Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride!

by Raye Morgan

  Motivations were often difficult to untangle and understand. What were hers? Did it really mean everything to her to have her father satisfied that she was safe, and to do it before it was too late? Evidence did suggest that he was fading fast. Was that what moved her? He couldn’t think what else it could be. But was that really enough to make her rush to Leonardo’s arms? Or was there something going on that he didn’t know about?

  “I suppose the powers that be are in favor of this wedding?” he mentioned casually.

  She nodded. “Believe me, everything around here is planned to the nth degree. Public-relations values hold sway over everything.”

  “I’ve noticed. That’s what makes me wonder. What’s the deal with this wedding coming on so suddenly? I would think the regime would try to milk all the publicity they could possibly get out of a long engagement.”

  “Interesting theory,” she said softly, pretending to be busy folding clothes away.

  “Why?” he asked bluntly. “Why so soon?”

  “You’d have to ask Leonardo about that,” she said evasively.

  “Maybe I will. If I get the chance.” He looked at her sharply, trying to read her mind. “I can’t help but think he has a plan in mind. There has to be a reason.”

  “Sometimes people just want to do things quickly,” she said, getting annoyed with his persistence.

  “Um-hmm.” He didn’t buy that for a minute. The more he let the idea of such a marriage—the ultimate marriage of convenience—linger in his mind, the more he hated it. Pellea couldn’t be with Leonardo. Everything in him rebelled at the thought.

  Pellea belonged to him.

  That was nonsense, of course. How could she be his when he wouldn’t do what needed to be done to take that responsibility in hand himself? After all, he’d refused to step up and do the things a man did when making a woman his own. As his old tutor might say, he craved the honey but refused to tend to the bees.

  Still in some deep, gut-level part of him, she was his and had been since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d put his stamp on her, his brand, his seal. He’d held her and loved her, body and soul, and he wanted her available for more of the same. She was his, damn it!

  But what was he prepared to do about it?

  That was the question.

  He watched her, taking in the grace and loveliness of her form and movement, the full, luscious temptation of her exciting body, the beauty of her perfect face, and the question burned inside him. What was he prepared to do? It was working into a drumbeat in his head and in his heart. What? Just exactly what?

  “You don’t love him.”

  The words came out loud and clear and yet he was surprised when he said them. He hadn’t planned to say anything of the sort. Still, once it was out, he was glad he’d said it. The truth was out now, like a flag, a banner, a warning that couldn’t be ignored any longer. And why not? Truth was supposed to set you free.

  And she didn’t love Leonardo. It was obvious in the way she talked to him and talked about him. She was using him and he was using her. They had practically said as much in front of him—though neither had known it at the time. Why not leave it out there in the open where it could be dealt with?

  “You don’t love him,” he said again, even more firmly this time.

  She whirled to face him, her arms folded, her eyes flashing. “How do you know?” she challenged, her chin high.

  A slow smile began to curl his lips. As long as they were speaking truth, why not add a bit more?

  “I know, Pellea. I know very well. Because…” He paused, not really for dramatic effect, although that was what he ended up with. He paused because for just a second, he wondered if he really dared say this.

  “Because you love me,” he said at last.

  The shock of his words seemed to crackle in the air.

  She gasped. “Oh! Of all the…” Her cheeks turned bright red and she choked and had to cough for a moment. “I never told you that!”

  He sat back and surveyed her levelly. “You didn’t have to tell me with words. Your body told me all I would ever need to know.” His gaze skimmed over her creamy skin. “Every time I touch you your body resonates like a fine instrument. You were born to play to my tune.”

  She stood staring at him, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe anyone would have the gall to say such things. “Of all the egos in the world…”

  “Mine’s the best?” he prompted, then shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Of course.”

  She held her breath and counted to ten, not really sure if she was trying to hold back anger or a smile. He did appear ridiculously adorable sitting there looking pleased with himself. She let her breath back out and tried for logic and reason. It would obviously be best to leave flights of fancy and leaps of faith behind.

  “I don’t love you,” she lied with all her heart. Tears suddenly threatened, but she wouldn’t allow them. Not now. “I can’t love you. Don’t you see that? Don’t ever say that to me again.”

  Something in her voice reached in and made a grab for his heartstrings. Had he actually hurt her with his careless words? That was the last thing he would ever want to do.

  “Pellea.” He rose and reached for her.

  She tried to turn away but he wouldn’t let her. His arms came around her, holding her close against his chest, and he stroked her hair.

  “Pellea, darling…”

  She lifted her face, her lips trembling. He looked down and melted. No woman had ever been softer in his arms. Instantly, his mouth was on hers, touching, testing, probing, lighting her pulse on fire. She kissed him in return for as long as she dared, then pulled back, though she was still in the circle of his embrace. She tried to frown.

  “You taste like chicken,” she said, blinking up at him.

  He smiled, and a warm sense of his affection for her was plain to see. “You taste like heaven,” he countered.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, please, Monte. Let me go.”

