Romancing the Crown Series

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

  "That will be nice for you and Leo," she said then as her mind went skipping ahead again.

  "What will be nice?"

  "You'll teach him to use a bow and arrow, won't you, when he's tall enough?"

  "Perhaps."

  His voice drifted off a bit sadly, reminding Sarah of the reason she was in Montebello in the first place. She wasn't Cinderella, after all, here to linger in the moonlight with Prince Charming. She was a psychologist and this man's son was her patient.

  She wondered why Dr. Chiara had been so reluctant about getting help for the child. Earlier, she'd assumed it was because the man was elderly and indifferent. Now she knew that wasn't true. His concern for the boy was evident in the tone of his voice. She tilted her head in his direction and witnessed the dark distress on his handsome face. She made herself focus on the distress. Not on the sculpture of his nose or the strong line of his jaw. Not on the way the moonlight picked out silver threads at his temples. Especially not on the obsidian shine of his black eyes.

  "Leo will speak again," she said. "I'm sure of it. And I don't think it will take long. I have every confidence that I can help your son, Dr. Chiara."

  "Really?" There was a dubious note in his voice, and then he sighed with just a hint of indulgence. "How long have you been in the nanny business, Ms. Hunter?"

  The nanny business. Sarah shook her head. This really wasn't going to work.

  "Well, that's just it..."

  She drew in her lower lip, sinking her eyeteeth into it, debating whether or not to blow her cover this early, to risk Sir Dominic's anger, to do exactly what the king had told her not to do. Well, what could happen? King Marcus wasn't going to throw her in a dungeon. He wasn't going to yell "Off with her head." And her instincts told her that, even if Dr. Chiara were angry, he wouldn't prevent her from helping his son.

  When it came right down to it, she just wasn't a good liar. It went against everything she believed in. And she'd never been any good at keeping secrets, which was why nobody in her family ever told her anything.

  She glared at the wet Cupid, glistening under the silvery waters of the fountain. "Just shoot me," she muttered.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I'm not exactly in the nanny business, Sir Dominic." She drew in a breath, a deep one to fuel her confession. "I'm supposed to pretend to be a nanny so you won't throw me out of the house before I've been able to work with your son. This was the king's idea. And Lady Satherwaite's, too."

  He merely gazed at her, fixed her with those ebony eyes, while Sarah gulped in more air and continued.

  "The king and your aunt were frustrated, I believe, by what they perceived as your lack of action, and they felt they had to do something before Leo's condition became worse. So the king prevailed upon my father, his longtime friend, and my father prevailed upon me."

  Sir Dominic was staring at her now, hard, terribly silent, a rather bemused expression on his face. Sarah took another deep breath and pressed on.

  "Well, actually, my father did more than prevail. He sort of kidnapped me and tossed me on a royal jet, I think it was yesterday, but, you know, my mind's sort of fried at this point, so it could have been the day before. And, well..."

  She threw up her hands, then let them drop in her lap. There was really nothing more to say, except...

  "Here I am."

  There she was, indeed.

  Nick had never in his life, in all of his thirty-six years, heard a speech that picked up speed and intensity in direct proportion to its loss of coherence.

  He didn't know whether this woman was delirious or demented or simply delightful.

  He didn't know whether he was angry because she had lied, or elated because she had told the truth.

  The only thing he knew was that he wanted her. Despite the fact that he hardly knew her. Despite the fact that he wasn't sure if he even liked her. Despite everything.

  He wanted her.

  Whoever this Sarah Hunter was. Whatever she was. Wherever she had come from.

  He wanted her.

  The feeling was so astonishing, so visceral, and took Nick by such surprise that he actually found himself glancing toward the fountain to make sure that Cupid's pointed arrow was still there, drawn and poised against the arc of the bow.

  Amazingly enough, it was.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Nick slept in—something he hadn't done since medical school. There was no alarm to wake him, no frantic call from the hospital, no shrill beeper to wrench him from sleep.

