The King's Convenient Bride / The Illegitimate Prince's Baby

The King’s Convenient Bride by Michelle Celmer

A thought suddenly struck Hannah. For the first time since their marriage had been arranged, she and Prince Phillip – No, King Phillip – were alone.

Totally alone.

In the past, whenever they met, there had always been a chaperone present. But right here, right now, there was no one to stop them from…whatever.

Suddenly she felt ultra-aware of his presence. The clean, crisp scent of his aftershave. The weight of his gaze as he studied her. He was just so…there.

And so close.

With little more than a lift of her hand, she could touch him, brush her fingertip across his cheek.

“If you keep chewing your lips that way, there’ll be nothing left for me,” he teased, and something playfully wicked flashed behind his eyes.

The Illegitimate Prince’s Baby by Michelle Celmer

He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, his breath on her face.

She held her arms to her side to stop herself from doing something monumentally stupid. But she suspected that it was already too late. And just as she decided to give in, the phone started to ring.

“I should get that,” she said, slipping out from under his arm and dashing to the cordless on the table.

She glanced over her shoulder at Ethan, where he leaned casually against the door, watching her. She couldn’t think straight when those smoky eyes were fixed her way.

This was it. She could leave now and put an end to this. For tonight anyway, and possibly forever. Or she could stay. With Ethan. Knowing exactly what that would mean.

This time, it wouldn’t end with just a kiss.

MICHELLE CELMER

Bestselling author Michelle Celmer lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mum, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website at: www.michellecelmer.com, or write to her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the first book in my ROYAL SEDUCTIONS series. This is my first series for Desire and I couldn’t be more excited, nor could I have picked a more interesting family to write about than the Royals of Morgan Isle, a small island country located in the Irish Sea between England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

Phillip is everything you would expect from a king. Gorgeous, wealthy and powerful. And let’s not forget stubborn. This arranged marriage is nothing to him but that. An arrangement. But Hannah Renault, his bride-to-be, wants the real thing, and she’ll stop at nothing to chip away the ice covering his frozen heart.

I hope you enjoy their story!

Best,

Michelle

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who is hands down my most devoted fan.

THE KING’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

by

Michelle Celmer

One

Though she had been preparing for this day for eight years, as the limo pulled up to the palace steps and Hannah Renault caught her first glimpse of the prince—make that the king—waiting to welcome her, she trembled in her ecru Gucci pumps.

Wearing his royal dress uniform, King Phillip Lindall Augustus Mead stood at the top of the stairs flanked by what had to be the entire palace staff. A collection of medals and commendations on his jacket glittered in the sun and a gilded sword hung at his hip.

Outside the gates, residents of Morgan Isle crowded to get their first glimpse of their soon-to-be queen.

Aka: Her.

The limo stopped at the base of a gold-rimmed red carpet. The door swung open and a gloved hand appeared to help her out.

She smoothed the skirt of her dark blue linen suit. This is it, she told herself. This is the day you’ve been dreaming of. The time to make a good impression on your husband-to-be and, from the looks of it, half the country. So, whatever you do, as you’re climbing those stairs, don’t trip.

With all the grace and dignity a woman could manage while climbing out of a vehicle, her heart fluttering madly in her chest, Hannah stepped into the balmy sunshine. Beyond the gates a cheer broke out among the onlookers.

Warring with the sudden, intense urge to turn around and dive back into the limo, she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and lifted her chin high. As per the instructions she received from the royal social secretary, she stood her ground and waited for the king’s formal greeting. She held her breath as he descended the steps and a deafening hush fell over the crowd, as though they were holding their breath with her. Don’t be nervous, she told herself, but nervous didn’t even come close to what she was actually feeling. She bordered more along the lines of terrified.

Just breathe, Hannah. In and out. You can do this.

It had been two long years since she had seen her fiancé face-to-face, and he was more handsome, more heart-stoppingly beautiful than she remembered.

As instructed, the instant the king’s foot hit the bottom step, Hannah stepped forward and dipped into a routinely practiced curtsy. With a bow of her head, and in a wobbly voice, she said, “Your Highness.”

“My lady,” he returned in a deep, rich voice, with proper British inflection, then offered his hand. A small burst of energy arced between their fingers an instant before they actually touched. When she met his eyes, something warm and inviting swam in their smoky-gray depths. Taking her hand gently in his own, he bent at the waist and brushed his lips across her skin. “Welcome home.”

