A Royal Wager

Kate smiled and held out her free hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry, but how do I address you?”

She took Kate’s hand for a brief shake. “I would prefer you call me Mary.” She sent a sardonic glance at Marc. “Obviously, you now know the family secrets, so I believe first names are appropriate.”

Marc clung to his last thin thread of control. “I have no secrets, Mother. And this is not my child.”

Mary smoothed a hand over the baby’s hair. “Then why would anyone claim this precious girl is a DeLoria? What other possibilities are there?”

Marc knew of one, and he was taking great risk by mentioning it. But he felt he must. “Perhaps she is Philippe’s child.”

His mother sent him a startled look, as if he’d proclaimed that a deity had committed a mortal sin. “That would be impossible. Philippe has been gone for almost a year.”

Marc turned to Kate. “How old do you think she is?”

Kate regarded the baby for a moment. “At least six months old, maybe a bit older if she’s small for her age.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Marc said. “She could have been born before or shortly after Philippe’s death. Definitely conceived while he was still alive.”

“Philippe was engaged to marry Countess Jacqueline Trudeau for two years.”

“Perhaps she is the mother, then.”

“Nonsense. She married another man not long after Philippe’s death.”

Ah, true love, Marc thought cynically. “Then perhaps Philippe fathered a child with another woman.”

“Philippe never would have denied his child,” Mary said.

Anger welled inside Marc. “And I would?”

“As his mother, I would have known if he had been hiding something. He was never good at telling untruths. He lacked the cunning you have.”

The woman who had always been Marc’s champion had called him a practiced deceiver in front of Kate, a woman whose respect he greatly desired. “Are you saying I am prone to telling falsehoods?”

“I am saying you’ve always been more clever and not as easy to read.”

“Of course. And Philippe was destined for sainthood.” Marc could not keep the sarcasm and bitterness from his tone even though he, too, had admired his brother. But he had also lived in his shadow. He was still living in it.

His mother’s expression softened. “My dear Marcel, we barely saw you over the past ten years, let alone knew with whom you were involved aside from what we read in the papers.”

“And you knew of Philippe’s comings and goings all the time, Mother? Might I remind you that no one knew where he was going or where he had been the night he died.”

“I am deeply wounded by your suggestion that your brother was carrying on with someone I knew nothing about, much less had a child with that someone without my knowledge.”

Kate watched the verbal volley as she continued to hold the baby on her hip, feeling totally like an outsider. The tension in the room was as thick as buttermilk and although she had no business getting involved, she had to do something. “There are ways to prove parentage,” she offered.

Both Marc and his mother unlocked their gazes from each other and turned them to her.

“Perhaps a birthmark?” the queen mother asked in a hopeful voice. “Marc does have a very unusual one on his—”

“Mother, I believe Dr. Milner is referring to something more scientific.”

Kate was, but she had to admit she was curious about Marc’s royal birthmark and where it might be residing. “I’m referring to DNA, which is complicated if the testing can’t be done here.” Not to mention they would have to obtain some from the deceased brother, a fact she didn’t dare bring up now.

Marc streaked a hand over his nape. “We are not up to speed with that yet. We would have to involve Paris.”

“We cannot do that,” the queen mother said, looking alarmed. “We must keep this concealed until we decide how to handle such a sensitive issue. The media would tear Marcel to shreds if they even suspected he had fathered a child out of wedlock. He would lose all respect in the eyes of our people.”

Kate could understand that, and she was more than a bit concerned herself. “I could draw and type her blood but without knowing the mother’s type, it might not tell us anything.”

“My blood type is rare,” Marc said. “Would that make a difference?”

“It could if she has it. That could prove she’s a member of the family, but it still might not rule anyone out.” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “What about Philippe’s type?”

“His was the same as Marc’s,” Mary said. “The night he died…” Mary’s voice trailed off along with her gaze.

Marc released a gruff sigh. “My mother was about to say that the night he died, I was in Germany on a diplomatic mission. He suffered severe internal injuries in the car crash. He lost too much blood and I didn’t arrive in time to give him some of my own.”

