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The screen had gone dark, but she was still reeling from what she had seen and heard. “I thought you were exaggerating,” she admitted. “But you weren’t, were you?”

He shook his head, then sat down. “No.”

She faced him. “According to the reporter, no one in authority has a solution. What do you think I can do?”

“The experts believe a more ‘personal’ solution between our families is required.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “They’re hoping to tie the two royal houses together.”

“How would you tie two royal houses…?” Her voice died as she realized exactly the sort of “personal” relationship he wanted. “You can’t possibly be thinking of—”

He finished her sentence. “Marriage.”

Marriage.

The word echoed in her head.

Marriage.

To a man she’d only met earlier in the day.

After years of working in the ER, she’d always considered herself unshockable, but the word definitely shifted the ground underneath her. “We’re supposed to get married?” she managed to croak.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yes.”

Her heart pounded and an urge to escape swept over her. “This is a joke, right?”

“Not at all.”

Jessica Matthews’s interest in medicine began at a young age, and she nourished it with medical stories and hospital-based television programmes. After a stint as a teenage candy-striper, she pursued a career as a clinical laboratory scientist. When not writing or on duty she fills her day with countless family and school-related activities. Jessica lives in the central United States with her husband, daughter and son.

Recent titles by the same author:

HIS LONG-AWAITED BRIDE

THE ROYAL DOCTOR’S BRIDE

BY

JESSICA MATTHEWS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To everyone who ever pretended to be a princess.

I hope you all found your prince…

CHAPTER ONE

“DR SUTTON, we have a problem.”

In the process of jotting down a script and mentally calculating a drug dosage for her patient, Gina Sutton answered absentmindedly, “I’ll be right there.”

“This can’t wait too long,” Nurse Lucy Fields urged.

A warning note in her tone pulled Gina’s attention away from her task. She glanced at the normally unflappable woman and saw the distress written all over her face. While the unusual was the norm in Belmont Memorial’s Emergency Department, something had upset their nursing supervisor.

“Noted,” she said calmly, before turning back to her patient, forty-year-old Jim Pearce. “According to the X-rays, you’ve sprained, not broken, your wrist. You’ll need to keep it immobilized for several weeks to give the muscles time to recover. Here’s a prescription…”she tore off the sheet “…for an anti-inflammatory. Take as directed. And if your wrist isn’t better in a few weeks, either come back or visit your family doctor. Any questions?”

Jim shook his head.

“Just remember, no more hammering or heavy lifting in the meantime,” she cautioned. “Wearing a splint for support doesn’t mean you can do everything you did before. If you don’t give yourself time to heal, you’ll have worse problems.”

His face colored slightly, as if she’d read his mind and knew his intent. “OK. A few weeks is all, right?”

“At least three, maybe more.”

“Doctor,” Lucy urged from the door.

Telling her patient goodbye, Gina followed Lucy into the hallway. “What’s the big problem that couldn’t wait two more minutes?”

“It’s Dr Nevins. He’s gone crazy!”

“What’s he done now?” Gina asked tiredly, already wondering what mistake she’d have to correct this time. Bill Nevins may be the Director of Emergency Services, but an intern could do a better job. On the few occasions when he assisted with a trauma, he was usually more hindrance than help. If he didn’t have connections, she believed, he wouldn’t have been hired in the first place.

“The man has completely lost his sanity,” Lucy declared. “He’s storming around his office and when I tried to go inside, he threw his glass paperweight at me!”

“He’s always been high-strung,” Gina soothed. “What upset him today?”

“I don’t know, but he was fine until he got a phone call. You have to talk to him, Gina. You’re the only one in the entire department he’ll listen to.”

For some reason, during the two years she’d been in Belmont’s ER, she’d always been able to reason with the man, even when he was at his most unreasonable. When he’d wanted to fire a nurse for dropping a syringe during a code blue, she’d convinced him to give the poor girl a second chance. When he refused to spend the money to replace their defibrillator, she’d calmly reminded him of how costly a potential lawsuit would be, not to mention how his reputation would suffer.

Now, apparently, her negotiation skills would be needed once again to deal with his latest temper tantrum.

“All right,” Gina said resignedly, as she handed over Jim Pearson’s chart and tucked her pen into the breast pocket of her lab coat. “Let’s beard the lion in his den.”

To her surprise, his door stood open and she cautiously walked in, noticing how the normally neat office now looked as if a tornado had whirled through. Papers and medical books covered the floor, boxes stood on top of Bill’s desk, and file drawers were yanked off their tracks. Even the philodendron she’d brought to soften the stark white walls lay on its side, dirt spilling out of the pot across the top of the filing cabinet.

“What’s up?” she asked calmly as she righted the plant.

Bill paused from riffling through the papers on his desk. “I’ve been fired, that’s what.”

It’s about time, she thought. “Really?” she asked, trying to sound horrified but certain she failed miserably. “Whatever for?”

He waved aside her question. “The reasons don’t matter. The point is, I’ve given my all to this place, and this is how they repay me.”

Privately, Gina wondered how a man who worked three, maybe four hours a day could claim “he’d given his all”, but it wasn’t her place to argue. Her goal now was to bring calm to a potentially unstable situation.

“What happens now?” she asked, more concerned about the repercussions to their department rather than to Bill’s professional life.

He waved furiously at the wall clock. “Who knows? I have thirty minutes to pack up and get out. Thirty minutes,” he ranted. “After ten years of unfailing service, struggling to operate on the shoestring budget they gave me…well, it’s unthinkable and insulting!” He grabbed his coffee-mug, then hefted it in his hand. In the next breath, he heaved it at the metal filing cabinet.

