Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  * * *

  Precious little Leo, as Sarah soon discovered, had been banished to his room and was in solitary confinement, decreed by his great aunt, following the Mr. Potato Head incident. When she followed Lady Satherwaite to the nursery, they found the little boy sound asleep, surrounded by stuffed animals and with his thumb happily nestled in his mouth.

  "The little imp," his great aunt whispered. "We're worried sick about this not speaking business, but that doesn't mean we've given him carte blanche in the behavior department. Silent or not, the child knows there are certain unavoidable consequences.

  "I believe you professionals refer to it as timeout," Lady Satherwaite said a few moments later with a somewhat dismissive sniff while she sipped her tea in the shade of an umbrella on the little terrace behind the guest cottage.

  "Well, it is a more neutral expression," Sarah replied. "It doesn't sound quite so punitive."

  "Punitive, schmunitive." The big woman shook her head and rattled the many bracelets that decorated both her wrists. "Confining Leo and his imagination to the nursery is far from a punishment, my dear. Believe me. That child can amuse himself for hours on end with nothing more than a paper clip and a rubber band."

  "He has an active imagination, then?"

  "Oh, my, yes! I'm sure it comes from his father's side of the family. His mother's people are quite dreary."

  After half an hour over tea and iced ginger snaps, Sarah had learned far more about Lady Satherwaite than she had about little Leo. Her first impression— that she liked the older lady tremendously—still held. The woman was somehow larger than life. Much larger. And she was quite fascinating. Honoria Satherwaite, a sort of gypsy by her own admission, all three hundred pounds of her, had come to Montebello "decades ago, eons back, practically in the Stone Age," she claimed, with her younger sister, Elspeth.

  "We were the original hippies back in those days," Lady Satherwaite said, "although we preferred to think of ourselves as adventuresses or artistes. We lived on the beach for a while. Went bare-foot. Swam in the moonlight wearing only our smiles. I was, of course, much smaller then." She laughed good-naturedly as she rearranged yards of purple silk around her enormous girth. "And much younger. We slept in hammocks that we wove ourselves. Drank champagne for breakfast. It was quite a time."

  "It sounds wonderful," Sarah said in all sincerity. She could live like that for a week or two, she decided, but no longer. Without her work, she'd be restless and quite irritable.

  "It was wonderful. Oh, yes, indeed. My late husband, George Satherwaite—the poet? Perhaps you've heard of him?"

  Sarah shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I haven't."

  "Oh, well. Doesn't matter. He wasn't a very good poet, anyway. Still, he was the dearest of men George and I were married right down there in the surf by a Yogi. A lovely ceremony even if I didn't understand a word of it. Over the years I've often wondered if it was completely legal, our union.I suppose it doesn't matter now."

  The woman sighed as she continued. "At any rate one way or another, we managed to have a grand time for ourselves and to thoroughly scandalize most of our relatives back in Merry Olde England. Particularly when my sister, Elspeth, was impregnated by that pirate, Chiara."

  "Pirate?" Sarah felt herself slipping back into the fairy-tale kingdom of Montebello again. Kings and queens and knights and palaces. Why not pirates, after all? Why not dragons and court jesters while they were at it?

  "Pirate. Gunrunner. Mercenary. Whatever. He performed, how shall I say, undercover work for the king in those days." Her big purple shoulders lifted in a shrug and she jangled her bracelets again. "Pure reprobate, I must say, including the single gold earring and the obligatory black eye patch. He was a sight. Oh, my. Luca was a handsome devil. Nicky looks just like him, as a matter of fact. Even more so now that he's older. Fortunately, he's a bit more civilized than his father."

  "Nicky would be Sir Dominic?" Sarah conjured up an image of a crochety, bandy-legged, one-eyed pirate in a striped shirt and silly black boots. If his aunt was this dramatic, Dominic Chiara probably came across like a mustache-twirling villain in a silent film.

  "Yes, of course, dear. Nicky would indeed be Sir Dominic. More tea?"