  What finally awakened him a little after nine o'clock was a bright peal of laughter drifting through his open window. By the time he opened his eyes, he was already smiling. By the time he had showered and shaved and dressed, the grin was plastered on his face and he thought he must look like a fool.

  He probably was a fool, he decided.

  And somehow he didn't care.

  It was good to feel completely alive, to feel revitalized. It was as if his blood count had been off the past five years, and suddenly he could feel the missing vitamins and minerals coursing through his arteries.

  Minerals, mostly.

  Iron.

  Good God. He hadn't been this hard in years.

  He was still wearing the remnants of a grin when he walked out onto the terrace.

  "There you are, darling," his aunt exclaimed. "I was only moments away from sending someone in to take your pulse. It isn't like you, Nicky, to sleep so late."

  "I'm on vacation." He kissed the top of her head. As far back as he could remember, Honoria's hair had smelled like lavender. It was no different this morning. She was dressed in lavender, as well, he noticed. Acres of it. With miles of colorful beads draped around her neck and dangling from her wrists. As much as his aunt teased him about being descended from pirates, he was fairly certain there was at least one gypsy up the maternal side of his family tree.

  "Coffee or tea, dear?" she asked as he pulled out the chair across from hers.

  "Coffee, please."

  While she filled a cup for him, Nick gazed around the terrace. There was a stone wall on its southern edge where the palace grounds began their perilous and rocky slope down to the sea. He always worried about Leo out here despite the fact that his son was agile as a cat and surefooted as any mountain goat.

  "Where's Leo?" he asked, taking the cup and saucer from his aunt. "I thought I heard the nanny laughing just a few moments ago."

  "You did. She's a delightful creature. I think the two of them have wandered off in search of his tricycle."

  He had already decided not to confront his aunt with the truth he'd learned about Sarah Hunter last night. Much as he hated deception of any sort, he couldn't help but appreciate the little gleam in Honoria Satherwaite's eyes or the heightened color of her ancient cheeks. Let the old girl think she was putting one over on him, he decided. Let her have a little fun. What would it hurt?

  "I've decided not to insist you fire the nanny," he said after a sip of the hot, strong Arabica.

  "Well, I should hope not," she answered with a snort. "She dotes on Leo, and I daresay the child feels the same. They seem to have bonded. Instantly."

  "Good."

  Like father, like son, he thought, once more feeling his lips quirking in something like a besotted smile.

  "Are you feeling all right, dear?" His aunt was looking at him rather strangely.

  "Yes. Quite."

  She continued to peruse his face. "You look a bit queasy. Were you out terribly late last night?"

  "Not late at all. In fact—"

  Just then his son came roaring around the side of the cottage, doing a perfect wheelie on his blue-and-yellow plastic trike. Thank God for helmets, Nick thought.

  Sarah Hunter wasn't far behind. In a white T-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and sneakers, she was even more delectable than she'd been the night before in her designer gown. Just as moonlight had become her, so did daylight

  The sun picked up some reddish
highlights in her wavy hair and warmed her skin tones to a golden hue. She looked young and vibrant and healthy as a horse. He felt a cautious little tic in the vicinity of his heart, knowing all too well how deceptive disease could be, how insidious illness was, how even the young and vibrant weren't immune.

  Leo circled the table, his little legs punishing the trike's pedals, while the nanny sauntered forward, lifting a hand to rake back her hair.

  "Good morning," she said, her voice as bright and warm as the sunshine itself.

  "Good morning." Nick pushed back his chair and stood. "Won't you join us for coffee, Ms. Hunter?"

  "No, thanks. I've already had two cups. Any more and you'd be able to see my synapses sizzle."

  She laughed, and once again Nick heard the sound to which he'd awakened, the music that had turned him on so. Damned if it wasn't happening again with an unsyncopated rhythm in his chest and a decided quickening in his groin.

  "How goes the jet lag, dear?" Aunt Honoria inquired. "You look quite acclimated to me. Doesn't she, Nicky?"