Her stomach bottomed out and her legs went weak while thunderous applause rattled her eardrums.

You must appear regal and confident, but never cold, she had been told a million times from her royal-appointed etiquette coach.

But under the circumstances, it was all she could do to stay upright and conscious.

This was really happening. In two weeks she would marry this handsome, powerful man. In two weeks, she would be a queen.

Shaking with excitement and fear, from her toes all the way to the ends of her hair, she allowed him to lead her up the steps, chanting to herself: please don’t trip, please don’t trip.

Picking up on her abject terror, and in a serious break of royal tradition, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close to his side. Then he dipped his head and said in a low whisper, so only she could hear, “Relax. The worst is over.”

She was so grateful she nearly dissolved into tears right there on the steps. He felt so solid and sturdy and he radiated self-assurance. If there were only a way she could absorb a bit of that confidence for herself.

They reached the top step, where they would stop and she would formally greet the staff and country. But in another breech of ceremony, the king swept past the receiving lines and led her directly to the enormous, gilded double doors that, seemingly on their own, swung open to welcome her inside.

He led her through the cavernous foyer. Two royal attendants were close behind them, the soles of their shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. He stopped in front of a pair of ceiling-high, carved mahogany doors.

“Give us a minute,” he told the two attendants, which Hannah took to mean they were not to be disturbed. Then he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

She found herself surrounded on three sides by bookshelves that climbed high to kiss the outer rim of an ornately painted cathedral ceiling. She’d never seen so many books in one room. Not even in the university library back home. Furniture upholstered in a rich, deep red leather formed a sitting area in the center of the room. He led her to a chair and ordered, “Sit.”

Her legs were so shaky it was that or fall over, so she sat, and took what was probably her first full breath since the limo pulled up to the wrought iron gates.

“Shall I get the smelling salts?” he asked.

For an instant, she thought he might be angry, and she couldn’t really blame him, considering how seriously she had blown it, but, when she looked up, he wore the shadow of an amused grin.

She shook her head. “I think I’m okay now.”

He crossed the room to the wet bar, chose a decanter and poured a splash of amber liquid into a glass. She thought it was for him, but then he carried it over and pressed it into her hand. “Sip. Slowly.”

She sipped and it burned a path of liquid fire down her throat all the way to her belly, temporarily stealing the air from her lungs. When she could breath again, she wheezed, “I’m sorry.”

He crouched down beside her chair, leaning on the arm. “For what?”

“I really blew it out there.”

“How’s that?”

“I was supposed to greet the staff.”

He shrugged. “So, you’ll greet them later.”

“And we were supposed to turn and wave to the people outside the gates.”

Again with the shrug. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “But I don’t want people to think I’m a snob.”

“Are you?”

His question threw her. “Well…no. Of course not. But—”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Isn’t it kind of important that the people of the country like me?”

“They will,” he assured her, as if he had no doubt.

“What about the press?” Reporters in the States were sometimes brutal, but she’d been warned the media in Europe could be downright vicious.

Phillip didn’t look the least bit concerned. “See this?” he asked, indicating his left jacket pocket. “This is where I keep the press. In other words, you have nothing to worry about.”

Oh, well, that was good to know. It seemed as though he had all his bases covered. And why wouldn’t he? He was the richest, most powerful man in the country.

She took another sip of her drink, felt the knots in her belly begin to unravel. “My coach insisted I was prepared for this. You can bet she’s going to hear from me.”

“You did fine. You will grow accustomed to it.”

She sure hoped so.

A moment of awkward silence followed and she racked her brain for something to say. Since turning sixteen, everything she had done, all that she had learned, had been in preparation for this day. Now that she was finally here, she was at a total loss.

It wasn’t helping that, technically, she was supposed to be marrying a prince. She should have had an indeterminate number of years as a princess, time to adjust to the lifestyle. But the queen’s death had unexpectedly moved plans forward.

Phillip, now as king, needed a queen to stand by his side. Even more important, he needed an heir. So, instead of a courtship, in which they would have six months to get to know one another before they took the plunge, they had two very short weeks before they said their I do’s.

Two weeks.

She downed the contents of her glass, the sting of the alcohol sucking the air from her lungs and making her eyes well up.

His expression somewhere between amusement and curiosity, he took the glass from her and set it on a nearby table. “Feeling better?”