Gina didn’t have time to dodge before the ceramic cup shattered into a hundred pieces. A sharp sting bit into her cheek and she instinctively touched her face. No real damage as far as she could tell. Although she was somewhat disconcerted because Bill had never injured anyone before during one of his tirades, the burden of restoring his reason clearly fell to her.

She ignored the lingering discomfort and began in her most placating tone, “Now, Bill—”

She didn’t get past his name before a tall, dark-haired man burst into the office, wearing an expensively tailored dark gray suit and a grim expression.

“Throw one more thing and you’ll be flying through the air, too,” he snarled as he moved in front of her, effectively blocking her from her irate superior. In the next instant, he whipped out a snowy white handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “You’d better take care of that, Gina.”

Too curious about the scene unfolding, especially when two more men arrived who were more stocky and not quite as tall or as handsome, she didn’t ask how this stranger knew her name. She simply nodded and did as she was told.

To her surprise, a large smear of blood—her blood—stained the expensive cotton square. Quickly, she pressed it to her cheek again, more curious about the drama than about her scratch, especiallywhen her rescuer approached Bill behind his desk.

“You, Dr Nevins,” the authoritative man accused in a deep, stern voice, “have forfeited your right to collect your things. Leave the premises immediately.”

Bill straightened to his full five feet five inches and his beady little eyes narrowed. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

“I’m your replacement,” the fellow stated calmly and firmly. “Goodbye, Dr Nevins.”

He raised one hand and in the blink of an eye the two men moved round the desk from opposite directions to grab Bill’s arms and lead him toward the door.

“But I didn’t hurt her on purpose,” Bill screeched. “Tell him, Gina.”

Everyone’s gaze landed on Gina. “Bill wouldn’t hurt me,” Gina responded. “Not intentionally.”

Her handsome knight folded his arms and regarded her cooly. “A man with such an obvious lack of control can’t be trusted.”

“You can’t do this,” Bill shouted. “I have thirty minutes left.”

Bill’s replacement, with his regal bearing and handsomely aristocratic features, looked down his aquiline nose. “You now have none. Take him away.”

“But my things,” Bill wailed over his shoulder as the two henchmen literally lifted him off the ground.

“Dr Sutton will ship your personal possessions to you.” And with that, the two apparent security guards carried him out, kicking and screaming.

Gina stared at the now empty doorway. “At the risk of sounding completely ridiculous, what just happened?”

“Changing of the guard,” the man said as he stood in front of her. “Let me look at that.” Without waiting for her permission, he tipped her chin upward, pulled away the handkerchief and peered at her face.

Strangely enough, an attack of self-consciousness swept over Gina. The most handsome man she’d seen in ages had burst into her department like an avenging angel and now was studying her face as if he’d never seen a scratch before.

“It’s nothing,” she said inanely, extremely conscious of two things—his six-foot-plus frame, which made her feel petite at five foot eight, and a delightfully masculine scent that made her appreciate being a female.

He pressed on her cheekbone and frowned. “You need a stitch.”

“I don’t think so.”

He raised both eyebrows, eyebrows framing chocolate brown eyes that were deep, dark pools. “Are you questioning my medical judgement?”

“I believe so. Yes.”

A huge grin spread across his face. The dazzling brilliance of his smile made him seem younger, more approachable, and less formidable.

“At least you’re honest,” he said.

“It’s the best policy,” she answered.

“Have a seat,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

She might have obeyed, but it wasn’t in her nature to ignore the obvious. Because she weighed her problems more easily if she was busy, she carefully picked up the shattered remnants of Bill’s mug while she contemplated the sharp turn that the morning had taken.

Bill was gone. While she took a few seconds to rejoice, she knew life in Belmont’s ER might not turn out better than it had been under Bill’s administration. Clearly, his successor—whoever he was—had a definite take-charge attitude. Once he’d plotted his course of action, he followed it, which was a good thing provided he based his decisions upon facts and logic. But if he didn’t, they would be in trouble, because she doubted if she’d be as successful at negotiating with him as she had been with Bill.

No matter. She’d learned the art of persuasion at a young age and had developed it fully as she had taken care of her father near the end of his too-short life. She hadn’t met a man yet who came close to Arthur John Sutton in stubbornness.

With any luck, however, the new ED Director would be more reasonable than Bill, although after watching him mercilessly throw Bill out of the department, she hoped he didn’t normally manage his subordinates with the same dictatorial style.

“I see you’re a person who doesn’t follow orders,” he said behind her a minute later.

“I follow them when they’re rational,” she replied pertly.

“Do I detect shades of a warning?”

“If the shoe fits.” She dumped the last shard of china in the trash can. “I thought I’d get a head start on cleaning up the mess.”

“I appreciate the offer, but someone can take care of it later.”

She eyed the piles of papers and hesitated, but when he added, “Please,” she couldn’t disobey.

He cleared off a corner of the desk with one swipe of his hand, then placed a bottle of alcohol, several sterile gauze squares and a suture kit on the surface before he faced her. “Don’t worry. Rational is my middle name. Are you ready?”

She eyed his supplies. “You don’t stitch a scratch. It’s hardly bleeding now anyway.”

He whipped a small mirror out of his pocket. “See for yourself.”

Her reflection revealed a large drop of blood that welled up in the cut which was dangerously close to her right eye. “No stitches,” she insisted.

“If you’re worried about my sewing ability…”

“Your abilities aren’t in question. I simply don’t think it’s necessary.”

He perched on the edge of the desk. “I’ll call a plastic surgeon, then. We’ll get his opinion.”

