Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9)

by Barbara Mccauley

  “Good news for everyone, I’m sure.” When his gaze strayed to her mouth, Emily felt her pulse leap.

  “Very good news.”

  With him standing so close, she could barely breathe, let alone think coherently. She might have taken a step back, but would have ended up touching the bed. Not a good place to be with Dylan looking at her as if he wanted nothing more than to muss up the neatly made covers and drag her between the sheets.

  When he reached out and cupped her jaw in his hand, then studied her face, she sucked in a breath.

  “Does it still hurt?” His thumb moved upward and swept lightly over the bruise under her eye.

  “No.” She managed to find her voice, but kept her head still and slowly released the breath she’d been holding. Every nerve in her body had gone on alert, waiting, anticipating…

  “The swelling’s gone down completely,” he observed. “The bruise isn’t nearly as dark.”

  “Ice.”

  His gaze lifted from her cheek to her eyes. “Ice?”

  “About thirty pounds, I believe. I’m surprised I haven’t frostbite on my face.”

  He smiled, then slowly shook his head. “Your skin is warm, Emily. And soft.”

  So were her insides, she thought. His closeness, his touch, the deep timbre of his voice and the intensity of his gaze were making her bones melt. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

  It seemed as if the deep blue of his eyes turned darker still. His thumb traced the line of her jaw. “Shall we?” he murmured.

  Her heart skipped a beat, then began to race. Isn’t this why she’d come here? To be close to Dylan, to gain his confidence by whatever means necessary?

  Shall we?

  A simple request, not a command. His voice, his touch, seduced her. Made her want, when she had no right to want. Made her tremble with need when she required desperately to keep her composure.

  Is this why he’d sent Sally off, why’d he’d wanted them to be alone?

  “I—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Here?”

  He lifted his head, stared at her with a mixture of amusement and desire. “Well, normally we begin the palace tours in the reception hall and ballroom, but if you’d like to start here…”

  His gaze drifted to her bed.

  He was talking about a tour! Emily realized, not asking her to go to bed with him. In spite of her relief, her cheeks flamed in embarrassment.

  “You—” She cleared her throat. “You’re taking me on a tour of the palace?”

  “That’s what I had intended.” He lowered his voice. “But if there’s something else you’d rather do.”

  “No!” she said much too quickly, then caught her self. “I mean, I’d love to have you do it.”

  He lifted his brow.

  “Be my guide,” she added, felt her embarrassment sweep down her face and neck in a burning wave. “But you’re so busy, how can you have time for such trivial things? You have meetings and appointments and—and prince things to do.”

  “There are no meetings scheduled until my brother returns from Drogheda, I have no appointments until late this afternoon, and I’ve already done my morning prince things.”

  He was teasing her, she knew, but still, she couldn’t believe he was actually offering to be her guide.

  “If you aren’t up to a tour—” He tucked several loose strands of her hair behind her ear “—we could stay in.”

  We could stay in, he’d said. Not you. We.

  She knew she needed to get out of here now, out of this room, away from this bed. She needed to put some distance between them so she could think. If they were in public, where other people would see them, he wouldn’t touch her the way he did in private, he wouldn’t look at her as though he wanted to devour her.

  And if they were in public, she wouldn’t want so badly for him to do all the wonderful, exciting things his touch and his eyes promised.

  “Stay in?” He slid his fingertip down the side of her neck. “Or go out?”

  She swayed toward him, then quickly straightened and stepped away. “I’ll get my sweater.”

  It had been a long time since Dylan had seen his home through another’s eyes. He felt pride as well as pleasure watching Emily take in the sights of Penwyck Palace. He’d started at the rear of the palace, taken her through the portrait hall, which held a gallery of ancestral paintings, the games room and theater, the back offices and the family’s private quarters, then up to the front of the palace. Amazement sparkled more brightly in her green eyes with each new turn, and now, as they stood on the balcony overlooking the two-story, enormous ballroom and reception area, she’d actually gasped.

  Because he’d grown up here, the opulence, the elegance of his home were normal to him, even though Dylan certainly understood that the palace was anything but “normal.”

  His childhood had been sheltered—private tutors, nannies, chauffeurs. And the worse of it all—body-guards. He’d truly hated being followed and observed nearly every second of the day, had constantly devised schemes to elude their ever-watchful eyes.

  On more than one occasion, he’d given his mother royal fits over his disregard for rules and his lack of discipline. And as far as his schooling—they’d practically had to tie him down to make him study.

  Still, much to his teachers’ and his mother’s dismay, he’d breezed through math and history and physics, had finished his high-school studies by the time he was sixteen, then had gained a degree in business and English from Oxford University by the time he was twenty. After another two years as liaison to his father’s European business interests, Dylan had rebelled once again. King Morgan had been furious when Dylan had informed him he was stepping down from the position. At twenty-two, there was too much to see, too much to do. Everything in his life had always been too structured, too safe. He wanted—needed—danger.

  Working with Graystroke had given him that and more. For the first time in his life, he’d not only gained anonymity by changing his appearance and creating an identity for himself, he’d had true freedom.