  Sarah immediately held up her hand to block the oncoming teapot. Any more Earl Grey and she'd burst. "I wonder if you'd point the way to a rest room, Lady Satherwaite."

  "Through the kitchen, and down the hallway to your right. I'm sure that one is safe from submerged toys. One can only hope. Would you like me to show you the way?"

  "No, thanks. I'm sure I can find it."

  "All right then. Have a look out the front for the plumber while you're inside, will you, dear?"

  A moment later, after passing through the kitchen, Sarah couldn't remember whether she was supposed to turn right or left. It was a wonder she could even remember why she was here, the way Lady Chatter-box babbled on and on. Not that the woman wasn't fascinating. But still.

  She turned left. At least she thought so. Her jet lag suddenly seemed to be advancing to a critical stage, the one where the only directions she understood were the ones to a bed. After she passed along a short corridor and through a comfortable living room, she angled around a large sofa into another corridor and chose the most likely door for the bathroom.

  Well, she was half right. It was indeed a bathroom but the blue giraffes and yellow elephants on the wallpaper were a pretty good clue that this was young Leo's domain rather than a rest room reseved for guests. The second and perhaps most convincing clue that it was a child's bathroom was the man who was kneeling beside the commode and just that moment producing one dripping but still smiling Mr.Potato Head from its depths.

  "You must be the plumber."

  It was a totally lame thing to say, she thought. Of course he was the plumber, even though he didn't look like any plumber she had ever seen. Those guys tended toward beer guts and visible butt cleavage This guy...

  This guy was...well...much as she hated the expression, "hunk" was the first word that popped into her head, and just about the only word that described the man before her. Other than perfection.

  His eyes were a sensuous, almost delicious brown, somewhere between a Hershey's kiss and a Kraft caramel. He was clean shaven, but there was still the suggestion of dark beard along his strong jawline. His nose was slightly aquiline, perfectly carved but for the tiny jog to the right that signified a brief encounter with a fist or some immovable object in his past. His hair was dark, neatly clipped and just beginning to silver at the temples.

  He was a Greek god in faded jeans and a pale blue Oxford cloth shirt, its sleeves rolled up to expose tan, perfectly muscled forearms. He reminded her of What's His Name on that TV show. That was a pretty good clue that this was some sort of jet-lag-induced fantasy.

  Oh, God. Was she drooling? Sarah wondered all of a sudden.

  "You must be the plumber," she said again, sounding even more lame than she had the first time, because the guy probably didn't speak English anyway.

  But, miracle of miracles, he did. "So it would seem," he said in a voice just hinting of an Italian accent. Which meant he was a Roman god, of course, not a Greek one.

  Then he stood. To anyone else he might have seemed like a plumber getting to his feet in the cramped space of a bathroom, but to Sarah—thoroughly succumbing now to the ravages of altered time zones—he seemed more like Apollo rising from the white tiled floor until he reached a perfect six foot, two inches. She could hardly breathe, which struck her as odd because there was plenty of room in her chest now that her heart had plunged to the pit of her stomach.

  Then he smiled. Sarah almost fainted.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  Um...

  Good question.

  "The ninny," she said.

  Oh, God.

  "No, I mean the nanny. I'm the new nanny." She reached out and grabbed the wet toy from his hand "Thank you so much for rescuing Mr. Potato Head."

  Then s
he turned and fled, praying it was in the right direction.

  Chapter 3

  Nick found his aunt on the terrace, afternoon sun-light glinting off her many rings and bracelets, her great purple garment billowing in the soft breeze.

  Honoria Satherwaite was far more than an aunt. She was the closest thing to a mother to him, having raised him single-handedly since he was six, after his parents, still unmarried at the time, had sailed off for Crete one April afternoon and never returned. It was only years later that Nick learned he, too, would have been lost at sea if Honoria hadn't snatched him off the yacht, railing at her sister that "the boy will be a bloody idiot if you keep taking him out of school for months on end." He didn't recall that particular incident, and he didn't remember ever missing his parents.When it came to memories of his youth, mostly he recalled feeling safe and secure and very much adored by the big woman who made him the center of her universe.

