Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9)

by Barbara Mccauley

  “Ah.” She arched a brow. “So you were in the jungle, then?”

  He shrugged. “Jungle, ocean, villa. Las Vegas wedding chapel.” He smiled at the curious lift of her brow. “What difference does it make? I’m home now, that’s all that matters. My family and serving my country are all that are important to me now.”

  Emily glanced away, but not before he saw the tears suddenly form in her eyes. He tucked a finger under her chin, then turned her face back toward him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It must be hard for you, not knowing if your own family is out there somewhere, looking for you, wondering if you’re all right.”

  “I—” She paused, swallowed hard. “I couldn’t bear it if I thought any harm had come to someone I loved.”

  A tear dropped on his hand. He stared at that single drop of moisture, then frowned at the unexpected hitch in his chest. A woman’s tears had never affected him so. Had never inspired him to comfort or soothe.

  Pulling his hand away from her, he stood quickly, then forced himself to slip into the stance he reserved for formal public occasions. “You should rest now. Nurse Mavis will have me drawn and quartered if I overtax her patient. If you need anything at all, dial zero and you’ll be connected with the proper department.”

  “Thank you.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You’ve been more than kind.”

  He turned, was nearly to the door when she called his name. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “What if I need you?” she asked softly.

  Dylan felt his blood heat, then surge through his veins. Too stunned to speak for a moment, he simply stared at her.

  Blushing, she said quickly, “I mean, if I need to speak with you?”

  “Star twenty-four will page me.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Star twenty-five will put you through to the private phone in my suite.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer, just left, nearly closed the doors on his own heels in his hurry to get out before he did or said something he knew he’d regret.

  “This chartreuse linen was absolutely made for you, Emily. With your hair and your coloring, you’ll be nothing short of fantastic. Oh, let’s try it on.”

  Emily bit the inside of her mouth, swearing if she heard those four little words—let’s try it on—one more time, she might scream. Devonna Demetrius, a short-haired platinum blonde who was the most recent addition to the staff of palace couturieres, had shown up at Emily’s bedside two hours ago, followed by a large, rolling rack of clothes that ranged from sportswear to evening gowns. There were trays underneath overflowing with lingerie and mountains of boxes filled with shoes.

  Yesterday, a simple phone call from Dylan had set Operation Wardrobe in motion. Devonna, assistant to Princess Megan’s couturiere, had spent most of the previous day in Emily’s room with a measuring tape in one hand and a color chart in the other. The couturiere had been given free rein with Prince Dylan’s charge, and though Emily had insisted that a few simple items were all she needed, Devonna would hear nothing of it.

  If Prince Dylan ordered a new wardrobe for Emily, then Emily—whether she wanted one or not—would have a new wardrobe.

  Devonna practically quivered with pleasure over the carte blanche she’d been given. Emily couldn’t help but think that the assistant couturiere was like a wiry terrier who’d been given a meaty bone—Emily herself being the meaty bone.

  Dylan had left strict instructions with the staff that his guest was to be taken care of. Emily might have felt as if a hockey team had used her for a puck, but she wasn’t crippled, for heaven’s sake. She was feeling much better today. She didn’t need Sally to draw a bath for her, or warm the towels or wash and blowdry her hair. She didn’t need Nurse Mavis sternly standing watch all day, taking her pulse and blood pressure and asking her how she felt.

  And she certainly didn’t need an entire wardrobe, either, she thought, glancing at all the beautiful clothes. She couldn’t keep any of these things. When this was over, she would dress in her own clothes, which had already been cleaned and mended and now hung in the closet, and she would leave.

  But Devonna’s determination and enthusiasm had worn Emily down. That, and the fact that it was late in the day and she simply hadn’t the strength or energy to argue with the woman any longer.

  “Miss Demetrius—”

  “Dee Dee.” Devonna carefully slipped the jacket up Emily’s arms and onto her shoulders, rushed around to examine her creation, then pushed her oversized black-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Omigod, it’s perfect. Will you just look at yourself? Wait, wait, let me get the heels.”

