by Carolyn Zane
The sharp question took Luc off guard. Why indeed? The fact that he felt that he belonged nowhere in particular was hardly the answer of a professional. “Uh, well, because I was qualified.”
“And, exactly what is it that qualifies you to find my grandchild?”
“Other than my education and experience?”
Simone issued a curt nod.
Luc shrugged as he pondered his answer. “I think, in this case, it’s because I feel a bit of empathy toward your missing heir. He or she lost their father when they were very young. I lost my mother. I spent time living in both the United States and France and have an understanding of both cultures and…I know what it’s like to—”
“To what?”
“—to long for family.”
Simone’s probing stare warmed a degree or two and for a moment there, she looked nearly maternal. Luc bit back a grin. When she was young, he imagined that she’d been a handful. Probably kind of pretty to boot.
“Very well, then. Tell me what you’ve discovered so far.”
Luc swallowed a sigh of relief. Apparently, he’d passed muster. “As of yesterday, we know that Katie Graham gave birth—”
An odd explosion at the far end of the room drew their attention.
The massive mahogany double doors to the throne room flew open and Sebastian LeMarc burst through, pausing only to issue an urgent apology to the understandably agitated security guards. A wailing Claudette trotted at his heels. Arms outstretched and fingers fluttering, she begged him not to cause a scene.
Sebastian rolled his eyes and tossed a feral frown over his shoulder, willing her to shut up, but it was futile. Claudette was on a roll.
Recognizing Sebastian and his mother as Marie-Claire’s sometime special guests, the guards looked to the Dowager Queen. The slight bob of her head gave them permission to relax and resume their posts.
Before meeting with the queen, Sebastian had wanted to stop and speak with Marie-Claire. Unfortunately, Marie-Claire had been indisposed when they arrived and Claudette’s highly distraught emotional state would not allow them to tarry.
Perhaps it was better this way.
First, he could meet with Queen Simone and his mother and then talk to Marie-Claire in private, later, when he had all of the facts. She needed to hear about this debacle from him, and in private. Although—Sebastian’s jaw tensed at the thought of that tortured conversation—he’d rather face a firing squad than lose the other half of his soul.
Intent on quickly getting to the bottom of this mess, he strode across the room to Simone. In his hands he carried the paperwork Claudette had collected from a friend of a friend who didn’t mind going into the government offices at the crack of dawn to collect documents. For a generous fee, of course.
The noisy interruption tugged Queen Simone’s lips down at the corners. “Mister LeMarc, what is the meaning of this unscheduled visit?”
“I beg Your Highness’s forgiveness in this terrible breach of etiquette, but some important information has suddenly come to light that I think you will find most interesting.”
Diamonds flashing, Simone waved her spotty, blue-veined hands about and made proper introductions. “Sebastian LeMarc, I’d like you to meet Luc Dumont, head of St. Michel’s Security Force. Luc, the red-faced woman sniveling behind him is Claudette LeMarc, Sebastian’s mother.”
Knees popping, Claudette bobbed in an awkward curtsey.
Sebastian took Luc’s proffered hand. “Please, forgive my intrusion, but I believe I might save you both some valuable time.”
“Go on.”
“I have reason to believe that you can dismiss Mr. Dumont—my sincere apologies, sir—as the missing heir is no longer…missing.”
Simone stiffened. “I do not take kindly to word games, LeMarc. If you have an heir, produce him. Now.”
“I have, Your Highness.” Sebastian glanced without sympathy at his mother, who looked ready to faint. “Apparently, you are looking at him.”
Marie-Claire stood in the doorway, not sure that she’d heard correctly. Sebastian’s words hung in the air, flash-freezing the group by the window into a tableau of shock and wonder.
Sebastian was claiming to be the missing heir?
Her brow creased as she puzzled over this odd announcement.
