The Improperly Pregnant Princess

The doors opened on a marbled foyer. What an elegant place, Easton thought, noting the two-story-high ceiling and the curving staircase to his right.

“Your Majesty!” He would have recognized Charlotte DeLacey Carradigne anywhere. The tall, slim woman in the designer suit had hardly aged in twenty years.

She curtseyed gracefully. Easton caught her hand and pulled her up. “My dear, you look splendid,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t waited so long to pay you this visit.”

“You’re as handsome as ever. So much like Drake.” She flashed him a smile tinged with sadness. After so many years, he could see that she still mourned her husband. “You look a little pale. Was it a long flight?”

“Long enough,” he said. “And a colder winter than usual in Korosol. Charlotte, let me introduce my secretary, Eleanor Standish. She’s not staying here, but she’ll make sure my room’s settled the way I like it.”

“Of course.”

The housekeeper appeared as if by magic and whisked Ellie away. “Have the guards bring the suitcases to suite A,” he heard her say, and then he was alone with his daughter-in-law.

“Where are the girls?” Easton asked.

“Waiting in the Grand Room, right across the gallery.” Charlotte clasped her hands together. “That is, Amelia and Lucia are here, and CeCe’s on her way.”

The king felt a twinge of irritation at this tardiness. “Cecelia isn’t waiting for me?”

“She’s monitoring a severe storm in the Pacific that could impact a couple of our ships,” Charlotte explained. “Your granddaughter takes her duties very seriously.”

“That’s a good sign,” Easton said, his annoyance soothed, as they crossed a long corridor hung with paintings and large photographs.

“A good sign?” asked his daughter-in-law.

“We’ll get to that,” the king said.

COMMUNICATIONS FROM DeLacey’s ships in the storm area had been disrupted. Despite all their satellites, international weather sources couldn’t pinpoint the storm’s latest activity.

“What good is all this technology, anyway?” CeCe moaned, leaning back in her chair. Since she was alone in her office, no one answered.

The morning had been filled with one frustration after another. Her mother had called twice to urge her to get home before the king arrived. And, in truth, there was little CeCe could do to help her valiant captains, other than validate any decisions they made.

Still, she felt obligated to stick it out. At least this way, if a decision was made that derailed scheduling and angered a client, CeCe would take the blame on herself. It seemed only fair.

A beep from the computer startled her. For a moment, she couldn’t remember what that meant.

Puzzled, she minimized the maritime weather page so it disappeared from the screen. Instantly, it was replaced by the grinning face of Shane O’Connell.

“You can see me, but I can’t see you,” he said. “Turn your video on!”

CeCe had made so little use of the videoconferencing program that she’d almost forgotten it was installed. Annoyed and intrigued at the same time, she straightened in her chair and finger-combed her bangs. Then she clicked on Send Video.

Shane’s grin broadened. “Hey, you look pretty darn good for a digital image.”

“What’s going on?” There must be a new development in the Wuhan negotiations. “I thought everything was set.”

“For the ad campaign?” Shane’s dark eyes narrowed. “Whoa, lady.”

“I meant for brunch tomorrow,” CeCe said. “Forget the ad campaign.”

“You seemed pretty keen on it yesterday.” His expression shifted into confusion, or maybe that was the effect of the pixels. They sometimes rearranged themselves jerkily, giving the impression that she was watching stop-action animation instead of a real person.

Except that Shane was very, very real. His voice had a fierce vibrancy even through the computer speakers, and CeCe got the shivery sense that he was right here in the room with her.

Close enough to touch, yet out of reach. Just like in life.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She couldn’t tell him about her grandfather’s visit, so she explained, “We’re having some bad weather at sea. What’s this call about, Shane?”

“Us,” he said.

Her heart nearly stopped. Surely she’d misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

“When your mother came in, we were on the verge of talking about what happened that night at my apartment,” he said. “It’s time to finish the conversation.”

Not now! CeCe thought. Not with her mother’s silent nagging pulling at her mind, and worry about the storm making her feel guilty about taking even a moment for herself. “Forget that night. It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Shane repeated. “Does that mean I can expect you to drop by my place again, say, tonight?”

CeCe stared at him, trying to make sense of his comment. “What are you talking about?”