“You will do no such thing,” she stated firmly. “A butterfly bandage will do the job. You’re overreacting. So the cut is a little deep. One stitch isn’t worth the trouble.”

“You’ll have a scar,” he warned.

She eyed the cut before she dabbed the blood away. “Probably, but it won’t be so big that make-up won’t cover it.” She grinned as she handed the mirror back. “It will blend in with the normal wrinkles. No one will ever notice.”

“Your significant other might.”

“If he can’t look past a hairline scar, then he won’t be my significant other, will he?” she asked lightly. “Would it bother you if your significant other had a scar on her face?”

“Of course not.” He appeared affronted.

She smiled. “Then I rest my case.”

He hesitated for a heartbeat. “I can’t talk you into this, can I?”

“Nope. Not a chance. As a patient, I have the right to refuse or accept treatment.”

“OK. Butterfly bandage it is.” He rose to shrug off his jacket, revealing a white shirt that covered deliciously wide shoulders.

“And I’ll take care of it myself.”

He poured alcohol on a gauze pad. “I’m sure you can, but you aren’t. This is going to sting a bit.”

She nearly howled as he pressed the saturated pad to her face and disinfected the wound, but she bit back her yelp. To take her mind off the burning sensation, she concentrated on him.

Whoever he was, he was too handsome, too well built, too everything for words. His short hair was the color of dark molasses and seemed just as thick. His features reflected an aristocratic heritage and his long eyelashes were every woman’s dream.

As he probed and prodded, she noticed his long fingers and light touch. Idly, she wondered how he’d look in a scrub suit, and if they could find any lab coats that would fit.

“The man should be drawn and quartered,” he muttered as he ripped open another package of gauze.

“Who, Bill?”

“Who else?”

“He’s harmless. Incompetent but, overall, harmless.”

“From where I’m standing, I’d disagree.”

Perhaps he was right. The room was a mess, and he had thrown a paperweight at Lucy before he’d pitched his coffee-mug in a fit of pique.

“You shouldn’t have gotten in the way,” he chided.

“Someone had to talk to him, calm him down. I’ve done it before. Given a few more minutes, I would have again.”

“The diplomat.”

She hadn’t ever described herself with that term before, but it fit. “At times.”

He pulled the butterfly bandage tight to hold the cut edges of her skin together. “Don’t get it wet,” he informed her.

“Yes, I know. Thank you.” She straightened in her chair. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a few answers.”

He perched against the edge of the desk in front of her. “What do you want to know?”

“Your name, for starters.”

His perfect smile was sheepish. “In all the excitement, I left out the formalities, didn’t I?”

“Given the circumstances, it was understandable.”

“I’m Dr Ruark Thomas, at your service.”

She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Dr Thomas. Welcome to Belmont Memorial.”

“Thank you.”

Gina became instantly aware of two things, the touch of his fingers against hers and his deep voice. Both caused her nerve endings to tingle pleasantly and create a surprisingly powerful attraction that tugged at her middle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt more than a glimmer of interest in someone she’d met, but this was certainly not the time for her hormones to kick in or her subconscious to get caught up in the moment. Yet, in spite of her mental scolding, she reluctantly withdrew her hand and forced herself to concentrate.

“You have a lot of ER experience?” she asked.

“Some. I moved here from California, thinking it would be nice to try life in the Great Midwest,” he said smoothly. “I trained in Great Britain, specialized in emergency medicine in New York, and spent most of my time over the years with a number of relief agencies.”

“Interesting. And now you’ve come to boring little Belmont Memorial.”

He chuckled. “From indications so far, being here will be anything but boring.”

The men who’d carried Bill away suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye. “And the two men with you?”

“Security guards. You’ll probably see Hugh and Joachim a lot in the days ahead. Then again, you may not. They work best behind the scenes, or so I’ve been told.”

The two men certainly outclassed Belmont’s regular department security guards. Oscar Burns, who, with an extra fifty pounds around his mid-section, only moved fast when someone brought homemade goodies to share and Hal Jarvis, who, at twenty-four, looked like he was thirteen, and hadn’t filled out his gangly teenage frame yet.

In contrast, Hugh and Joachim were professionals through and through. Their muscles had muscles and a mere glance from those piercing eyes would coax co-operation from the most difficult of patients and visitors. They’d definitely be handy to have around on a Friday or Saturday night.

“Is Dr Lansing afraid Bill will make trouble?” Lansing was the Chief of Medicine and he was the sort who didn’t act upon anything until the i’s were dotted and t’s were all properly crossed.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Bill is all bluster,” she told him. “He won’t make trouble if he suspects those two are hanging around. He’ll be too embarrassed, especially if he might be hauled outside like a bag of dirty laundry again. Frankly, after what I saw, I’d hate to run into them in a dark alley.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Stay on Hugh and Joachim’s good side and you won’t have any problems.”

“You’re already on a first-name basis?”

“It seemed appropriate.”

The dull throb in her cheek demanded a couple of acetaminophen, but she wanted answers more than she wanted a painkiller. “I can’t believe Bill’s gone. Do you know what prompted his sudden exit?”

“I’m not privy to all the details, but your administration hasn’t been happy with the way he’s managed this department.”

“They actually noticed?”

“Yes, they did.”

“When did they decide to take matters into their own hands?”

“Apparently they began making discreet inquiries several months ago. I heard about the position and thought it would be a challenge, so I completed my other commitments and here I am.” His face darkened. “However, if I’d known he was such a volatile man, I would have arranged my schedule differently.”

She hardly knew what to say, but a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through her. No one, since her father had died, had been so concerned about her safety. What woman wouldn’t feel flattered?

