Her Royal Baby (12 page)

Here was his home.

It was a ridiculous thought, a ridiculous feeling surfacing over and over, but he was beyond reason. His mouth was plundering hers and the feel of her was setting him on fire. All he knew was the wanting, and the heat of his need was throbbing through every vein of his body. The iron control he'd held himself under for all these years had slipped away at her touch. One touch…

One woman…

His!

The knocking took a while to penetrate.

For a moment Marc thought it was nothing but his own heartbeat, but there was another sharp rapping at the door and then a wail. Somehow it registered. Somehow.

Someone was knocking on the other side of the great doors.

Marc pulled away, but afterwards he never knew how. It was a sheer physical wrench, like losing part of himself, and he stood back and looked at the girl before him, saw his own confusion mirrored in her eyes.

‘I…' He was staring as if he'd never seen her before. ‘Hell, Tammy…'

‘I know.' Somehow she managed a whisper. She put her
hand up to her lips as if she couldn't believe what had just occurred. ‘You…you didn't mean to do that.'

‘No, I…'

The knocking sounded again. Marc pulled himself together—a little—and turned to face the door.

‘Yes?' When no one answered, he forced himself to take a step away and haul it open.

Out in the hall Mrs Burchett was carrying a wide-awake Henry. As the doors swung wide she looked from Tammy to Marc, obviously aching to know what she'd interrupted.

Obviously guessing…

‘I'm so sorry, but…'

Henry had been crying—or maybe that was an understatement. His little face was crumpled and sodden, and as soon as he saw Tammy he reached out as if he was desperate.

‘He woke and he won't stop crying,' Mrs Burchett told them. ‘Nothing I do is right. He slept all afternoon while you were out with your trees, and now…he's wide awake and frantic.'

‘Give him to me.'

Despite her confusion, despite the fact that her world had been tilted so far on its axis that she was in danger of falling off, Tammy's heart turned over. This was the first sign that Henry even recognised her. At ten months old a baby should be bonding with his people. He'd never bonded with anyone. She cast Marc a confused and desperate glance, but she forced herself to focus on her little nephew. ‘Come here, sweetheart,' she whispered, lifting him from Mrs Burchett's arms and hugging him close. ‘I…I was just coming.'

‘Stay,' Marc managed. ‘We need to talk.'

‘I need to see to Henry.'

‘You can cuddle him here.'

‘We'll talk in the morning.'

‘I'll be gone in the morning,' he told her, and that stopped her in her tracks.

‘Gone?'

‘I told you. I'm leaving.'

‘But…' Mrs Burchett was looking from one to another, her curiosity a tangible thing, but it couldn't matter. Tammy was so confused she didn't care who heard the distress and confusion in her voice.

‘You haven't told us that, sir,' Mrs Burchett said, and Tammy was suddenly grateful. Grateful that she could bury her face in Henry's hair and hide her surging colour while Marc had to concentrate on someone other than her.

‘I've only just decided,' Marc snapped. Like Tammy, he was thoroughly confused. Hell, he needed to get away from here. He was losing his mind. He'd overstepped some boundary he hadn't known was there, and beyond the boundary was a chasm he was fearful of facing.

The chasm was so deep he might fall for ever.

Maybe staying and talking to Tammy was a bad idea. Maybe staying within fifty yards of Tammy was a nightmare.

‘I'll see you at breakfast,' he said a trifle unsteadily, and made to pass by Tammy and the child.

But Henry was resting on Tammy's hip, and as he passed he brushed the little boy. Henry leaned back and held out his arms.

To him.

Marc stopped dead.

None of them could believe it. Tammy was holding Henry close, but the tiny boy was leaning back now, his face brushing Marc's dinner jacket and his tear-drenched eyes gazing up at his big cousin.

He'd bonded to the two of them, Tammy thought incredulously. Somehow over the long journey, when Marc had
held him close and let him sleep in his arms, the baby had decided that here was a person he could trust.

‘I need to…' Marc was trying to leave, but his feet wouldn't move. His eyes were on Henry, and they mirrored Tammy's disbelief.

And Tammy came to a decision faster than she'd come to a decision in her life.

‘No,' she said, and before Marc knew what she was about she'd handed over her nephew. Marc's arms came involuntarily out to grasp the baby—to stop him falling—but Tammy was sure he wouldn't fall. She knew that this big man would hold his baby cousin and care for him.

She knew.