She nodded, but it was pretty obvious from the crooked, wry smile he wore that he didn’t believe her. And it dawned on her, as she glanced around the quiet, empty room, that for the first time since this marriage had been arranged, she and Phillip were alone.

Totally alone.

In the past, to keep things proper and by the book, on the rare occasions they visited each other, there had always been a chaperone present. Though Hannah’s experience with the queen had been limited to a few obligatory and brief meetings, she’d heard the rumors. She’d heard that the queen was cold, heartless and ruthlessly demanding.

It was her way or the highway.

But the queen was gone now, and right here, in this empty room, there was no one to stop them from…whatever.

Suddenly she felt ultra aware of his presence. The clean, crisp scent of his aftershave. The weight of his gaze as he studied her. He was just so…there.

And so close.

It would take little more than a fraction of movement and she could touch his sleeve. With a lift of her hand she could brush her fingertip across his smooth cheek. And the idea of touching him made her legs feel all wobbly again.

“If you keep chewing your lip that way, there’ll be nothing left for me,” he teased, and something playfully wicked flashed behind his eyes.

Oh, boy.

In all of the years she’d studied in preparation for this marriage, she had learned about things like etiquette and social graces, bloodlines and royal custom, but no one ever taught her about this kind of stuff. Sure, it had been drilled in her head that she would be expected to produce at least one heir, preferably more, but all advice stopped outside the bedroom door.

And to say she was a novice was a gross understatement.

Though her high school girlfriends and college sorority sisters often questioned her sanity, she had made the decision a long time ago, even before the arranged marriage, that she would save herself for her husband on their wedding night.

She and Phillip had never kissed. Never so much as held hands. Not that she hadn’t wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been proper. Right now, here in this room, there wasn’t a single thing to stop them.

The idea made her both excited and terrified at the same time. The truth of the matter was, she barely knew him, and that had never been more evident to her than at this very moment.

He leaned forward a fraction and she just about jumped out of her skin. With an amused grin, he asked, “Do I make you nervous, Hannah?”

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to gnaw her lip. “You’re a king. It is a tad intimidating.”

“I’m just a man.”

Yeah, kind of like The Beatles were just a rock-and-roll band or the Mona Lisa is just a painting.

“I’ve been anticipating this day for a really long time,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as wobbly to his ears as it did to her own.

“Well then, I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.” His eyes searched her face and she wondered what he was looking for. What did he see when he looked at her? Did he know deep in his heart, just as she did, that they were perfectly suited? Was he as excited about the future as she was?

Though her parents insisted she wait until she was eighteen before making the decision to marry Phillip, from the day she met him, she knew that she would someday be his wife. Had he felt it, too?

With all of her dedication and careful planning, how could their life together not be storybook perfect?

“You are beautiful.” He lifted one hand to her face, brushed the backs of his fingers across the curve of her jaw. Her skin warmed and tingled and a funny tickle rippled through her belly. “Does it strike you odd that we’ll be married in two weeks, and yet I’ve never even kissed you?”

“It would have been difficult with the chaperone watching our every move. Of course, that was the point of the chaperone, I guess.”

He leaned in the tiniest bit and her heart went berserk. “There’s no chaperone here.”

“Well,” she said, with a confidence she’d dredged up from God only knew where. “I guess now is your big chance.”

A grin curled his mouth. He slipped his fingers across her cheek, cupped her face with one large but gentle hand, and goose bumps broke out across her skin. “I guess it is.”

Two

Maybe it wasn’t proper, but as he leaned in she felt herself tipping forward to meet him halfway. Since she was sixteen years old, she had imagined kissing him, so sue her if she was more than a little enthusiastic.

Her eyes slipped closed and she felt the whisper of his breath, then his lips brushed hers…

Across the room the doors flew open and Hannah was so startled, she shot to her feet.

Phillip sighed and sat back on his heels. Leave it to his sister, Sophie, to kill a moment.

Sophie merely smiled.

He rose to his feet to stand beside his fiancée. She was red-faced with embarrassment, or maybe arousal. Or perhaps a bit of both. “Hannah, you remember my sister, Princess Sophie?”

“Of course,” Hannah said, executing a flawless curtsy. “It’s so nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

“As I’m sure my brother will tell you, I don’t care much for titles.” She offered Hannah her hand for a firm, very unroyal shake. “From now on, it’s just plain old Sophie, okay?”