  “Dee Dee, I don’t need a linen jacket and skirt.” Still, while the zealous woman dug through a pile of shoe boxes, Emily glanced at the trio of full-length mirrors in the corner of the large dressing room attached to the bathroom.

  It was perfect, Emily thought with a sigh. Everything Dee Dee had brought had been wonderful—a variety of conservative and youthful, fun and sophisticated. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled with such an abundance of beautiful, expensive clothes?

  Dee Dee yanked a pair of white walking shoes from a box, frowned, then tossed them aside. “Darn,” she muttered to herself as she pushed her glasses up her nose again. “I know they’re here somewhere.”

  While Dee Dee continued to mutter to herself and dig through more boxes, Emily sank down on a softly cushioned tapestry-covered armchair. Elegance and luxury surrounded her, from the plush, deep-blue carpet under her bare feet, to the white marble counter and gold-framed mirrors.

  She didn’t deserve this kindness and generosity, Emily thought miserably. She hated this attention, hated being fussed over. She looked at her reflection in the mirrors, barely recognized the bruised face that stared back at her in triplicate.

  Liar.

  The word pounded inside her head like a hammer, and she closed her eyes against the pain. Liar. Cheat. Fraud. She was all that and worse.

  Two days ago, when she’d still been at the infirmary and Dylan had come in to check on her in the examination room, it had taken every last ounce of willpower she possessed to hold herself together, to remain strong. Yesterday, when he’d joined her for breakfast, and again this morning, he’d been so attentive, so concerned, she’d nearly crumbled completely.

  Her hatred for the people, the animals, who’d forced her to do this despicable thing grew with every breath she took. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, so utterly powerless.

  Six days ago, she’d been at home in West County, busy grading papers for her first-grade class, waiting for her grandmother to come home from afternoon tea in the village. Then the phone had rung and Emily had picked up the call, changing her life forever.

  “If you do exactly what we say,” a man had whispered at the other end of the line, “no harm will come to your grandmother.”

  Fear, like ice-cold fingers, slid up Emily’s spine. Her hand had tightened on the receiver. A joke, this had to be a bad joke. “Who is this?” she’d demanded.

  “You don’t need to know that.” His voice was deep, threatening. “You only need to do what you’re told.”

  “Where is my grandmother?” Emily insisted. “Tell me this instant or I’ll call the police and—”

  “You’ll call no one,” he had said with deadly calm. “You’ll tell no one. If you do, your grandmother will meet with a fatal accident.”

  Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. What would anyone want with her, or her grandmother?

  “There has to be a mistake,” she said weakly. “You must have the wrong person.”

  “You are Emily Bridgewater. Your grandmother is Olivia Bridgewater. We need you to do something for us, Emily. We’ll take good care of your grandmother until you do.”

  We? Who could these people be? And what could they possibly need her for?

  “I am going to put your grandmother on the phone now,” the man said. “You will pretend that everything is fi
ne, and that you’ll be joining her as soon as you can.”

  “I don’t understand, please just—”

  “Ah, Olivia, there you are, my dear.” The man’s voice suddenly became loud and extremely friendly. “I have Emily on the phone now. She’d like to say hello to you.”

  “Emily, what a darling you are to surprise me with such a wonderful gift,” her grandmother said brightly. “The resort is so luxurious and everyone is so kind. Especially Frederick, why he’s barely left my side, the dear man.”

  “Grandmother—” Emily fought back the panic “—are you all right?”

  “Well, of course I am, dear. How could I not be fine, in such a wonderful place? I—”

  The line went dead.

  Her knees too weak to hold her, Emily sank to the floor. The walls of the small house she shared with her grandmother began to spin around her. When the phone rang again, her hand shook so badly she’d nearly dropped the receiver. A different man at the other end told her what she needed to do, then arranged a meeting.

  After she’d hung up the phone, Emily had run to the bathroom and thrown up.