‘No,' she said again, and took a deep breath. ‘If you're leaving in the morning then tonight's your turn. You look after Henry. He wants you and I want my bed. Mrs Burchett, could I see you outside for a moment, please?' She grasped the housekeeper's hand and tugged her to the door. ‘Goodnight, Your Highnesses.'

And without another word she slipped out of the room and fled, towing the housekeeper behind her.

 

Nobody was around.

At first bemused, and then occupied by Henry's need for reassurance, Marc took a few minutes before he left the dining room. Finally, with Henry snuggled against his chest and clearly contented, he tugged the servants' bell.

No one appeared.

‘Let's find Mrs Burchett,' he told Henry, but Madge was nowhere to be found. The kitchen was empty. Coffee cups lay unwashed, but everything else was cleared, ready for breakfast next morning.

There were always servants around, he thought, puzzled. Marc pressed the nearest bell and waited.

Nothing.

‘They can't all be in bed.' In the times he'd stayed in this palace he wouldn't have noticed if there was one footman or a dozen, but that there were now none was clearly unusual. ‘Maybe they all go to bed at ten. Maybe I just haven't noticed before.'

Henry was gurgling happily in his arms now, enjoying this tour of the servants' quarters with one of his two favourite people. More and more bemused, Marc carried Henry out into the hall. On the table was a note, formally addressed to His Highness, Marc, Prince Regent of Broitenburg.

It was Tammy's handwriting. Of course.

And underneath was a postscript.

Marc stood and stared at the note for far longer than he needed. Finally Henry grabbed it and started determinedly chewing.

Caring for Henry every second day? What was she thinking of?

Back in Australia he'd promised to care for him, he thought, dazed by where these arrangements were heading.
He'd told her that if she allowed him to bring Henry to Broitenburg then he'd be responsible for him. But he'd intended handing the little boy to Mrs Burchett and a hired nanny while he kept his distance. Madge would ensure Henry had everything he needed.

Except…Tammy?

Dammit, Henry needed Tammy.

No. He was holding Henry in his arms and Henry was at peace with his world. He was munching the note into a soggy pulp, his spare hand gripped his already battered teddy, and he was being held by a man in whom he had implicit trust.

Henry had everything he needed right here. Tammy was right. Somehow Henry had elected two grown-ups to be his people and Marc was one of them.

Henry was happy.

But Marc wasn't. Marc was feeling as if the world was closing in on him. All he'd tried to escape was right here, contentedly mulching paper. Ties. Family. Responsibility.

Love.

‘I can care for you until breakfast, but not after that,' he said grimly, and Henry paused and thoughtfully tried to jam a piece of paper into Marc's mouth. ‘No thanks, kid; I've had dinner.'

Undeterred, Henry went back to chewing.

‘You need to go to bed.'

Did he? Henry looked unconvinced.

‘I tell you what else you need…' There was a hint of sogginess under Marc's arm, and it didn't come from the paper. ‘I guess your diapers will be up in Tammy's…I mean up in the nursery.'

The rooms were adjoining, Marc remembered. Tammy's bedroom was set up for a nanny. There was no door between it and the nursery. He'd take Henry up there, he decided, and if Tammy was still awake…

Surely she couldn't be asleep? Or if she happened to wake…

‘Serve her right,' he decided. ‘Who the heck does she think she is, trying to run my life? This is her job, not mine.'

 

She wasn't there.

Marc carried Henry into the nursery and just happened to glance—straight away—at the door to Tammy's bedroom. He'd expected a hump under the bedclothes. She'd pretend to be sleeping, he decided, and hadn't figured out whether to call her bluff and wake her or just leave Henry in the crib and let him wake her himself.

But she wasn't there!

Her bed was beautifully made up, as it had been since it was made by the servants that morning. It hadn't been slept in. The clothes she'd been wearing that night were lying on a bedside chair. Instinctively his eyes went to the wardrobe.

Hell! He couldn't help himself. In seconds he had the wardrobe door open, and when he saw her clothing still there he felt his breath escape in a sigh of relief.

She hadn't left the palace for good, then.

Why had he thought she would?

He hadn't, he told himself. He was just…checking.

So where was she?

‘Tammy?'

No answer. Frustrated, he hit the servants' bell and listened to it echoing away in the distance. What had Tammy written?

Where was she? Here he was, held close by Henry, when all he wanted to do was haul open the door and stride out into the night to find Tammy.

She'd be hidden in the servants' quarters, he decided. Or in any of the thirty or so empty bedchambers around the palace. Or out in the garden and up a tree. Anywhere.