  "Acclimated," he murmured, resuming his seat rather than flaunt his unbidden, unanticipated, unparalleled erection. "Yes, she looks very acclimated."

  "I think I'm recovering," she said. "I'm feeling much better. All I really needed, I guess, was a good night's sleep."

  So, she'd slept well after their moonlit stroll back to the cottage. He'd shrugged out of his jacket at some point and placed it around her shoulders as they walked. He'd held her hand when their path had led them around the wet pavement of a particularly energetic fountain. He'd reveled in the sound of her laughter and he'd thought about kissing her goodnight. Actually, he'd thought about far more than that while he was trying to fall asleep.

  But apparently Sarah had slept well. What had he expected, after all? That the woman would have tossed and turned for hours, thinking about him as he had thought about her?

  Well... Actually, yes. That wasn't such an outlandish wish. It wasn't as if women hadn't lost sleep over him before. Wasn't it just yesterday he'd been complaining about the unwanted attentions of the fairer sex? What about the royal appointments secretary? He wouldn't be surprised if Sophia Strezzi had gone to bed with his bronze medal around her neck last night.

  Feeling slightly churlish, Nick reached out to snag Leo on his tenth circuit of the table. He lifted the boy off the trike and settled him on his lap, hugging Leo tightly and pressing his lips against his son's soft warm hair.

  "How's my boy this morning? You slept well, Leo, I'll bet. What shall we do today?"

  Naturally, Leo didn't answer. But his nanny piped up loud and clear.

  "Well, actually, Leo and I were planning on a few hours of play with some of the toys I brought him from America," she said. "At least until lunch."

  The way her green eyes fixed firmly on his, and from the tone of her voice, Nick knew immediately what Sarah Hunter meant. The playtime wouldn't be what it appeared. Not to Leo, at least. And the toys wouldn't be merely random playthings, but rather a variety of diagnostic tools. He kept forgetting she wasn't really a nanny.

  "I think that's a marvelous idea," his aunt said, obviously catching on to her intentions. "And it's such a lovely day, I wouldn't mind going for a walk,Nicky. You'll join me, won't you?"

  A walk? This from the woman whose idea of rigorous exercise was pouring tea and passing a plate of scones, mostly in her own direction. A walk? Had he heard her right? Lady Honoria Satherwaite called for a car to take her to the palace, which was less than a quarter mile away. How many times had he heard her say "Why walk when you can ride, darling?"

  She really did want him out of the way so the therapy could begin. Perhaps it was just as well.

  "Of course, I'll join you," he said, wondering if it would upset his aunt unduly if he wore a stethoscope and carried a portable oxygen unit, just in case.

  Sarah went to her room to gather the toys she'd tossed into her suitcase, wishing her father had given her a bit of a warning so that she could have picked up a few more items from her office at the clinic, where she had a huge collection of dolls, ranging from stuffed cotton forms with the mere suggestion of features, all the way to a family of anatomically correct figures.

  She'd make do, of course. She always did.

  It wasn't the play therapy equipment that made a good child therapist, after all. It was the ability to observe a patient interacting with the equipment, and the ability to correctly interpret those interactions. The practice of child psychotherapy was as much art as it was science. That was even more true in the case of a mute patient, a child who offered no verbal clues whatsoever.

  How she wished she could magically transport little Leo to the clinic in San Francisco. She realized that she'd probably become very spoiled by the two-way mirror in her office that allowed her to observe without interfering, and by the video equipment that enabled her to focus exclusively on the patient during a session without being distracted by the constant taking of notes. The videos also allowed her to review behaviors, to pick up on subtleties she might have missed during the session itself.

  She grabbed three soft-sculptured dolls and a small bag of bright wooden blocks, along with a spiral sketch book and a box of crayons. Deciding she'd merely observe this first time, Sarah didn't bother with her notebook or a pen. As for a tape recorder, what good would it do to listen to the sound of her own voice when it was Leo's voice that was important?

