Her Royal Baby (13 page)

He wasn't accustomed to women treating him like this, he decided. Women with chainsaws. Women who dumped babies on him.

Women who made him smile.

He wasn't accustomed to women like Tammy.

Maybe there
were
no women like Tammy. She disappeared behind a beech grove and he felt her departure like a physical wrench.

Maybe he could wander down there some time today and see what she was doing.

No. He was going home today. He was leaving!

Or was he?

Beside him Henry slept on, blissfully unaware of the tension in the adult world. And why not? Henry was being cared for and played with and loved for the first time in his small life. Marc put a hand down to touch his tiny fingers and involuntarily Henry's small hand curled around his.
There was a clenching in his chest that was so sudden and so savage it was as if someone had kicked him.

He was supposed to be leaving! Today!

He
could
hand Henry over to Mrs Burchett, he thought desperately. Madge would love him to bits. Henry would be fine with Madge.

But Henry hadn't bonded to Madge. He'd bonded to him. To Marc.

He did not want this!

What did he want?

Tammy.

Hell, and that was the way of madness.

He should go back to sleep, he thought. He'd only had two hours' sleep. There was no reason to get up.

But Tammy was somewhere down in the woods, playing with a chainsaw.

He wasn't going near Tammy. He was going home.

Yeah, right. He glanced down again at the linking of his large hand with the tiny one of his little cousin and he knew he was doing no such thing. He'd stay here today. He wouldn't go near Tammy, though. Hell, a man had some pride and if she thought…

She thought nothing. She wanted nothing from him. She didn't dress to attract. He'd seen her dressed to kill, but that had only been to stop Ingrid treating her as a poor relation. When Marc was around she didn't care what she wore.

Had she even noticed that he was a man?

Of course she had. When he'd kissed her she'd kissed him right back.

The memory of those kisses was enough to make him groan and shove a pillow over his head. Hell, he didn't respond like that to women. He didn't.

He'd care for Henry today, and at dinner tonight he'd have it out with Tammy. They had to sort out some sort of
sensible arrangement. She must agree to take on Henry's permanent care.

He had to get out of here before he went nuts.

 

The day seemed endless. More than once Marc looked longingly at the housekeeping bell, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way Henry clung to him. Maybe it was the way the baby chortled when he tried to make him laugh, or maybe it was the thought of Tammy's scorn if she returned to the house and found Henry handed over to the servants.

It wasn't just Tammy, he conceded as the day wore on. It was the thought of Henry's distress. The baby had somehow crept around his heart, and he didn't have a clue what to do with how he was feeling.

He'd care for Henry today, but tonight he'd hand him over to Tammy and escape, he thought. Immediately! The way he figured it, if this was how he felt then Tammy must feel the same. He'd call her bluff. If he found it hard to dump Henry with the servants, then Tammy would find it impossible.

All it needed was his departure. So…he'd stick around until dinnertime tonight and then he'd go.

 

It was a really long day.

Tammy didn't return to the house for lunch. She'd taken a packed lunch, Mrs Burchett told him, and the compulsion to carry Henry down through the beech grove to see what she was doing became almost overwhelming.

He did take Henry outdoors. The baby loved the garden, and to his own astonishment Marc found himself wandering round talking to the little boy as if he could really understand.

‘This is what you'll inherit one day, Henry. Your responsibility. And your pleasure.'

And there
was
pleasure, he discovered. He'd always found this place oppressive, but today it was somehow different. The lakes and formal gardens, and beyond them the acres and acres of woodland, looked different. He found he was looking at it with Tammy's eyes and finding it wonderful.

Tammy would do wonders with this place.

His steps turned involuntarily towards the beech grove. ‘Your Aunty Tammy is just through here…'

But he stopped himself—somehow. They'd lead different lives, Tammy had decreed, and he could only agree with her. He must.

So instead of taking Henry to see his aunty wielding a chainsaw he forced his steps back to the house. A couple of storybooks later and a good dinner and Henry was asleep. Finally.

Maybe he could leave now.

It was five o'clock. Henry was deeply asleep. Tammy had agreed to take over his care from seven o'clock, and it'd be a miracle if Henry woke before then. Mrs Burchett could easily and safely keep an eye on him. He could just walk out the door right now and drive away and that would be that.

