Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7)

by Lilian Monroe

  The memories of everything the media didn’t know—that none of us knew at the time. Abby’s autopsy doubled my grief all over again.

  I was supposed to read through my public statement for the press and send back comments, but when I glance at the mystery woman’s immobile body, the last thing I want to do is official royal business. Moving to her bag, I unzip the front pocket to see if she has any identification. I open it up wider, and a lacy black thong tumbles to the floor. Picking it up with the edge of my finger, I arch an eyebrow.

  Who did she think she was going to wear that for? Did she know I was coming to the Summer Palace? Is she here to try to seduce me?

  I scoff.

  You can try, baby girl.

  In the soft light of the fire, her hair looks like glowing copper. A smattering of freckles covers her cheeks and forehead, barely visible on her pale skin. Her lips are a dull pink color, tinged with blue, and firelight dances over her skin.

  I rummage through her things until I find a wallet. Bingo.

  Rowan Reed.

  I frown. Reed? That’s the name of the palace manager who just had an accident. Earlier today, she fell on the ice and broke a hip. Had to be airlifted out of here before the storm came in.

  Taking another step closer to the hypothermic woman, I lean over her face. Could she be related? Is she here to take Mrs. Reed’s place? I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, heart clenching at the softness of her skin.

  Do I see a hint of the old woman in the shape of the nose? Or am I making connections that don’t exist? Whoever she is, she’s gorgeous.

  And almost dead. I touch her forehead with the back of my hand, happy to find her skin isn’t quite so cold. But when I reach down further, I feel the snow melting on the neckline of her dress. Her clothes are wet with sweat and moisture, and just as cold as her skin.

  “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, flipping the blanket back. Her dress is soaked through and clinging to her body. Still fucking freezing.

  The radio crackles by the door.

  “Your Highness? Come in, Your Highness.”

  I walk to the desk, seeing one new yellow bar on the device’s battery indicator. I grab the handheld radio and press the button on the side.

  “Yeah?”

  “You need assistance at the security lodge, sir?” I recognize Doctor Williams’ pinched, nasally voice.

  “Hypothermic woman,” I respond. “Found her outside the gates. Her clothes feel wet to the touch and she’s not warming up.”

  “I’m gathering my things. We should be there in ten minutes.”

  Damn these huge palace grounds and the leagues that separate the security outbuildings from the main castle. It’s great for privacy—not so good in an emergency. I glance at the woman, noticing her limp hand hanging off the edge of the sofa. She hasn’t as much as stirred since we got here.

  “I’m not sure we have ten minutes,” I answer. “Her clothes are wet.”

  “Undress her, Your Highness,” Doctor Williams says. “Take all the wet clothes off and cover her with blankets. Don’t submerge her in warm water or heat her up too fast, but we need to bring her body temperature up.”

  “Got it. Over.” I leave the radio on charge and move to the sofa. Tearing the blankets off, I stare for a moment. She lets out a soft moan, her smooth brow furrowing ever so slightly. Moving slowly, I remove her sweater then tug the zipper on the side of her dress.

  “Easy,” I say, as if I were speaking to a nervous animal. I pause, hesitating. Her eyes are still closed. Body limp. It feels wrong to undress her like this, to take this scrap of fabric off her body and see what’s hiding underneath.

  I shake my head. This is necessary. Her life is on the line.

  Gingerly, I lift the hem of her dress, averting my eyes as I slowly, gently pull the garment up. When I get to her stomach, my eyes drift over her skin. There’s a dark freckle near her belly button, and I have the urge to run my tongue over it.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell is wrong with me?

  With a shallow breath, I pull one arm free, then the other. Lifting her torso off the sofa, I tug the dress over her head and toss it aside. It lands on the floor with a wet thunk.

  Rowan’s body falls against mine and damn, she’s cold. Not warming up at all.

  My eyes drift down over her skin-colored bra, not wanting to touch her too much. I put my hand on her thigh, feeling a line where dry meets wet on her thighs. Her jacket must have covered the dry part.

