Her Royal Baby (7 page)

‘There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault.'

‘No, but…'

‘I need to go to bed.' She was so confused she was past thinking. She might not want to go to bed, but she needed to be alone. Desperately. Otherwise she might sink into Marc's arms and stay, never to move again. The temptation was almost irresistible.

And the temptation was crazy. Her sister had fallen for one of these men—these princes—and where had that got her? Dead, that was where.

The thought of that was enough to steady her, to make her take another step backward and to fix her features into a semblance of resolution.

‘Leave,' she said.

‘You'll be okay?'

‘Yes. Just leave. And Marc…Your Highness…whatever I call you…'

‘Marc,' he said, and he smiled—which sent her resolution into a tailspin, heading for oblivion.

‘Marc, then. Just…don't kiss me again.'

His smile deepened. ‘Why not?'

‘Because I don't want you to.'

‘Are you sure?'

She glared at him. Arrogant creep. Where was the tenderness now? He was a prince, for heaven's sake. Royalty. And she was a tree surgeon with bare feet and faded jeans and the worries of the world pressing on her shoulders. So finally she tilted her chin and did what had to be done. ‘Yes,' she snapped, then stalked to the door and threw it open. ‘Yes, I am. Now, will you leave or am I going to have to call my friends the security guards?'

His smile was still in place. ‘I'm leaving.'

‘Good.'

‘Goodnight.' He walked past her. She was still holding the door wide, and as he passed he paused and tilted her chin. Then very lightly, before she could begin to prevent it, he touched her face again, tracking the path of one of those errant tears.

‘I'm sorry I had to be the one to break this to you,' he said softly. ‘So sorry.' He smiled, a tender magnetic smile of such sympathy that she felt her heart falter within her breast. ‘Sleep well, Tammy Dexter,' he whispered. ‘Tomorrow our future begins.'

His finger reached her lips and pressed lightly down—a kiss, but not a kiss.

And then he left her.

What had he said?
Tomorrow our future begins.

Her future.

Until today Tammy's future had been so carefully planned, but now… She was leaving Australia to travel to a future filled with castles and princes and…she didn't know what.

Like it or not, Prince Marc of Broitenburg had given her a future she had no control over. She closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it for a long time, as if by doing so she could lock out his presence. The memory of him. The taste of his kiss.

‘Be careful,' she whispered into the night. ‘Oh, Tammy, be careful.'

Maybe she shouldn't go.

Maybe she didn't have a choice. And maybe she was glad of it.

The memory of his kiss had changed more than her future. It had changed her confidence in her own control.

Help?

 

The next two days were crazy.

Luckily she had her passport, and a visa was no problem. ‘I do have a man at the embassy,' Marc told her. ‘Charles has to be useful for something, besides spending my country's money.'

Tammy's boss was notified, and the sound of Doug's dismay overwhelmed her. ‘You've got a job with me whenever you want it,' he told her. ‘I'll even hold the baby myself if it means I can get you back working for me again.'

It warmed her. Tammy had worked for Doug for three years, and his workforce wasn't a standard forestry team. Doug actively encouraged women to work with him, figuring rightly that in this very male world the only women who reached Tammy's stage had to be good. Mia and Lucy and Tammy were an odd sisterhood, but along with the men they were the only real family Tammy had ever known. Tammy had held herself aloof, but the thought that Doug and the team would actually miss her—
someone
would actually miss her—was inexplicably comforting.

No one else would miss her. They wouldn't even realise she'd gone.

There was one really unpleasant call to her mother.

‘Well, of course I didn't bother telling you of darling Lara's death,' Isobelle told her, and Tammy could hear the sneer in her voice. ‘Why would I? It's not as if you cared for your sister.'

How little you know, Tammy thought, but she managed to hold her tongue.

‘I'm taking Henry back to Broitenburg,' she said, and there was silence at the other end of the line. She could hear Isobelle's mind shifting from defence to speculation.

‘You mean…with that prince who's ruling the place now? What's his name?'