But his laptop was still set up with his work on it, and it was sort of easier just to sit next to his big bed where Henry lay sleeping and make plans for a proper irrigation system—one where the pipes didn't go up the mountain—and keep an eye on Henry as well. After all, if he woke…

Or he could just watch him and think about Tammy…

And then it was too late. ‘Dinner's in ten minutes,' Dominic told him. ‘Miss Tammy's in the front salon. I've lit the fire.'

It sounded really good to him, and walking away now would be boorish. Wouldn't it?

 

Tammy was in jeans.

Marc had dressed as he normally dressed for dinner in any of the royal residences—in a dark suit and tie—and her appearance by the fire set him aback. Maybe he'd grown accustomed to her in her sister's gorgeous dresses. The jeans she was wearing were clean and fresh, but still they jarred.

‘I'm not a princess,' she said, jutting her chin as he paused in the doorway and he thought, How the hell did she know what I was thinking?

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘You were thinking I should have dressed appropriately. I have.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I think you do.' She was eyeing him cautiously, noting the dark shadows under his eyes. ‘You didn't go back to sleep, huh?'

He was thrown completely off balance. ‘After you left…?'

‘You need to sleep when you can with babies,' she advised him kindly. ‘You can catch up tomorrow, but after that you might like to readjust your schedule.'

‘Look, Tammy—'

‘Shall we eat?'

‘No!' It was almost an expletive. He crossed the three steps between them and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. He had to make her see. ‘This plan of yours is crazy.'

‘Why is it crazy?' Maybe he'd intended her to be thrown off balance by his nearness—by his gripping her like this—but the gaze that met his was direct and clear. ‘It's the only possible plan in the circumstances.'

‘You came here to care for your nephew.'

‘I told you exactly why I came,' she retorted. ‘I came to see that he's loved and well looked after. You love him. You can look after him.'

‘I don't love him.'

‘Don't you?' She smiled then, her eyes crinkling at the edges in a way he was starting to really, really like. ‘Maybe you don't,' she agreed cordially. ‘Yet. But I've seen his response to you and I've seen that you can't bear for him to suffer. I might not have been near the palace today but I have my spies.'

‘What the hell—?'

‘I've had progress reports all day.' It was as if he was across the room from her. She seemed completely unaware that he was still gripping her. ‘The staff told me about every move you made. You couldn't bear to let him be, even when he was asleep.'

‘I don't—'

‘You don't do love?' she said thoughtfully. ‘So you say. So everyone says. You're a womaniser who goes from one relationship to another. But Henry's not like that. Henry's not a woman you can walk away from. Marc, you've never let yourself love anyone since your mother died, and here's Henry about to cure you in a way that you never imagined possible.'

Her reply left him speechless. Almost. ‘For God's sake,' he told her, ‘when will you get it into your thick head that I don't want to be cured?'

‘You don't want to be loved?'

‘No!'

‘And you don't think that maybe you've fallen head over heels in love with your little cousin?'

‘No!'

‘Liar.'

They were inches apart now. Her colour was heightened but still she met his gaze, unflinching. ‘I'm not going to let you walk away from this, you know,' she told him. ‘Not now. I reared my sister practically single-handed and she broke my heart at the end of it. If you leave me in sole
charge of Henry the same thing could happen again. But I'm not going to let it. I need help, and you're it.'

‘You're afraid.' He said it with a note of discovery in his voice and saw her flinch. But still she met his eyes.

‘Yes,' she agreed, with only a hint of a tremor in her voice. ‘Yes, I am. But at least I acknowledge it and I'm doing something about it.'

‘By coercing me…'

‘No one's coercing you but your own heart. You could have walked away from Henry today and left him with Mrs Burchett. What held you back?'

‘You,' he said explosively, and saw that damned smile peep out again.

‘What? Me?'

‘You are the most infuriating woman…the rudest, pushiest, mostly badly dressed…'

‘Hey!'

‘What?'

‘I'm not badly dressed. I'm dressed just fine for where I belong. Which isn't here.'

‘You belong here.'

‘No.'

‘You do,' he told her, goaded beyond endurance. ‘You think just because you speak in that damned Australian accent and swing from trees and carry chainsaws…'

‘That I can't be royalty? Then I'd be right.'

‘You'd be wrong.'

‘If you want a princess bring back Ingrid. She's aching—'

‘Damn Ingrid!'