  “Rowan” I say softly, touching her shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

  I pause. Nothing.

  Covering her torso with a blanket, I squeeze my eyes shut. I should really take her bra off. It’s soaked too, and she needs to get warm. Fuck. I haven’t been with a woman in four years, and I didn’t think the first naked woman I’d see would be unconscious.

  Reaching under the blanket, I wrap my arms around Rowan’s body and unclip her bra. I pull it free, keeping the blanket over her body.

  Sighing, I pinch my lips and tug off her tights. Inch by inch, ice-cold white skin is revealed. My eyes linger on the scrap of underwear around her hips, then I look away. I touch the edge of it—dry enough to leave on.

  I’m not some fucking creep. I’m just trying to help this stupid woman who apparently doesn’t understand that being in the arctic means it gets cold. Why would she walk? Why didn’t she call anyone? Grab a taxi?

  When I drag her tights down to her feet and pull them free, I fold the blanket down over her legs and lay the tights across the arm of a chair. She can keep the underwear on. I’ve done enough.

  My heart is beating too fast, and I look away from the woman with a scowl.

  She’s an inconvenience, is what she is. A potential security risk. Nothing more.

  4

  Rowan

  Warmth tingles over my skin as I blink my eyes open. A face looms in front of mine, an older man with a thick, white mustache.

  “Miss Reed,” he says, his voice pinched, yet friendly. “You’re awake.” I try to sit up, when the man puts his hand on my shoulder. “My name is Doctor Williams. You were found on the road leading to the Summer Palace with severe hypothermia. You were brought here. We’ve given you warm intravenous fluids and warmed your body temperature up. Please rest.”

  I lie back on the sofa, suddenly keenly aware that I’m not wearing any clothing. My fingers brush against my thighs as my heart leaps in my chest, and I feel the edge of my underwear around my hips. But when my hand drifts higher…

  Oh, shit.

  I’m not wearing a bra. My breath catches as discomfort races through me.

  At least I have undies on. I’m not completely naked.

  Blinking, I look from the doctor to the roaring fire. Dr. Williams shoves a side table closer, where a steaming mug of tea sits waiting. I nod in thanks.

  Then, movement.

  My eyes are drawn to the edge of the room and I notice him for the first time. I suck in a breath, eyes widening.

  I’ve seen those amber eyes in photos before. The soft curls of black hair. The sharp jaw and dark brow.

  The Prince.

  “I…I…” I stammer, then stop. Why is Prince Wolfe here? And why is he staring at me like he wants to sink his teeth into my neck and rip it to shreds?

  And I’m nearly freaking naked.

  I’ve never seen anger like that before. He might as well be a predator, stalking his prey in the dead of night. He watches me, analyzing every movement with those fiery eyes the color of honey.

  His hands are interlaced under his chin, elbows resting on his knees. Even seated, I can tell he’s tall. Powerful. It’s the way his limbs fold on each other, all graceful muscle and coiled power. The width of him almost obscures the armchair he’s sitting in, as if the furniture in here is just a bit too small to hold him.

  He stares at me, unmoving.

  Is he the one who found me? Has he seen me naked? Oh my goodness. Oh God. No. I take a breath
, trying to sit up. The doctor makes a noise and puts his hand on my shoulder again.

  “Rest, Miss Reed.”

  “I’m fine,” I croak, eyes drawn to the Prince once more.

  He shifts in the chair, leaning back. He props his head in his hand, keeping his eyes on me. I crawl up on the sofa, keeping my arms clamped over my chest to hold the blanket against my skin. I wish I had a shirt on.

  The fire crackles. The doctor rummages somewhere behind me. Wind howls outside, banging against the shutters.

  But none of it matters.

  The Prince is here.

  And he’s angry.

  Why does that make my insides feel warm? Why are my thighs clenching at the way his eyes sweep over me?

  “Do you know where you are?” he says slowly, his voice rippling across the distance between us. It’s warm, with harsh edges that make every nerve in my body bristle with warning.

  This man is dangerous.

  I nod. “At the Summer Palace in Nord.”