‘Marc.'

‘Well, well.' The sneer in Isobelle's voice grew even more marked, and Tammy wondered for what must have been the millionth time in her life just why was it that her mother hated her so much. ‘You'll never get him.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘He might be a catch, but you don't seriously think you can succeed?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.' But she did. Of course she did. Her mother had a one-track mind. Men were a means to an end.

‘You're not pretty enough.'

‘I don't…'

‘And he has women. I've heard all about your precious Prince Marc. He's a womaniser. He'll eat you up and spit you out.'

Tammy thought about the metaphor and found it wanting. ‘He can't do both.'

But Isobelle wasn't listening to her pathetic attempts at humour. ‘The man's rich as Croesus,' she snapped. ‘You seriously think someone like that would look at the likes of you?'

Okay. She'd had enough, Tammy thought bleakly. She'd let her mother know where her grandson was and that was the only thing she needed to do. She thought of all the things she'd intended to say, and replaced the receiver on the handset without saying another word.

She had too much else to worry about.

There was the small issue of clothes. She had jeans, T-shirts, sweaters and a rain jacket. It was hardly a wardrobe fit for living in a palace.

It was Marc who raised the subject. She hadn't even thought of it.

‘Do you have a permanent residence somewhere?' he asked. ‘Here in Sydney? Can I send someone to pack for you? Maybe we could ship a container?'

She stared. ‘What are you talking about? A container of what?'

‘Your possessions. If you intend to stay long-term…'

‘You could ship my possessions in the bow of a very small rowboat,' she told him. ‘My “permanent residence” is a room in a boarding house, and there's hardly anything there. I'll take a cab over this afternoon and close the place down—grab the few things I need. But it is a few. I figure I might buy a couple of new pairs of jeans when we get there. That is…if they have jeans in Broitenburg?'

‘Yes, but…'

He was frowning, but Tammy was bouncing her nephew and didn't notice. She'd had Henry chuckle twice this morning, and she was working on a third.

‘But what?'

‘We have formal dinners at the palace.'

‘
You
have formal dinners at the palace,' she corrected him. ‘Not me. I've never been to a formal dinner in my life. If I have a microwave in my room and there's a supermarket nearby then I'm happy.'

His frown deepened. ‘I intend you to be part of the royal family. Not a servant.'

‘I'm not intending to be a part of any royal family, thank you very much.'

‘Henry will be brought up as heir.'

She jiggled her nephew up and down and gave him a
hug. ‘You know, somehow I imagine Henry's not really interested in formal dinner parties quite yet.'

But Marc's displeasure remained. ‘I want some things clear,' he told her. ‘You're coming over as a family member. As such there will be formalities you'll have to face.'

She thought about it, and was prepared to concede a point. ‘You mean I need to do something about my shoes?' She stared down at her bare toes and then glanced at the door, where she'd kicked off her boots. Okay, she would have to replace those awful boots. ‘I'll buy some trainers.'

‘That's
some
concession.'

She grinned. ‘Why, thank you—Your Highness.'

His scowl deepened. ‘It won't work.'

‘You're telling me I should go out and buy a tiara or two and the odd pair of stilettos before I get to Broitenburg?'

‘It might be best. Maybe not tiaras, but…something a little more formal than you have on now.'

She shook her head. ‘Nope,' she told him flatly. ‘There's no point. Broitenburg's had Lara. It's had its fairy princess. Now it's stuck with me.'

He couldn't budge her, and in the end Charles drove them to the airport with a huge leather suitcase containing Marc's belongings, another containing Henry's baby gear—and a small battered backpack containing all that Tammy possessed in the world.

I
T GREW
stranger.

For a start they sat in the pointy end of the aeroplane. First class. Tammy had never sat in anything other than economy in her life.

Marc had booked three seats. There was a baby crib in front of them so Henry could be put down when he needed to sleep. There was room on the floor for Henry to crawl, and the stewards were on hand to cater for every whim.

But from the time Tammy entered the aircraft she felt as if she'd wandered onto the wrong movie set.