Alone.

Damn.

Henry gave the beginning of a grumble of protest and the sogginess grew. He was going to have to cope with this crisis alone. He couldn't fetch Tammy even if he wanted to.

Damn, where was she?

Nowhere. He was by himself.

‘This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen to royalty,' he told his cousin. ‘I should head down to the servants' quarters and wake someone—rescind Tammy's orders—have someone else change you and look after you.'

Wouldn't that be what she'd expect him to do?

Yes.

She was expecting him to walk away. After all, that was just what he'd said he was going to do.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them he discovered Henry was watching him with wide-eyed wonder—as if he knew his future hung on what happened right this minute.

‘I can change a diaper,' Marc said grimly, carrying Henry through to the change table. ‘I can take care of a baby.'

He could.

But as he laid Henry down and tackled the first domestic duty it had ever fallen to him to undertake—as Henry beamed up at him in delight at the removal of something that had clearly been starting to irk him—Marc looked down into his little cousin's eyes and thought there was more to this than domestic duty. He wasn't just taking care of a baby.

He was falling in love!

The thought scared him so much that it took all the con
trol he could muster not to walk out of the room right then. All he wanted was to take Henry down, knock on the housekeeper's bedroom door, hand over his responsibilities and run.

His responsibility gurgled up at him and smiled a fine baby smile, and the fine gossamer threads of responsibility tightened so firmly Marc thought he'd choke.

Instead, he somehow fastened a new diaper—in a fashion—lifted Henry into his arms and took him back to his suite.

And settled down to wonder where in hell Tammy was?

I
T WAS
a really long night.

Marc would have had to search hard if he'd tried to find Tammy because, instead of seeking out one of the scores of empty bedrooms in the palace and hoping Marc wouldn't find her, Tammy had escaped to where she belonged. He'd forgotten the standard gear that she always carried. A tent and a sleeping bag and the essentials to sleep under the stars. While Marc was struggling with diapers, Tammy was in her sleeping bag in her tent in the sheltered palace woodland.

But she wasn't asleep. She lay with the tent wide open, watching stars that were totally different from the galaxies she was used to in the Southern Hemisphere. Upside down and strange.

Being upside down made sense, she thought ruefully. Everything else was topsy-turvy. Why shouldn't the heavens match?

Why had she done this? What was she possibly hoping for?

A fair system of parenting, she told herself. But she knew it was far more than that. She wanted Marc to love his little cousin. She wanted Marc to…commit?

She wanted him to commit to Henry, she told herself savagely, and there was an aching void around her heart that she didn't understand. She didn't have a clue what to do with it.

Why had he kissed her?

She'd asked, ‘What's changed?'

‘You, of course,' he'd replied. ‘You. And me.'

‘It doesn't make sense,' she muttered, forcing herself to
remember her mother's words. ‘The man's a womaniser.' So he kissed me. So what? If you breathe and you're female then you get kissed by His Royal Highness. I'm lucky it didn't go any further.

‘Lucky?

‘Yes, lucky.' She was talking out loud. She'd erected the tent well out of sight of the palace. Here she could conduct her conversation with herself without fear of interruption. Which was just as well. She had serious things to discuss.

‘But if he'd wanted…

‘To take things further? You're out of your mind, Tammy Dexter. He's just ditched Ingrid—in fact, you don't know for sure that he
has
ditched Ingrid. You want to fall into his arms between his little affairs with society bimbos?

‘I wouldn't mind.

‘Tamsin Dexter!' She was scolding herself, even managing to sound shocked, and she grinned into the night. Good grief. What on earth was happening to her?

She was fantasising over one gorgeous specimen of manhood. Maybe she'd been celibate for far too long. That was all this was. Fantasy.

So how was her fantastic male going with Henry?

‘It's none of my business. Go to sleep.

‘I could just sneak back and have a listen…

‘Yeah, and get caught. You know darned well that would be the way of disaster.

‘Why?

‘Because…

‘The servants will all be in bed. There'll just be Henry, who'll drift off to sleep pretty soon now. Which will leave me and His Highness, the Prince Regent.

‘Not a good idea,' she told herself, zipping her sleeping bag up to her nose. ‘In fact a very bad idea.'

So why did she desperately want to do it?

 

Where was she?

Henry's time clock was still out of kilter and he wanted to play, so Marc took his nephew back to bed, hauled open his laptop and started working on a design for a series of agricultural channels. He wasn't working very seriously. Henry's attention span was about thirty seconds, after which he demanded some new distraction. He'd come a long way from the baby who not a week before had known only that a window was the best distraction on offer.