  And now that he’d experienced that freedom, now that he’d been in countries where that freedom didn’t exist, he understood how precious it was. Understood the importance of being a part of his own country’s government, understood that it was not just a duty, but an honor to serve the people of Penwyck.

  “Dylan, it’s so beautiful.” Emily’s voice was reverent and soft as she stared down at the ballroom. “And the staircases, they’re exquisite.”

  He’d been standing beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. He leaned in close and glanced down at the two grand staircases leading from the balcony area to the reception hall below. “My brother Owen and I used to slide down the banisters when we were children. Gave our nannies heart attacks.”

  Eyes wide with surprise, she shot him a glance over her shoulder. “So you were normal children then?”

  Strange that he’d had that same thought just a moment ago. Still, he didn’t miss the teasing tone in her voice. He cocked his head and gave her a half smile.

  “Are you saying I’m not normal now?”

  She laughed. “I’m saying that children have a way of finding mischief in spite of their parents’ best efforts to prevent them from doing so.”

  It was the first time he’d heard her laugh, Dylan realized. He liked the sound, and the sparkle in her green eyes. “You speak as if from experience, Emily. Are you remembering anything? Something about family?”

  He watched the light in her eyes disappear, then she glanced away, shaking her head.

  He hadn’t considered that she might have children. Pierceson had told him that the bicycle vendor had said she wasn’t married, but that certainly wasn’t a prerequisite for babies. Or she might have been married and was now divorced, he realized, in spite of how young she was.

  “It would be horrible,” she whispered. “If I had family, people who cared about me, and they didn’t know if I were safe, or i
f I were even alive.”

  Her voice started to shake as she spoke. Dylan took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “We’ve checked with the local authorities. There’s been no missing person’s report. If you had family, and they knew you were missing, don’t you think they’d be looking for you? Wouldn’t you look for someone you cared about?”

  Her gaze lifted to his. “Yes.”

  There was torment in her eyes, Dylan noted, and it stung him. Until they knew more and could put the pieces together, he vowed to keep her mind occupied with other things.

  He lifted his head, hesitated. “Do you hear that?”

  She glanced around. “Hear what?”

  “The music.”

  Eyes narrowed, she shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I believe it’s a waltz.” He cocked his head. “Ah, of course. The “Blue Danube.” May I have this dance, Miss Emily?”

  When he stepped away and bowed, then offered his hand, she stared at him as if he were daft. “Dylan, you don’t have to—”

  “Are you refusing me?” he demanded in his most empirical voice. “His Royal Highness of Penwyck?”

  She looked truly flustered, then the light in her eyes returned. “Of course I’m not refusing you, Your Royal Highness. I would be honored.”

  She curtsied and took his hand, then he slipped his other hand around her waist and held her at arm’s length. She moved into the dance with him as if the music truly were playing, followed his steps flawlessly as they glided across the marble floor of the balcony.

  Her waist fitted perfectly in his hand, Dylan thought. He felt the heat of her body through the cotton blouse she wore, wanted desperately to feel her bare skin against his palm. Pulling her closer than the dance required, he whispered, “Are you here with anyone who would take offense at my holding you so close, Miss Emily? A lover perhaps?”

  She faltered a moment, then quickly moved back into step and lowered her eyes. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. I’m here with Count Archibald Popolakis. He will be most jealous of your attentions.”

  “Count Popolakis,” Dylan said with disdain as he whirled Emily. “I know the scoundrel. I shall command the royal army to imprison him in the dungeon.”

  “Oh, thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Emily said with a theatrical flair. “But I should warn you. At the stroke of midnight, I will transform into an ordinary peasant girl whose entire life has been spent washing and cooking and cleaning for her three evil stepsisters and stepmother.”

  “Then I shall put them in the dungeon with the count and you will be mine,” Dylan affirmed. “I’m in need of a woman who cooks and cleans.”

  The sound of her laughter rippled through him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself play like this. Maybe he never had, he realized. Once a woman knew who he was, she was too busy trying to impress him or seduce him. Either way, he’d never been bothered by a woman’s ulterior motive to get close to him. If they’d ended up in bed, then it had been mutually pleasant for both of them.

  Yet something was different with Emily. He knew that he wanted her in his bed, that part wasn’t different. He’d spent most of the night pacing his bedroom, his body frustrated with wanting her. That part of his feelings he understood completely. What he didn’t understand was the depth of his need to watch over her. To make sure she was all right. To be with her. The pleasure he felt just in making her laugh.

  He frowned at the direction his thoughts had taken, then shook his head at his foolishness. Sex, he told himself. What he felt for Emily wasn’t anything more than the physical attraction between a man and a woman. There was a lot happening in the palace and the country right now. He was tense, that was all.

  And he knew the best way to relieve that tension.

  He whirled her suddenly. She gasped at the unexpected move. Before she could speak, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.