  Unorthodox as she was, his aunt had done everything in her power to raise him not only properly,but also quite traditionally.

  She might have dressed like a gypsy herself, but she sent her nephew to the Boys' Academy in San Sebastian every day in the strict uniform of blue blazer and red tie. Despite her own bizarre or non-existent religious beliefs, she insisted he attend Sunday school and services each week at the basilica of San Felipe, where he became a model altar boy.And even though the woman didn't know a soccer ball from a tennis ball, she sat through every game or match he ever had.

  During his teenage years, whenever he indicated an interest in a career—whether it was being a musician, a race car driver, or a professional deep sea diver—she'd always supported him wholeheartedly by saying, "That would be lovely, Nicky dear, after you've gone to medical school."

  She was lavish with praise, slow to anger, quick to envelop him in hugs and shower him with kisses. Where young Nick Chiara was concerned, Honoria Satherwaite's heart was as large as the rest of her,if not several sizes larger. Although he'd succeeded in getting her to give up her precious cigarettes, he'd stopped badgering her about her diet years ago. The woman was close to eighty now and still healthy as a draft horse. She'd probably outlive him. Whatever success he'd achieved in his life was because of her. No question about it.

  There was probably only a single time he hadn't taken his aunt's advice. That was when he'd asked her what she thought of Lara Davis-Finch, the girl he wanted to marry.

  "She's lovely," Aunt Honoria had said. "She's the sort of woman who will always tell her husband exactly what he wants to hear, dear." At the time, those words had sounded more like praise than a caution to Nick. Now, of course, he knew it meant that Lara would hide any truth that she considered ugly from him, would lie about her health rather than distress him for a single moment, would tell him everything was wonderful when it wasn't. After Lara died and left him with six-month-old Leo, it was his Aunt Honoria who had once again came to his rescue.

  He wondered now if that had been a mistake. With Honoria to depend on, he'd been able to bury himself in his work without worrying for a single moment about Leo's well-being. With Honoria in charge, he'd been able to convince himself that all was well on the domestic front. She'd made it so easy for him. Still, mistake or not, it wasn't too late to make some changes. Nick strode out onto the terrace, prepared to do just that.

  Upon seeing him, his aunt waved a ring-laden hand while her bracelets clacked and jingled on her meaty arm. "There you are, Nicky. Tea, dear?"

  "No, thanks." He bent to kiss her cheek.

  "Are you sure? It's oolong. Your favorite."

  "I'm sure," he said, settling in the chair across the table from her, narrowing his gaze, girding himself for battle. "There's a new nanny, I see. Honoria, I thought we agreed..."

  "Oh, did you meet her, darling? Poor thing came racing out here a few moments ago with her eyes practically pinwheeling, babbling something about a plumber and twisted time zones and raging jet lag.I immediately sent her off for a nap." She reached for a scone, popped it into her mouth, indicating thar,as far as she was concerned, the discussion was over.

  Not by a long shot.

  "No more nannies. At least not for a while.We discussed this at length, Honoria, when we let the last one go. I assumed we were in agreement that it was best for Leo. As soon as the woman wakes up from her nap, I'm going to give her the sack."

  "I'm afraid you can't, dear," she said coolly.

  Nick raised an eyebrow, knowing he didn't need to ask her to elaborate.

  "I hired her, you see." She reached for another scone. "The young lady works for me, and I haven't the slightest intention of firing her." "Honoria..." he grumbled. "The subject is closed to discussion," she said. "Try one of these scones, dear. They're quite good." Nick ripped his fingers through his hair out of sheer frustration. Much as he loved her, the woman could be as irritating and infuriating as... "Don't be cross, Nicky. It's not good for the digestion, and it makes your eyebrows knot and your handsome face look frightfully demonic. Besides, if it's any consolation, Ms. Hunter hasn't signed on with us permanently. She's only here for two or three weeks on a trial basis."

  She reached for the teapot, and while refilling her cup, she said, "She's lovely, don't you think?" "Who?"

  "The nanny, of course. Ms. Hunter."