‘Can't I go and sit in economy?' she asked. ‘I don't feel like I'm flying unless my knees are stuck into my chin.'

‘Stick your knees under your chin if you must,' Marc growled. ‘But you stay here. If you leave me with Henry then I'll go into a spasm.'

She cast him a sideways look. He was eyeing Henry as if he might bite. ‘Babies aren't your thing, huh?'

‘They certainly aren't.'

Not for the first time she wondered about him. What was it her mother had said about him? That he was a womaniser? Maybe, but the description didn't quite fit.

Here in the forced intimacy of the airliner facing a twenty-four-hour flight, there was all the time in the world to ask questions. After all, what could he do if he was offended? Kick her off the plane? No way, she decided. He wouldn't even tolerate her going to economy.

So she could chance a few impertinent questions.

‘You're not married?'

‘I've told you I'm not.'

‘Do you have a partner?'

He raised his eyebrows at that. ‘A partner…' His dark eyes suddenly crinkled in amusement. ‘You're covering all eventualities here. Do I have a girlfriend, a boyfriend or a dog?'

‘Okay.' She smiled back. ‘Any of the above. Do you?'

He thought about it for a minute and then nodded, as though the question was a bit of an imposition but he'd answer it anyway. ‘I have a girlfriend.'

‘I see.' A girlfriend. So what was he doing kissing her? Maybe her mother was right. He was a womanizer.

She shouldn't mind. She didn't. Did she?

‘What about you?' he asked, his tone suddenly curious. ‘My detective says you have no one.'

‘It's hardly fair,' she complained. ‘I have to believe what you tell me. You get me privately investigated.'

‘That's what money is for,' he said equitably. ‘But as for me… Since I've succeeded to Jean-Paul's position you need hardly hire a private investigator. Any European women's magazine will tell you more than you ever wanted to know.' His brow creased. ‘You were in Europe for three years. I can't believe you wouldn't have heard about Lara. She was a real hit with the press—her wedding photos made the front of every major newspaper.'

‘I would have been back in Australia by the time she was married,' Tammy said, thinking her timeline through. ‘Back up a gum tree.'

‘Your favourite place?'

‘Yes.'

‘Because?'

‘Because people hurt,' she said honestly. ‘Getting attached hurts. I tried with Lara and look what happened.'

‘Yet you'll try again with Henry?'

‘I have no choice.'

‘You do have a choice. I told you I was prepared to bring Henry back to Broitenburg by myself.'

‘And your girlfriend? What would she think of that?'

‘Ingrid is hardly a baby person, and our relationship is hardly long-term. But you know I'd take care of him.'

‘Yeah?' Henry was on her knee, sucking an ear of his newly acquired teddy with all the intensity of an athlete competing in a marathon. Henry and Teddy had contracted a case of love at first sight, and Tammy suspected Ted's ear wasn't going to make Singapore, much less Europe. ‘You'd take care of him?'

‘Yes.'

Right. She cast him a suspicious glance. The man looked immeasurably sure of himself. Capable of anything. Capable of caring for babies?

‘Then how about starting now?' she asked him, and before he could demur she lifted Henry across so that he was sitting on the knee of His Highness, Prince Regent of Broitenburg.

His Highness, Prince Regent of Broitenburg, looked stunned to the socks.

‘I…I can't.'

‘You just said you could.' She closed her eyes with a determination she was far from feeling. In fact she wanted to stay awake and watch. But… ‘I'm going to sleep now, Your Highnesses,' she told them both. ‘Entertain yourselves.'

 

To her surprise she did sleep, and when she woke hours later the cabin lights were dimmed and the man beside her was asleep as well.

As was Henry. The little boy had fallen asleep on Marc's knee. The stewards had placed blankets over all of them. From her cocoon of blankets Tammy stared across in the dim light at man and baby sleeping together. They looked
warm and contented, and very, very much as if they belonged together.

