”

  He frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he was right. I might not go so far as to say this dinner plan was fake, but it was superficial, and until you—and I mean all of you—make an honest effort to get to know one another, you can’t expect anything else.”

  “Doesn’t this—” he gestured around the table “—prove that I’m making an effort?”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again without uttering a word.

  “Say it.”

  “You don’t want to hear it,” she warned.

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “But that’s never stopped you before.”

  “Okay. I don’t think this—” she gestured as he had done “—proves anything. And those kids are smart enough to know that you’re just going through the motions so that you can tell yourself you tried.”

  “You have a better idea?” he challenged.

  “You have to acknowledge your feelings and resentments.”

  “I have no resentments.”

  “And stop lying to yourself,” she added.

  “Who or what am I supposed to resent?”

  “Julian and Catherine for dying, the laws of succession for putting you in charge, the children for making you aware of your shortcomings. Actually, the whole situation.”

  He laughed. “You’re not serious?”

  “Emotions aren’t logical or reasonable,” she said patiently. “And you’re never going to connect with those children and really become a family if you don’t deal with the negative feelings.”

  “And what makes you an expert on family dynamics?”

  “I’m not claiming to be an expert, but I do believe that honesty and communication are the keys to making any relationship work. And one shared meal isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Well, this is new territory for me,” he admitted. “And I’m doing the best that I can.”

  “Your best has to be better,” she said bluntly.

  Before he could respond, Lexi and Damon came back into the dining room.

  “I thought you might want some dessert, too.” Lexi placed one of the bowls she’d balanced on her hands in front of Rowan, then gave the other one to Lara.

  He was surprised—and touched—by the gesture, and he figured his effort couldn’t have been too bad if his niece was bringing him ice cream. “Thank you, Alexandria.”

  “That was very thoughtful,” Lara said. Then, as Damon crawled into her lap, she asked the boy, “Are you sleepy?”

  He nodded and yawned as he settled his head against her shoulder.

  “Then it’s bath time for you,” she said, rising from her chair with the little boy in her arms. “We need to wash all that sticky ice cream off before you fall asleep.”

  “Aren’t you gonna eat your dessert?” Lexi asked.

  “Maybe later. I have to get your brother ready for bed before he falls asleep standing up.”

  “But it’ll melt.”

  “Not if you take it back to the kitchen and ask Marcel to put it in the freezer.”

  “Or I could eat it,” the little girl suggested hopefully.

  “You’ve already had dessert,” Lara reminded her.

  “Please?” she turned beseeching eyes on him, and he melted far more quickly than the ice cream would.

  “No,” Lara said, at the same time he answered, “Sure.”

  Alexandria’s brow furrowed.

  “Lexi knows that she’s not supposed to ask for ice cream more than once a day,” she explained to him.

  “But she didn’t ask the first time,” he couldn’t resist saying. “You offered it.”

  Her only response was to narrow her gaze as she shifted Damon in her arms.

  “Does that mean I get the ice cream?” Lexi asked.

  “Sure,” Rowan said again, enjoying the wide smile she flashed at him before digging into the treat.

  “I’m taking Damon upstairs,” Lara said. “Come on up when you’re finished, Lexi, and I’ll get your bath ready.”

  “’Kay,” the little girl answered around a mouthful of dessert.

  Rowan watched the sway of Lara’s hips as she walked out of the dining room, baffled that he could want a woman even though he always seemed to be at odds with her. Or maybe he deliberately provoked her to ensure they remained at odds, knowing it was the only sure way to keep her at a distance and keep his hands off her.

  Lara closed the book she wasn’t reading and lifted her head to look out the window.

  There was a light breeze coming off the water, and though she couldn’t see anything but stars in the darkness, she could hear the gurgle of the fountains, the chirp of the crickets, and smell the flowers in the garden below.

  Her gaze drifted across the courtyard, as if drawn to the light that flicked on, illuminating a corner window on the second floor of the north tower. Rowan’s office.

  The light stayed on long into the night most evenings when he was home, and she wasn’t surprised to find that it was on now, that he was working late again.