Why had he never told her this before? And, if he were the missing heir, wouldn’t that make him crown prince? And, if he was the crown prince, wouldn’t that make him Philippe’s son with an American woman named Katie Something-or-other? And, if he was Philippe’s son wouldn’t that make him—
As she staggered into the throne room, Marie-Claire’s ears began to buzz. Her face caught fire and the bile rose in her throat. Okay. She was going to faint. She groped about for something, anything to keep her upright, but there was nothing. Only sparkling, shimmering air and swirling walls.
At the door one of the guards glanced at her with concern.
Her weak smile and glazed expression had him rushing to her side to offer his assistance. Marie-Claire fought the wave of hysterical laughter that threatened to run amok. She must look quite insane. She certainly felt that way. Although the throne was normally off-limits to anyone but the king himself, the guard led her to it, as clearly, this was a special occasion. Upon arriving at the garish gold and bejeweled chair, she fell most gracelessly upon the velvet cushion and did battle with the urge to vomit. Head between her knees, pasty face cradled in clammy palms she listened as across the room, the stunned dowager found her voice.
“You are Philippe and Katie’s son?” Simone stared first at Sebastian, then at his mother. “Claudette? How could this be true?”
Claudette stumbled forward and sank without invitation to a seat near the queen. Head bowed, hands clasped beneath her chin, she assumed an ingratiating position. “I…I…was there. At the wedding.” She turned her watery gaze to Luc. “Look it up. You will see it’s true.”
Though suspicion marred his expression, Luc nodded. “This much is true. The signature of a Claudette LeMarc is on the wedding license as a witness.”
Again, the room fell silent for a moment as everyone digested this startling turn of events. Marie-Claire allowed herself a miserable peek and seeing Sebastian standing there, so handsome, so strong, so regal—
She ducked her head back into her lap to shut out the horrible image of him as her possible brother.
“Sebastian,” Queen Simone barked and pointed, “do sit down. You’re making me quite nervous. Would anyone care for a cup of coffee? Perhaps something stronger? It’s early,” her expression was wry, “but I could use a cocktail about now. Or perhaps an IV drip of something poisonous.” Soundlessly, a young servant girl moved to pour coffee.
Her dry wit pushed a small smile to his lips as Sebastian moved to take the empty seat on Simone’s other side.
China rattling, Claudette accepted her cup of coffee with shaking hands. “She couldn’t keep him.”
“Pardon?” Simone stared with undisguised distaste at the overwrought Claudette and her roundabout way of reaching the point.
“Katie and Philippe were told by someone in authority that their marriage was not legal.”
The old queen glanced from Claudette to the floor and had the grace to color ever so slightly.
“Katie could not face going home and subjecting her poor child to the shame of being born out of wedlock. So, she stayed with my husband and me in France for seven and a half months, until the baby was born. Then, after…” Claudette paused to honk into her handkerchief before she was able to continue, “after a heart-rending decision, she left him in our care.”
Simone exhaled and peered over the rim of her glasses, pensive thoughts drawing her fine brows together. Slowly, her head moved from side to side. “I can scarcely believe that Philippe would never have confided this part of the story to me.”
“Because he did not know! Katie’s father told Philippe that she had left the country and that the baby was to be adopted o
ut to an American family. Philippe was but a child himself. He had no experience. No recourse.” Lost in her tortured reverie, Claudette stared out the window in a dramatic pose, searching her memory for the finer points of the story.
“Do go on,” Simone ordered, growing impatient with the theatrics.
“My husband and I were childless at the time. As aristocrats, closely affiliated with royalty,” she tilted her chin back and sniffed, “Katie felt that we were the perfect parents for her child, imbued with the proper pedigree with which to give her son everything she could not. Needless to say, we were overjoyed at the prospect of finally becoming parents. Shortly after the birth, we filed for adoption—” She blinked at Luc. “Sir, you may make copies of the legal paperwork I have uncovered and brought with me today.”
“You can be sure I will.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” A bright smile stretched across her teeth, and quickly fell away as she continued with her story. “Katie then returned to Texas to resume life with her father. Several years later, my husband and I moved to St. Michel with Sebastian and raised him as our own. Philippe never knew that Sebastian was his son.”