  Six

  Every thought in Emily’s mind stopped. The moment Dylan’s mouth pressed against her own, it seemed to her as if the entire world had stopped. For that split second, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t pull away. She knew he held her in his arms, that he was kissing her, but she simply couldn’t react.

  Then the floodgates opened and every emotion poured free, a rushing wave of heat and desire and despair.

  If only she’d seen it coming. If she had, she might have prepared herself somehow, shielded herself from the stunning explosion of need that rocked her to the core. But he’d caught her off guard and she’d had no time, no defenses.

  The breath she’d been holding shuddered loose, then she moved into him, needing his closeness with an intensity that shocked her. His mouth was insistent, but not demanding. He tipped her head back, nibbled on one corner of her mouth, then lightly swept his tongue over her bottom lip. She opened to him, moaned softly when he dipped inside.

  It was glorious, she thought dimly. The faint taste of mint, the masculine scent of his skin, the press of his hard body against hers. She felt all the colors of a rainbow stream through her—brilliant yellow, cool blue, hot red. Felt the textures of soft velvet, smooth silk and hard steel. They all swirled together in a kaleidoscope of need.

  He deepened the kiss, and she slipped her hands up his chest, felt the heavy beat of his heart under her palms. Her own heart raced, and she realized that kissing Dylan did feel very much like a race, that her own body betrayed her by wanting desperately to reach the finish line. She slid her arms upward, around his neck, rose on her tiptoes so that she might feel him closer still. His mouth slanted against hers, his tongue explored, tasted deeply.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard voices, was certain they were inside her head until Dylan broke the kiss. She swayed on weak knees, felt his hands steady her, then quickly pull her away from the balcony railing behind a pair of heavy, deep-green brocade drapes.

  “It appears we weren’t the only tour group today,” Dylan said irritably.

  The voices grew louder, and Emily realized that they were coming from the ballroom below. She peeked around the edge of the drapes and saw a large group of people gathered in the center of the reception hall. From their vantage point, the group would easily have seen her and Dylan locked in a passionate kiss on the balcony.

  She started to pull back when a man in the group caught her attention. A tall man wearing a black leather jacket. Shaved head, evil eyes.

  Sutton.

  That horrible man had actually come here, to the palace! Gasping, she lurched back, instinctively clung to Dylan. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to step out into the open, to point at the man and demand he be arrested.

  But what good would that do? The men holding her grandmother would find out, and then they would surely—

  No. She closed her eyes and willed the thought to be gone. She couldn’t even think of them harming Olivia. She couldn’t.

  “Are you all right?”

  “They almost saw us.” She opened her eyes, wrapped her fingers into the front of the light sweater he wore. “They almost saw us.”

  “It’s all right.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if they’d seen us. Just an annoyance.”

  “No…I—” She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him the truth, though she desperately wanted to.

  “You’re pale.” Worry furrowed his brow. He covered her hands with his. “And your hands are like ice.”

  “I’m all right.” She loosened the death grip she had on his sweater. “I’m tired, that’s all. I should go back now.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. We’ll do the grounds when you’re feeling better.”

  “Thank you.” She started to pull away, but he held her close to him. She lifted her gaze, saw the resolve in his eyes.

  “The next time I kiss you,” he said firmly, “I’ll be certain there are no interruptions.”

  Her heart slammed against her rib
s, but she said nothing. The sound of voices grew louder as the tour group began to move up the stairs. Panic shivered up her spine. She knew if she saw Sutton, if they made eye contact, she might jeopardize everything.

  “We should go,” she said.

  He released her then, touched the small of her back and guided her down the corridor in the direction from which they’d come.

  They were both quiet on the walk back. Emily’s insides were wound into tight little knots. And though her body still hummed from Dylan’s kiss, knowing that Sutton was in the palace set her already frayed nerves on edge.

  By the time they reached the door to her quarters, Emily felt she might quite literally shatter if Dylan touched her. She needed space from him right now. At least a continent, she thought, but knew that even then she’d think about him. That she’d hate herself for what she’d done, but she’d want him just the same.

  “Thank you for the tour, Dylan.” She reached for the doorknob, prayed he wouldn’t see her hand was shaking. “The palace is beautiful, and I appreciate the time you’ve taken from your busy schedule to show me around.”

  “A pleasure, my lady.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth when he leaned forward, then lifted his hand to trace the line of her jaw with his fingertip. “Though I hope the pleasure was not mine alone.”

  Just a touch, a simple brush of his finger on her skin, sent ripples of heat through her blood. Afraid she might embarrass herself, that she might lean into that touch and ask for more, she dropped her gaze. It was much easier to stare at Dylan’s shoes. If she looked into his eyes, she’d be lost for certain.

  “As much as I would have enjoyed a quiet evening alone with you—” his finger slid back up to the lobe of her ear, then he sighed and dropped his arm away “—I regret I have previous plans this evening.”

  Another woman? she wondered, then realized how ridiculous the thought was. What did it matter what it was he was busy doing? She knew it was dangerous and extremely foolish to let herself feel anything for Dylan. There could never be anything between them. She’d made certain of that from the first lie she’d told.