Her Royal Baby (6 page)

‘I—'

‘But it won't happen,' he told her, overriding her interruption as he tried to give her a sense of his own urgency. ‘The officials are ruining the country. We're a great little country, but whole industries are moving away because of government corruption. Good people—skilled people—are leaving Broitenburg because their skills go unrewarded.'

He leaned towards her then, his voice still urgent and his eyes not wavering from hers. ‘As Prince Regent I can change things,' he told her. ‘The crown has power—too much power—but in the short term that can be used for good. I can curtail government corruption. I can even rewrite the constitution so that the monarchy becomes more in line with the British tradition—where the monarch exists to lead the people as an inspirational role, not controlling day to day living. Tammy, you must give me this chance. I want my country to be the wonderful place it once was.'

There was passion in his voice. Fire. Tammy looked
across the table at Marc and saw a man who believed absolutely in what he was doing.

This man wasn't corrupt, she thought. He was honest and he was strong and he cared. There was a part of her that recognised something in him that was almost a part of her. Like twin souls…

For the first time she wondered about him. Really wondered. What had he been doing before Jean-Paul's death? Where had he been?

Was there a woman in his life?

Where had that thought come from? She gave herself a mental slap, hauling her thoughts sharply into line. This was hardly the time for wondering such things. He was pleading for her to hand over her nephew.

She couldn't do it.

‘Maybe when he's older…'

‘Tammy, he needs to come home now. His claim to the throne lapses forty days after his father's death. I have until Friday.'

Using her name unnerved her still more. Once more she attempted to focus on what he was saying. Friday. ‘That's in four days?'

‘Yes.'

‘But…' She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Why did you leave it this long to collect him?'

‘I thought he was safe.' Marc's hands clenched on the table before him. ‘At the funeral your mother told me he was being safely cared for in Sydney. She was so…'

‘I know. I know what my mother can be.'

‘I assumed she was going back to him. Heaven knows whether she said it, but that was the impression she gave. She acted distraught at the thought of her grandchild being orphaned. So I thought…I thought that he'd be best staying with his grandmother. I had to take urgent steps to ensure that I took control until Henry came of age so I put Henry's
arrival down as something that could wait until the last minute. I had no worries about him—until I got the call from your country's Social Services.'

Passion gave way to anger, just like that. Isobelle had made herself an enemy of this man, and the tone of his voice made Tammy shudder.

‘What the hell was she thinking of?' he demanded.

The answer to that was easy. ‘Herself.'

Marc's eyes flew to hers again. ‘You don't sound surprised.'

‘Isobelle suits herself. She always has. Sitting around waiting for Henry to grow up so she can be a loving grandmother to a twenty-five-year-old prince is hardly her style. She'll be off with her next millionaire now.'

‘You're not in contact with her?'

‘I'll speak to her about this.' Tammy glanced down at the letter and Marc's anger was reflected in hers. ‘Oh, yes. I'll speak to her.'

‘But meanwhile…'

‘Meanwhile you still need to take him?'

He nodded, anger fading to be replaced by determination. ‘I'm sorry, but, yes.'

‘And I'm sorry, but, no. I can't let you.'

‘You must.'

‘It's a dilemma, isn't it?' she told him. ‘Broitenburg needs Henry, but Henry doesn't need Broitenburg. You might be prepared to sacrifice one little boy for the greater good, but I can't.' She bit her lip. ‘Marc, I don't need to be a psychologist to see that he's damaged already. It's so hard to make him react. Lara knew what was happening. In her letter she's frightened; not for herself but for Henry. She asks me to help. She commits him to my care.'

‘But…'

‘But now I'm all he's got,' she said softly. ‘I can't give him a crown or a country, and I can't save your political
ideals. All I can do is care for one little boy, and that's what I'll do.' Her voice softened into compassion and she rose, pushing her chair back from the table. Decision made. ‘I'm sorry, Marc. I'd like to help you but I can't. Unless I know he'll be loved, I just…can't.'

He rose, too. He stood staring down at her for a long, long moment, reading the resolution in her face. She wouldn't relent. Her face was grim and set. Implacable.