“You, on the other hand,” he scolded, “shouldn’t have gone into his office when he was so upset.”

“We’ve been over this before. I had to go in. There was no one else.”

“There is now,” he stated firmly. “You won’t do anything like that again.”

“Are you planning to go ballistic at some point in time, too?” she asked lightly.

He smiled. “No, but one never knows what will happen. You’re too valuable to put yourself in harm’s way.”

Why today’s incident bothered Ruark so much she didn’t know, other than he didn’t want to find a replacement physician. Even so, working in Emergency carried a normal element of risk and danger, especially if one considered some of the situations they handled on Saturday nights. Mentioning a few of those incidents seemed counterproductive, so she changed the subject.

“You’re truly taking over the department?” she asked.

“I intended to call a staff meeting as soon as Bill left, but we got sidetracked,” he said wryly.

No doubt he referred to tending the scratch on her face. “We can call one now, unless you’d rather tidy your office first.”

He glanced around. “From the looks of things, it will take a long time. I’ll meet our group instead.”

“Good idea. I’d bet they’re all dying of curiosity.”

A knock at the door interrupted. “Come in,” he called out.

Lucy poked her head inside. “Is everything OK in here?”

“It’s fine,” Gina responded.

“Can I get either of you anything?” she asked. “Coffee, tea, or…?”

“Thank you, but not at the moment,” Ruark answered politely.

Disappointment flitted across Lucy’s features. “If you should change your mind…”

“We’ll let you know,” Gina assured her.

“OK.” The nurse disappeared and Gina faced Ruark. “The natives are definitely dying of curiosity.”

“I’ll deal with them in a minute,” he said. “But before I do, I’d like to discuss a more personal matter.”

Knowing she had nothing to hide, she shrugged. “Sure.”

He studied her intently. “You truly didn’t know I was coming?”

“Didn’t have a clue,” she responded cheerfully.

“My name didn’t sound familiar?”

She shook her head. “Should it?”

“Really?”

“Really. Have you been in the news?” She hoped not. If he was a household name and she didn’t recognize it, she’d feel horribly awkward.

“Not lately.”

She smiled. “Good, because otherwise I’d have to apologize. I rarely watch television,” she admitted.

His gaze held hers. “What if I told you I’m originally from Marestonia.”

Marestonia? A warning bell sounded in her head and her smile froze in place. Stay calm, she told herself. Lots of people lived in Marestonia.

She pretended ignorance. “Someplace in Eastern Europe, isn’t it?”

“Next door to Avelogne.”

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She hadn’t heard the name of her father’s country since she’d turned sixteen and he’d told her the entire tale of his life.

A life he’d given up rather than sacrifice his principles.

A life where he’d gained a wife and daughter and lost everything else.

“Your father and mine were friends years ago.”

The past wasn’t supposed to surface after all these years. Her father had left that life behind, never to embrace it again. Acknowledging it now seemed rather disloyal to her parents’ memory.

“Was your father an aeronautical engineer, too?” She sounded stiffly polite as she pretended ignorance of her family background. “Did the two of them do business together?”

“Their friendship began long before your father moved to Seattle. Countess.”

She drew herself up at the title she had a right to use but didn’t. “Do not call me that.”

“Deny your heritage all you want, but I have the proof.”

“And what if you do? It means nothing. I don’t have any official ties to Avelogne.”

“Ah, but you admit you do have ties.”

Feeling like a mouse caught in a trap, she bit her lip, reluctant to say anything else.

“You do,” he insisted. “You have a grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins.”

“Whom I never met,” she countered. “I’m thirty years old and I’ve lived my entire life without them. I’m not interested in changing my family dynamics now.”

With a blinding flash of insight, the pieces of the puzzle making up Ruark Thomas began to align themselves in a picture she didn’t like. His aristocratic bearing, his take-charge attitude, his familiarity with the security guards all suggested he was more than a physician, more than the new chief of emergency services.

She studied him with the same intensity she used when searching for bacteria under a microscope. “Who are you, Dr Thomas?”

CHAPTER TWO

RUARK watched the woman in front of him. Her green eyes flashed with fire and she bristled with a combination of indignation and suspicion. Breaking the news to her wouldn’t be easy; he’d known it for some time, which was why he’d planned and orchestrated the proper timing.

He clicked his heels together and bowed slightly. “Ruark Benjamin Mikael Thomas, Prince of Marestonia.”

“Prince?” she asked on a near squeak. “I thought you were a physician.”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive. I happen to be both.”

“What brings a physician slash prince of Marestonia to Belmont Memorial?”

“To work, like everyone else,” he promptly answered.

“Since when do princes need to earn a living?”

“It’s called serving the people,” he said lightly. “As the third son, I was free to choose my own career, and I chose medicine. Just as your cousin, Leander, did.”

Curiosity flashed in her eyes at the mention of a cousin who shared her interest and her profession, but a few seconds later indifference appeared, as if she simply refused to acknowledge any sort of connection between her and her father’s family. “And you chose to work in the US?”

“When I’m not involved in relief work.”

“How noble.”

“Please, feel free to tell me what you truly think.”

His gentle rebuke brought color to her face. “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “As a physician, I was out of line to say something so unforgivable.”

“Apology accepted.” Gina was many things, but she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind, he decided. From the reports he’d read about her, he hadn’t expected her to do otherwise.

She crossed her arms. “OK, you’re a prince who works for a living, but out of all the hospitals in this country, what made you choose Belmont?”

“Because you’re here,” he said simply.