Kate’s heart went out to Marc in that moment. She couldn’t think of anything to say to ease his guilt, so she said nothing.

“Dr. Martine can provide all the medical records since he’s the royal physician,” Mary said. “We can trust him to be discreet.” She paused before adding, “And I assume we can trust you as well, Dr. Milner?”

Marc moved closer to Kate, a purely defensive gesture. “Mother, Kate is a physician. She is accustomed to confidentiality.”

Mary arched a thin brow. “Kate? How well do you know each other?”

Oh, heavens. If she didn’t set the record straight, the queen mother might assume she was Marc’s lover. Worse, she might believe Kate had parental ties to the child considering the timing. “Actually—”

“Kate, forgive my mother. She might be descended from genteel British aristocracy, but she has the bluntness of a barrister pleading a monumental case.”

The queen mother patted his cheek, a true display of fondness that took Kate by surprise in light of their recent confrontation. “And so do you, mon fiston.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mother, I am no longer your little boy.”

“Yes, you are a man now and clearly responsible for your actions.”

“Kate and I knew each other at the university,” Marc continued, obviously not willing to react to the innuendo, much to Kate’s relief. “I assure you that we have not seen each other in years.”

“We were college lab partners,” Kate interjected. “Only friends.”

Finally, Marc smiled. “And she’s come to Doriana to join our hospital staff.”

The baby wriggled and gave a whine of protest. Kate wanted to do the same since she hadn’t exactly agreed to take the job. “I think we should wait until morning to do the tests. She’s been through enough today.” And so have I, Kate thought.

The queen mother patted her neat silver chignon, her features mellowing when she smiled at Kate. “Welcome, my dear. We are very pleased to have you.”

Kate considered insisting that she hadn’t made her final decision, but with the queen mother and king looking at her expectantly, she felt as if she had no choice.

She would agree to take the position—for the time being. If it got too hot in the castle kitchen, if it turned out the baby was Marc’s and he’d left some woman high and dry, alone and pregnant, she would have to reconsider. She couldn’t respect a man who would do that, even if she did crave his company.

“Thank you. I’m very glad to be here.”

For now.

Marc spent the remainder of the afternoon making numerous queries, only to learn that no one seemed to know who had delivered the baby at the gates. He called Louis Martine and explained the situation, then arranged to meet him early in the morning at the hospital for Kate to run the tests. Louis had assured him that he would practice prudence when it came to gathering records and assisting in trying to determine the baby’s parentage. Marc had no choice but to trust him. He could not say the same for the rest of the hospital staff, Renault particularly, so they would have to proceed with caution.

Frustrated and exhausted, Marc set off to locate his mother and Kate, who had insisted on staying to care for the baby. Beatrice directed him up the stairs to what was once his and Philippe’s nursery, but which had long ago been transformed into a guestroom. He entered to find Kate sitting in a rocker, holding the sleeping child against her shoulder. She put a fingertip to her lips as she rose and laid the little girl in the nearby crib. The baby stirred a bit and Kate remained there for a while, patting the child’s back and cooing like a dove. After a time, she turned away and signaled him to join her in the hall.

Once there, she shut the door behind them and sighed. “I think she’s finally down for the count. It took a while. Apparently she’s used to someone rocking her to sleep.”

Marc rubbed his neck, trying to work away the tension coiled there, to no avail. “I suspect her mother had that duty, whoever she might be.”

“I’m sure you’re right. And obviously Cecile’s been well cared for. She looks very healthy. I’ll do a full exam tomorrow, just to be sure.”

Marc glanced at the closed door. “I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve made the room into a nursery again.”

Kate shrugged. “I didn’t do anything but play with Cecile while the staff moved in the furniture.”

“My mother must have called in all her favors to have a crib delivered so quickly.”

“The crib was yours.”

“I had no idea my mother kept it.”

“She obviously cares a great deal for you,” Kate said softly.