Marie-Claire leapt to her feet, swung off the throne and staggered dizzily across the room, one hand outstretched, one cupping her aching head. “No! No, I don’t believe it. She’s lying! This cannot be true! Sebastian, don’t believe her!”
“Marie-Claire?” Sebastian snapped around at the sound of her voice. The life seemed to leak from his being as his head fell back and his eyes slid closed.
“It’s not true, I’m telling you,” she shouted. “Claudette.” Marie-Claire turned on the older woman. Claudette stared warily up at her. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m sorry if this news unsettles you, my dear, but it is the truth.”
“I—” Marie-Claire opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by yet another tortured shriek.
“No!” All heads—including Marie-Claire’s—swung to the far door as this piercing scream reverberated from ceiling to wall and back again. Borne on fury, Celeste swept across the room. The veins bulged at her slender throat and her fists bunched at her sides, poised to strike.
“This,” Celeste shrieked and pointed at Claudette, “is outrageous! Are you going to believe this…this…socialclimbing maggot?”
Affronted, Claudette gasped. “How dare—”
“Shut up!” Celeste’s hostile gaze swung to Queen Simone. “You dotty old bat! There is no…missing…heir!”
As the fractious hubbub ensued, Marie-Claire wanted—for the first time ever—nothing more than to believe her father’s hateful widow.
Rushing to investigate the commotion from where they’d been brunching in the salon down the hall, Lise and Ariane appeared, followed by Georges and Juliet. Upon learning the latest, their voices rose and the chaos escalated. Soon, everyone was hurling recriminations and casting aspersions in a free-for-all.
Sebastian climbed upon the pastry table and with steely eyes, surveyed the pandemonium. “Silence!”
Everyone, the dowager queen included, froze at his command. Not a sound could be heard as he stood, hands on hips, eyes glittering, muscles working in his jaw.
An eon seemed to pass before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice was dangerously low. All eyes focused on him, and everyone, whether they wanted to admit it or not, wondered if they were truly hearing from the crown prince, for he certainly fit the part.
“I have never wanted to be a prince, let alone king. I have no desire whatsoever to fill the position now, or ever. I am as stunned by this sudden revelation as the rest of you.”
He turned his gaze upon Marie-Claire for a long, sorrow filled moment, and the tension radiated between them, causing eyebrows to lift.
With a valiant effort, Marie-Claire attempted to stem the tide of her emotion, but it was useless. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She would never, ever buy into this pack of lies that Claudette was foisting upon her own flesh and blood.
Marie-Claire’s gaze flashed between Claudette and Sebastian.
Was she the only one who saw the familial resemblance? The same thick, wavy dark hair, the same slight cleft in the chin, the same cobalt eyes, the same strong jaw. She turned her attention to Claudette—loathing the woman who was attempting to ruin her life—and squinted. Thankfully, physical appearance was where the resemblance between mother and son ended.
Claudette was a swirling mass of insecurities and self-doubt. Her son, on the other hand, was the complete antithesis. Where Claudette was weak, Sebastian was strong. Where Claudette was cloying and manipulative, Sebastian was forthright and honest. Where Claudette needed the approval of others, Sebastian was secure in his own skin.
Her gaze traveled to Sebastian’s and locked. Silently, Marie-Claire implored him to come to his senses.
He stared at her, reading her mind, anguishing with her, but unable, for many reasons, to do her bidding. Finally, he tore his glance away, destroying her heart in the process.
“Luc,” Sebastian said, “I want you to investigate further into this matter. Find out what you can about my…” he shot a look of derision at Claudette, “…real parents, whoever they are. And, Your Highness,” he turned to Simone, “I will leave the next step in this calamity to your discretion and to the royal protocol regarding such matters.”
Simone nodded.
Marie-Claire stared.
Celeste shrieked.
Once again, all hell broke loose.
Sick to death of the bickering, Sebastian strode out of the room.