  He stares, his eyes dropping to my bare shoulders. I try not to squirm. When his eyes drift up my neck, pausing on my lips, a new kind of heat curls lazily through my core. I drop my chin, reaching for the mug of tea on the side table.

  “Why were you outside in a peacoat this close to the Arctic Circle?”

  “It’s all I have,” I admit. “I thought…” I frown, stealing a glance at him over my mug of tea.

  Big mistake.

  His eyes drill holes through me. They make fire burn hotter in my core and steal the words right out of my mouth. As he lounges back in the chair, his long limbs extending toward me, I have the urge to crawl to him. To curl up on his lap and purr against his chest, just to feel the power that lies within.

  Blinking, I look down again. “My grandmother was supposed to pick me up. There was no one else. I had no cell phone reception. All the taxis were gone. I had no choice.”

  When the Prince doesn’t answer, I look up. His lips are pinched, but it doesn’t take away from their fullness. They’d feel good to kiss. I just know they would. A shadow of hair covers the bottom half of his face, as if he’s the kind of man who never quite looks clean-shaven. Stubble grows within an hour of a razor touching his skin.

  The Prince parts his lips. “Mrs. Reed is your grandmother.”

  It doesn’t sound like a question, but I nod anyway. His eyes are still on me, tracing the lines of my face and dropping down to my body again. He watches me take a sip of tea, catching every movement I make. I hate the way he stares, but I don’t want him to stop. He scares me, like a deep, primal trill in my brain telling me to run away.

  “Are you here to replace her?” he asks, his words slow. He blinks slowly, then arches a brow. As if the idea of me being here is laughable.

  I frown. “No. Why would I be replacing her? Where is she?”

  Suddenly, her absence sends panic shooting down my spine. I glance around the lodge, seeing only the Prince, the doctor, and a huge, bearded beast of a man standing by the door.

  No Grandma. No smell of cinnamon and cherries.

  No safety.

  Three strange men. And me, mostly naked. Weak. Exposed. I suck in a breath, gripping the mug to stop my hands from trembling.

  “You haven’t heard?” For the first time, the Prince’s voice holds a hint of surprise. I meet his eye, seeing a twitch in his eyebrow. His eyes flash, golden-brown gemstones looking predatory and warm all at once.

  “Heard what?” I reply. “Your Highness,” I add as an afterthought. Am I supposed to curtsy? I’m not wearing any clothes.

  He tilts his head, interest sparking across his face. “Your grandmother had a slip on the ice. She’s been transferred to the hospital in Stirling.”

  “What? When? I spoke to her this morning.” I sit up, the blanket slipping. I catch it, but not before the Prince’s eyes flick down. I blush, warmth creeping up my neck as I claw the blanket back up my chest. I want clothing. I need dignity. Some scrap of power in this deeply unbalanced situation.

  The Prince glances at the clock on the wall. “About six hours ago.”

  “I was on the train. Flew into Stirling then took a train right away. I didn’t check my phone because reception was spotty and I was working…”

  “You’re here to visit her, then? Where are your papers? I wasn’t able to find any security clearances or authorizations in your things.”

  “You went through my things?” Heat spears my chest. My cheeks flush.

  The Prince looks amused. “Among other things.” His eyes drift down the blankets covering my body, and my blush deepens.

  He didn’t. He’s not… Did the Prince of Nord undress me?

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to stop my heart from racing right out of my chest. No. No, no, no. No way. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t reality. It’s a dream. A nightmare. I’m dead. This is what death feels like. I pinch the inside of my arm, trying to wake myself up. I fell asleep on the train, and this is all some sort of hallucination.

  I did not walk to the Summer Palace, get so cold I became severely hypothermic, and then have to be undressed by the Prince of freaking Nord. No way. Nun-uh. And Grandma isn’t in the hospital, and I’m not here all on my own. This isn’t happening.

  My eyes snap open again, and I do my best to square my shoulders. “I’m here to work, Your Highness. I was engaged by the royal family to redesign the Summer Palace. This is my first site visit, where I intend to take photos of important features that will be retained, and go through the palace archives for original building drawings and survey information. I need them to finalize my design before approval by the Crown. Construction starts next summer.”