Marc acknowledged that his mother had always cared about him, but after the events of the day, he questioned whether she respected him. “By the way, where is she?”

“She had a terrible headache so I insisted she go to bed. I’m sure it’s stress.”

No doubt due to the situation, and him. “I hope we clear this up soon. She’s been through quite a lot over the past year with Philippe’s death. And now this.”

He saw true sympathy in Kate’s emerald eyes. “Yes, she has been through a lot, and so have you.”

How unselfish for her to consider his feelings, Marc thought. A rare occurrence in the household. “I’ve adjusted.” He’d been forced to adjust. No time to consider anything but duty. No time to really grieve.

“Are you sure you’ve adjusted?” she asked.

No, he wasn’t, yet the time to assess his situation would probably continue to elude him. “Of course.”

Kate hid a yawn behind her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Marc felt like a selfish fool. “No apology necessary. You must be exhausted from your trip.”

Her ensuing smile tripped Marc’s pulse into a frenzy. “Yes, I am tired. Beatrice has agreed to sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery in case Cecile wakes during the night. Do you think Mr. Nicholas could drive me back to the hotel?”

Marc wasn’t ready for her to leave. He wanted to spend more time with her even knowing it was selfish on his part, and totally ill-advised. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to stay here considering the lateness of the hour?”

“My clothes are at the hotel and I really need a bath.”

Marc did not need to imagine her in the bath, but he did—in great detail, right down to the curve of her hip, the shading between her thighs, the roundness of her breasts where his gaze now came to rest.

Kate pointed to a dark smudge above her right breast. “Strained peas. Little Cecile is a healthy eater but she loves to toss food. Her aim is pretty darned good.”

Marc reached for a lock of Kate’s dark hair. “Yes, I do believe I see a few remnants here.”

As he twined the soft strands in his fingers, their gazes remained fixed as Kate said, “I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

Marc needed something from her now—although he couldn’t act on that need. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I will personally see to your return. I’ll drive you myself.”

Her expression reflected wariness. “Are you sure? You look pretty beat.”

“I promise I will stay awake long enough to make certain you are delivered safely to your room.”

And he promised himself that he would leave her at the door because if he did not, he would find it very difficult to leave her at all tonight.

Three

A cool breeze whipped over Kate’s face as they traveled the darkened streets of St. Simone in Marc’s classic convertible chick magnet. No slick, mean, manly machine had ever turned her head. She preferred comfortable sedans and comfortable shoes, which reminded her of the less-than-comfortable pumps squeezing her feet like a sadistic vise. She was tempted to kick them off but thought it best to leave on all articles of clothing, in case Marc got the wrong idea.

Like she would really try to seduce him in her current state. Her suit was wrinkled, her hair was a mess and her bra cut into her like steel fingers. Whoever invented push-up braziers should be bound at the wrists and ankles by underwire for at least forty-eight hours.

And Marc, with his suave sophistication and the wind blowing his golden hair away from his face, could easily pass as a sexy super spy like James Bond. Kate could be his girl of the month and sidekick, Roadkill. Yeah, he would definitely be interested in that scenario.

Marc pulled up to the curb in front of the inn and put the car in park. They were immediately joined by two other black vehicles, one in front, one in back.

Marc glanced in the rearview mirror and muttered, “For once, I wish they would leave me the hell alone.”

“I’m sure they’re only concerned for your safety.”

“I seriously doubt any dissidents are waiting inside the hotel on the off chance that I might pay a visit in the middle of the night. They seem to forget that for most of my adult life, I’ve seen to my own welfare.”

“But that was before you were king.”

“And that seems like decades ago.” He shifted in the seat to face her. “I want to thank you again, Kate.”

She dislodged the rest of her wind-blown hair from her face and stared at him. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything.”

“Don’t underestimate your assistance. I’m not certain my mother would have managed the situation quite as well had you not been there.”

Kate noted the weariness in his tone and in his eyes. “What do you think will happen now? With the baby, I mean.”