  Was she lovely? Yes, Nick supposed she was, now that he thought about it. He really didn't notice women much these days, not in any physical sense anyway. He'd only seen her for a moment, and a rather befuddled one at that, during which she apparently had believed he was a plumber. He conjured up a quick vision of her pretty face with its startled green eyes and generous mouth. "Does Leo like her?" he asked. "That's really all that matters." "He hasn't met her yet. She only arrived an hour or so ago, and Leo was sound asleep. I don't know why he wouldn't like her, though. She's absolutely charming."

  "He doesn't need to be charmed, Honoria.He needs to speak, for God's sake. I was hoping if the two of us could be alone for the next few weeks,that he might come around."

  "He will, Nicky. I know that in my heart."

  She reached out to pat his hand just as the telephone on the table began to ring. His aunt glared at the small black object next to the teapot and muttered, "Now who do you suppose that could be? I don't know why I ever let you talk me into one of these infernal machines. They're so bloody intrusive You answer it, darling, will you? Tell whomever it is that I'm otherwise occupied."

  He'd insisted on the continual presence of the cell phone in case his elderly aunt had any unexpected problems with her health. Much as she claimed to detest the thing, she'd apparently given the number out to several dozen of her friends.

  As soon as Nick said hello, he regretted it.The caller was a flunky from the palace, intending to. remind Lady Satherwaite to remind her nephew that the king was expecting him at the palace this evening to attend a party in honor of Montebello's Olympic committee. Since he was the little country's sole medal winner—a bronze two decades earlier in archery—King Marcus was forever dragging him out on these occasions.

  "Yes. All right. I'll be there," he snarled into the phone, then swore after he broke the connection.

  "Bad news, dear?" "I thought I'd cleared all the decks for the next month, but I forgot about the gala for the Olympic committee this evening."

  "You'll need a date," she said. "Marcus doesn't like it when there are too many bachelors oozing around at these affairs. It plays havoc with the queen's seating arrangements."

  "Well, then, I'll take my favorite girl," he said,winking at her across the table. "Do you feel up to it?"

  Before answering, Honoria gazed at him for a long moment. There was a certain wistfulness in her expression, a touch of sadness he rarely saw in his aunt, an emotion he was unable to fathom. He could usually read her so well, but not this time. "Yes, I most certainly do feel up to it," she said, but I'd rather poke a sharp stick in my eye than have to sit across a dinner table from Humberto Franchi. That dreadful man is still the grand
poobah of the Olympic thing, isn't he?" Nick nodded.

  "Well, then. Thank you, darling, but no thank you. I havea much better idea. Why don't I stay home with Leo, and you escort Ms. Hunter to the gala?"

  "Ms. Hunter?"

  "The nanny, you ninny."

  He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure she doesn't—"

  Just then, the pager clipped to his belt began to shrill. Damn. He'd forgotten to take it off. The number indicated an emergency call from the hospital. Despite being officially on leave, his conscience wouldn't permit him to ignore it.

  "May I use your phone, love?" he asked his aunt.

  "By all means, dear."

  Honoria Satherwaite ate another scone as she listened to her nephew's conversation on the cell phone. Poor Nicky. He was far too conscientious to ignore a call from the hospital. She liked to think that she was at least partly responsible for his dedication to his profession and somewhat responsible for the fine man he had become.

  God only knows how he might have turned out if he'd been raised by her foolish sister and that pirate. God only knows how her own life would have turned out if she hadn't marched little Nicky off their boat that April day three decades ago. The hand of God. Fate. Kismet. Whatever had impelled her to grab the child and take him home, it was the most fortunate thing Honoria had ever done.

  She'd done her best to raise him to be a strong, responsible man. She'd tried hard not to bully him into making the right decisions, but rather to gently guide him. All in all, she hadn't done a bad job. Except for his marriage to Lara. Nicky never could see that they were terribly ill-suited to one another, and he would have fallen on a sword before admitting he'd made a mistake in marrying the girl. But even that dark cloud turned out to have its own silver lining because of little Leo.