She scoffed. “Oh, please. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “I came as soon as a job was available.”

She looked puzzled. “But why? We don’t know each other.”

“Your grandmother and my father sent me.” He reached into the left inside pocket of his suit coat, retrieved a white envelope and held it out to her. “The Queen Mother asked if I would deliver this.”

Recognition flashed in her eyes as her gaze traveled from one corner emblazoned with the royal crest of the House of Avelogne to the middle where her name appeared in large, beautifully precise script. “Why would the royal family send a letter to me?” she asked suspiciously.

“You’ll have to read the explanation for yourself.”

She eyed the envelope as if it were a pure culture of Hantavirus, but indecision flickered across her face. He hoped her curiosity would overrule the hard feelings she so plainly felt.

Reluctantly, she accepted the offering and hefted it in her hand before tapping the long edge against one palm. “If you wanted to be the Queen Mother’s errand boy, you didn’t have to accept a job at Belmont to do so.”

Although amused by her bluntness, he hid a smile. “For the record, your uncle is now King, which makes your grandmother the Queen Mother, but to answer your question, no, I didn’t.”

“Then why did a Prince of Marestonia, a Doctor Prince no less, move here just to deliver her mail?”

“You’ll understand when you read what your grandmother has to say.”

“If this is a ‘hi, how are you’ note, I’m not interested,” she warned.

“Read it,” he repeated. “I’ll answer your questions after you read the letter.”

“All right, I will.”

Suspecting she’d leave under the guise of needing privacy and then, when she was alone, she would destroy her grandmother’s letter unopened, Ruark positioned himself in front of the room’s only exit. “I’ll give you all the time you need, without saying a word.”

She clutched the envelope until it wrinkled. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Of course you can. You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked, hoping she’d respond to the challenge in his voice.

She did. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze as she defiantly slid her finger under the glued flap and pulled out a piece of expensive stationery. “Happy now?” she asked crossly.

“Not until you read it.”

“Then stop hovering,” she snapped.

Once again, he hid his amusement and moved closer to the door. “Sorry,” he said, unapologetically. It was clear she was as irritated with him as she was at her grandmother for breaking years of silence, but a journey began with a single step and Gina had taken hers.

Gina took a deep breath as she unfolded the single sheet. The words written in the same beautiful script as on the envelope jumped off the page.

Greetings, dearest Granddaughter,

We trust this letter finds you well. Although we have never met, we still consider you an integral part of our family.

Gina inwardly scoffed, but read on.

You will never know how much I deeply regret the family differences that have separated us all these years, but I hope you will find it in your heart to put the past behind us and look to the future.

Avelogne needs your help, my dearest Gina. Its alliances with Marestonia are threatened and neither country can afford to lose the goodwill we’ve enjoyed for centuries. We realize your loyalties do not lie with us, but your parents are at the heart of the matter and I hope you will find it in your heart to honor them by being part of the solution. Prince Ruark shall relay all the details and explanations necessary.

We know our request will come as a great surprise, but your decision will affect countless people. You are a woman who chose a profession because you care about others and we are confident you shall follow your nature and choose the right course of action.

We shall look forward to hearing from you and soon meeting each other face to face.

With best wishes,

Your Grandmother, Juliana

“What does she mean, my parents are at the heart of the matter?” she asked.

“Today’s problems are linked to the government’s decision to withhold approval for your parents’ marriage.”

Her father had mentioned something about that, but had glossed over the details. “Sounds to me like the government made its own dilemma, so they can fix it.”

“My family was involved, too.”

“Then you can do whatever it is you need to do, but count me out.” She stepped closer and tried to reach around him for the doorknob.

He gripped her arm and didn’t budge. “My aunt gave questionable information to the committee which led them to refuse your father’s petition to marry your mother.”

“You mean, someone lied, and they believed her?” No wonder her parents hadn’t spoken of those days except in the most general terms. Her dad, especially, must have felt betrayed by his countrymen who’d trusted the testimony of an outsider instead of his own.

“Unfortunately, yes. Now, after all these years, the truth has come out and tensions are running high. The fate of our nations depends on us.”

If not for one woman’s pettiness, her entire life might have been different…she might have grown up as a member of a royal family, with doting aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents marking every major event in her life, sharing in her triumphs and failures, and, most importantly, supporting her after her father’s death.

But even if Ruark’s aunt had been involved, the decision ultimately rested upon the members of Parliament. In her opinion, they were as much at fault as Ruark’s relative, if not more so.

As she’d already pointed out, it was too late to change the past. Neither was it her responsibility. One thing, however, was certain. She didn’t count gullibility among her faults.

“Oh, puhleeze,” she scoffed. “Fates of two countries. You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

According to the grim set to his jaw, he was. “Why would I want to help the same government who carelessly changed my family’s life?” she asked.

“Avelogne is your heritage,” he said simply. “You also hold dual citizenship, which means you have a legal as well as a moral obligation to Avelogne.” He paused. “Do you honestly believe your father wouldn’t want you to help his homeland avert a crisis?”

Admittedly, her dad had stayed abreast of all the happenings across the Atlantic. Their home had been littered with newspapers and magazines from various cities. In later years, those had given way to Internet news and emails. Arthur Sutton may not have been in close physical proximity to the land of his birth, but his heart had never left.

“This is quite melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, struggling to shore up her wavering resolve. “Avelogne and Marestonia losing centuries-old goodwill over a thirty-year-old incident that most don’t remember.”

“The past hasn’t been forgotten,” he assured her. “The people of Avelogne lost a favored prince and demand restitution for your parents going into exile. If not, they plan to break off all ties with Marestonia.”