They even looked alike! Henry's tiny lashes were fast shut in an exact replica of his princely cousin's. His head was tucked under Marc's chin and, outside the blankets, Marc's big hand had a tiny fist curled around one of his fingers.

The sight was suddenly almost too much for Tammy. She gazed at the pair of them and found a lump the size of a golf ball forming in the back of her throat. Damn, what was it about this man that made her feel like weeping? This man and this baby…

She knew nothing about him, she thought desperately. Nothing. Except that he was Prince Regent of a small and lovely principality and he had a girlfriend called Ingrid.

‘Ingrid is hardly a baby person,' he'd said. Was Marc a baby person? He hadn't seemed so. Yet sitting here, looking at the way the little boy was snuggled into him, it seemed there was a way into this royal heart. He might seem ruthless and overbearing, but Henry was exposing a side she suspected had never been exposed before.

Ingrid is hardly a baby person.

What sort of person was Marc—and what sort of household was Tammy getting into?

 

It was a household so large that it took her breath away.

No, she thought, stunned. It wasn't a house in any sense of the word. The limousine swept them along the vast curved driveway and stopped beneath steps that could have graced the parliament of a great nation. Below the steps was a lake, stretching away into the distance, and above…

Above their heads the castle soared skyward. It was something straight out of a fairytale. Built of white stone, three storeys high without its score of turrets and towers spiralling
above, it glistened with a beauty that made Tammy catch her breath.

It wasn't ostentatious—or maybe it was, but it was built with such grace and charm that ‘ostentatious' was the wrong adjective. It could only be called beautiful. Nestled against a backdrop of magical mountains, surrounded by exquisite gardens and woodland, the scene made her want to jump from the car and explore right now.

She could scarcely take it all in. In the foreground was the fairytale castle, all spires and gargoyles and terraces. Away in the background there were traces of snow, spider-webbing down the grander of the mountain peaks. The sun glistened down on the castle's stonework, making the ancient palace and its surroundings come alive with vibrant colour.

White swans were sailing across the lake in all their majesty. The grounds swept on further than the eye could see. This place had been neglected, Marc had told her, but Tammy could see no hint of neglect here.

Magic!

Her new home.

‘What do you think?' Marc was asking and she turned to find him watching her with evident enjoyment. She flushed.

‘I think…it's a ridiculous flaunting of wealth.'

‘Ouch.'

‘Pretentious.'

‘Really?'

‘And…' She could no longer prevent herself from stating the truth. She gazed around from the castle, to the grounds, to the lake and back to the castle again.

‘And it's also very, very beautiful,' she murmured, and found Marc's smile had faded.

‘It is,' he said slowly, and for a moment as his gaze still rested on her face she wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

Neither was Marc.

But Tammy couldn't dwell on Marc's thoughts. She had enough of her own to absorb. She thought back to the shabby one-room apartment that had been her base for the past ten years and had to pinch herself to believe she wasn't dreaming. And when a uniformed butler made his stately way down the steps and held the car door wide for her she had to pinch herself all over again.

‘This isn't real,' she muttered, and found that Marc was watching her still. His laughter had faded completely now and there was a strangely enigmatic expression in the back of his eyes.

‘It's real.'

‘Welcome home,' the butler was saying, with all the solemnity in the world, and she closed her eyes and wondered what on earth she had got herself into.

Welcome home indeed.

The staff were lined up to meet them. It was like something out of a television show, Tammy thought dumbly, walking along the line of uniformed staff to be introduced. There must be twenty people assembled in the great hall. Marc knew each of them by name. He greeted them with what seemed to Tammy to be real friendliness.

‘I won't be able to remember anyone,' Tammy stammered unhappily, suddenly acutely conscious of her shabby clothes. Maybe Marc had been right. Maybe one dress wouldn't have hurt. Or two…

‘We won't expect you to.' Marc was smiling at her, with the smile that had caused so much trouble. Was it that smile that had made her agree to this crazy journey? ‘But maybe you'd better learn the most important. This is Dominic, our butler and head steward. And, Tammy, this is Mrs Burchett.'