“Right now, I’m too bloody tired to worry about it.” He brushed one stubborn strand of hair away from her face. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, too, although you look very beautiful at the moment.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m very serious.”

That dog don’t hunt, Kate thought, her grandfather’s favorite saying. She would do well to remember that Marc DeLoria was a master of seduction, and obviously desperate if he considered her beautiful when she was sporting the results of wind-wrecked hair and an infantile food fight.

Desperate? Ha! His little black book was probably as big as her Physicians’ Desk Reference. In fact, he’d probably utilized this very hotel for clandestine affairs.

“I’ve never been at this inn before,” he said, as if challenging her assumption.

Kate studied the red brick building’s facade and the flower boxes framing the windows to avoid his continued scrutiny. “It has old-world charm, Your Highness.” Marc wasn’t suffering in the charm department, either.

“Kate, as long as we’re in private, you may call me Marc.”

Her gaze snapped from the building to him. “What if I slip up at some point in time?”

He grinned, revealing his drop-dead gorgeous dimples. “Then it’s off with your head.”

Kate circled her hands around her throat. “Maybe I should just stick to Your Highness. Hard to treat patients without a head.”

He looked suddenly solemn. “Seriously, I would appreciate you calling me Marc. I could use a friend.”

She could use some strength. “Okay, Marc. I’ll be your friend.”

“Thank you.”

He looked so appreciative, so sincere, so darned sexy that Kate had the strongest urge to lean over and kiss him senseless.

Party’s over.

Kate needed to go upstairs, take a bath and crawl into bed. Alone. Before she did something really stupid, like convince herself that he might actually find her desirable not only as a friend, but also as a lover. How absurd. “Thanks for the ride. I can manage from here.”

“Nonsense.” He moved with the speed of a cougar as he slid out of the car and rounded the hood before she even had a chance to draw a breath.

Kate stared at him when he opened her door, afraid to move, to speak.

“Well?” he asked. “What are you waiting for?”

Her pulse to return to normal. “Really, I can see myself in.”

His grin outshone the moon. “And disobey the king?”

“Since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to submit or risk the gallows.”

Obviously she had already lost her head for letting him escort her. Only to the lobby, she reminded herself. She would say goodbye then go upstairs alone.

Marc followed Kate into the red-carpeted vestibule absent of people except for the forty-something man sitting behind the registration desk, looking totally disinterested in the king and his entourage’s sudden arrival. Had Marc told her the truth, or was his appearance at the inn a common occurrence?

She was too worn out to contemplate that now. She needed sleep. When she turned to dismiss Marc, he asked, “Do you have your room key?”

She fumbled in her bag, withdrew the key and held it up. “Right here, so I’m all set. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He took the key from her hand, easy as pie. “I’ll see you to your room.”

Of all the sneaky sovereigns. Maybe she should summon a bodyguard for her own protection. Not that Marc seemed like the kind to do her bodily harm. But he could certainly do things to her body that she’d never before experienced, that much she knew. He’d been doing it all day without even touching her.

“I can make it to my room just fine.” Kate tried to recover the key but before she could, he quickly tucked it into his pants pocket. She didn’t dare try to go after it, since rifling in the king’s pocket would probably be the ultimate breach in etiquette. Mighty fun, though.

Taking her by the elbow, Marc guided Kate up the staircase. Once they reached the room, he faced her and said, “Are you afraid of me, Kate?”

“Of course not.” She was more afraid of herself and her own vulnerability where he was concerned.

“You have no need to be.” He held up his hands, palms forward. “I promise my intentions are honorable.”

“That’s too bad.” Who said that? Surely not Kate the Crusader—able to thwart all come-ons with a single put-down. But he hadn’t been coming on to her at all. Maybe subconsciously she was wishing he had. What else could explain her suggestive remark?

Leaning forward, closing the space between their faces, he said, “In what way would that be bad?”

“I was just spouting off, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” he repeated in a rough, seductive whisper.

That wasn’t all, Kate thought as he came closer and closer, in slow motion it seemed, his lips only inches from hers.