She crossed her arms. “So?”

“Each country provides goods and services to the other, which makes them somewhat trade-dependent. This includes everything from agriculture to military technology. If ties are broken, thousands of jobs on both sides of the border will be lost and the economic impact will be huge. It will take years to recover. Meanwhile, people will lose their homes and businesses, farmers won’t have an accessible market for their products, children will go hungry. The list goes on.”

She’d treated patients who couldn’t scrounge together enough money for bus fare, much less their medication. She’d lost track of the number of families she’d fed, either in the cafeteria or a nearby restaurant. As much as she wanted to help them all, she couldn’t take responsibility for everyone who walked through Belmont’s doors.

“I sympathize with your situation, but the last time I checked, my credentials were limited to medicine, not détente. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

“There is no one else to ask. You’re my only option.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.” She tried to nudge him aside, but he didn’t budge.

“You’re a coward.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Because I choose not to immerse myself in the politics that sent my father away from the home he loved, I’m a coward?”

“You don’t even know what we’re asking,” he accused. “The least you can do is listen to the unabridged story before you decide. Refusing to do that is either a show of cowardice or being self-centered. Take your pick.”

For a terse moment, the silence became so complete, only the distant ringing of a telephone could be heard.

“I’m sorry Avelogne and Marestonia are suffering a diplomatic crisis,” she said quietly. “But I’m just an average woman on the street, so to speak. I work in a hospital in a relatively bad part of town and deal with drug addicts and gang members on a daily basis. I don’t know what you or my grandmother think I can accomplish. I can’t undo the past and I don’t run in lofty social or political circles of influence, so you’re only wasting your time.”

“I disagree. You are not an ‘average’ woman. If you reestablished ties with your family, you would enter influential circles,” he pointed out. “You are, after all, a countess.”

“What if I like my life the way it is? I don’t want to be known as Countess. Anonymity suits me just fine.”

“You can remain anonymous and still become reacquainted with your family. The point is, life is too short to bear grudges.”

Thinking of her father, who’d died as much from heartache as heart disease, Gina’s eyes burned with unexpected moisture.

“Aren’t you the least bit interested in hearing their side of the story?” he coaxed, as if hoping curiosity would sway her.

“Will it change anything?” she demanded. “Rewrite the past? Restore my father to the family he loved? Take away my mother’s sorrow and guilt for causing him to choose between her and his family? I think not.”

“I agree those wrongs can’t be undone, but we have to resolve this crisis.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she retorted, blinking away her unshed tears. “My father left Avelogne and his family long ago. I don’t intend to get involved with either now.”

He fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If you don’t want to deal with the royal family, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t?”

He shook his head. “The real solution lies between the two of us anyway.”

She stared at him, puzzled. “You’ve lost me.”

“While it would help matters if Avelogne could show the world a reunited royal house—namely that Arthur’s daughter has been reinstated into the fold—it isn’t required. Your relationship with me is the important thing.”

“Because of your aunt?” she guessed.

“Yes. On behalf of my entire family, I’d like to apologize for her selfish actions.”

She tapped one foot on the floor. “What exactly was her motive for ruining my parents’ lives?”

He didn’t comment, although he heaved a great sigh. “Margret fell in love with your father and believed that if your mother, Lizbet, disappeared from the scene, she would be able to earn Arthur’s affections.” He paused. “She was quite shocked when he relinquished his claim to the throne and moved to America. The situation didn’t play out quite as she’d planned.”

“I’ll say,” she said wryly. “Whatever her reasons, though, I don’t hold you responsible. Neither the past nor your royal connectionswill interfere with our employer-employee status. As far as I’m concerned, we’re simply two physicians who happen to work together in the same department, in the same hospital. So you can call whomever you need to and announce the good news. Then life for everyone can return to normal.”

He smiled, as if she’d amused him with her simplistic solution. “It’s a start, but, as I’ve already said, your people demand more than an apology. They want their prince back.”

Do you hear that, Dad? A pain shot through her heart. If only he’d lived long enough to see this day. “Impossible,” she said flatly.

He nodded. “Which is why the situation is complicated.”

“I was afraid you would say that,” she said dryly. “But, complicated or not, I can’t help you.”

He started to speak, but the door edged open and Lucy poked her head inside.

“We’re getting a couple of traumas in about five minutes. Two stabbing victims.”

Gina had never been so relieved to have patients coming into the ED before. She could deal with medical situations far better than she could sort out diplomatic problems of countries she’d only seen on the map and in occasional family photos.

“Thanks, Lucy,” she said. “We’ll be right there.”

Lucy vanished, apparently without noticing the tension in the office. From the look on Ruark’s face, he was clearly glad for the reprieve as well.

“We’ll discuss this further tonight,” he said. “When we won’t be interrupted or distracted.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she protested.

“You need to hear everything,” he insisted. “The least you can do is listen.”

She wanted to refuse but, after seeing the fierce determination on his face, she knew he wouldn’t give up.

She faced him squarely. “OK, but in the meantime you will not breathe a syllable of this conversation to anyone. No one knows my background and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“You have my word,” he agreed. Immediately, he opened the door. “After you, Dr Sutton.”

Setting aside her host of questions to mentally gear up for her patients, Gina hurried toward the centrally located nurses’ station. “Page Frank,” she told Ruby, the desk clerk, referring to their surgical resident, Frank Horton.

With the phone tucked under one ear, Ruby mouthed, “I’m already on it.” Then she spoke into the receiver. “I don’t care where you have to find him, just do it. We need him in the ER, stat!”