  He did so reluctantly, and she drew back slowly, looking toward him with large, sad eyes and thinking, If only…

  He watched her, feeling strangely helpless, though he wasn’t really sure why. With a sigh, she turned and went back to pacing.

  “We have to get you out of here,” she fretted while he sat down again and leaned back in his chair. “If I can get you out of the castle, do you have a way to get back to the continent?”

  He waved away the very concept. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said confidently. “And when I do go, I’ll take care of myself. I’ve got resources. No need to worry about me.”

  She stopped, shaking her head as she looked at him. How could she not worry about him? That was pretty much all she was thinking about right now. She needed him to leave before he found out about the baby. And even more important, she wanted him to go because she wanted him to stay alive. But there was no point in bringing that up. He would only laugh at the danger. Still, she had to try to get him to see reason.

  “There is more news,” she told him, leaning against the opposite chair. “Rumors are flying.”

  He paused, the chicken leg halfway to his mouth. He put it down again and gazed at her. “What kind of rumors?”

  She turned and sank into the chair she’d been leaning on. “There’s talk of a force preparing for an Ambrian invasion.”

  He raised one sleek eyebrow and looked amused. “By whom?”

  “Ex-Ambrians, naturally. Trying to take the country back.”

  His sharp, all-knowing gaze seemed to see right into her soul as he leaned closer across the table. “And you believe that?”

  “Are you kidding?” She threw her hands up. “I can see it with my own eyes. What else are you doing here?”

  He gave her another view of his slow, sexy smile. “I came to kidnap you, not to start a revolution. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear.”

  She leaned forward, searching his eyes. “So it’s true. You
are planning to take over this country.”

  He shrugged, all careless confidence. “Someday, sure.” His smile was especially knowing and provocative. “Not this weekend though. I’ve got other plans.”

  He had other plans. Well, wasn’t that just dandy? He had plans and she had issues of life and death to contend with. She wanted to strangle him. Or at least make him wince a little. She rose, towering over him and pointing toward her gateway.

  “You’ve got to go. Now!”

  He looked surprised at her vehemence, and then as though his feelings were hurt, he said, “I’m eating.”

  “You can take the food with you.”

  He frowned. “But I’m almost done.” He took another bite. “This is actually pretty good chicken.”

  She stared at him, at her wit’s end, then sank slowly back into the chair, her head in her hands. What could she do? She couldn’t scream for help. That could get him killed. She couldn’t pick him up and carry him to the doorway. That would get her killed. Or at least badly injured. She was stuck here in her chambers, stuck with the man she loved, the father of her child, the man whose kisses sent her into orbit every time, and everything depended on getting rid of him somehow. What on earth was she going to do?

  “I hate you,” she said, though it was more of a moan than a sentence.

  “Good,” he responded. “I like a woman with passion.”

  She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he ever be serious? It was maddening. “My hatred would be more effective if I had a dagger instead,” she commented dryly.

  He waved a finger at her. “No threats. There’s nothing quite so deadly to a good relationship. Don’t go down that road.”

  She pouted, feeling grumpy and as though she wasn’t being taken seriously. “Who said we had a good relationship?”

  He looked surprised. “Don’t we?” Reaching out, he took her hand. “It’s certainly the best I’ve ever had,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with the sort of affection that made her breath catch in her throat.

  She curled her fingers around his. She couldn’t help it. She did love him so.

  She wasn’t sure why. He had done little so far other than make her life more difficult. He hadn’t promised her anything but kisses and lovemaking. Was that enough to give your heart for?

  Hardly. Pellea was a student of history and she knew very well that people living on love tended to starve pretty quickly. What began with excitement and promises usually ended in bleak prospects and recriminations.

  The gong sounded, making her jump. She pulled away her hand and looked at him. He shrugged as though he regretted the interruption.

  “I’ll take my food into the library,” he offered. “Just don’t forget and bring your guest in there.”

  “I won’t,” she said back softly, watching him go and then hurrying to the entryway.

  It was Magda, her hairdresser, making plans for their session. The older woman was dressed like a gypsy with scarves and belts everywhere. She was a bit of a character, but she had a definite talent with hair.

  “I’ll be back in half an hour,” she warned. “You be ready. I’m going to need extra time to weave your hair around the tiara. It’s not what I usually do, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, Magda,” Pellea said, smiling. “And I appreciate that you are willing to give it a try. I’m sure we’ll work something out together.”

  Magda grumbled a bit, but she seemed to be looking forward to the challenge. “Half an hour,” she warned again as she started off toward the supply room to prepare for the session.

  Pellea had just begun to close the gate when Kimmee came breezing around the corner.

  “Hi,” she called, rushing forward. “Don’t close me out.”

  Pellea gave her a welcoming smile but didn’t encourage her to come into the courtyard. “I’m in a bit of a hurry tonight,” she warned her. “I’ve got the hairdresser coming and…”

  “I just need to give your gown a last-minute check for wrinkles,” Kimmee said cheerfully, ignoring Pellea’s obvious hint and coming right on in.

  “Where is he?” she whispered, eyes sparkling, as she squeezed past.