  But silent or not, she could already tell that young Leo Chiara was a very bright kid. One who would immediately know the difference between a playful nanny and a therapist in disguise. She and Leo seemed to have a good rapport so far—a boy and his nanny—and Sarah meant to keep it that way.

  As for her rapport with Leo's father... She'd thought about that plenty the night before, and she'd undoubtedly think about it later. But right now she had work to do, so she pushed any notions about Sir Dominic to the farthest reaches of her brain. It wasn't often that thoughts of life outside her work vied for her attention during therapy sessions, and she resented that intrusion now. He was just a gorgeous man, after all. In the grand scheme of her life, that didn't count for much.

  The child was in his room, watching cartoons on a small portable TV. It may have been a room in a cottage on the palace grounds in Montebello, but it was still a kid's room with a rumpled bunk bed and the usual clutter. The TV was on the floor, and like most kids, Leo sat cross-legged, barely a foot from the screen.

  "I like your television, Leo," Sarah said, kneeling on the floor behind him. "It's very different from mine. Can you show me how it works? What do you press to turn it on and off?" She pointed to a button, clearly labeled contrast. "Here?"

  Bless his little guy heart, the boy went right for the proper switch and turned the TV off. As soon as the screen went dark, Sarah tossed out her bevy of toys onto the floor beside him

  "Look what I've got," she said.

  He looked.

  "You can play with anything you'd like, Leo."

  He looked some more, and then he reached for the largest of the cotton doll figures.

  Sarah sat back, smiling, feeling enormously pleased that her young patient had chosen the human form over the inanimate blocks and crayons. It was a good sign, a further clue that little Leo, even though he wasn't speaking, hadn't completely withdrawn from interaction with humanity.

  While he perused the largest doll, fashioned out of a dark blue denim fabric, the expression on Leo's face seemed fairly neutral. No fear, anger or apprehension registered on his features, as far as Sarah could tell. Then, when he reached out for the smallest of the dolls, a little flicker of a smile played at the edges of his lips. He inspected both of the stuffed dolls, walked them across a foot of carpet, bent them to sit side by side against his outstretched leg.

  Longing dreadfully for her trusty video cam, Sarah found herself taking quick mental notes. The three graduated dolls, of course, though they were featureless, could easily be taken for father, mother
and child. It was interesting that to this point Leo had ignored the midsize figure. Of course, he'd never known his mother, so perhaps that shouldn't be so surprising.

  She watched him interact with the father and child figures for the next several minutes. His demeanor was calm enough. In fact, young Leo, though silent, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

  So far, so good.

  If she were home, if she were going to be working on a long-term basis with a patient, Sarah wouldn't have intervened at all. She would have let the play therapy take its own course. But—dammit—considering that she only had a few weeks to work with Leo, she felt forced to hurry the process along. The child deserved better, but what could she do under the circumstances? It was clearly a case of Sarah's concentrated help or no help at all.

  "We could pretend," she said, her tone light and full of enthusiasm. "We could pretend that these are real people, Leo. That might be fun. Maybe we could make up a story about them. Or act out a play. I wonder which one is the man." Again she was careful not to ask the boy a direct question.

  Without hesitation, Leo picked up the largest doll and handed it to Sarah with a smile.

  "I think you're right," she said. "He's very tall. And probably strong as well. Which one is the child, I wonder? It might be fun to have a little boy in our story."

  It was hardly a surprise to Sarah when the child gave her the smallest doll.

  "Hmm," she murmured, gazing around before reaching for the third doll, trying not to be too obvious, intensely aware that she was rushing the session, but believing she had no other choice.

  "Well, let's see. We've got a man for our story, and we've got a boy, as well. Now, I wonder who could this be?"

  She lay the three dolls in a row on the floor between them. Crossing her arms, she drew in her lower lip and made a humming sound, as if trying to decide who the new, middle-size character was, and hoping that the boy would provide her some sort of clue.

  He gave her a clue, all right. Leo snatched up the middle-size doll and threw it across the room, where it landed on a pile of clothes at the bottom of his closet. Then he jumped up, raced to the closet and slammed the door.