  His new role as prince regent was a huge responsibility and, unlike Julian, Rowan didn’t have a partner who could assume some of the duties and lessen his burden. She’d worried that he was pushing himself too hard, that he’d been too preoccupied with his new responsibilities to let himself grieve for the loss of his brother and sister-in-law. When he’d fired her, she’d revised her assessment, certain that a man who had no heart couldn’t experience grief.

  In either case, it wasn’t her problem.

  But when he’d shown up at Luke’s house and said he needed her, she knew she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

  All her life, she’d been made to feel that
nothing she did was quite good enough, that she wasn’t good enough. Her mom had often suggested that if only Lara had been prettier or smarter or better behaved, her dad might have wanted to stick around. Instead she’d grown up without a father and with a mother who resented her more and more with each year that passed. And then she’d lost her mother, too.

  She’d wanted nothing more than to be wanted. Being needed was, she figured, the next best thing.

  She knew that the prince regent didn’t want her any more than anyone else ever had, but he needed her.

  Even if he didn’t know how much.

  She wondered if she’d been a little harsh earlier, then decided not. Her own personal feelings about the man aside, it was important for the children to know their uncle, and vice versa. And if he was ever going to have a good relationship with Christian, Lexi and Damon, he had to start building that relationship now.

  With a determination only slighter greater than her trepidation, she wound her way through the maze of the palace from her rooms to Rowan’s office.

  She noted that the desk outside his door was unmanned and guessed Rowan had dismissed his secretary earlier because he hadn’t intended to return to work that night. She wondered now if he’d come back because there were pressing matters of state to attend to or because he was seeking refuge from his thoughts in paperwork.

  The door was ajar, and she could hear soft music emanating from within. Julian had always insisted on quiet when he was working, but Rowan seemed to prefer having music in the background. She stepped closer, her hand raised to knock. Through the opening she could see him behind his desk, looking at the picture perched on the corner. The naked anguish visible on his handsome face stunned her.

  Her hand fell to her side.

  Here was the emotion she’d thought he was incapable of feeling—and more. Grief and anger and sorrow and frustration—so clear and raw and powerful they seemed to reach out and squeeze her heart. She didn’t know what precisely had cracked the seemingly impenetrable facade, only that something had and he was hurting.

  Indecision warred within her. She wanted to flee, to leave him to confront his pain and his demons alone. And she wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and do anything she could to ease his heartache. But she knew he wouldn’t thank her for witnessing this uncharacteristic display. He probably wouldn’t even forgive her.

  In the end she simply raised her hand again and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  She pushed the door open a little wider and stepped into his office. Sure enough, the shadows she’d glimpsed in his eyes were already masked, the tension in his jaw relaxed.

  “Yes, Miss Brennan?”

  “I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “but I wanted to apologize.”

  “For neglecting to tell me that Alexandria is lactose intolerant?” he guessed.

  She winced. “I didn’t expect that she’d actually throw up on you.”

  “Well, you made your point,” he told her.

  “What point was that?”

  “That I don’t have a clue when it comes to what the children need.”

  “And now you’re going to use that as an excuse to take another step back from them,” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “They don’t need me.”

  “If you believe that, then you really don’t have a clue.”

  “Were you at the same dinner table I was?”

  “Yes, and I saw three children who recently lost both of their parents seeking confirmation that they matter to someone. The rest of the family is unavailable to them—Eric is at sea more than he’s home, Marcus is at law school in America, and their grandparents went back to Ireland after the funeral. You’re the only one they have here and in the past three weeks you’ve only managed to find the time to share one meal with them.”

  “In case it’s escaped your notice,” he said, “I’ve been busy trying to run this country.”

  “I know there are a lot of demands on your time, but right now the children need you more than all of the politicians and lobby groups and charities and committees in Tesoro del Mar combined.

  “They need you,” she said again, more softly this time.

  “Maybe as much as you need them.”

  He frowned at that but didn’t debate the point. “At least there’s one thing I can feel confident that I’ve done right with respect to the children.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I convinced you to come back.”

  She flushed in response to the unexpected compliment but wasn’t willing to let him abdicate responsibility so easily. “I’m their nanny. You’re their family.”

  He was quiet for a minute, then nodded. “I’ll try to make a better effort.”

  She wanted to see him back up his words with action but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  At least for now.

  Chapter Five

  The last thing Rowan wanted was another confrontation with an obviously angry and grieving child. But after his conversation with Lara, he knew he couldn’t leave things the way they were with Christian.