Marie-Claire caught up with Sebastian where the corridor ended at the top of one of the four different fantastic de Bergeron Palace staircases. Breathless, she called to him, and it was only the desperation in her voice that halted his rapid escape.
The banister supported his weight as he stopped and turned to face her, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Knowing what they had shared together and knowing that there was the possibility—however slight—that she could be his half sister, nauseated him. Heartsick, and suddenly very ill at ease in her presence, he took a deep breath and unwillingly met her eyes with his own. He tried not to flinch as she reached out to touch his arm.
“Sebastian.” Lips quivering, her smile was filled with uncertainty.
“What?”
“Surely, you don’t believe this crazy story.”
The air whooshed from his lungs at her pitiful plea. It took a Herculean effort to stand so near and yet not reach for her. He rubbed his aching head and stared over her shoulder to the wall.
“Why not? She has proof. Legal documents.” He snorted derisively. “I’m the right age and there is no denying that there are other similarities—”
“Coincidence!”
He shook his head. “Marie-Claire, don’t.”
“Sebastian—”
“Marie-Claire, you have to admit there might be a grain of truth to all of this.”
“Never!”
“You can’t say that. I wouldn’t put it past Claudette to have lied to me all these years. Though she is a loving mother, she is basically selfish.”
“Exactly! Which is why she is lying now!” Marie-Claire moved to stand against him and, with the ornate railing at his back, there was no escaping her touch. She grasped the placket of his shirt and pressed her wet cheek against his chest. Hot tears scalded his flesh and her voice came in muffled bursts. “This cannot be happening.”
His arms at his sides, Sebastian stood helplessly as she wept, her body quaking with emotion. Torn and miserable, he did battle with himself and willed her not to cry.
But she did. Pitiful, body-wracking sobs that jarred him to his very soul. She swiped at her tears with the edges of her hands, and tried valiantly to pull herself together, only to have the pain escape again in great gasps of sorrow that echoed throughout the cavernous marble hall.
Sebastian closed his eyes, feeling the lump of lead in his own throat swell to unbearabl
e proportions, cutting off his oxygen, leaving him impossibly weak where she was concerned. He wished he could say something, anything, to take away her agony, but there were no words.
She continued to sob against his chest, clutching his shirt to keep from falling to her knees.
Knowing he must hold her or die, Sebastian circled her waist with his arms and pulled her tight. “Marie-Claire,” he murmured into her hair, savoring the taste of her precious name on his lips. “Marie-Claire, please, don’t cry, sweetheart.”
The endearment seemed to shatter her and she clutched him ever closer.
He ran his hands up her back, filled his hands with her hair and, cupping her head, tilted her face back, and kissed her mottled cheeks.
“Please, Sebastian.” Eyes flashing, she beseeched him. “Don’t let this happen. Please believe me when I tell you that Claudette is lying. What mother withholds this kind of information for thirty-two years?”
“What good would this knowledge have done me?”
“Sebastian, she sees opportunity.”
“Maybe.” He wished he could be completely sure that she was right. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. “Maybe not. But no matter what the outcome, Marie-Claire, this has put us both in an extremely awkward situation. Especially with the press.”
“To hell with the press! I’m sick of the public running my life.”
“No, Marie-Claire, think about it from the public’s point of view. Lovers, or siblings? Or even worse, both? News of our relationship and this birth scandal could cause no end of heartache to everyone involved until we sort out the truth.”
Marie-Claire buried her face in his shirt and a keening wail came from deep within her soul. “No-o.”
He wanted to die.
“Oh, Marie-Claire.” He held her tight, cradling her in his arms, rubbing her back and rocking her as he would a small, frightened child. “Marie-Claire, no matter what, I care far too much for you,” he swallowed against the grief that burned, “and your father, to ever take a chance on hurting you with this.”
“But you are!” She reared back and stared up at him, her gaze imploring. “Sebastian, it’s simply not possible that you are my brother! Don’t you see? You are a gift from God to me! We were made for each other. We belong together, not as brother and sister, but as husband and wife!”