An elderly lady was on the end of the receiving line. She bobbed a curtsey to Marc but her eyes were on the baby in Marc's arms. Since the flight Henry had moved back and forth between the two adults naturally, and now he was
cradled in Marc's arms as if he belonged. ‘Mrs Burchett is our housekeeper,' Marc was telling Tammy as Henry gurgled his own greeting, ‘and she's English. Anything you want to know, ask Madge.'

‘It'll be a pleasure.' Madge Burchett beamed, her smile enough to lessen Tammy's feeling of intimidation all on its own. ‘Oh, hasn't the wee lad grown? We haven't seen him since just after his birth. And you're his aunt.' Her eyes raked Tammy from head to foot, and Tammy could sense the comparison to her sister. Nothing was said, though, except, ‘You're very welcome…?'

‘Thank you.'

‘Can I take you and the little one up to your rooms?'

‘That's a good idea,' Marc told her. He tried to hand Henry over to the housekeeper but the little boy clung. Marc disengaged his pudgy hands from around his neck and passed him to Tammy. ‘Madge, if you can look after Miss Tamsin…?'

‘I surely can. Will you come this way, please?'

Tammy cast an uncertain look at Marc, but he was already moving away from her. He'd have things to do, she told herself. A million things. He'd handed the baby over to the women. He'd played his part. From now on, his body language said, he intended to lead a very separate life.

As if on cue there was a cry of pleasure from outside and a tall, lithe woman about Tammy's age came striding into the hall. She'd obviously been out riding. Her outfit was pure dressage—gorgeous. Her chestnut hair was twisted up into an elegant chignon, her flawless skin was beautifully made-up, and the smile she was directing at Marc was truly something to behold. She held a riding crop, but she tossed it aside and ran straight into Marc's arms.

‘Marc. Darling! How wonderful to finally have you home.'

Tammy bit her bottom lip and turned away, to find Mrs
Burchett surveying the pair with every appearance of disapproval.

‘Well, miss,' the elderly lady said, dragging her eyes from them as if she was seeing something she'd rather not. ‘You can meet Miss Ingrid later. For now you'll be tired of travelling and tired of meeting people. Let's get you and the wee one settled.'

 

‘Tell me what the set-up is here.'

It had taken Tammy all of two minutes to know that in Mrs Burchett she'd found a friend. Jeans and faded shirts might be inappropriate for this castle, but it was obvious that Mrs Burchett had been afraid of Tammy being another Lara—or another Ingrid. Her relief was palpable.

‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything.' They were settling Henry into the vast nursery suite. Henry had been the easiest child to travel with, Tammy thought and the reason was obvious. He expected nothing. He didn't cry because tears didn't produce results. He'd passed between Tammy and Marc with no fuss at all, and all he needed for occupation was the ear of his teddy.

He should make more fuss, she thought savagely. He should know people. He should demand attention. At ten months it was unnatural not to. The more time she spent with him the more Tammy wanted to shake her sister—her mother—Marc—anyone who'd had anything to do with him.

‘The set-up here is simple,' Mrs Burchett told her. ‘Apart from you and Prince Marc and Miss Ingrid, there's just staff. Until Prince Jean-Paul's death we hardly saw any of the royal family. Jean-Paul and your sister spent most of their time in resorts that are a good deal more exotic than this place. We were too far from the major cities for Prince Jean-Paul. The last time I saw Master Henry was when he was two weeks old. The family hasn't been back here since.'

‘Never?'

‘Never.' The housekeeper shook her head. She gave Tammy a searching look, and then decided to be even more forthcoming. ‘We run a good household,' she told her, ‘but the last few years have been hard. Many of us weren't being paid. It was only the fact that many had nowhere else to go that made us stay. Like me. I was an assistant cook—I came twenty years ago to have a change of scene when my husband died. Normally I'd never have been promoted to housekeeper somewhere as grand as this, but everyone more senior left. It's only since Prince Jean-Paul died that things have started to be put back in order.'