Now Henry had found these wonderful new playthings called adults, and he intended to exploit them to the full. Teddy looked pretty boring compared to a clicking keyboard, and before long Marc's canal system looked like nothing so much as the work of a very drunken spider.

‘So how are the farmers of Southern Broitenburg going to link up with this?' Marc demanded of his nephew, and Henry chortled, put his fist into the keyboard and sent a spiral of water channels veering northward.

‘Oh, great. You realise you're sending water from a drought-affected area to one where the rainfall's the highest in Broitenburg?'

Henry clearly thought it was a great idea.

‘Where's your aunt?'

Henry didn't know and he didn't care. Unlike Marc who found himself caring far too much.

‘She came over here to look after you. That's her job.'

No comment.

‘Damn, where is she?' He glanced at his watch. Two-thirty.

‘She'd better be here in the morning.'

He didn't want her in the morning, he thought savagely. He wanted her now!

 

Tammy woke at dawn.

There was something about sleeping under the stars that
made waking at dawn almost compulsory—which was just as well. She didn't want to be found by the gardeners, so two minutes after waking she'd packed up and was returning to the palace.

She made herself slow. The servants would still be asleep. She'd ordered them not to stir before seven.

Maybe Marc would like a cup of tea, she thought dubiously, pausing in the front entrance, unsure what to do. If he'd been up all night with the baby…

If he'd been up all night the last thing he'd want now would be a cup of tea. He'd be fast asleep. She let herself into the kitchen, made herself tea and toast and kept on thinking about it.

Whether he'd like it or not, the temptation was irresistible.

‘What man wouldn't want toast and tea at sunrise?' she asked herself, and she grinned. She knew the answer to that. ‘But, hey, he deserves it. He's been working hard.'

The temptation was too much. She made him toast, loaded it with marmalade, and brewed fresh tea.

‘Coming, ready or not,' she said, and took a deep breath.

What on earth was she doing?

She didn't have a clue.

 

He was dead to the world. They both were. Tammy's knock on the door to the main royal bedroom went unanswered. She pushed the vast door wide and saw them at once: one big prince and one little one, deeply lost in sleep.

Marc had been working when he'd fallen asleep. His laptop lay on the floor beside him, still powered up, fluorescent and flashing with something that looked like spiderwebs on the screen. Lines were scrawling everywhere. He'd fallen back on his pillows with the baby cradled to him.

Naked from the waist up, Marc's only covering was
Henry's already battered teddy. Henry himself lay cradled under his big cousin's arm, sound asleep and looking for all the world as if this was his very favourite place in the whole world.

Tammy stood, rooted to the spot, taking in the scene before her. She had a plate of toast in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, but she made no move to set them down. She couldn't.

The sight was enough to form a lump in her throat so large she could hardly swallow. She didn't know what on earth was happening to her, but the sight of this big man and this baby…

She didn't want relationships, she told herself fiercely. She wasn't interested in men. She should walk away fast—back out of this room right now. Instead she stood as if her eyes were locked on the sight before her.

Marc was so…large. His chest was tanned and strongly muscled. The tiny teddy sprawled over his breast accentuated the raw strength of the man.

Man and baby. They looked right together.

And the realisation slammed home. They belonged.

She didn't.

It was she who was the outsider. She'd come half a world to protect her small nephew but there'd been no need. If this man would protect him…love him…

She felt her eyes blur with tears.

Somehow she managed to back into the corridor, but the door hadn't swung shut behind her when Marc's eyes opened. For a long moment he stared at her, their eyes meeting across the room. Something passed between…

Good grief. She was so out of control. Her foot was holding the door open and she started shifting it. Still her eyes held his.

‘Don't go.'

‘I…'

He was out of the bed so fast she hardly saw him coming—lunging across the room to catch the door before it shut. Then he was steadying her, catching the toast, which was threatening to slide. He was right beside her. Right…there!

He was wearing only boxer shorts and nothing else. He was too large. He was too male. He was too darned much of anything you liked to name!

And she was so close to tears.

‘Breakfast?' he asked, his dark eyes quizzing hers with easy laughter. ‘You've brought me breakfast?'

‘I thought…'

‘You thought you should do something to make up for abandoning me last night?' he said dryly. ‘How very kind.'

‘I'm not being kind at all,' she managed, trying to make her voice indifferent. With no success at all. ‘I just came to check on Henry.'