  He found the boy in the library, on the computer again, and wondered why Julian hadn’t had one set up in his son’s bedroom. He was going to suggest exactly that, thinking it might serve as a peace offering to break down some of the barriers between them. Then he remembered his recent resolution not to make any decisions about the children without consulting the nanny first and stifled the impulse.

  “What are you doing?” he asked instead, noting the rapid movement of his nephew’s fingers over the keyboard.

  “Chatting.”

  Rowan knew that if he waited for the boy to expand on his explanation, he’d wait a long time. “Could you take a break, please? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I can do two things at once.”

  He felt his teeth grind together, but recognized that he’d made a mistake in asking a question rather than issuing a command. “I’m sure you can, but right now, we’re going to focus on one. You’re going to log off the computer and talk to me.”

  The boy’s brows slammed together as he hit a few more keys, then he shoved the keyboard away and turned to his uncle with a mutinous expression. “I’m logged off.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you come to make me apologize for the things I said at dinner?”

  “Do you feel an apology is warranted?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Maybe.”

  Rowan only lifted a brow.

  “Fine—I’m sorry I was disrespectful,” he said in a tone that was anything but respectful. “Are we done now?”

  “Not even close. The things you said at dinner are only the beginning.”

  Christian’s eyes narrowed. “Lara put you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’ve never shown any interest in any of us before.”

  His nephew didn’t sound hurt or angry. He was simply stating what he believed. Maybe that was why the guilt struck so deep.

  “I’m sorry that’s how you perceived the situation,” Rowan said, then immediately shook his head. “No, I’m sorry that’s the way it’s been.”

  Christian eyed him warily. “You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong?”

  “It’s not that I don’t care about all of you, but I realize I haven’t shown much of an interest, and for that I’m sorry.”

  The kid shrugged again. “It’s not your fault. My mom and dad should have made sure you wanted us before making you our guardian.”

  “We did talk about it,” Rowan admitted. “A long time ago.”

  “You did?”

  “I had no objections to being named as your guardian, but the truth is, I never really thought about what it meant. Your parents were both young and healthy. It never occurred to me that something like this might happen.”

  “Something like what?”

  Rowan unlocked a drawer in his
desk and pulled out a thick folder emblazoned with the crest of the Royal Navy.

  “A blast originating in the engine room of the Lysithea—the combined result of a gas-line leak and a spark generated by the electrical engine switch.”

  Christian stared at the folder in his uncle’s hand. “You’re going to let me read the report?”

  Though there had been rumblings that it was a conflict of interest for Eric to be involved in the investigation of the explosion that killed his brother and sister-in-law, he’d refused to be shut out. And he’d made sure that Rowan and Marcus each got copies, not just of the official findings, but of all the documentation that had gone into the making of that final report. The brothers had needed that information to understand and accept the deaths, and Rowan realized now that his nephew did, too.

  “You have a right to know,” he said.

  “But understanding how it happened won’t change anything, will it?” Christian asked, showing insight beyond his years.

  “It won’t bring them back,” he agreed.

  The boy dropped his gaze to the top of the desk. “It’s so hard to believe they’re gone. There are times when I still expect Dad to walk though the door, when I wait for Mom to poke her head in my room and ask if I want to go riding.”

  “I miss them, too,” Rowan admitted.

  Silence stretched between them for a long moment, but it was easier now. Not exactly comfortable, but not filled with tension and animosity, either.

  “I really am sorry about the things I said at dinner,” Christian finally said, sounding sincere this time.

  “I appreciate your apology.” Rowan moved across the room, satisfied with the progress they’d made and not wanting to push the boy for anything more.

  But he hesitated at the door, and when he turned back, he saw Christian was watching him. “I like to ride,” he said. “Usually early mornings are the only chance I get, but I don’t mind company.”

  The boy’s tentative smile squeezed his heart. “Maybe I’ll see you at the stables one morning.”

  “Maybe.”

  When Lara came to Tesoro del Mar, she knew nothing about horses. The first time she went down to the stables, it was Marcus who had taken her there. He’d been shocked to realize that she didn’t know how to ride and insisted that she learn, and he’d made it his personal mission to teach her.