Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! Page 8

  Turning slowly, she appraised herself in the long, full-length mirror. Was that the face of a happy woman? Was that the demeanor of a bride?

  Not quite. But it was the face of a rather regal-looking woman, if she did say so herself. But why was she even thinking such a thing? She would never be queen, no matter what. Monte might be king someday, but he would never pick her to be his wife. He couldn’t pick someone from a traitor’s family to help him rule Ambria, now could he?

  The closest she would get to that was to marry Leonardo. Did that really matter to her? She searched her soul, looking for even the tiniest hint of ambition and couldn’t find it. That sort of thing was important to her father, but not to her. If her father weren’t involved, she would leave with Monte and never look back. But that was impossible under the circumstances.

  Still, it was nice to dream about. What if she and Monte were free? They might get on a yacht and sail to the South Seas and live on an island. Not an island like Ambria with its factions always in contention and undermining each other. A pretty island with coconut trees and waterfalls, a place that was quiet and warm and peaceful with turquoise waters and silver-blue fish and white-sand beaches.

  But there was no time to live in dreams. She had to live in the here and now. And that meant she had to deal with Leonardo.

  She smiled at him as he came out of the sitting room.

  “All done?” she asked.

  “So it seems,” he replied, then leaned close. “Ah, so beautiful,” he murmured as he tried to nuzzle her neck.

  “Don’t touch,” she warned him, pulling back.

  “Yes, yes, I know. You’re all painted up and ready to go.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “But I want to warn you, my beauty, I plan to touch you a lot on our wedding night.”

  That sent a chill down her spine. She looked at him in surprise. He’d never shown any sexual interest in her before. This put an ominous pall on her future, didn’t it? She’d heard lurid tales about his many mistresses and she’d assumed that he knew their marriage would be for advantage and convenience only, and not for love or for anything physical. Now he seemed to be having second thoughts. What was going on here?

  She glanced at Kimmee who’d just returned and had heard him as well, and they exchanged a startled glance.

  Leonardo took a call on his mobile, then snapped it shut and frowned. “I’m sorry, my love,” he told her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let the guards escort you to the ballroom. I’ll be along later. I have a matter that must be taken care of immediately.”

  Something in his words sent warning signals through her.

  “What is it, Leonardo?” she asked, carefully putting on a careless attitude. “Do we need to man the barricades?”

  “Nothing that should trouble you, my sweet,” he said, giving her a shallow smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems we may have an interloper in the castle.”

  “Oh?” Her blood ran cold and she clenched her fists behind the folds of her skirt. “What sort of interloper?”

  He waved a hand in the air. “It may be nothing, but a few of the guards seem to think they saw a stranger on one of the monitors this afternoon.” He shook his head. “We don’t allow intruders in the castle, especially on a night like this.”

  He sighed. “I just have to go and check out what they caught on the recorder. I’ll be back in no time.”

  “Hurry back, my dear,” she said absentmindedly, thinking hard about how she was going to warn Monte.

  “I will, my love.” He bowed in her direction and smiled at her. “Don’t do any dancing without me,” he warned. Turning, he disappeared out the door.

  Pellea reached out to steady herself to keep from keeling over. She met Kimmee’s gaze and they both stared at each other with worried eyes.

  “I told him to go,” she fretted to her lifelong friend and servant. “Now he’s probably out running around the castle and about to get caught. Oh, Kimmee!”

  Kimmee leaned close. “Don’t worry, Pel,” she whispered, scanning the area to make sure no one could overhear them. “I’ll find him and I’ll warn him. You can count on me.”

  Pellea grabbed her arm. “Tell him there is no more room for error. He has to get out of the castle right now!”

  “I will. Don’t you worry. He’ll get the message.”

  And she dashed off into the hallway.

  Pellea took a deep breath and tried to quiet her nerves. She had to forget all about Monte and the trouble he might be in. She had to act as though everything were normal. In other words, she would have to pretend. And it occurred to her that this might be a lesson for the way things would be for the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MONTE WAS BACK FROM EXPLORING and he was waiting impatiently for Kimmee to make good on her promises and show up with a costume he could wear to the ball.

  He’d been to the other side of the castle and he’d seen things that would take him time to assimilate and deal with emotionally. It could have been overwhelming if he’d let it be. He’d barely skimmed through the area and not much remained of the home he’d lived in with his loving family. Most of what was rebuilt had a new, more modern cast.

  But he had found something important. He’d found a storeroom where some of the rescued items and furniture from his family’s reign had been shoved aside and forgotten for years. A treasure trove that he would have to explore when he got the chance. But in the short run, he’d found his mother’s prized grandfather clock. More important, he’d found her secret compartment, untouched after all these years. That alone had given him a sense of satisfaction.

  And one of the items he had found in that secret hiding place was likely to come in very handy this very night.

  But right now, he just wanted to see Kimmee appear in the gateway. He knew she’d been helping with the photo shoot, but surely that was over by now. If she didn’t come soon, he would have to find a way to go without a special costume—and that would be dangerous enough to make him think at least twice.