He'd never met a woman like this, he thought. She stood barefoot and bereft of any make-up. Her shirt and jeans were worn and faded. They were clean, but that was all that could be said for them. Her still-damp curls were trailing across her shoulders and he had the most impossible urge to reach out and touch one. Just one.

Impossible.

The whole set-up was impossible.

‘I think we've come to an impasse,' she was saying. ‘I think…maybe you have to leave.'

‘There's one way out of this mess.'

‘Yes?' She raised her eyebrows in polite disbelief.

He thought about it for a long minute, and the more he thought about it the more it seemed the only solution possible.

‘You could come to Broitenburg with Henry.'

I
T WAS
just as well she'd finished her fries. Tammy might well have choked. She stared at the man across the table as if he was out of his mind.

‘Why would I want to come to Broitenburg?' she said at last.

He smiled.

There it was again. Just as she had herself under control—almost—that smile flashed out and it was enough to sidetrack her completely. But she had to concentrate. What he was saying was stupid.

‘Why shouldn't you come to Broitenburg?'

‘Because I don't want to.'

‘Have you ever been?'

‘No. How can I have been? I'm not even sure where it is. And…'

‘There you are, then. It's the most wonderful country. Mountains. Lakes. Castles. It's like the Dordogne region of France, only better. Fairytale country. Tourists love us. You'll love us.'

She was still staring at him. ‘I wouldn't.'

‘How do you know if you haven't tried?'

‘I live in Australia,' she said carefully. ‘My career is in Australia.'

‘When I first met you,' he said thoughtfully, ‘you thought I was offering you a job.'

‘I would never have taken it.'

‘You'd had other overseas job offers?'

‘I'm a tree surgeon,' she told him, not without a hint of pride. ‘I'm highly qualified.'

‘Despite leaving school at fifteen?' He was watching her across the table, his eyes thoughtful. ‘I had a phone call this evening from the man I employed to find you. He's come up with a lot more detail. I know more about you now.'

She flushed, unnerved. ‘S…so?'

‘So you're probably the most knowledgeable tree surgeon in this country. You've done university courses by correspondence so you have book-learning
and
practical experience. You've even worked in Europe.'

‘I…'

‘In the famous gardens of France and England. You worked with the best man available. Lance Hilliard's reputation is second to none. You talked him into taking you on for three years and at the end of it you could name your price as an international expert. Yet you came back here.' His calm eyes were probing, questioning. ‘But why?'

This was
so
none of his business. ‘I love it.'

‘I can see that you do. But why bury yourself…?'

‘I'm not a people person.'

‘I can see that, too.' He nodded, taking her objection for granted. ‘But I can offer you as much isolation as you want. And as much work. If you're prepared to use your skills at the castle…'

‘The castle?'

‘The Broitenburg palace sits in hundreds of acres of cultivated woodland,' he said softly. ‘It's very beautiful. The head groundsman would be delighted to have you work with him.'

She shook her head in disbelief. The situation was absurd. It was as absurd as this man was unsettling. ‘This is ridiculous.'

‘Why is it ridiculous?'

‘Because I'm staying here.' She flashed a look at the sleeping baby and then glared back at Marc. ‘I'm staying with Henry.'

‘You can hardly take Henry back with you into the wilderness,' he said in a voice that was oh so reasonable. Oh so persuasive… ‘Set him up in a tent at the foot of the tree you're working on? I hardly think so.'

‘I'll take a break.'

‘For a few months,' he agreed. ‘Sure. Until your money runs out. And then?'

‘Then…' She bit her lip. ‘I can get a city job in one of the botanic gardens. I can put Henry in a crèche…'

‘I'll fight you on that one. The heir to the Broitenburg throne will not be placed in a crèche.'

Anger flashed out at that. How dared he? ‘It's no different to being left with a nanny in Broitenburg.'

‘No. But if he was left with you in Broitenburg? Wouldn't that be much better for all of us?'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Think about it.' Before she knew what he intended he'd taken her hands tightly within his. His hold was urgent. His eyes met hers and held, and the warmth and strength and urgency of his hold were compelling all by themselves.