‘Why on earth,' she said slowly—thoughtfully, even—‘would I want to damn Ingrid?'

Silence. The tension in the room was almost unbearable. It was way past serving time, but Dominic was standing on the other side of the oak doors and he wasn't entering for worlds. It was far below his dignified standing as royal but
ler to put his ear against the door, but he did have to wait for a pause in the conversation after all—and if his ear happened to be perilously close…

There was nothing to hear any more. Tammy was gazing up at Marc, her eyes bright with tension and the traces of anger clearly written on her face. And Marc was staring down at her, goaded beyond bearing.

Why would she want to damn Ingrid?

For no reason at all, he thought savagely. Ingrid didn't come into the equation.

Her eyes were still watching him, bright with enquiry. His hands still gripped her shoulders and held, and she didn't pull away. Why should she?

Why should she indeed?

And the fine line beyond forbearance and fury was broken. He was only human after all. He was a man…

Once more he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

T
HE
line between hate and love was a fine one. If Marc had been asked that morning whether he did either he would have laughed. But now…

He was so out of control he hardly knew what he was doing, and when he hauled her close, when his mouth bent and took hers, it was furious, blind, irrational rage that was pushing him.

It was rage.

Of course it was rage. He wanted to punish her. He wanted to make her see how impossible she was. How impossible her being here was. How crazy was the way he was feeling—that he wanted her—that he ached for her—that his body was screaming in a way he didn't recognise. When she smiled at him his gut twisted in a savage, searing pain. The scent of her… Her nearness… She was like a lovely creature just out of his reach.

She was so desirable.

Why didn't she fight him? he wondered in that tiny part of his brain that was capable of such thought. She should kick him and run.

Maybe
she
should leave. She had no place here. She belonged half a world away, her nephew belonged here with the servants, and he belonged in his own château…

No. Nothing was what it seemed. Nothing was happening as it should. His world had tipped and was refusing to right itself. All he knew was the way she felt in his hands—the way her breasts moulded to his chest—the way he wanted her…

He wanted her!

Her lips were opening under his, a rose unfurling from bud, and it was no longer anger he was feeling. The fury was surging out of him to be replaced by an emotion that was even stronger.

He mustn't!

Dear God, this woman…

She was so sweet. She was so lovely. Her mouth was yielding to his and her hands were clinging to him.

How could she respond? How could she possibly feel what he felt? This yearning, tearing pull…

All his life he'd avoided this, and here, under his hands, was the thing he'd tried so desperately to escape. She was his woman. His! Half of his whole. He'd never known he was incomplete, and yet she fitted to him as though he'd been torn in half at birth and not known. Until now, when she melted with such searing sweetness…

He couldn't move. He could only hold her and kiss her and feel the surge of change rip his whole being.

Tammy…

And Tammy?

Like Marc she was powerless to stop even if she'd wanted to. Which she didn't.

How could she stop? She'd never thought anything could be so sweet—so right.

Oh, Marc was all wrong for her. In the sane part of her mind she knew it. But for this moment she knew nothing. There was a whole gamut of emotions surging and she had nothing to compare them with. She felt as if she was surging into another life though the medium of this man's body.

What had Shakespeare said?
‘A consummation devoutly to be wished.'

A consummation.

That was what this was, she thought dazedly. A consummation. Whether they took it further than this or not made no difference. She was merging into him right now—chang
ing—learning that there was a whole sweet world that had been locked to her until now.

He was a womaniser. That was what her mother called him. Mrs Burchett agreed and she'd seen nothing to dispel the idea. Tomorrow he'd move on. Tomorrow he would no longer hold her like this—not kiss her as he was kissing her. Tomorrow he'd make no claim on her, nor she on him. She knew that.

Tomorrow…tomorrow was for the whole barren future.

But for now there was only him. The feel of him. The wonder. The aching need.

So her lips welcomed him, her hands clung and she felt her body light with fire. He was her man. For this sweet time—for this minute, maybe, if that was all there was—he was her home.

Marc…

‘Marc.'

Somehow she whispered his name. Somehow he drew back, to take a breath and devour her with his eyes before bending his mouth again to hers.

‘Marc.'