Gina rushed into the opposite hallway to check if Trauma Room One was available, and found Ruark following her like a shadow. “What are you doing here? Bill didn’t—”

“It’s a new day. Bill isn’t here any longer,” he pointed out. “As I understand the job, I’m supposed to be available for traumas, and here I am.”

Only if I need you, she wanted to protest. But then, with two patients coming in and not knowing the condition of either, she might need an extra pair of hands. The only question was, would he function like Bill and be more hindrance than help?

“Afraid I’ll find your department doesn’t run smoothly?” he asked.

“We run just fine,” she defended tartly. “Feel free to observe for yourself.” Already dismissing him, she asked no one in particular, “Where’s Casey?”

Another nurse scurried past. “Dr Casey left for his dentist appointment ten minutes ago. Remember?”

How could she have forgotten? Of all the days for him to lose a temporary filling. But considering what had happened so far this morning, she would count herself fortunate if a natural disaster didn’t occur.

“Dr Powers is supposed to cover, but he can’t come until one-thirty.” Toby Powers was a physician who was close to retirement and worked two shifts a week.

“Staff problems?” Ruark asked.

“Nothing we can’t work around.”

The ambulance bay doors near the nurses’ station swooshed open and she rushed forward to greet the two paramedics and the gurney carrying her first patient.

“Twenty-five-year-old male with multiple wounds to the chest,” one of the paramedics, Tim Abbott, reported. “Open pneumothorax. BP is one ten over sixty-five…”

Gina listened to his recitation as she donned her protective gear, including a face shield, while following the gurney into the trauma room. Not only was the man’s blood pressure low and his heart rate increased, but his skin was cold and clammy and he appeared restless in spite of his cervical and thoracic spine immobilization. Tim had already inserted an endotracheal tube in the field, but her patient still struggled to breathe and showed jugular vein distension.

She raised the large bandage covering his bloody chest and saw eight puncture wounds, with the largest one near the heart showing frothy blood. Because air and blood were leaking into his thoracic cavity, his lungs couldn’t inflate properly. Her work was cut out for her.

To her surprise, a similarly gowned and gloved Ruark appeared in the room. “I’ve got it under control,” she said as she, Tim, Lucy, another nurse and now Ruark prepared to move her patient from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed.

“Are you warning me away from your patient, Dr Sutton?” he asked coolly.

She mentally noted that she didn’t need to take charge, but old habits were hard to break. While she’d have to defer to him for the time being, she’d maintain a watchful eye until she assured herself that the royal doctor truly knew what he was doing.

“Not at all,” she answered. “One, two, three, lift!” On Gina’s command, their patient made the transition with minimal jostling. Seconds later, she began barking her orders to the nurses who were busy affixing a pulse oximeter, monitoring the IV and taking over ventilation duties. “Get me a chest tube on the double, a CBC and type and cross-match for four units. Where’s Horton?”

Becky answered. “He’s not here yet.”

“Page him again. If he doesn’t answer in the next sixty seconds, page Dr Ahmadi too.” Ahmadi was Frank Horton’s supervisor.

Gina wiped blood away from the largest and most worrisome puncture and revealed heavily tattooed skin. A closer look at his torso showed her what she’d missed before—his entire body was tattooed with mythical creatures. The detailed dragon which was prominently featured on his left bicep was quite distinctive.

“I see we’ve gotten another one of Picasso’s customers.”

“Who?” Ruark asked.

“Pablo Picasso. Pablo’s his real name and being a local tattoo artist, he calls his parlor Picasso’s,” she said as she began to palpate along the man’s rib cage to determine the chest tube placement site. “He thought the famous name would give his place some class. We see a lot of his work in here.”

“Doesn’t say much for his choice of clientele,” Ruark remarked.

“Pablo is interested in his art, not in people’s lifestyle choices,” she defended.

“How did you meet him? I wouldn’t think a physician and a tattooist would have much in common.”

“He came into the ER with pneumonia when I was an intern and we started to talk about all sorts of things. He invited me to his workplace—he dared me to visit, actually, and I did. His drawings are fantastic.”

“Did you pick one for yourself?” Lucy asked.

“Sure did. Lidocaine.”

Lucy slapped the required syringe into Gina’s hand. “Oh, my gosh. You have a tattoo?”

Conscious of Ruark listening intently, Gina wished she hadn’t said a word. Her tattoo was none of his business, even if she wasn’t ashamed of it. “Yeah.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Come on, Lucy, it isn’t that big a deal,” Gina defended.

“Hey, any time you veer off the straight and narrow path of respectability to walk on the wild side, it’s interesting,” Lucy announced. “So what did you choose, and where is it? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“It’s a frog,” Gina snapped. “On my foot. Scalpel.”

“I should have guessed. You collect them, don’t you?” Lucy slapped the instrument into her hand.

“Yeah.” From the sheer volume of inked skin, Gina suspected her patient took as much pride in his body art as Pablo did, so she made the smallest incision possible to accomplish what had to be done. As she punctured the pleura with a Kelly clamp, blood spurted from the hole.

Working frantically, she hardly noticed the appearance of another nurse, and two more paramedics as they wheeled in a second victim who, like the first, had an IV line established and wore an oxygen mask.

“We’ve got problems here, Doc,” Andy Carter, one of the paramedics, announced.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Ruark abandoned Gina’s patient for the new arrival.

“He’s got a pneumothorax and I couldn’t intubate him before we brought him in. I tried, but couldn’t get through and I didn’t want to waste more time trying in the field.”

Gina inserted the tube into her John Doe’s chest. Immediately blood filled the line and ran into the attached drainage bag. “Hang on, buddy,” she told her patient. “We’re taking good care of you.”