‘Tammy, the royal palace of Broitenburg is a wonderful place to live,' he told her. ‘All your living expenses would be covered. We could find a really good woman to help look after Henry—you could help me choose her—and you could spend as much time with Henry as you liked. You could choose to be a lady of leisure…'

‘No!'

‘Or not,' he said smoothly. ‘And if you wanted to work I'd be willing to pay you double your current hourly rate. More.'

She was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. ‘You mean I'd live in the castle?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's crazy.' She'd seen plenty of castles in her time in Europe, and she'd been fascinated by them, but they were
something out of the past—a lifestyle she had nothing to do with. She looked down at the hands Marc was gripping and winced. Her hands were scratched and worn, weathered by the elements and by sheer physical work.

Marc followed her glance and his hold on her fingers lessened. He released his grip but traced the veins on the back of her hand up to her wrist. The feel of his finger moving with such delicacy over her roughened skin was somehow compelling. As if she was moving into a dream. Cinderella beneath the fairy godmother's wand. She was being drawn into fantasyland whether she willed it or no.

‘It would work,' he told her, his voice growing more urgent. ‘You could even enjoy yourself.'

‘For how long?' She was so stunned she could hardly speak.

‘For as long you want. For ever, if you wish it. Until Henry turns twenty-five and I'm no longer in charge.'

‘And if I change my mind? Once Henry's in Broitenburg I'd never get him out.' There was no disguising the bitterness in her voice. She didn't trust him—why should she?

There was a long silence while he thought about it. He was still tracing the lines on her hand. He'd turned her hand over and was fingering the lifeline—as though he could read the future written there. As if he could read the decision hanging over them both.

‘I'll make you a deal,' he told her at last.

‘What sort of deal?' Her tone was still laced with suspicion. She was trying to block out the sensation of his hand—the sensation of his touch. She was using suspicion to camouflage it but she wasn't sure if she was fooling anyone. The way he made her feel…

But he seemed impervious to the ripples of warmth. The ripples of… In truth she didn't know what they were. She hadn't experienced anything like this—ever.

‘I'll buy you both return tickets to Australia,' he was say
ing. ‘First class. If I don't make you happy then you can come home any time you want.'

If he didn't make her happy? What sort of promise was that?

‘Over there you'll have different laws,' she managed. ‘You'll have Henry where you want—'

‘I can give you solid assurances.'

‘How?' She was being rude, but there was no option. She was fighting for Henry's future and she was the only person to do it. Despite the way this man made her feel…

He watched her for a moment longer and then he sighed. ‘You won't trust my word?'

‘No.' That was blunt.

‘I guess in your circumstances neither would I.' He grinned, and his grin was as unexpected as it was gorgeous. ‘Okay, then, Miss Doubter.' He hauled out his wallet and produced a couple of cards.

‘I have legal contacts,' he told her. ‘So far they've been useless for anything but telling me I wasn't able to take Henry home without your permission. But this card is for Paule Tarome—he's Broitenburg's Chief Magistrate—and this card is for Angela Jefferson, an Australian expert in international law. I'll get Paule to fax me an agreement, saying you have all necessary legal permissions to return Henry to Australia at any time you wish. Angela will witness it. Broitenburg is subject to international custody laws. If you're assured that I'm legally bound to return Henry to Australia whenever you want, will that persuade you to give Broitenburg a trial? For all our sakes?'

For all their sakes.

The phrase hung and hung. Still he watched her, his eyes compelling.

Somehow she met that look. She gazed steadily back at Marc and tried to read his mind.

She still didn't trust him. She couldn't. She
mustn't
, she
told herself fiercely. No matter what strange things the feeling of his hand on hers was doing to her insides, this was Henry's future.

‘Broitenburg depends on your decision,' he said, lifting her hand again and holding it in his. His touch was feather-soft. Pressuring but not pressuring. ‘If you refuse then thousands of my people will end up in poverty. We need you.
I
need you and Henry needs you.'

Good grief. Tammy stared at the man before her and he gazed back as if he had all the time in the world for her to come to her decision.