It made him pause. The way she whispered it was a caress in itself, and its sweetness threatened to overwhelm him. Her sweetness…her tenderness…

This wasn't a woman playing on his terms, he thought dazedly. Women like Ingrid—they understood the rules. They used men and were used by them in turn. He needed a society hostess and a partner and they wanted status. When they became too pushy he moved on, but there were no broken hearts. He partnered experienced women who played the game as he expected.

But there was no game here.

He gazed down into Tammy's eyes and saw something he'd never seen. She was gazing up at him with all the tenderness in the world. She was giving…

And he knew. If he lifted her triumphantly now and carried her up the wide staircase to his bedchamber she'd give herself with all the joy in her heart.

She'd give herself to him.

Dear God…

For a long time he gazed down into her eyes. She was looking back at him, a half-smile on her lips and her eyes wide and questioning. Teasing, almost… Waiting.

Waiting for commitment?

No. Waiting for whatever he was prepared to give, because the commitment was already there. He could read it in her eyes. They were shining up at him. Her lips were still slightly parted with an invitation that was almost irresistible. She was waiting.

All he had to do was gather her to him and she was his—for however long he wanted her.

He did want her, he thought with a desperate savagery. He wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in his life. But how could he take her and then put her away from him?

He couldn't. If he took her now…

If he took her now he took her for ever. And he couldn't do it.

He didn't love.

Or maybe he did.

She was watching him, still with that faint questioning smile, as if she sensed that he was battling with himself. Maybe he knew that here was a woman who'd love him. Who'd give herself to him as she'd given herself to her little nephew. She'd dropped everything and come to the other side of the world. For love.

He had no right to accept a love like that. He was flawed. Hell, his whole damned family was flawed. This place—royalty—was a goldfish bowl. To bring a woman into it—a woman of such innocence—to bind her so that she could never leave…

That was what was being offered here, he thought. She was offering herself. She was offering the devotion his mother had given his father.

A devotion that destroyed.

‘I can't.'

It was a groan, and the smile on Tammy's face wavered and died.

‘You can't?'

‘I can't do this, Tammy,' he told her. ‘I'm not… I don't…'

What was he saying? Her brow furrowed, two tiny lines creasing between her eyes. ‘Marc, I'm not asking…'

‘You're not asking anything,' he said savagely. ‘You don't. You give and you give and you give. Well, damn, I'm not taking. I'm not destroying this.'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘You're beautiful,' he told her. Somehow he broke away and took two blind steps backward. ‘You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met. You're wonderful to the core and I'm damned if I'm hauling you into this mess.'

She tilted her head to one side and the creases between her eyes stayed. ‘I'm sorry?'

‘Royalty.'

‘I think I already am embroiled in this mess,' she said candidly. ‘Up to my eyebrows.'

‘And if I take you…? If you and I…?'

‘It wouldn't just be you doing the taking,' she said softly. ‘I'm a big girl, Your Highness, and I know what I want.' The smile came back again—the teasing mischief that made his heart wrench within him. ‘I want you.'

How was he supposed to answer that? One way, his body screamed at him. One way. Lunge back and take her in his arms and carry her up…

No! He was so far out of control he didn't know what he
was doing. He didn't. Hell, where was he supposed to take this?

He was doing harm. He was in danger of causing this bright innocence to be destroyed.

He had to get away.

‘I…I need to leave,' he managed, and her smile died again.

‘Tomorrow?'

‘No.' He closed his eyes, and when he opened them the way was clear to him. ‘I'm sorry, Tammy, I need to leave right now. Forgive me.'

‘But…'

‘I'm sorry,' he said again, and wrenched away to open the door so suddenly that Dominic, standing not so innocently on the other side, nearly fell over. Marc didn't even notice. ‘Give Miss Dexter her dinner,' he told the butler. ‘I'm not eating here tonight. Look after Tammy for me, will you, Dominic?'

And without another word he took the stairs two at a time and disappeared.

 

How was a girl supposed to eat after that?

Tammy made a dreary figure, sitting in solitary state at the splendid dining table. Dominic served her in silence, all the time watching out of the corners of his wise old eyes but not saying a word. She was white-faced and silent herself, and he knew without being told that she didn't require dessert or coffee. As he helped her to rise they heard the unmistakeable sound of Marc's car disappearing down the long, long driveway.

If anything Tammy's face grew even whiter, and Dominic placed his hand on her arm in an unconscious gesture of support.