“Give me an endotrachael tube,” Ruark ordered as he moved to the head of his patient’s gurney.

Andy glanced between her and Ruark. “Doc?”

“Where’s Frank?” she asked no one in particular.

“I asked for an endotrach tube,” Ruark ground out. “Must I get one myself?”

Everyone froze, including Gina. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Trying to save this man’s life, if someone will give me a damn tube!” he roared as he stood over the second man, who was audibly rasping for breath.

Immediately, the nurses sprang into action.

Gina exchanged a brief glance with Lucy. Ruark would be furious that no one had instantly obeyed his orders. Apparently her days as staff liaison hadn’t ended yet but, in all fairness, what could he expect? No one knew of the official leadership change—it all had happened so fast. If he’d called his staff meeting instead of springing international problems on her that were beyond her control, none of this would have happened, she thought uncharitably.

“By the way,” Gina announced offhandedly as she tended her patient, “I’m afraid none of you have met our new emergency director, Dr Ruark Thomas. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, he’s replaced Bill.”

Under the wary greetings offered by the subdued staff, Gina muttered to Lucy, “Keep an eye on him and signal me if you notice he’s in over his head.”

Lucy obeyed, quietly trading places with the other nurse.

While Gina finished securing the chest tube with sutures and dressed the wound she’d created, she listened to the quiet conversation over the second gurney.

“We can’t get through,” Ruark declared. “His larynx is fractured and the upper airway is blocked.”

“Then he needs a cricothyroidotomy,” she interrupted from across the room. Having worked with her share of unseasoned physicians, she was accustomed to sharing her opinions during the trickier situations. “Can we get by with—?”

Ruark must have read her mind. “Ventilating him with only a needle and catheter is a temporary measure. The surgical method will make it easier for placement of a tracheostomy tube later, which he will definitely need.”

“OK. I’ll be there in a few seconds.” But as she watched the blood pour out of her patient’s chest into the drainage bag and heard only muffled heart sounds, she knew she couldn’t leave his side.

She hated to ask, but she had no choice. “Can you do it on your own?”

“I’m two steps ahead of you,” he answered. “Never fear. I’ve done this once or twice.”

Once or twice? Gina mentally groaned. Yet, for a man with such limited experience, he didn’t seem flustered or act out of his depth. And while she was relieved by his calm, matter-of-fact manner, she couldn’t squelch the irrational notion that he might need the benefit of her expertise. After all, a patient’s life was at stake.

“Find the cricoid cartilage, which is approximately two to three centimeters below the thyroid notch,” she instructed. “Once the membrane is exposed, puncture it midline. Be careful of the vocal cords and don’t puncture—”

“The back wall of the larynx and enter the esophagus. Yes, Gina, I know, but thanks for the reminder.”

He didn’t sound upset and wasn’t yelling at the nurses for not providing the proper supplies at the exact moment he wanted them, which was a one-eighty-degree change from working alongside Bill. Her fears that he was simply a more polished version of their previous director slowly faded as she listened to his calm voice ask questions and give directions. No, it was obvious she didn’t need to review his curriculum vitae—his actions spoke of his abilities far better than a list of positions held ever would. If he could handle his current patient’s condition, he was a colleague she could trust.

Within seconds, Ruark’s patient’s audible symptoms of respiratory stridor disappeared, and with it all of her fears about his medical skills. Suddenly, a burden she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying lifted.

“Airway’s in,” he said, sounding quite pleased. “His pneumothorax is next on the agenda.”

The activity on the other side of the room faded into the background as the nurse at her side interrupted with a terse “BP is falling”.

Gina immediately noticed her patient’s visibly distended jugular veins and muffled heart sounds—Beck’s triad—and knew the man’s heart was failing. “His pericardium or coronary artery must have been nicked,” she said aloud. “He needs his chest opened, but…”

“But what?” Ruark asked from across the room. Apparently he also had the ability to listen in on two conversations at once.

“But I’m not qualified to perform the procedure,” she admitted. “He needs a surgeon. We belong upstairs, now!”

Dr Horton suddenly nudged her aside. “He won’t make it as far as the elevator. Move over.”

“Nice of you to join us, Frank,” she replied caustically as she traded places with the tardy surgeon.

“Hey, I’m here now.” He turned to Candy. “It’ll ruin his tattoos, but get ready for a thoracotomy.”

“At least he’ll be alive to complain,” Gina muttered.

“Only if we stop the bleeding before he goes into cardiac arrest. Scalpel.”

While Frank began to work, Gina glanced at the paramedics hovering nearby. “Do we have names for these two yet?”

“I’ll check.” Andy slipped from the room.

Intent on assisting Frank and urging her patient to hang on, Gina didn’t notice Ruark until he stood at the foot of the bed. “How’s your fellow?” she asked.

“Better than yours,” he answered. “He’s on his way to an operating room as we speak. They’re also holding a suite open for your patient.”

“And here we have it,” Frank announced with distinct arrogance at discovering the problem. “His coronary artery is nicked. I’m cross-clamping the aorta and then we’re out of here.”

A few minutes later, Frank and the John Doe were gone. Lucy and Candy immediately began the unenviable task of dealing with the mess and, oh, what a mess it was. Instruments littered every available surface, paper wrappers and used gloves covered the blood-slickened floor.

Gina tiredly stripped off her face shield and blood-stained gown before removing her gloves, conscious of Ruark doing the same. She started to slip out of the room with the other extraneous personnel, but the sound of his voice stopped her, and everyone else, in their tracks.

“Nobody move,” he commanded.

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