37 Her Highness and the Bodyguard

by Christine Rimmer

Gently, she suggested, “Marcus. Whatever it is, I suggest you simply tell me.”

  So he did. “Ma’am, Her Highness Rhiannon is going to have my child.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Marcus remained at attention, staring straight ahead as HSH Adrienne put her hands to her mouth and then rose and walked away toward her desk again, out of his line of sight. He didn’t turn to her. How could he? He doubted he would ever dare to face her again.

  She asked from way over there behind him, in a low, controlled tone, “Is that all, then?”

  It wasn’t. He knew he had to say the rest. And somehow, he did. He spoke to the landscape painting above the sofa. “I want only to claim my own child. But after she told me there would be a child and I proposed marriage, Her Highness Rhiannon then refused me. She insists she will have the child on her own.”

  “My daughter told you she would deny you paternity?”

  He hastened to explain. “No. No, of course she would never do that. She freely admits I’m the father. She simply won’t marry me.”

  “I see,” said the carefully controlled voice behind him.

  He dared to continue. “I realize that I am in no way worthy of her. And I will willingly bow to any punishment Your Sovereign Highness sees fit to inflict upon me. All I ask is that somehow you find it your heart to allow me to do the right thing by the child and marry your daughter.” He paused, but the princess said nothing. So he confessed, “You...know of my history.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said quietly.

  “Then please, ma’am, do not allow the same thing to happen to this innocent child. Help me to convince your daughter that she must marry me and allow me to be a true father to our child.”

  There was another terrible, interminable silence. Then at last, he heard her quiet footsteps again. She reappeared in his side vision, returned to the sofa and sat. “You have come to me, then, without my daughter’s knowledge.”

  He wanted to hang his head, but years of military training did not permit that. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Did she almost smile? Surely not. “Marcus. Sit down.”

  He sat.

  “Do you love my daughter?”

  His sense of complete unreality, so overwhelming since he had entered this room, increased. Love. What an impossible conversation. He sat opposite his monarch whom he revered above all and she was asking him about love. What did he know of such things? “I am only a soldier, ma’am. I only want to do what’s right.”

  She seemed to consider. But consider what? The things he had just said? Her next words? He had no idea. “I understand that for you the legitimacy of your child is of paramount importance.”

  “It is everything,” he said too abruptly. And then remembered to add, “Ma’am.” And then he couldn’t shut up. “He must know, that I claim him. He must know that I am proud to...own him.”

  Her Highness swallowed and glanced away before drawing herself up and facing him again. “But for Rhiannon, the situation is not the same. You must see that. From her point of view, the child will not suffer merely because she hasn’t married you.”

  “Not true. He will suffer. He—”

  She put up a hand. “Please.”

  He subsided, shocked at himself that he had presumed to interrupt her. “Ahem. Forgive me, ma’am. Go on.”

  “I only meant that in this day and age, to be born to unmarried parents is not the terrible hindrance and shame it once was.”

  “That may be so, but—”

  “Hear me out. I know that it was a very difficult life for you, as a child, without either parent to care for you. But this child will have two parents. Rhiannon has the means and the heart to raise a child as a single mother and I can see that you intend to be a part of the baby’s life. And in this case, there is no throne at stake, no succession to secure, no reason the child must be born legitimate.”

  He couldn’t let that stand. “Of course there’s a reason. The child himself is the reason. Having a family can make all the difference for a little one. It can protect him from the cruelties of the world until he is old enough to face them on his own.”

  “I do sympathize,” she said. “And I’m sorry, Marcus. But in this situation, coercion is not a tool I’m willing to employ.”

  His heart sank to his boots. “You won’t help me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Hope rose anew. “You will at least talk with her, then?”

  “I doubt that my going to her on your behalf will help you. I know my daughter. She won’t think kindly of you when she finds out that you’ve come to me without her knowledge. Are you certain you’ve done all in your power to convince her that you love her and truly want to marry her?”

  “I told her that I love her.” He was careful not to add that she had instantly threatened to slap his face for it. “I...pleaded with her. I reasoned with her. I—” He almost said I kissed her, but decided that now was not the moment for speaking of kisses. “I tried everything. Nothing helped. She is adamant that she will not marry me.”

  One raven-black eyebrow arched. “You’re certain she won’t change her mind, given time and the proper incentive?”

  “What incentive? I’ve done all I could to convince her.”

  “Ah. But sometimes one must simply try again.”

  “It won’t help. She’s made up her mind against me. Ma’am, will you speak with her? Will you try to make her see that our marriage is the right—the only—choice?”

  The princess shook her head. “You are so very determined, Marcus. I thought I just explained to you that, for you and Rhiannon, marriage is not the only choice.”

  It was at that moment that he realized Her Sovereign Highness had not spoken of punishment, of what she would do to him for having seduced a daughter of the princely blood. But then again, perhaps she was punishing him—by not helping him make Rhiannon marry him. To be denied the right to be a father to his child was just about the worst punishment he could imagine.

  And it was the child who would suffer the most.