“You say that what happened doesn’t matter. So it won’t matter if we get together again, will it?” he replied, his eyes daring her to argue. Or maybe that was once again, the effect of digital imperfections. “We’re both consenting adults and whether you want to admit it or not, we enjoyed ourselves.”

“Life isn’t about having fun,” CeCe snapped, although it was difficult not to be amused by Shane’s outrageous remarks. Something about the man appealed to her even when he infuriated her.

“Lighten up,” he said. “Let me bring out the best in you. Or the worst. Whatever. Shall we say, seven o’clock, my place?”

“I have plans,” she said.

“So do I,” he admitted. “I didn’t figure you’d agree.”

“You louse!” CeCe couldn’t help laughing. “You have a lot of nerve!”

“So are we past it?” he asked.

“Past what?”

“That circling-each-other-and-snarling business,” Shane said. “What happened, happened. We’re both consenting adults and we both enjoyed it. No harm done.”

“Well…” CeCe swallowed. It seemed awfully abrupt to break the news about her pregnancy over the Internet. Besides, the connection might not be secure.

Then there was the matter of her grandfather’s visit. She couldn’t tell Shane yet, even if she wanted to.

A tap at her office door was followed by Linzy’s entrance. “Miss Carradigne? Did you see the latest weather bulletin?”

“No. What’s it say?” CeCe reached instinctively for her mouse.

“Don’t you dare minimize me!” Shane said.

Linzy frowned. “Is there someone on the speakerphone?”

“I’m videoconferencing with Mr. O’Connell,” CeCe said. “What’s the news?”

“The storm’s veered. The worst of it is expected to miss the shipping lanes,” said her secretary.

“Thank heaven.” CeCe checked her watch. “Oh, my goodness.” At last report, her grandfather was expected to land right about now. Even if she hurried, she’d be late to greet him. “I’ve got to go.”

Linzy withdrew discreetly. “What’s so important?” Shane asked.

“Family business,” CeCe said.

“So when it comes to our little escapade, it’s forgive, if not forget?” he pressed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and clicked off.

She didn’t want to keep the king of Korosol waiting any longer than she had to. Especially not for the impudent Shane O’Connell.

THE GRAND ROOM LIVED UP to its name, the king saw as he entered. Large enough to serve as a ballroom, it soared a full two stories. Fabric wall paneling in shades of beige and light blue set off the antique furnishings, and the windows opened onto a covered lanai.

Two young women sprang to their feet as Easton entered and dipped in slightly shaky curtseys. They were lovely women, both tall and blond.

Amelia, who wore a tailored dress, gave him a conciliatory smile. “I’m sure CeCe will be here any minute.”

Lucia, a shade taller and slimmer, wore a swirly, bohemian dress and large, bright earrings. She was, the king recalled from one of Charlotte’s letters, a jewelry designer, so she’d probably made them herself. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she murmured. “I mean, to see you again.”

She’d been six, and her sister seven, the last time he met them. It seemed like another lifetime.

“Come give your grandfather a big hug, both of you,” Easton said.

They embraced him shyly. Close up, they smelled of springtime.

“They’re beautiful girls,” he told Charlotte. “You’ve done well.”

“I must apologize again for Cecelia,” she said. “She has a computer in her suite upstairs. I told her she ought to keep track from here until…”

Across the hall, the elevator doors opened and Easton heard high heels click across the marble floor. Such an impatient sound, and an oddly familiar one.

His chest tightened. His wife’s steps used to sound exactly like that when she was in a hurry.

“With all those weather satellites, you’d think we could get some accurate information sooner about…” A tall, loose-limbed young woman, hair straggling across her face, stumbled to a halt in the doorway. “Oh, he’s here! I mean, you’re here. Welcome to New York, Your Majesty.”

As she dipped in a curtsey, he distinctly heard her knees crack. Then she straightened and King Easton forgot everything as he got a good look at her face.

It was his Cassandra, come back to life in her eldest granddaughter.

CECE FIGURED SHE’D BLOWN IT this time. Everyone was staring at her, especially her grandfather.

He was tall and erect, although thinner than she’d expected, and looked in his early sixties rather than his late seventies. His gray hair might be thinning, but there was nothing faded about his green gaze.