Hannah nodded, her lip clamped between her teeth. A habit he found rather charming. If it weren’t for his sister and her most inconvenient timing, he might be the one chewing that plump, tender flesh.

“I wanted to let you know that the receiving line has been moved to the foyer,” Sophie told him. And added with a wry grin, “If you’re ready, of course.”

He turned to his bride-to-be. “Hannah?”

“Is there a powder room I could use first? I have the feeling I gnawed off the last of my lipstick.”

“Of course.” He gestured to the door. “Right through there.”

“I’ll try to hurry.”

“Take all the time you need.”

He watched her cross the room, noting that in spite of her apprehension, she carried herself with the utmost grace and dignity. It was hard to believe it had been two years since their last meeting. And the fault was entirely his own. Since his father’s death he had been too busy to give his impending marriage much attention. There wasn’t even supposed to be a marriage for at least another year. Not that he would be any less opposed to the idea then, as he was now.

If it were up to him, he would never tie the knot. The idea of being chained to a single woman for the rest of his life sounded so…claustrophobic. But he had a duty to his country. One that he did not take lightly.

And unlike his father, from whom Phillip had inherited his restless nature, he intended to be faithful to his wife.

“You certainly don’t waste any time,” his sister said. “Although, in the future, you might want to lock the door.”

He shot her a warning look.

“It’s a good thing the powder room has only one exit,” she said. “Or I fear your betrothed might just make a run for it.”

He wouldn’t even justify that with a response. “Surely you have something better to do.”

Sophie grinned. There was nothing she loved more than ruffling his feathers. From the time she was old enough to form words, she had been the consummate, bratty younger sister.

“Your intended is quite lovely,” she said.

“Yes, quite,” he agreed. Everything a king could want or expect in a wife.

Though at first the idea of an arranged marriage had been archaic even to him, at the insistence of his mother—who had rejected the concept of the word no, unless, of course, she was the one speaking it—he had flown to the States to meet the young woman.

It had been clear to him immediately that at the age of sixteen Hannah already possessed great potential. Despite the eight-year age difference, he found her undeniably attractive. And he could see that the feeling was mutual. And even better, were he to acquiesce, it would keep his parents off his back. At his own request, future meetings were arranged, and plans for a courtship were set in motion.

By eighteen she had blossomed into a woman of exceptional beauty and poise, and their feelings had matured from ones of sexual curiosity to intense physical attraction.

She was everything a king could want in a mate, and right now her innocence, her eagerness to please, appealed to him. Sadly, he was easily bored and quite sure that the novelty would soon wear off.

“Do you think she has the slightest clue what she’s getting herself into?” Sophie asked.

“The slightest.” There was only so much she could learn from a book or a tutor. The rest would come through experience.

“While I have you here, I was hoping to have a word with you.”

He felt an argument coming on. “If this is about what I think it’s about—”

“He’s our brother. You could at least hear him out.”

“Half brother,” he said firmly. A product of their father’s infidelity. “I owe him nothing.”

“What he is proposing would ensure the stability of our empire for generations.”

“And his own, no doubt.”

She looked at him as though he were loony. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“If it’s the crown that concerns you, he wants no part of it.”

Not unlike Sophie, he thought, who had spent the better part of her twenty-five years expressing her dislike of the monarchy’s rules. But in the case of their half brother, Ethan Rafferty, their father’s blood ran through his veins. As a result, he did have a claim to the crown. If something were to happen to Phillip, he would be next in line.

For Phillip, that was unacceptable.

“I won’t discuss this,” Phillip told her. “Period.”

Her cheeks flushed with frustration. “Bloody hell, you’re stubborn!”

She was one to talk. “That distinction, dear Sophie, is not limited to me.”

The door to the powder room opened, and Hannah emerged. Grateful for the interruption, he crossed the room to meet her. “Feeling better?”

Hannah nodded. “I think I’m ready to do this. And I’m sorry again for getting so freaked out.”

“Were you?” Sophie asked from behind him. “I’m quite sure no one noticed.”

Hannah cracked an appreciative smile. The first one he had seen since she arrived.

He offered his arm to her. “Shall I escort you?”

She looked from his arm to the door, then took a deep breath. “I appreciate the offer, but I think that after what happened outside, it’s important that I stand on my own two feet.”

“As you wish.” He opened the door for her and watched, feeling an unexpected surge of pride as she swept out into the foyer.

Sophie stepped up beside him and, in a quiet voice, said, “Impressive.”