Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9)
Page 14
“I considered it.” She sat, lay her head back on the cushions and sighed. “I knew you hated me—”
“Dammit, Emily, I—”
“Please, hear me out, Dylan,” she said weakly. “I was certain that you could never forgive me for what I’d done to you and your family. I was worried you would resent or reject any child we made together.”
Shaking his head, he dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t give a damn what you thought I felt. You had no right to—”
“Will you let me finish?” A little color had come back in her cheeks, though not much. “I said I considered it, that’s all. But I knew I couldn’t. Why do you think I tore up the plane ticket? I know that no matter what’s happened, or how you feel toward me, this is your child, too. You have a right to make the decision if you want to be part of his or her life. I’ll never pressure you, but I’m hoping you will want to, Dylan.”
“I found my bonnet!” Olivia announced cheerfully, then stopped at the sight of Emily sitting on the sofa. “Oh, dear me. The washcloth.”
She turned promptly and left again.
Dylan clenched his teeth, resisted the urge to shake Emily. He stomped to the fireplace, counted to ten, then stomped back. “We’ll be married right away.”
Shock widened her eyes, then she firmly shook her head. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” he demanded. “You said you loved me. You’re having our baby. I refuse to accept no.”
“I won’t marry you because I’m pregnant, Dylan.”
“Emily, for God’s sake. I’m not asking you to marry me because you’re pregnant.” Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. “I’m asking you to marry me because I love you.”
He knelt beside her, opened the box and held it out. Emily went very still, stared at the large diamond solitaire, then lifted her gaze back to his.
“You…love…me?”
“Yes, I love you. I think I knew the first moment I laid eyes on you. I knew that you belonged to me, only to me. And me to you.” He took her hand in his. “I came here today to ask you if you’d be my wife. If you’d sit beside me and be my queen.”
“Your queen?” Her face had paled again. “I don’t understand.”
“My father is abdicating the throne. He has named me king.”
“You…” Emily’s eyes widened. “But Owen…”
“The DNA tests came back from the labs,” he told her. “Though in my heart Owen will always be my brother, he is not a Penwyck by blood.”
“But how is that possible?” Emily asked. “He’s your twin.”
Dylan shook his head. “My twin died at birth and was replaced in the nursery with an orphan—Owen—born the night before. Though it sounds cold, my mother did what she needed to do to keep peace and control at the throne and in the palace. Only she knew that my father’s brother had attempted to switch me and the child he thought was my twin, but she secretly thwarted his plan and returned Owen and me to the nursery, while the other two babies were sent to the states and adopted. My uncle intended to use this to his advantage at a later date, to take control of Penwyck away from my father by proving that the heirs to the throne were not of his blood.”
“Oh, Dylan, how awful.” Emily slipped her hand tighter into his. “But Owen—”
“Owen is happy with his new wife and daughter, and he will have an important and valuable position as commander of the Royal Intelligence Institute. He knows that he is loved by all his family, blood or not.”
“And your mother.” Emily shook her head sadly. “What a horrible burden she’s carried all these years.”
Dylan smiled. “My mother has never appeared happier. She says she’s ready for a long-overdue extended vacation with my father. I do believe she actually called it a second honeymoon. She also plans on enjoying more grandchildren.” He squeezed her hand. “She will be thrilled to learn a third grandchild is on the way.”
“Have they forgiven me?” she asked quietly. “Have you forgiven me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He saw the worry in her eyes, wanted to kiss away every fear. “You did what you did out of love for your grandmother. Once I calmed down, I understood that. And without your cooperation, it might have been years before we apprehended the Black Knights.”
“But you were shot.” She slipped her hand from his and shook her head. “You could have died. All because of me.”
“I fought for my country, for my family’s honor,” he said firmly. “Now I’m fighting for you, Emily. Please come back to Penwyck with me.”
He slid the ring from the box, then slipped it on her finger. Her tears fell onto their joined hands. “I love you,” he said, then brushed his lips over hers. “Marry me.”
“Here we are. A washcloth.” Olivia breezed back into the room, stopped at the sight of Dylan kneeling before her granddaughter. “Dear me.”
Dylan stood, bowed to Olivia. “Mrs. Bridgewater, I ask for your granddaughter’s hand in marriage.”