She hoped he wasn’t going to scold her. The chauffeur had set a crosstown speed record getting her here, which had done nothing to ease her churning stomach.

And she wished she hadn’t been quite so abrupt in ending the call with Shane. When he wasn’t scowling and trying to drive a hard bargain, the man could be downright charming. Dangerously so, as she’d learned.

“Please accept my apology for the delay,” CeCe said. “I hope my mother told you about the storm.”

“She did indeed.” Never taking his eyes off her, King Easton crossed the room and caught CeCe’s hands in his strong ones. “Your devotion to duty does you credit.” He spoke with a charming French accent.

Charlotte, who had opened her mouth to intervene in what she obviously expected to be a difficult moment, clamped it shut again. Amelia looked relieved, and Lucia amused.

Nothing had prepared CeCe for her grandfather’s absorption in her. As he stood directly in front of her, his stare seemed to bore into her.

Until this moment, he had been a remote figure with little impact on her life. Now, suddenly, a connection sprang to life between them.

She knew she ought to make polite conversation, to ask about his journey or offer him some refreshment. CeCe couldn’t find the words.

“You look exactly like your grandmother,” he said.

“That’s quite an honor. We have a portrait of her, you know.” Several people had pointed out a resemblance that escaped CeCe.

Her coloring was lighter than Cassandra’s, and she was taller. Hester Vanderling, the family’s former nanny and current housekeeper, attributed the similarity to the independent set of their chins.

The king blinked as if emerging from a daze, and released her hands. “Sit down, everyone. We need to talk.”

“I’ll have one of the maids bring coffee,” Charlotte said.

“It’s a bit late in the day for caffeine,” the king reproved. “Herbal tea and biscuits—cookies, you call them, I believe.”

“Right away.” On the intercom, Charlotte summoned the kitchen staff. Soon an ornate silver tray was wheeled in, with a handcrafted teapot and cups on top and two levels of cookies and small cakes.

Charlotte reached for the teapot, then stopped. “CeCe, as the eldest daughter, you should pour.”

Not since she’d had to defend her master’s thesis in front of a faculty panel had CeCe experienced such a jolt of alarm. Her tea-pouring ability was only one level above abysmal.

“Of course,” she said, doing her best to hide her dismay. Princess Bluster, that’s what her college classmates had nicknamed CeCe after she brazenly answered a teacher’s questions about a textbook chapter she’d neglected to read, and got away with it. “It would be my pleasure.”

Her sisters regarded her with varying degrees of surprise and concern. When CeCe reached for the teapot, Amelia leaned forward as if trying to help with body language.

King Easton regarded her quizzically. “You’re left-handed?”

“I’m afraid so.” Living in a right-handed world contributed to CeCe’s clumsiness, although Charlotte had never considered that an excuse.

“So was your grandmother,” said the king. “She used to complain that servingware was designed for right-handed women. We had several teapots made especially for her.”

“I’m afraid I left mine at the office,” CeCe said.

“You left your what at the office?” asked Charlotte.

“My left-handed teapot,” she said.

There was a moment’s pause, and then King Easton burst out laughing. “My granddaughter is joking! How delightful.”

CeCe’s sisters released a few giggles. Charlotte smiled cautiously.

“Would you like me to pour?” asked Amelia.

“She’s very good at it,” said Lucia.

“And I’m not,” CeCe concluded.

The king beamed at them. “I appreciate your frankness, and I’m glad to see that your sisters have kind hearts. Lady Charlotte, they’re a tribute to their upbringing.”

Their mother basked in his praise. For once, CeCe was glad to see, the three of them had won her approval.

Amelia proceeded to serve the tea without spilling a drop. Charlotte herself couldn’t have done better.

When they were all settled, the king said, “I want to tell you why I’ve come.”

“You don’t need a reason,” said his daughter-in-law.

“That’s true. Yet there is one.”

Since her mother’s announcement the previous day, CeCe had turned the matter over in her mind. Now she figured she had a pretty good idea what to expect.

Three years ago, there’d been talk that King Easton would retire on his seventy-fifth birthday. However, after his eldest son decided he wanted a few more years of relative freedom, the retirement was postponed.