‘Thank you.' Her voice was bleak. ‘I'm…I'm sorry I've
made a bad fist of dinner. It was delicious. Will you tell the kitchen staff…?'

‘That it was despite their cooking—not because of it—that you couldn't eat,' he said gently. ‘Yes, miss. We understand.'

‘Will he come back, do you think?' she asked, and he turned to look at the disappearing lights of Marc's car.

‘Not without your encouragement,' he told her, and she blinked.

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘You don't know how to encourage him? No, miss.' He looked at her for a long minute and then sighed, unconsciously bracing. He needed to talk to this chit of a girl. It wasn't his place, but maybe the future of the principality depended on it. ‘You understand he's running scared?'

She stared. ‘I don't understand.'

There was a long hesitation, as if Dominic was having second thoughts—which indeed he was—and then he shrugged. He liked this wan-faced girl. All the servants did. She'd been here only a couple of days, yet already the place was starting to feel like home—as it hadn't for years.

‘What do you think would happen if Master Henry wasn't here?' he asked, and Tammy frowned.

‘Marc told me. He said the country would lose its royal family.'

Dominic shook his head. ‘That's not quite true. The crown would pass to Prince Marc.'

Tammy frowned. ‘But…Marc said if Henry didn't inherit then the monarchy would die.'

‘Only because Prince Marc would refuse to accept the crown. He feels he has no choice. He hates this family and everything it represents.'

The butler shrugged again, clearly deciding to go the whole way. This was no way for a butler to behave, but Dominic was much more than a butler. In Tammy he
glimpsed salvation for his country, and if that involved indiscretion on his part then so be it.

‘Marc's father had an affair with his uncle's wife with disastrous consequences,' he said softly. ‘His mother committed suicide because of it. Then there was a girl Marc was involved with. It was some years ago now, but Marc thought he was in love. Being third in line to the throne, he needed his uncle's consent in order to marry, so he brought her here. Franz, the older of his two cousins, took one look and decided he'd have her for himself. The prospect of the crown was so enticing that Marc was summarily dumped.'

‘Oh, no.'

‘Indeed, miss,' the butler said dourly. ‘And I'm afraid it grew worse. Franz used her for his own ends but he had no intention of marrying her. She ended up pregnant and alone. She died of drug abuse and we still have no clear answer whether it was suicide or accident.'

‘I…see.' Tammy did see, and she was appalled. The vision of a much younger Marc, betrayed, scorned, and then having to live with such a consequence, was dreadful. Oh, Marc…

But there was more Dominic needed to tell her. ‘I wonder whether you do see, miss?' he said softly, his eyes on her face. ‘Every contact Marc ever had with this place turned to poison. When Franz died and Jean-Paul was killed—both incidents that cemented Marc's disgust of the place—he was landed with the prospect of inheriting what was for him a tainted crown. The only way to escape it was to bring Henry back fast enough to inherit.'

‘So he lied to me,' Tammy said, frowning. ‘He said…'

‘I believe he said if Henry didn't inherit then no one could,' the butler told her. ‘It's what he believes himself, because he knows he couldn't bear to inherit. He can hardly bear to step into this palace, much less inherit the crown.'

‘But if I took Henry home…'

‘Back to Australia?' The butler was watching her and Tammy didn't know what he was thinking. How could he see what was in her heart? He certainly seemed to. ‘If you did that then you'd be forcing Marc to inherit,' he told her. ‘He's said he couldn't, but if it came to the crunch I believe he would take up his responsibility. He loves his country. He loves his people. It's this palace he hates.'

‘It's not this palace,' Tammy said strongly. ‘This palace is beautiful. It's the people in his past who are dreadful. People who are dead.'

‘Yes, miss. But how can we teach him that?'

They stared at each other—elderly retainer and young woman—and Tammy saw a reflection of her own fear in the old man's face.

‘You love him,' she said on a note of discovery, and Dominic nodded.

‘Yes, miss,' he said simply. ‘I've always worked for his family. Master Marc—I mean His Royal Highness—brought me here after Jean-Paul died to try to clear up the mess that this place was in. I cared for him when he was a tiny boy. I put him on his first pony and I've watched him grow. I helped bury his mother and it was me who gave him the news that his ex-fiancée had died. It makes me feel ill to see him suffer again now.'