  By some miracle, my voice doesn’t tremble. My heart, on the other hand, is thumping so hard I think my ribs might crack.

  The Prince arches a brow. I hate that I amuse him. I hate that he looks at me like I’m some little plaything sent for his entertainment. I hate that I’m not wearing any clothes and that my body still feels cold, despite the warmth of the fire and the heat in my core.

  My hands tremble, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “Is my grandmother okay?”

  He dips his chin, and relief washes over me. “She’ll be fine. She broke her hip, but she’s stable. No need for surgery, but she’ll have a long recovery, considering her age. They tell me she probably won’t be back to the palace until spring.”

  I let out a long breath. “Okay. Can I talk to her?”

  “The cell tower is down. We have no reception, and the short-wave radio doesn’t reach that far south. There’s a satellite phone at the palace, but I doubt the hospital will let you speak to her until visiting hours tomorrow.” The Prince unfolds his long body to stand up. He towers over me, his golden eyes still glued to my face. “Once you’re recovered, you’ll report to me at the palace. The staff will bring some adequate clothing for you to wear.” He takes a step, then pauses beside the sofa. Leaning down, a cruel smirk crosses over his lips. “You’re not in Farcliff anymore, princess. Welcome to Nord.”

  I inhale sharply and taste his scent. Woodsy. Strong. Like whiskey and fire. It makes my head spin, and I can’t manage to make my tongue work well enough to answer.

  Instead, I just dip my chin and listen to his footsteps as he walks out. The door opens, sending a cold jet of air blasting through the lodge. When I glance over my shoulder, both he and the huge man by the door are gone.

  The doctor gives me a tight smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s just… Well, never mind. He’s a complicated man and October is always difficult. Not used to being this far north when the weather is this bad.”

  I sip my tea in silence for a while as the doctor takes my vitals. Glancing at the older man, I tilt my head. “Do you like it here?”

  The doctor nods, shifting his gaze to my IV bag. “There’s a certain kind of magic in the isolation up here. I don’t mind it. Your grandmother likes it.”

  My throat feels tight as the reality of my situa
tion closes in on me. “Will she be okay?”

  “She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” Doctor Williams replies, shifting his kind eyes to mine. “She was lucky to get out when she did, so we should all be grateful for small mercies. This is going to be a big storm. We’ll be shut in for at least a week. Maybe longer.”

  “A week?” My eyes widen.

  “It’s safer that way. Even here, at the security lodge, we can get cut off from the main castle in whiteout conditions.” He glances out the window. “As soon as you’re strong enough to move, we’ll have to head back. Soon would be preferable. Your IV fluids should be done in ten minutes, then we’ll head back.”

  I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this job. Grandma warned me about the cold. She warned me that people get cabin fever if they don’t adapt to the loneliness and isolation. Told me to plan for a short visit, so the harshness of the arctic wouldn’t have time to get to me.

  But nothing could have prepared me for this.

  Wrapping the blankets around my body, and ignoring the doctor’s protests, I wheel my IV pole to the window and glance out. Even through thick, double-glazed panes, the cold bites through the glass. I watch wind whip little tornadoes of snow and frost over the desolate landscape, as if every ice crystal is dancing in some complicated choreography.

  The palace sits between two huge mountain ridges, their tops obscured by the clouds. This looks like another planet. I took a train to Nord and landed on Mars.

  I think of Gerry, and the way he’d throw a blanket over my legs when I spent hours reading on the sofa. Was that really so bad? Did I really feel stifled, or was I just a spoiled little girl who thought she wanted to have it all?

  The black castle looms in the distance, its windows yawning yellow with light. I shiver, but not from the cold. The windows are the same color as the Prince’s eyes. Pale amber, like his namesake.

  Wolfe.

  I wonder if he’s a predator, too. If he sees me as prey. If my time at the castle will be one long hunt, and this was all just a terrible, terrible mistake.