“Well, my heavens.” Olivia waved the washcloth. “You certainly do work fast, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Olivia sized Dylan up, then glanced at Emily. “What do you say, my dear? Do you want to marry this man?”
“Yes, Grandmother. I do.”
Olivia lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Dylan. “I certainly can’t have my granddaughter marrying riffraff. Can you provide a good living for my Emily?” she demanded.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe I can.” He smiled at Olivia, then looked at Emily. She smiled back. “I believe I can.”
Three months later, bells rang from the tower of Penwyck Palace. The sound carried across the town, over the mountains, down the cliffs and to the sea. A warm breeze whispered the promise of spring, carried the scent of roses and lilacs and jasmine. Flowers filled every corner of the palace, every stairway, every table. Royal-blue satin covered each chair assembled in the reception hall; white tulle tied with baby-pink roses draped every marble column.
Anticipation shimmered in the early-evening air. Today would make history in Penwyck, for there would be two celebrations: A wedding and a coronation. The event would be televised, and the people of Penwyck crowded around the TVs in their living rooms and in their pubs, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
Twenty trumpets sounded and a hush fell over the reception hall and the island, as well.
“His Majesty, King Morgan Penwyck and Her Majesty, Queen Marissa Penwyck,” a page announced.
King Morgan, draped in the royal robe and wearing the jeweled crown, emerged from the back of the hall with Queen Marissa at his side. Her pale-blue beaded gown brought gasps from the women and appreciative glances from the men. Together, king and queen walked down the red carpet toward the waiting throne.
At the front of the hall, Morgan and Marissa’s children and their spouses all stood, as did the five hundred other guests in the ballroom.
The trumpets sounded again.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Dylan Edward Penwyck.”
A murmur danced over the guests as Dylan appeared in his full formal garb of black pants, gold-buttoned white coat and red sash. He approached his parents, then bowed deeply.
King Morgan stepped forward. “By royal decree, it is my honor and my privilege to pass my crown and the leadership of Penwyck to my son, Prince Dylan Edward Penwyck. I crown thee, His Majesty, King Dylan of Penwyck.”
“Long live the king.”
The guests cheered and clapped and the trumpets sounded again. King Morgan bowed to his son, then placed the gold crown on his head and the royal robe on his shoulders.
Once again, the trumpets blared and the crowd quieted. At the sound of the wedding march, all heads turned to the back of the room. Dylan stood straight, kept his gaze on the back entrance.
He watched her emerge in a cloud of white satin and tulle, felt his heart jump into his throat as she floated toward him. The sleeves of the dress
were long and snug, and the train extended ten feet. Billows of white tulle covered her face, pearls kissed the base of her throat.
She carried white roses, drifted toward him like a snowflake on a river. He forgot to breathe, could barely think as the vision of the woman he loved glided closer.
It seemed as if everyone in the room held their breath along with their new king. Mouths were agape, eyes filled with tears.
Emily knew that if she kept her own eyes on Dylan, she would not stumble or fall. Her heart swelled with the love she felt for her prince, her king. She moved in front of him, stopped, then curtsied.
He bowed, then offered his hand.
Together they walked up the few steps and stood in front of the priest. Together they said their vows. When he lifted her veil, slipped the ring on her finger, then kissed her, Emily knew that this was forever.
The trumpets blared again. The crowd stood and cheered, in the hall and across the land. Dylan leaned close for another kiss and she met him halfway.
“I love you, Your Majesty,” he said for her ears only.
“And I, you, Your Majesty,” she replied.
They turned and bowed, first to Dylan’s smiling family and a tearful Olivia Bridgewater, then to their guests and the people of Penwyck.
They walked down the steps together hand-in-hand, as man and wife, as king and queen. Emily nearly stumbled when she felt the first flutter of life inside her. She swallowed back her tears of joy.
Tonight I will tell him, she said silently and pressed a hand to her stomach. She knew he would be pleased.
Not one baby, she thought with a smile, but two.
Twins…
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Barbara McCauley for her contribution to the CROWN AND GLORY series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5845-1
ROYALLY PREGNANT
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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*Hearts of Stone
*Hearts of Stone
*Hearts of Stone
†Secrets!
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