She wanted this so badly. Wanted to feel his mouth on hers, wanted to know that he did see her as more than a physician, more than a friend. Know that the thought of his being her lover wasn’t absurd after all.

But instead of kissing her, Marc framed her face in his palms and tipped his forehead against hers. “We can’t do this, Kate.”

She glanced to her right to see one bodyguard positioned at the landing, facing the descending stairs. “I understand. We have an audience.”

“It’s not only that. Nothing can happen between us.”

Kate lowered her eyes at the same moment her heart took a dive. “I know. I’m not exactly suitable.”

“You’re wrong.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “You are a beautiful, remarkable woman, Kate. And it would be incredibly easy to kiss you right now, to back you into your room, remove all your clothing and make love with you all through the night. But because of who I am, I don’t have that luxury. I still have too much to prove.”

“What do you have to prove?”

“That I’ve not bedded every woman from Belize to Great Britain.”

“You haven’t?”

His smile was cynical. “No. I’ve escorted quite a few women in my time, and I’ve not been a long-term celibate, but there have not been as many lovers in my life as most have assumed.”

Long-term celibate? She wanted to ask him how long had it been since he’d had a lover. But it really didn’t matter. He couldn’t be hers. “So you’re saying that you can’t be involved with anyone?”

“Not at this time. Not until I can establish myself as a serious leader, and then only when I’m ready to settle into a marriage. I doubt I will be ready for that for quite some time.”

Kate stepped back and wrapped her arms around her middle to mask the sudden chills. “Well, thanks for letting me know.” She hated the disappointment in her tone but had to admit she liked what he had said—that he did find her desirable. That he had actually had the same thoughts she’d had all day. But that didn’t change the fact that their relationship would have to remain platonic. And she might as well accept it, beginning now, even if she didn’t like it.

Again he touched her face. “Kate, it is as much for your sake as it is for mine. The people of Doriana are basically kind, but they can also be judgmental when it comes to their leaders. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Kate could certainly accept that, but she already did hurt a little knowing that she couldn’t have him, not that she’d ever really believed she could.

After checking her watch, she tried to smile. “It’s really late. Have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He took her palm and raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Sleep well, Kate.”

He brushed another kiss across her cheek, then turned and walked away, leaving Kate stunned into silence, tingling at the place where his lips had been.

Kate recognized that a secret part of her still loved the man buried beneath the facade—the carefree man who existed before the kingdom had carried away his freedom.

Even if she could only be Marc’s friend, nothing could stop her from attempting to lighten his spirit, ease his burden, help him have a little fun, a little adventure.

After all, that’s what friends were for.

The shrill of a phone had Kate bolting upright from deep sleep. Disoriented, she thought she was back in the hospital on-call room. She fumbled for the phone and answered with the habitual Dr. Milner, as if she were still a resident.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late, Kate, but I’m having a problem with Cecile.”

Cecile? The baby. She wasn’t at the hospital; she was in a foreign country. The man on the other end of the line wasn’t someone on staff; he was the king. A distressed-sounding king at that.

Kate sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. Almost midnight. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not certain. Beatrice and I have tried everything to calm her before she wakes my mother, but I’m afraid we’re failing miserably. Could you suggest anything?”

“She’s had a bottle?”

“Several. The last one landed on my forehead.”

Kate fought back laughter over the image of a six-month-old using a royal forehead as target practice. “Her diaper’s dry?”

“Yes. Beatrice has changed her several times. All those bottles, you know.”

“And rocking her—”

“Hasn’t done any good. She’s determined to protest, very loudly.”

Oh, well. So much for sleep. “I’ll come and see what I can do.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll send Nicholas right away.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And Kate, I truly appreciate this.”

No problem, and it really wasn’t. She’d grown accustomed to odd hours and very little sleep during medical school and residency. She’d also learned to dress quickly, which she did, in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, sans bra. If she had to tend to a baby in the middle of the night, comfort would have to take precedence over class.