Henry. Broitenburg.

This man.

Her life was about to change in the most momentous of ways. She had a child.

And Henry had a heritage, like it or not.

If she agreed…

If it didn't work then she could return and bring Henry with her. Marc would allow her to trial it and see if it was workable.

Should she agree?

Her head was spinning. She felt so far out of her depth she was in danger of drowning, and the concern in this man's dark eyes was her only lifeline.

She took a deep breath and made her decision.

‘Okay,' she said, ‘I'll come.'

He let his breath out in one long sigh of relief and there it was. The decision was made. ‘You won't regret it.'

‘I'll be the judge of that.'

‘You won't regret it,' he said again. ‘I promise.' He released her hand and hesitated, already thinking of the consequences of her decision. ‘I'll need to make a few phone calls.'

Strangely, he sounded as if what he really regretted was being called away right now, and Tammy knew how he felt.
There was a part of her that wanted to stay exactly where she was—with her hand in this man's.

Which was ridiculous. Already he was working through the host of things he had to do before they left, but as he walked to the door, and then turned and looked back, once more Tammy sensed real reluctance to go.

‘Goodnight,' he said slowly, and she nodded—an absurdly formal nod.

‘Goodnight.'

‘It'll be okay.'

‘Yes.'

There was a long silence. Why didn't he go? Tammy thought. Why was he just standing there? He was looking at her with such a strange expression in his dark eyes that she felt her colour begin to mount.

Which was ridiculous.

She stared down at her bare toes peeking out from the frayed cuffs of her jeans. The silence went on and on.

And on.

And then, before she could guess what he intended, he swore softly and crossed to her side. In one swift movement he gripped her shoulders with his strong hands, bent his head to hers and kissed her.

It was a kiss to seal a bargain rather than anything else. That was what she told herself. What she assumed.

Or maybe she was so surprised she assumed nothing.

His mouth on hers was firm, yet it demanded no response. He was asking nothing. But…if it was meant to be an affirmation of the future and nothing more then why did it have the capacity to send a zillion electric shocks straight through her?

Maybe it was because it lasted too long, she thought through a haze of incredulity at what was happening to her. It lasted much longer than the intention of such a kiss should allow.

It had been meant as a seal on a contract and nothing more, but his hands were suddenly gripping harder, he was deepening the kiss, letting his body possess her for just these few short moments…

She was rigid in his hold, though her body was screaming to respond.

But disaster lay down that road. Tammy's world had been turned upside down this day, and the last thing she needed was physical arousal.

The last thing she needed was to respond to this man.

Yet her body was screaming to do just that. Sense or nonsense, her lips were aching to open and deepen his kiss. Her arms wanted to hold him. To draw comfort from him. To seek security and warmth and a lessening of this awful confusion and loss in his nearness.

In his body.

He felt wonderful. She'd never felt anything like this. His size—his maleness—his tenderness and his strength…

She was so confused she was near collapse, and when he finally put her away from him, holding her still but staring down at her in concern, he saw the depths of confusion and misery in her eyes and he swore.

‘I shouldn't have done that.'

‘I…'

‘You've learned of your sister's death today,' he said grimly, though his hands still held her. Maybe if they hadn't she would have toppled right over. ‘You've learned of your nephew's existence and you've learned that you need to leave this country. I'll take care of you, Tammy. I promise.'

The tenderness in his voice was so unexpected it took her breath away. She stared up at him and to her horror felt a tear sliding down her cheek. He saw it and raised a finger to trace its path.

‘Damn, you're exhausted. I shouldn't have hectored you like this tonight.'

‘No, I…'

‘It's because I don't have time to take this slowly,' he said ruefully. ‘I'm so sorry.'

Take what slowly? The kiss?

Arrangements. He meant arrangements to leave the country. The kiss had nothing to do with it.

Did it?

The touch of his fingers on her face unnerved her even more. Tenderness was an unknown quality to Tammy Dexter, and for good reason. She didn't let people close to her. Ever. She blinked back her tears, pushed herself away from this strange, enigmatic man and gave her face an angry swipe.