  “Don’t give up on me!”

  Kimmee’s voice rang out before the gong sounded and she came rushing in bearing bulky gifts and a wide smile.

  “I’ve got everything you need right here,” she claimed, spreading out her bounty before him. “Though I’m afraid it’s all for naught.”

  “Once more, you save the day,” he told her as he looked through the items, thoroughly impressed. “I’m going to have to recommend you for a medal.”

  “A reward for costume procurement?” she asked with a laugh. “But there’s more. I’m afraid you won’t be able to use this after all.”

  “No?” He stopped and looked at her. “Why not?”

  “The castle is on stranger alert.” She sighed. “You must have gone exploring because some of the guards claim they saw you—or somebody—on one of the hall monitors.”

  “Oh. Bad luck.”

  She shrugged. “Leonardo is looking into it and he seems pretty serious about it. So Pellea sent me to tell you to get out while the getting’s good, because there’s no time left.” She shook her head, looking at him earnestly. “I went ahead and brought you the costume, be cause I promised I would, and I knew you’d want to see this. But I don’t think it would be wise to use it. You’re going to have to go, and go quickly.”

  “Am I?” He held up the coat to the uniform and gazed at it.

  “Oh, I think you’d better,” she said.

  “And I will.” He smiled at her. “All in good time. But first, I want to dance with Pellea.”

  Her face was filled with doubt but her eyes were shining. “But if you get caught…?”

  “Then I’ll just have to get away again,” he told her. “But I don’t plan to get caught. I’ve got a mask, don’t I? No one will be sure who I really am, and I’ll keep a sharp eye out.” He grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go try this on.”

  “Well, what do you know?” She sighed, wary but rat
her happy he wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Go ahead and try it on. I’ll wait and help with any last-minute adjustments.”

  He took the costume up as though it were precious—and in a way it was. He recognized what she’d found for him—the official dress uniform of Ambrian royalty from the nineteenth century—a uniform one of his great-great-grandfathers had probably worn. He slipped into it quickly. It all fitted like a glove. Looking in the mirror, he had to smile. He looked damn good in gold braid and a stiff collar. As though he was born to wear it.

  When he walked out, Kimmee applauded, delighted with how it had worked out.

  “Here’s your mask,” she said, handing it to him. “As you say, it will be very important in keeping your identity hidden. And it’s a special one. Very tight. Very secure.” She gave it a sharp test, pulling on the band at the back. “No one will be able to pull it off.”

  “Exactly what I need. Kimmee, you’re a genius.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” She grinned, pleased as punch. “Believe me, sir, I take pride in my work—underhanded as it may be.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t consider this underhanded at all.”

  And actually, she agreed. “I’ll just think of it this way—anything I can do to help you is for the good of the country.”

  He looked at her closely, wondering if she realized who he was. But her smile was open and bland. If she knew, she wasn’t going to let it out. Still, it was interesting that she’d put it that way.

  “I’ve got to hurry back,” she said as she started toward the gate. “I’m helping in the ladies’ powder room. You pick up all the best rumors in there.”

  “Ah, the ladies like to talk, do they?” he responded, adjusting his stand-up collar.

  “They like to impress each other and they forget that we servants can hear, too.” She gave him a happy wave. “I’ll let you know if anything good turns up.”

  He nodded. “The juicier the better.”

  She laughed as she left, and he sobered. He’d been lighthearted with Kimmee, but in truth, this was quite an emotional experience for him.

  He took one last look in the mirror. For the first time in many years, he felt as if he’d found something he really belonged to, something that appealed to his heart as well as his head. It was almost a feeling of coming home.

  And home was what he’d missed all these years. Without real parents, without a real family, he’d ached for something of his own.

  He’d had an odd and rather disjointed life. For his first eight years, he’d been the much beloved, much cosseted Crown Prince of Ambria, living in the rarified air of royal pomp and celebrity. His mother and father had doted on him. He’d shown every evidence of being as talented and intelligent as his position in life warranted, and also as pleasant and handsome as a prince should be. Everyone in his milieu was in awe of him. The newspapers and magazines were full of pictures of him—his first steps, his first puppy, his new Easter clothes, his first bicycle. It was a charmed life.

  And then came the coup. He still remembered the night the castle burned, could still smell the fire, feel the fear. He’d known right away that his parents were probably dead. For an eight-year-old boy, that was a heavy burden to bear.

  That night, as he and his brother Darius were rushed away from the castle and hustled to the continent in a rickety boat, he’d looked back and seen the fire, and even at his young age, he’d known his way of life was crumbling into dust just as surely as the castle of his royal ancestors was.

  He and Darius were quickly separated and wouldn’t see each other again until they were well into adulthood. For the first few weeks after his escape, he was passed from place to place by agents of the Ambrian royalty, always seeing new contacts, never sure who these people were or why he was with them. People were afraid to be associated with him, yet determined to keep him safe.

  As the regime’s crown prince, he was in special danger. The Granvillis had taken over Ambria and it was known that they had sent agents out to find all the royal children and kill them. They didn’t want any remnants of the royal family around to challenge their rule.