Now that a year of mourning for Byrum had ended, her grandfather must have decided to hand the reins of power to Markus. Her cousin had made no secret of his eagerness to assume the role.

She wasn’t sure why Easton wanted to announce the transition to his granddaughters in person. The most likely explanation was that he sought the family’s support for the new king, along with their attendance at the coronation.

Of course they would go. CeCe only hoped her pregnancy wouldn’t be too obvious by that point.

“I’ve decided to step down from the throne,” Easton said.

CeCe nodded. It was what she’d assumed.

“We’re sorry to hear it,” Charlotte said.

“Don’t be. As long as I can hand Korosol to a strong, benevolent monarch, we should all rejoice.”

“When is the coronation to take place?” CeCe asked.

“That depends on you.”

“On us?”

“On you personally.” Easton studied her closely. “You see, Princess Cecelia, I’ve decided that you are to be my successor.”

Chapter Three

In the stunned silence that followed King Easton’s announcement, CeCe became acutely aware of the ticking of an antique clock. Of the swirl of dust motes down long shafts of light. Of the swift thumping of her heart.

Was he joking? One look at his face told her otherwise.

Her mother and sisters sat frozen. If anyone had dared to light a bomb under Charlotte’s chair, she wouldn’t have stirred.

Queen of Korosol? Such a thought had never entered CeCe’s mind, even in those childhood days when she and her sisters used to play at being princesses for real.

Of course, they were princesses for real. Living in New York, however, those titles meant little beyond the interest they stirred among the status-conscious.

“I don’t even know Korosol,” she said, then realized how ungracious that sounded. “I mean, I don’t deserve this honor. I haven’t visited the country since I was nine.”

“I’m aware of that.” Her grandfather sank back on the couch, looking weary. “I blame myself for not insisting that you girls spend a month each summer with me. However, a businesswoman with your credentials should be able to familiarize yourself with Korosol’s needs rather quickly.”

Charlotte coughed before managing to speak. “Your Majesty, I’m astounded. We’re all incredibly grateful—”

The king lifted one hand to halt the flow of words. “It’s a lifelong commitment. Since my granddaughter hasn’t been prepared for it the way I was, I won’t try to force it on her.”

“Naturally, my daughter will do anything you ask,” Charlotte assured him.

CeCe couldn’t begin to absorb the ramifications of becoming a queen. Moreover, her grandfather’s decision puzzled her.

“Although I realize the law doesn’t require it, I always assumed Markus was next in line,” she said.

Her cousin, who was half a dozen years older than CeCe, maintained an apartment in New York and a playboy lifestyle. Having seen him often over the years, she found him charming at times and manipulative at others.

Thin frown lines puckered Easton’s forehead. “I have reason to believe my grandson may not be, well, quite right for the job. That’s all I care to say on the matter.”

Perhaps it was Markus’s occasional heavy drinking that bothered their grandfather, CeCe thought. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for her cousin, who’d mentioned several times how much he looked forward to assuming the throne.

“I think CeCe will make a wonderful queen,” Amelia said, fulfilling her accustomed role of peacekeeper.

“She’ll be terrific, if it’s what she really wants to do,” said Lucia.

Queen Cecelia of Korosol. CeCe was sophisticated enough to know how the world would trumpet the storybook elevation of a New York executive into such a romantic position.

Romantic to others, perhaps. She doubted Shane would be impressed. He’d made it clear he admired people for their accomplishments, not for what was simply handed to them.

That was one of the reasons that his respect meant so much to her. Until that embarrassing night they’d spent together, she’d secretly looked forward to their negotiations. The flare of approval on his face when she raised a point that he hadn’t considered, even when it came at his own expense, thrilled her.

She’d missed Shane these past few months. Even though he sometimes annoyed her, she came alive during their verbal battles.

Becoming queen meant CeCe would never again walk into her office and see him standing there. She would never be able to call him on the phone and ask his advice or outline her latest idea.

Of course, she wasn’t queen yet. Under the circumstances, she reminded herself, she probably never would be. Could she possibly have timed her pregnancy worse?