  “Who?” Pellea responded, startled.

  Kimmee grinned. “I saw him when I was here earlier. You were out, but he was here.” She winked. “I said hello.” She looked around, merrily furtive. “We spoke.”

  “Oh.”

  Pellea swallowed hard with regret. This was not good. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. Kimmee had kept the secret before, but would she again?

  “He is so gorgeous,” Kimmee whispered happily. “I’m so glad for you. You needed someone gorgeous in your life.”

  Pellea shook her head, worried and not sure how to deal with this. “But, Kimmee, it’s not like that. You know I’m going to marry Leonardo and…”

  “All the more reason you need a gorgeous man. No one said it had to be a forever man.” Her smile was impish. “Just take some happiness where you can. You deserve it.”

  She looked at her maid in despair. It was all very well for her to be giving shallow comfort for activities that were clearly not in good taste. But here she was, hoisted on her own petard, as it were—taking advice that could ruin her life. But what was she going to do—beg a servant not to gossip? Might as well ask a bird not to fly.

  Of course, Kimmee was more than a mere servant. In many ways, she had always been her best friend. That might make a difference. It had in the past. But not being sure was nerve-wracking. After all, this was pretty much a life-or-death situation.

  She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. “Kimmee,” she began nervously.

  “Don’t worry, Pel,” Kimmee said softly. She reached out and touched her mistress’s arm, her eyes warm with an abiding affection. She’d used the name she’d called Pellea when they were young playmates. “I’m just happy that…” She shrugged, but they both knew what she was talking about. “I’d never, ever tell anyone else. It’s just you and me.”

  Tears filled Pellea’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Kimmee kissed Pellea’s cheek, as though on impulse and nodded. Then suddenly, as she noticed Monte coming into the doorway to the library, she was the dutiful servant once again. “Oh, miss, let me take a look at that gown.”

  Monte leaned against the doorjamb, his shirt open, his hair mussed, looking for all the world like an incredibly handsome buccaneer.

  “Hey, Kimmee,” he said.

  “Hello, sir.” She waved, then had second thoughts and curtsied. As she rose from her deep bow, Pellea was behind her and Kimmee risked an A-OK wink to show him plans were afoot and all was going swimmingly. “I hope things are going well with you,” she added politely.

  “Absolutely,” he told her. “I’ve just had a nice little meal and I’m feeling pretty chipper.”

  She laughed and turned back to her work, completed it quickly, and turned to go.

  “Well, miss, I just wanted to check on the gown and remind you I’ll be here to help you get into it in about an hour. Will that suit?”

  “That will suit. Magda should be through by then.” She smiled at the young woman. “Thank you, Kimmee,” she said, giving her a hug as she passed. “I hope you know how much I appreciate you.”

  “Of course, miss. My only wish is for your happiness. You should know that by now.”

  “I do. You’re a treasure.”

  The maid waved at them both. “I’ll be back in a bit. See you.”

  “Goodbye, Kimmee,” Monte said, retreating into the library again.

  But Pellea watched her go, deep in thought. In a few hours, she would be at the ball, dancing with Leonardo and preparing to have their engagement announced. People would applaud. Some might even cheer. A couple of serving girls would toss confetti in the air. A new phase of her life would open. She ought to be excited. Instead, she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Get over it,” she told herself roughly. She had to d
o what she had to do. There was no choice in the matter. But instead of a bride going to join her fiancé, she felt like a traitor going to her doom.

  Was she doing the right thing? How could she know for sure?

  She pressed both hands to her belly and thought of the child inside. The “right thing” was whatever was best for her baby. That, at least, was clear. Now if she could just be sure what that was, maybe she could stop feeling like a tightrope walker halfway across the rope.

  And in the meantime, there was someone who seemed to take great delight in jiggling that rope she was so anxiously trying to get across.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TURNING, PELLEA MARCHED into the library and confronted Monte.

  He looked up and nodded as she approached. “She’s a good one,” he commented on Kimmee. “I’m glad you’ve got such a strong supporter nearby.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen her, actually chatted with her?” Pellea said, in no mood to be mollified. “Don’t you see how dangerous that is? What if she talks?”

  He eyed her quizzically. “You know her better than I do. What do you think? Will she?”

  Pellea shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t think so, but…”

  She threw up her hands. It occurred to her how awful it was to live like this, always suspicious, always on edge. She wanted to trust her best friend. Actually, she did trust her. But knowing the penalty one paid for being wrong in this society kept her on her toes.

  “Who knows?” she said, staring at him, wondering how this all would end.

  It was tempting, in her darkest moments, to blame it all on him. He came, he saw, he sent her into a frenzy of excitement and—she had to face it—love, blinding her to what was really going on, making her crazy, allowing things to happen that should never have happened.

  But he was just the temptor. She was the temptee. From the very first, she should have stopped him in his tracks, and she’d done nothing of the sort. In fact, she’d immediately gone into a deep swoon and hadn’t come out of it until he was gone. She had no one to blame but herself.