  Olivia Bridgewater was the only family Emily had left. She’d only been seventeen when her father had been killed in a mining accident, then she’d lost her mother three years later to cancer. Her grandmother, at seventy-three, was as spry and healthy as ever, but her sense of time and place was often confused.

  Emily loved her grandmother more than life itself. If any harm came to her, Emily wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  She had no choice but to do what these thugs told her to do, but when her grandmother was safely returned, she swore she’d do everything in her power to have the men caught and punished.

  “Here they are!”

  Startled out of her thoughts by the couturiere’s excited declaration, Emily felt her heart slam against her ribs. She grabbed on to the sides of the chair, forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.

  “These will be per—” High-heels in hand, Dee Dee was turning when she caught sight of Emily. The shoes fell to the floor. “Oh, God. You’re pale as a ghost. I’ll go ring for your nurse.”

  “No.” Emily took hold of Dee Dee’s arm before she could leave. “I’m fine. Really. I’m just a little tired.”

  “I’ve done too much, haven’t I?” Frowning, Dee Dee rushed to Emily’s side. “I’m so sorry. Here, let’s get this off and get you back in bed.”

  Emily stood, dropped her arms to her sides as Dee Dee slid the jacket off her shoulders, then the skirt down her legs. Wearing nothing but a lace-edged, white silk slip with built-in bra, Emily stood in the middle of the dressing room while the couturiere tore through the lingerie trays, looking for a fresh pair of pajamas.

  A knock from the outer room had them both turning. Dee Dee shoved her glasses up her nose, then gently took Emily by the shoulders and eased her back down into the chair. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  As soon as the woman rounded the corner, Emily stood and took a step toward the rack of clothes. When the dizziness overtook her, she sat down on the carpet, pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes.

  “Emily, you’ve got—oh!”

  Emily heard the distress in Dee Dee’s voice, tried to tell the couturiere that she’d simply stood up too quickly, but she couldn’t quite get the words out.

  In the next second, a pair of strong arms came around her and lifted her off the floor. His mouth set in a thin line, Dylan held her close.

  “Go find Mavis.”

  Four

  “Dylan, please, put me down. I’m fine.”

  “Unless you were practicing a yoga position down there,” Dylan said tightly, “I’d say you aren’t fine at all.”

  It surprised him that he wasn’t feeling so fine himself, that his nerves were a little shaky at the sight of Emily sitting on the floor in her slip, her legs twisted underneath her. Under normal circumstances, Dylan never would have barged into a lady’s dressing room, but when he’d heard the couturiere’s gasp of surprise, he hadn’t thought about what was proper.

  “I got up too quickly and had a little head rush, so I sat down.” Emily laid a hand on his chest. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me.”

  To look at her, Dylan would have to agree. The silk slip she wore didn’t cover much, and in spite of the situation, he indulged himself and let his gaze roam over her. Her feet were small, her toenails painted baby pink. His eyes slid up her long, smooth legs; noticed the scrapes on her knee were starting to heal. Unable to stop himself, he followed the seam between her firm thighs upward to where soft, creamy skin met lace.

  His throat went instantly dry; heat surged through his veins. And when he glanced up at her breasts, cupped in soft white lace and pressing firmly against his chest, all the blood from the upper part of his body shot to his groin.

  The scent of lavender drifted from her warm skin. Her face, only inches from his, flushed with color. He couldn’t have moved if his life had depended on it, so he stood there, her soft body in his arms. Her hand lay lightly on his chest, and he was certain she felt the swift beating of his heart under her palm.

  When her eyes, those smoke-filled green eyes, lifted to his, he went instantly hard.

  “I’m taking you to bed,” Dylan murmured. He watched her eyes widen at his words, heard the soft catch of her breath. He turned and walked to her bed, set her down on the soft mattress, then startled them both by brushing his lips against hers. “The next time I tell you I’m taking you to bed, Emily, it will mean something entirely different.”