  Monte finally found himself living in Paris with an older couple, the Stephols, who had ties to the monarchy but also a certain distance that protected them from scrutiny. At first, he had to hide day and night, but after a year or so, the Stephols got employment with the foreign service and from then on, they were constantly moving from one assignment to another, and Monte lived all over the world, openly claiming to be their child.

  He grew up with the best of everything—elite private schools, vacations in Switzerland, university training in business. But he was always aware that he was in danger and had to keep his real identity a secret. The couple treated him with polite reserve and not a lot of affection—as though he were a museum piece they were protecting from vandals but would return to its proper shelf when the time came. They had no other children and were sometimes too cool for comfort. The couple was very closely knit and Monte often felt like an interloper—which he probably was. They were kind to him, but somewhat reserved, and it was a lonely life. They obviously knew he was special, though he wasn’t sure if they knew exactly who he was.

  He knew, though. He remembered a lot and never forgot his family, his country or that he was royal. That in itself made him careful. He remembered the danger, still had nightmares about it. As he got older, it was hard not being able to talk to anyone about his background, not having someone he could question, but he read everything he could about his homeland and began to understand why he had to maintain his anonymity. He knew that some saw him as cold and removed from normal emotions. That wasn’t true. His emotions were simmering inside, ready to explode when the time was right.

  Coming back to Ambria had done a lot to help put things in order in his mind. Finding Pellea had confused the issue a bit, but he thought he could handle that. Now, putting on the uniform that should have been his by rights cemented a feeling of belonging in him. He was the Crown Prince of Ambria, and he wanted his country back.

  Monte DeAngelis, Crown Prince of Ambria, walked into the ballroom annex in a uniform that reflected his position, and he did it proudly. He knew the authorities were looking for him and it would only take one careless action, one moment of inattention, to make them realize he was the intruder they were searching for.

  But he was willing to risk it. He had to. He needed to do this and he was counting on his natural abilities and intelligence to keep him from harm. After all, he’d had to count on exactly those for most of his life, and his talents had so far stood him in good stead. Now for the ultimate test. He definitely expected to pass it.

  The announcer looked up at him in surprise and frowned, knowing that he’d never seen this man before in his life. He got up from his chair and came over busily, carrying papers and trying to look as though he were comfortably in charge.

  “Welcome,” he said shortly, with a bow. “May I have the name to be announced?”

  Monte stood tall and smiled at him.

  “Yes, you may. Please announce me as the Count of Revanche,” he said with an appropriately incomprehensible Mediterranean accent, though he was blatantly using the French word for revenge.

  The man blinked, appearing puzzled. “And Revanche is…?”

  “My good man, you’ve never visited our wonderful region?” Monte looked shocked. “We’re called the wine country of the southern coast. You must make a visit on your next holiday.”

  “Oh,” the man responded dutifully, still baffled. “Of course.” He bowed deeply and held out his arm with a flourish. “If you please, Your Highness.”

  He reached for the loudspeaker and made the announcement.

  “Ladies and gentleman, may I present His Highness, the Count of Revanche?”

  And Monte held his head high as he navigated the steep stairway into the ballroom.

  Heads turned. And why not? Obviously, no one had ever heard of him before, and yet he w
as a commanding presence. He could see the wave of whispering his entrance had set off, but he ignored it, looking for Pellea.

  He picked her out of the crowd quickly enough. For a moment the sight of all those masks blinded him, but he found her and once he’d done that, she was all he could see. She stood in the midst of a small group of women and it seemed to him as though a spotlight shone down on her. In contrast to the others around her, the mask she wore was simple, a smooth black accent that set off the exotic shape of her dark eyes and allowed the sparkling jewels of the tiara to take center stage. At the same time, the porcelain translucence of her skin, the delicate set of her jaw, the lushness if her lips, all added to the stunning picture she made in her gorgeous gown. She was so utterly beautiful, his heart stopped in his chest.

  He began to head in her direction, but he didn’t want to seem over-anxious, so he made a few bows and gave out a few smiles along the way.

  Only a few stately couples were dancing as he entered the cavernous room, but he knew how this sort of ball operated, having been to enough of them on the continent. The older people did most of the dancing at first, and the music was calm and traditional. Then the younger ones would filter in. By a certain hour, rocking rhythms and Latin beats would be the order of the day, and the older people would have retreated to drink in the bar or queue for the midnight buffet table.

  That was the structure, but it wasn’t really relevant to his plans. He just wanted Pellea in his arms. Now all he had to do was to get there and claim her.

  Many of the women had noticed him right away. In fact, a few were blatantly looking him over. One pretty little redhead had actually lowered her mask in order to wink at him in outright invitation.

  Meanwhile, Pellea hadn’t even noticed his arrival. She was deep in conversation with another woman, both of them very earnest. It was quite evident that the subject of their talk was more likely to be the state of world affairs than the latest tart recipe. But what did that matter? She was looking so beautiful, if one had to pick out a queen from the assemblage, she would take the night.