  No. He simply could not give up. He had to enlist her aid with this. “Will you speak with Her Highness Rhiannon about this, please, ma’am? It’s all that I ask.”

  “Marcus,” she chided, unfailingly gentle. “Have you heard a word that I’ve said?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Every word, ma’am.”

  “Then you know that I don’t believe my getting involved will work in your favor.”

  He drew in a long breath. “Please, ma’am.”

  The princess stood. Marcus followed suit automatically. “I must speak with her father,” she said. “When the prince consort and I have talked this over, I will be in touch with you.”

  He dared to meet those knowing dark eyes. And he saw that she had said all she would say for now. The interview was concluded. It would gain him nothing to keep on. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  With a final salute, he turned and left her.

  Chapter Eight

  That evening Rhia dined by herself on the terrace. After the meal had been cleared away, she lingered at the little iron table and stared out over the harbor and tried to ignore the nagging worry about what Marcus might do next.

  If he did anything at all.

  It had been more than a week—eleven days, to be precise—since she’d told him about the baby. In that time, she’d heard nothing from him.

  She was starting to believe that he had simply given up, that he’d decided to accept her refusal to marry him. Should she have been content with that?

  Probably. But she wasn’t. The thought that he might simply let it go left her feeling sad and desperate and very much alone.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Yes, Yvonne?” Rhia turned in her chair to smile at her housekeeper and saw that her mother was there.

  Yvonne said, “Her Sovereign Highness, ma’am.”

  “Mother.” Rhia rose and went to her.

  “My darling.” Her mother held out
her arms.

  Rhia went into them, glad for the hug, comforted by the subtle, familiar scent of her mother’s perfume. “This is a surprise.” She offered a drink.

  Her mother shook her head. “No. I simply...well, I was hoping we might talk.” She was strangely hesitant. And was that an anxious look Rhia saw in her eyes?

  Something was going on. Rhia nodded at Yvonne, who left them, closing the doors to the outer hall behind her.

  They sat together on the sofa. Her mother carried a lovely Fendi bag, which she set on the coffee table in front of her.

  By then, alarm bells were jangling through Rhia. “What’s happened?” She touched her mother’s hand.

  Adrienne clasped her fingers. “Marcus Desmarais came to see me today.”

  Rhia gasped and jerked her hand away. “He never.”

  Her mother nodded. “He did.”

  Rhia got up, went to the open doors to the terrace and stared out, hardly seeing the splendid view.

  Adrienne said, “He told me you were having his child.”

  “Oh, Good Lord in heaven....”

  “He is adamant that he wishes to marry you.”

  Rhia wanted to grab something breakable and throw it. And she also really, really wanted to throw up. But she wouldn’t do either. She refused to. She swallowed hard, sucked in a long breath and drew her shoulders back. “Well, that’s not going to happen. Which I made crystal clear to him the day I told him about the baby.”

  Her mother spoke tenderly. “Rhia. Look at me.”

  She made herself turn and face her mother’s waiting eyes. She saw such love there. And wisdom. And true understanding. Rhia’s throat clutched and tears filmed her eyes. She resolutely blinked those tears away. “I’m guessing you’ve already discussed me with Father.”

  “Yes. We love you. We respect you. We support your choices.”

  “It can never work with Marcus and me.”

  Her mother lifted both hands and then lowered them again and folded them in her lap. “I do understand that you...come from different worlds.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “You sound like him. I don’t care about any of that. It’s not what I meant.”

  Adrienne tipped her dark head to the side. Rhia recognized the movement. Her mother was thinking, putting things together the way she so skillfully could. Sometimes Rhia wondered if her mother could read minds. Adrienne said, “I seem to recall that years ago, there was someone. Someone very special. You never said his name. It happened when you were at UCLA, didn’t it? And wasn’t Marcus there, too, during your freshman year?”

  Was her mother saying that she knew, about the affair so long ago? Or was she merely trying to add one and one and come up with two, dangling the hook to see if Rhia would bite?

  It didn’t matter. It was long over. Done. “I don’t want to speak of the past. I truly do not.”

  “My darling, I only want to point out that you’ve been engaged twice since then and couldn’t make yourself go through with the wedding either time.”

  “Oh, please. Do we have to do this?”

  “He’s a fine man. I don’t think he has any idea how much he’s accomplished from such difficult beginnings, or of how far he could go.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You should tell that to him.”

  “I’m only saying, why refuse him out of hand? You aren’t required to say yes or no right away. You could...make an effort with him, give the two of you a chance to find out if there might be a future for you together, after all.”

  A headache had begun to pound at her temples. And her stomach still threatened to rebel. “Please don’t make me explain it all to you. I can’t bear it right now.”

  “All right.” Her mother was silent. She gazed steadily at Rhia, her expression thoughtful. And then she said, “You know that I love you. And so does your father.”

  “I do know. And I am grateful every day for all you have given me.”

  “I know you must be livid with Marcus about now, for coming to me about this.”

  “Livid doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  “But you could look at it another way.”

  “Oh, really? What way is that?”