  “Dylan, I—”

  “What’s happened?” Nurse Mavis stormed into the room with Dee Dee in tow. “Stand back, let me have a look at her.”

  Dylan stepped away, watched the expression in Emily’s eyes shift from aroused to anxious. “I’m fine, really. You needn’t—”

  “Miss Demetrius!” Mavis frowned darkly at the couturiere. “Get Miss Emily a robe immediately.”

  Dee Dee rushed to the dressing room while Mavis checked Emily for any signs of injury or shock. When Sally burst into the room, the bedroom turned into a frenetic beehive of activity. Even while Emily kept insisting that she was all right, the women buzzed around her, tucking her under the covers, fanning her, filling a glass of water.

  He should have left the women to their ministrations; he certainly had no business standing around a woman’s boudoir while the staff attended to her. She wasn’t his wife, wasn’t even his lover.

  Yet.

  Decisions had always been easy for Dylan. From the time he was young, he’d had the ability to assess a person or a situation quickly and thoroughly, then determine a course of action. He’d fine-tuned that ability over these past two years. His assignments with Graystroke had forced him to make split-second life-or-death decisions. He’d had to learn to think fast and listen to his gut. Every decision hadn’t always been the right one, there were risks in life. He accepted that, and his mistakes, then moved on.

  Emily might very likely be one of those risks, one of those mistakes. Nevertheless, he’d made his decision. He wanted her.

  And he intended to have her.

  Clearly, she was attracted to him as well, though she hadn’t flirted or blatantly come on to him the way most women did when they were interested. If anything, she’d done her best to hide her interest, which might have made him think she was being coy. But he’d felt her tremble in his arms, had seen the look in her eyes and recognized it: desire.

  He hadn’t figured the woman out yet, which should have been all the more reason to keep his distance. He knew there was something under the surface with Emily, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t so much that he thought she was lying, as that he felt she was avoiding the truth. It made him wary, but it certainly didn’t discourage him. If anything, he thought, it only intrigued him all the more. The uncertainty, the challenge, aroused more than his interest.

  “Please.” Pressing her hands to
her temple, Emily sat abruptly. “Please. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Still, the women persisted. Miss Demetrius was unfolding a fresh pair of white silk pajamas, Sally was attempting to clip Emily’s thick hair up on her head and Mavis was taking her pulse.

  Emily glanced at Dylan, her gaze pleading. He was about to step forward and pull rank, when another voice, a familiar feminine one, stopped him.

  “What in the world is going on in here?”

  All heads turned, then everyone froze.

  Confused by the sudden shift in the room’s climate, Emily peeked from around Mavis’s large frame. When she saw who had entered, Emily forgot to breathe.

  Queen Marissa stood in the doorway. The woman was as stunningly beautiful in person as she was on television and in all the photographs Emily had ever seen of her. Her eyes were a striking blue, much like Dylan’s, and though she was in her early fifties, she looked younger and carried her tall, slim figure with elegance and sophistication. She wore a jacket and skirt of royal blue, and her dark, straight hair had been swept up on top of her head.

  Dylan nodded to his mother as she entered the room. The women—including Mavis—quickly curtsied.

  Emily clasped a hand to her throat. She still hadn’t recovered from Dylan pressing his lips to hers and now the queen—Queen Marissa—was right here in her bedroom! She had no idea what to do, what was appropriate or not. She started to slip out of bed to curtsy, as well, but the queen raised a hand.

  “Stay where you are, my dear.” Marissa glanced at the other women. “Leave us now, please.”

  The room was cleared in three seconds, with only Dylan, Queen Marissa and herself left.

  Emily felt the prickle of perspiration under her arms. She’d never considered coming face-to-face with the queen, and the enormity of the situation left her speechless.

  “Mother, may I introduce Emily to you?” Dylan stepped forward. His voice was formal and stiff. “Emily, my mother. Queen Marissa Penwyck.”

  “I—” Panic filled Emily. She dropped her gaze and nodded. “An honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”