CeCe knew she ought to say something now, but she couldn’t bear to blurt out the truth and see the disgust on her grandfather’s face. Not to mention that Charlotte would squawk loud enough to set off car alarms for blocks.

Despite lacking a course of action, she still needed to give her grandfather a response. “It’s a tremendous opportunity,” she said. “One I’m not sure I’m ready to handle. Would it be all right if I think it over?”

“There’s nothing to think about!” snapped her mother. “If your father were here—”

“If Drake were here, he’d be pleased that she takes the matter so seriously,” said the king. “I’m glad you don’t grab at the chance to glorify yourself, Cecelia. You understand, as you should, that saying yes will change not only your life but the lives of thousands of people.”

It was a solemn responsibility to have all those people counting on her. CeCe had never shrunk from taking charge, and she wasn’t about to start now—if it turned out her grandfather still intended to give her the chance, once she figured out how to break her news to him.

“We’ll get to know each other over the next few days,” the king said. “That will give you a chance to weigh the matter, and me an opportunity to make sure you’re the right person to rule my land.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.

The monarch rose stiffly to his feet. The four women jumped up also. “I want to make sure my room is arranged to my liking before Ellie leaves. I shall see you all at dinner.”

“Let me show you the way.” Charlotte accompanied him from the room.

The young women sat in stunned silence for a few minutes. Then Lucia said, “I’m glad he picked you and not me!”

“I can just imagine you turning the royal palace into an artists’ loft like the one you live in,” Amelia teased.

“Well, I am an artist, and I can’t live my life to please other people,” replied their younger sister.

“You’re the one who’d make a good queen, Amelia,” CeCe said. “You could still work with the International Children’s Foundation. I’m sure they’d love to have a queen as a figurehead.”

“I’m not a figurehead!” Amelia answered in a rare display of temper.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Although CeCe didn’t know the details of her sister’s work, she couldn’t help noticing that Amelia vanished from the apartment for weeks at a time. Often, she suspected, to travel to war-torn lands.

The ICF, a nonprofit relief organization, rescued orphans overseas and found them good homes. Because of the risk of being kidnapped if anyone discovered her identity, Amelia worked and traveled under an assumed name.

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to take the job just because grandfather and mother want you to,” Lucia told CeCe. “Once you become a queen, you won’t have a moment to yourself. Forget about finding the right man, not that it’s so easy for the rest of us.”

Three years earlier, Lucia had been duped by a gold-digging fiancé. Ever since, she’d avoided entanglements to concentrate on her design business.

Charlotte sailed through the door. “Don’t you dare try to talk your sister out of this! Being offered the throne is a dream come true.”

“Or a nightmare,” retorted Lucia.

“I don’t understand why you contradict me at every turn.” Charlotte’s tongue made a disapproving click. “Isn’t it bad enough that you live in SoHo and hang out with all those artsy types?”

CeCe was in no mood to hear old arguments rehashed. “I hope grandfather understands that I’m not going to be entirely at his beck and call these next few days.”

“His secretary mentioned he’s got some business at the embassy tomorrow morning, so you can keep your appointment with Shane,” Charlotte said. “Now, pipe down, all three of you. I have something to say.”

“Uh-oh,” muttered Lucia. Amelia shook her head at her sister.

CeCe perched on the arm of a sofa. The way her stomach felt, piping down was more difficult than her mother might guess. “Go ahead.”

Charlotte eyed the dessert cart longingly. “Before we start, there’s no point in letting these go to waste, I suppose.”

To keep her figure trim, she rarely indulged. Now she helped herself to a slice of mousse cake, taking dainty bites with a small silver fork. She must, CeCe mused, have expended a great deal of energy in worrying about the king’s arrival to have worked up such an appetite.

Her daughters needed no encouragement. Soon they were all sitting around, eating and waiting on their mother’s pronouncement.

At last the final bite of cake disappeared. It was typical of Charlotte not to begin speaking while she might have even a crumb of food left in her mouth.

“Now, listen closely,” she told her daughters. “I’m not sure when we’ll have another moment alone.”

“We’re listening,” Lucia said.

The dessert plate issued a refined pinging noise as Charlotte set it on the coffee table. “You know how hard I’ve worked all these years at the shipping company. It wasn’t entirely by choice, I assure you.”