‘Henry's fine.' Then his smile faded as he searched her face. His finger came up and touched her cheeks. It came away wet. ‘Tears, Tammy?'

‘No.' She gave her face an angry swipe. ‘Why would I be crying?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I'm not.'

Still he searched.

‘What is it?' he asked gently and the tears threatened to fall all over again.

‘Nothing,' she managed, and hauled herself together. Somehow. ‘I told you. I just wanted to check Henry.'

He gave her a long look, knowing he wasn't getting the whole truth but powerless to take it further. Finally he turned to the bed. Henry was snuggled into the pillows—a baby at peace with his world. ‘Seeing as he's only been asleep for a couple of hours, I guess he might be fine a while longer.'

‘He…he didn't go to sleep until late?'

‘He didn't go to sleep until early.' Marc's laughter was back behind his eyes. ‘Dawn was threatening to break, and so was I. Hell, Tam, I'm no babysitter.'

‘I'm sorry.' The use of the diminutive of her name unnerved her still more, sneaking inside her defences so much she almost gave in right then. But then she thought about it and she knew.

They belonged together. More and more she knew it. Back in Australia she'd thought her relationship with Henry was the only one possible. Now she'd grown to realise that Marc needed his small cousin as much as Henry needed Marc. She'd fallen for Henry with every inch of her being, but loving him meant doing what was best for him.

Even if it meant her loss…

Marc was waiting for her to keep speaking. What had she said? That she was sorry? ‘Actually, I'm not,' she corrected herself. ‘I'm not sorry. Sleepless nights go with the territory of baby-care. It'll be my turn tonight.'

‘Take him now.' Marc's smile was all embracing—pleading. He'd be able to get anything he ever wanted in life just by smiling like that, she thought bitterly. He lifted the mug from her and placed the tea and toast on the bedside table, then turned to smile that gorgeous smile at her from across the room. He was practically naked, she thought, a little bit desperately. Did he have any idea of the effect the sight of his body was having on her?

Apparently not. He'd moved on. ‘You've made your point,' he told her. ‘I've cared for him all night. Now take him back.'

But she was shaking her head. She had to stand her ground. She must. ‘No.'

‘What do you mean—no?'

‘I mean it's a twenty-four-hour thing,' she told him. ‘You
take his care for twenty-four hours. Then it's my turn. I come on duty at dinner tonight.'

‘But…'

‘But what?'

He sighed and ran his fingers through his thatch of dark hair. ‘I can always get Mrs Burchett to take care of him.'

‘Of course you can,' she said coldly. ‘That's a royal thing, after all. Hand over your responsibility to the servants.'

‘He's not my responsibility.'

‘Whose responsibility is he, then?'

That was easy. ‘Yours.'

‘No.' She shook her head. ‘I'm here to make sure Henry's cared for and loved. I'm not here to take on his full-time care. I'm not here waiting for you to palm off your responsibilities.'

‘I am not palming—'

‘Yes, you are.' Somehow she managed a smile. ‘So there. I've delivered your breakfast and my job here is done.'

‘Your job?' He glared. ‘You sound like Superman, who's just saved the world as we know it. What do you mean, your job here is done?'

‘Toast and marmalade.' She grinned again. ‘Not quite saving the world, but close.' She had to get out of there. Now! ‘I'm glad you're getting on so well,' she told him. ‘Have a happy day. Leave Henry with Mrs Burchett if you must.' Tammy knew enough of Mrs Burchett to realise that Henry would be very well cared for in that elderly lady's arms. ‘But you must realise that he's bonded to
you
.'

‘Tammy…'

‘I'm off to care for some trees,' she told him, and kept right on determinedly smiling. ‘That's my career.' She motioned to the laptop on the floor. ‘Like yours. By the way, that looks like a really interesting irrigation system. I may not be too good at geography, but that water seems to be
running
up
the mountains. Well done, you. What an engineer!'

And before he could say another word she turned and fled, leaving him staring after her, as stunned as he'd ever been in his life.

 

Marc ate his toast and drank his tea and watched Tammy's slim figure through the window as she made her way back down the south lawn to the woodland beyond. She was carrying what looked from here to be a chainsaw. It was too big for such a slight girl, he thought, and then he thought of Ingrid carrying a chainsaw. He found himself wincing. The image was too ridiculous.

Tammy looked free and happy and intent on the task at hand. She didn't look like someone who'd dumped a baby on him for effect. She truly looked as if she wasn't going to spare a thought for him all day.