  “Think of his courage. His ingrained sense of honor and his absolute desire to do the right thing by you and by the child. Think of what it must have cost him to come to me, his sovereign to whom he’s looked up from early childhood, to admit to my face that he had stepped so very far beyond the boundaries of his position, that he had become...intimate with you, my own beloved daughter, when his sworn duty was to see to your safety and well-being. Rhia, I’m certain he expected me to order his arrest.”

  Rhia sighed. “Yes. Well. I imagine he did expect that.”

  “And yet he came to me, anyway.”

  “He’s like that.”

  “You would search long and hard to find another man so worthy. I think you have searched. And we both know what you’ve found.”

  “Mother. I just don’t think there’s any way it can work with Marcus and me.”

  Adrienne picked up her handbag and stood. “But you will give it some thought?”

  “Honestly? Right now, it’s all I think about.”

  “Good, then. Neither your father nor I can ask for more.”

  * * *

  As soon as her mother was out the door, Rhia ran to the bathroom and lost most of her dinner. Once that unpleasantness was finished, she brushed her teeth and threw on a robe and asked Yvonne for hot tea and crackers. The housekeeper brought the bland snack to her bedroom and Rhia thanked her and told her she was free to retire for the night.

  The bedroom had its own section of terrace overlooking the harbor. She opened the French doors to let in the sea breeze. She’d just taken a chair and picked up a cracker when the phone rang.

  A glance at the display told her it was Marcus, which did not surprise her at all. Her stomach feeling a bit fluttery, but in a whole different way than earlier, she set the cracker down and answered. “Have you called to make your confession, Captain Desmarais?”

  He knew right away what she meant. “You’ve spoken with Her Sovereign Highness, then?”

  She tried to drum up a little of the outrage she’d felt before her mother started pointing out all of his sterling qualities. “You went behind my back.”

  “I’m sorry. I felt I had no choice. And now I find...” His fine, deep voice trailed off. He tried again. “I feel very guilty.”

  “And well you should.”

  “Rhia. I know it was wrong, but I had to do what I could to try and get you to reconsider.”

  “You just called me Rhia again.” She felt absurdly gratified.

  “Yes.” Was that a hint of actual humor she heard in his voice? “Now that we’re having a baby, it seems somewhat ridiculous not to use your name.”

  “It’s always seemed ridiculous to me.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he answered wryly. And then, with some urgency, “When can I see you again? When can we talk?”

  She should make him wait, after what he’d done. But she couldn’t. He was her greatest weakness and he always had been. “Now? Tonight?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  Marcus had raised his hand to ring the bell when the door opened.

  She stood before him looking beautiful and exhausted in a blue satin robe. Her gaze tracked over his casual trousers and knit shirt. “It’s nice to see you out of uniform.”

  Anxiety for her well-being had him demanding gruffly, “Are you ill? Is the baby—?”

  She waved a hand and commanded softly, “Come in.” Stepping back, she gestured him forward.

  He entered the stone-floored foyer and she shut the door behind him. “Rhia, are you all right?”

  “I’m well. Stop worrying.” She retied the sash of the robe and turned to lead him into living room.

  He dared to reach out and pull her back. Beneath the smooth satin, her flesh was soft. War
m. And so well remembered. “You look worn out.”

  She glanced down at his fingers gripping her arm and then back up at him. He probably should have released her. But he didn’t. “Marcus,” she said finally. “I’m pregnant. I have morning sickness. Except, well, the morning part? For me, it’s more like morning, noon and night.”

  He didn’t like the sound of this. “That can’t be normal. Can it?”

  She turned into him then and put her hand on his chest, as though to ease his racing heart. It didn’t help. His heart only raced faster. “All the tension makes it worse,” she said. “But yes, it’s normal. I’ve been to see my doctor and he says I’m fine.” Her soft lips were tipped up to him.

  He wanted to claim them. It was harder than ever to resist her now that everything had changed, now she carried his child and he knew that he would do whatever he had to do to make her his. “You have to take care of yourself.” His voice was rough with desire even to his own ears.

  All those years of turning away from her, of denying the power she held over him, of waking from dreams of her and telling himself that dreams meant nothing. Those years were catching up with him now.

  The fortress of denial was crumbling, leaving him openly yearning. Leaving him starved for the feel of her flesh pressed to his.

  A dimple had tucked itself in at the corner of her beautiful soft mouth. “Marcus.”

  “What?” He growled the word.

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “What the hell.” He took her mouth, hard. At first. She made a small, surrendering sound and tenderness rolled through him in a wave. He gentled the kiss. Jasmine and vanilla and the only woman who ever mattered filled his senses.

  It lasted only a moment and then she was pushing him away. He let her go reluctantly, the taste and the scent of her making his head swim and his body burn.

  She chided, “We do need to settle a few things, don’t you think?”

  He drew in a careful, steadying breath. “Absolutely.”

  She straightened her robe again. “Come into the living room. Please.”

  The night was balmy. They ended up on the terrace, staring out at the crescent of moon that dangled above the hills across the harbor.